- Nov 11, 2023
- 40
- 2
- 8
Though the air over their self-proclaimed home deems otherwise, DuskClan is never stagnant. It is ever-changing, ever-evolving. New faces come and go — of which Dustwhisker is never quite keen about.
Traitors leave with little punishment, return to the moors no doubt — crawling back to Sunstar's disciples, crying like kits over how wrong they were to leave. The dark-furred tom snorts at the thought: he would never be so weak.
Betrayal is a wound patched up by Rumblerain's trove of newcomers, an attempt to heal in a way a clan with no healer can. All these new faces who will never quite know the trials and tribulations their clan has faced, the home they lost, the moor-queen they once worshipped. Dustwhisker could never be one of them, either: fighting for a cause they so little care about.
They trade their former clanmates for bumbling fools. For extra mouths to feed, for squabbling, whining kits. For cats who can only dream of a true warrior's life. For —
He drops a mouse at the paws of another: a thorn that hadn't grazed his side until Dustwhisker had sought after him. It is measly in comparison to what had been thrown at his own paws by the burr, but the days are only growing colder, and even the mice know better than to be out in such weather. Still: it's better than nothing.
" Uh — " The tom blinks at the black and blue cat before him. He tries not to stare for long, for irritability was bound to grow just as much as the fang-toothed grin on his thorn's face. What had he said again? " Mouse for.. your thoughts? "
Those cursed stars know his options of cats to speak to here are dwindling — that it won't be long before another leaves, before Possumscratch is his only option. Unfortunate, it'll be, then. Just him and this fool.
It's only a return in favor, this. A meal for a meal.
" What do you think of our beloved deputy disappearing? " the former moor-cat implores with a snort, " Should've known it was only a matter of time, right? "
Traitors leave with little punishment, return to the moors no doubt — crawling back to Sunstar's disciples, crying like kits over how wrong they were to leave. The dark-furred tom snorts at the thought: he would never be so weak.
Betrayal is a wound patched up by Rumblerain's trove of newcomers, an attempt to heal in a way a clan with no healer can. All these new faces who will never quite know the trials and tribulations their clan has faced, the home they lost, the moor-queen they once worshipped. Dustwhisker could never be one of them, either: fighting for a cause they so little care about.
They trade their former clanmates for bumbling fools. For extra mouths to feed, for squabbling, whining kits. For cats who can only dream of a true warrior's life. For —
He drops a mouse at the paws of another: a thorn that hadn't grazed his side until Dustwhisker had sought after him. It is measly in comparison to what had been thrown at his own paws by the burr, but the days are only growing colder, and even the mice know better than to be out in such weather. Still: it's better than nothing.
" Uh — " The tom blinks at the black and blue cat before him. He tries not to stare for long, for irritability was bound to grow just as much as the fang-toothed grin on his thorn's face. What had he said again? " Mouse for.. your thoughts? "
Those cursed stars know his options of cats to speak to here are dwindling — that it won't be long before another leaves, before Possumscratch is his only option. Unfortunate, it'll be, then. Just him and this fool.
It's only a return in favor, this. A meal for a meal.
" What do you think of our beloved deputy disappearing? " the former moor-cat implores with a snort, " Should've known it was only a matter of time, right? "
