DARK IS THE NIGHT — return...?

[DOGFUR]

A scrawny black and brown figure was skittering near the border, sulphuric eyes wide with characteristic paranoia. They twitched and shuddered even mores than usual and saliva dribbled from their broken, dry lips. By now his scent would have been unfamiliar—moons apart from a Clan could do that to a cat, but there were few cats who stood out as badly as Dogfur. He was his namesake ever more now, spiked fur raised and tail lashing.

"I was here before, but nobody else was. But it could have been a dream—" The tortoiseshell muttered. He smelt of peat, dirt, and a strange rubber like the scent of monster paws. How his heart would have broken to know that every last wretched cat of ShadowClan had disappeared. But even he was not certain of it. Paws danced twitchily over the scent line. Freshly marked. ShadowClan was here.

Dogfur raised his head, hackles raised and crooked whiskers twitching. "You!" They yelled, looking out into the distance in ShadowClan territory. Whether an unlucky patrol had found him already or he was screaming to the abyss. "You—get this off me!" His voice raised in a panicked level, eyes clouded by stifling walls and mountains of trash, an old, fat two-leg with blood-soaked lips and enormous eyes, and several cats, fifty of them at least, all filthy. It ran across his eyes again and he could almost scent it again, causing the fantasy to rip open its delicate hems. Hold it together before it all comes apart.

This was referring to, of course, the sparkly pink studded collar with the name BELLA printed over a heart-shaped tag.

"Please!"

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

they had all tried so hard to find dogfur. his disappearance sat in the pit of their stomach and made them uneasy. they wished he hadn't gone anywhere... but with little to no trace of him, it wasn't as if they could find him. they almost thought he was dead but there was a little bitty voice of hope that said otherwise, which was the only reason there had not been a vigil for the warrior. today was certainly not a day that they expected to see him, either.

the sound of someone nearby makes them fluff up their fur in frustration. they make their way closer, only to be absolutely shocked by the sight upon their borders.

"....dogfur? what the fuck!?"

a lot more emotion than even they're used to spilled out of them and they're quick to run over checking the cat over, before nodding.

"here. let me take the damned thing off... you smell horrid."

i am so glad you're alive, they wanna say, but those words don't come out. instead, they latch their teeth to the collar, and attempt to snatch the thing off. with a little help from dogfur moving in the other direction, surely they could get this disgusting kittypet garbage off of him.
​

 

[Dustnose]

Dustnose was on patrol with several others, including Chilledstar, when they came upon the stench that was the tortoiseshell tom. She couldn't believe something could reek so badly, but regardless her duty was to her clan, not to the sensitive receptors in her nose. She raised her hackles, but didn't do anything other than that. The lilac molly stared at Chilledstar, utterly dumbfounded that he would even touch the disgusting tom. "Yeah, you're right Chilledstar, he does smell awful! Why are you touching him? You could get some kind of disease if you're not careful."
​

walk "talk." thought​

penned by helly​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Granitepelt had written Dogfur off moons ago. Few cats disappeared from the marshes and returned, especially foaming at the mouth and encircled in Twoleg trash. The gray warrior’s face registers a near-comical look of surprise to see his former mentor stumbling around. “Dogfur? What in stars’ name…” His eyes tighten painfully on the obnoxiously-bright wreath circling the tortoiseshell’s throat. “Twolegs?” An obvious answer, but he’s too astonished to acknowledge it.

Chilledstar lurches forward, claws hooking in the general direction of Dogfur’s collar. Granitepelt watches mutedly, until Dustnose comments about diseases. Afterward, the young tom snorts. “He’s already got every disease you could think of,” he mutters. Reluctantly, with the twitch of an ear, he adds, “Welcome back.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒮𝒯𝐿𝐸𝒥𝒰𝑀𝒫]

Thistlejump trudged amongst her Clanmates, and stopped in her tracks when she and the other cats heard the call of Dogfur. Her pelt bristled with unease until they spoke again, pleading for help, and Thistlejump vaguely remembered the voice of the tortoiseshell cat. Her fur lay flat, and she hurried towards Dogfur as though to assist him with something, yet she was unsure of really what she could do to help the poor filthy cat — she certainly wouldn’t offer to help groom him — other than gawk with pity at their disgusting coat.

She gave Dustnose somewhat of a look, as if she was rude for having suggested that Dogfur had diseases, even though Thistlejump wouldn’t lay a paw on him in the state that he was in. “Someone has to help him. They wouldn’t be able to get that wretched collar off himself.” She meowed. And it’s fortunate that Chilledstar is helping them rather than I. She thought.

“It’s a good thing that you’ve managed to escape from twolegs.” Thistlejump told Dogfur quietly, her gaze fixed on their collar.

 

[smogstar]

An untold measure of nights were spent pondering the question of Dogfur's disappearance. With no hints nor cues left in the mud, both before and after the chimeric tom dissolved into the surrounding shadow, what remained was a sense of hope diminished, accompanied by a swathe of comfortless theories. Had it been autonomy that drove Dogfur from the swamp's bounds, coaxed by his own volition to venture into the unknown beyond? If so, it left the deputy with a bittersweet admiration for his mysterious friend. It's a notion he'd fancied himself some seasons ago, and free will being at fault felt like the lesser of two evils—the alternative, an intervention of sinister forces, clawed at his mind as well.

Gait grudging and slower than it was in moons past, the deputy would grind to a halt at the startling disturbance. Dark-touched strands stand on end, claws puncturing the dew-moist soil, and he holds his ground while the patrolmates in his midst investigate. By this point in time, their long-lost tortoiseshell had been cheapened to vague recollections. A memory, one carrying a fairly positive connotation. Hence Smogmaw's jaw-dropped, eyes-agog, heart-propelling response to the revelation before him.

Weathered and worn, Dogfur was about as sound as a fern caught in a windstorm. He stood bound by the neck, some manner of twoleg contraption restricting his airpipe—those upwalking brutes would rather him suffer a torturous death than live in the wild! "My friend," he cries, drawing on the moniker given to him by the returning party, "what madness have they wrought upon you?" Based on appearance alone, it can be safely said that they weren't fattening him up for consumption. ​

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — Sabletuft had led the patrol responsible for discovering answers to Dogfur's whereabouts. After he was gone for a noticeable amount of time, the scent had been rather difficult to follow. If only the oddball weren't so sporadic, maybe they could have found him sooner. Maybe he had been caught in one of those traps by twolegs, since his scent had fizzled out in the general area.

The what-ifs and theories had been the only comfort of finding any semblance of an answer for what happened. Sabletuft had accepted the idea that Dogfur was good as dead, hard as it was. Ferndance was distraught, and seeing her that way...

He only felt bitter anger seeing him on that border.

Fashioned in some hideous gift from what could be assumed were by his captors. (As angry as he was, he doubted Dogfur would walk into one of their nests on his own). Begging for help, pathetically. Sabletuft only thought of how stupid the tortie was. For getting himself in such a mess. For not being careful enough. For letting them grieve while he was still well alive.

Sabletuft was coldly silent, withholding any greeting or relief for the tom. — tags​