EYES WITHOUT A FACE || intruder. (joining)

[FOXGLARE]

( tags ) The sky is bright blue and sunny today, with an almost unbelievably quaint smattering of fluffy, pillowy white clouds hanging sleepily in the afternoon sky. Many a cat would recognize this warming as a part of the ever-cycling change of seasons, a gradual march towards a green-colored hopeful respite from the long frozen-over moons previous. This young tom, having just entered his seventh month, had gone the entirety of his young life so far beneath uncaring grey skies and freezing wind. The sun-warmth upon his pelt was a novelty to him, and was part of what stirred him to move out of the two-legplace and return to the wilds where he had been born, new beginnings and whatnot. The other part was frankly how miserable the place was, with its foul-smelling stone ground and how crowded it felt. It was a damn rat race out there, he couldn't go more than a few tail-lengths without accidentally stepping on the toes of some hot-shot rogue itching to pick a fight. He longed to feel real grass and earth under his paws, and maybe even be able to stretch his legs without trampling over trash or repulsive-smelling puddles.

He skirted along the wooden barrier line that fenced in huge, odd animals that grazed upon the grass idly. They gave the tom the creeps but they seemed to be ignoring him completely, so he let down his guard as he walked with determined steps towards... he actually didn't know where he was going. Anywhere far enough from stomping two-legs and rotting carrion on the cold stone ground was fine enough for him. He would try not to think too hard about how much of his longing for the forest was tied to the memory of a rumbling purr and the dark fur of a guardian who had been his world. He flicked an ear in annoyance at himself for letting the thought even reach the surface of his mind. In his thoughts, he was caught off guard when a dog started bowling toward him from behind the fence. He startled, tearing away from the fence and toward the light woodlands and moor beyond as a two-leg made a whistling sound in the background. He didn't slow until he had gotten over the other side of the hill, the barking only a murmur from behind the trees. He shook out his pelt for good measure and took in the scenery of the moorland surrounding him. The new growth of windswept grass and wildflowers swayed in the breeze, along with it though, was a scent that made him tense again. Cats. Shit.

There was whispering among the cats of the twolegplace of the groups in the forest, mostly vague or overblown stories of cats fighting each other for moons on end and throwing cats off cliffs, the type of drama that only existed in gossip and not much anywhere else. Regardless, word was that these forest groups didn't take too kindly to outsiders, and he probably just ran right over their border. He straightened himself, not wanting to appear suspicious or cower at them, no matter how unfriendly they might be.

"Hey, I mean y'all no harm," he said preemptively toward the approaching felines. As much as he was shit at talking, he'd rather try and save his own pelt than have to fight off a whole gang of moor cats, "S'my mistake, I crossed your scent line on accident, I was just passin' through. "

"SPEECH"

ooc: @HOUNDTHISTLE no need to wait for him to post first!​

 

[heathermoon !!]

It had been quite some time since Heatherpaw had been so close to the Horseplace side of the territory. Robinfang had been focused more on getting the red tabby adjusted to working in the cramped spaces of the tunnels for a few moons now. Additionally, he hadn't visited since news of his rogue father's passing. That had been, what, three moons now? It still felt odd when his mother didn't wake him on the crescent moon anymore. Not to follow her from the hollow, laugh as she teased him for struggling to jump over the fence. No longer racing the doors of the barn to see his father lazing on a pile of hay, pretending to sleep so he could trick Heatherpaw into wrestling and tumbling over the hay bales.

It wouldn't happen again. He wasn't in there anymore, and his mother had hardly even left camp since discovering his body.

It was hard not to think about it as he and the other cats were approaching closer. He was about to ask Robinfang if they could go further down, maybe down to the Sun-Warmed Pool when the distant baying of a distant alerted them. Heatherpaw froze, eyes frantically searching about for where the dog could be until the mark of a whistle made him relax. The question as to what had stirred up the dog quickly answered itself as an outsider appeared well within WindClan's border.

Heatherpaw followed the warriors as they moved to confront the tom, who didn't appear any older than himself. For now he remained beside his mentor, head tilting as he curiously looked over the outsider. "Where you headed then?" Heatherpaw dared to ask.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 7 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

❪ TAGS ❫ — The howling of a distant canine splits the air, nearly causing Snakepaw's fur to stand on end. He didn't like dogs in the slightest; not only were they loud and bothersome, but they had teeth that could bite and rip. He didn't want to be caught in between their jaws, that was for sure.

He walks along with the patrol, gait uncertain and hesitant as he proceeded, his mentor @Badgermoon presumably with them as well. Fully expecting to run into yet another mutt running around on the territory, the group instead finds a lone stranger. The mackerel tabby is unfamiliar, carrying no particular scent from what Snakepaw could tell at this distance; a blatant trespasser!

The midnight black tom gritted his teeth, curling his lip and letting out a low growl from the depths of his throat. Why was Heatherpaw acting so... passively toward this stranger? Rogues had killed Tigerfrost on their own borders just recently; what wasn't to be alarmed about? WindClan had to act more strictly toward cats who trespassed on the moorlands, if not for their own safety!

"How do you cross a border on accident? You have a nose that works, do you not?" Snakepaw challenges boldly, his tail lashing and twitching like an aggravated rattler. This tom was young, perhaps around his own age, but that didn't mean that he couldn't pose a threat. Suppose that he associated with the very cats who slaughtered Tigerfrost!

Whipping his gaze up toward the warriors expectantly, the sharp-tongued male demanded, "Well? Aren't we going to chase him out?" Snakepaw's claws flexed into the ground, lean runner's muscles eager to activate.​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 Had they the warriors, Wolfsong does not doubt Sootstar would have their borders guarded near constantly, especially after the threats made by their neighbors. Forewarned is forearmed, and he's certain any moor runner could outpace one of their warriors in time to inform the camp of an approaching enemy. But they are not so lucky to have such swollen ranks— though perhaps having so many mouths to feed would also mean fewer rabbits later.

Like the others, when the wind carries the echo of a dog's bark, he stiffens. For a moment, the ruins of his eye ache, but it passes when he finds no beast-silhouette on the hill— merely a cat's. He assumes, given the direction the trespasser has entered from, that he'd disturbed the twolegs' fenced pet.

Heatherpaw regards the young stranger with curiosity, whereas Snakepaw —predictably— is all scorn and bluster. Wolfsong himself is interested in the odd sound of the trespasser's voice, not unlike Houndthistle's. He looks nothing like the warrior, however. It must be that he's from a similar region. "You will have a difficult time passing through any land along the river," he rasps evenly. "Many clans have laid claim to it and none are kind to strangers. You will have to turn back— and I recommend doing so quickly, should you want to avoid this one's teeth at your heels." His gesture indicates Snakepaw, and though his smile is not cold, it is not welcoming, either.
​

 

[✧ Venomthroat.]

I REALLY COULDN'T CARE LESS

venomthroat | 28 months | non-binary | they/them | physically medium | mentally hard | attack in bold black

---

Honestly, every single border skirmish goes like this - not much more than a tail measuring competition, with sharp insults and annoying apologies spat back and forth. A heavy sigh leaves their lips as dark gaze flits about the strangers figure - sizing them up just in case but really, they're hardly more than a child and Venomthroat has no interest in fighting kits unless sootstar herself is here to order them too. Tail flicks lazily as the black furred feline lets their mind wander instead, though sharp ears are kept focused on the conversation at hand so as not to miss anything. They will not make such a mistake as to get caught off guard should something happen after all.
​

​

​

​

 

[Badgermoon]

The deputy's face was solemn as he stood alongside his apprentice, dark tail swaying in mingled agitation and contemplation. On the one paw, it was a relief to know that the sound of dogs hadn't resulted in an actual dog sighting - on the other, they now had a trespasser to deal with. Heatherpaw, Wolfsong, and Snakepaw had already addressed the white-splashed youth, and he felt no particular compunction to add his voice to the mix. Every WindClan cat knew that their borders were not open, and that only kits had the potential to be welcomed in. Though he supposed there were exceptions, now and again - like Silverpaw, perhaps. Though he had only become part of the Clan after defeating one of WindClan's own. Badgermoon's eyes shifted to Snakepaw, thoughtful, wondering if the past would echo into the present, before turning again to stare at Foxpaw. Pointedly, the bicolor cat unsheathed the claws of one large forepaw.​

 

[FOXGLARE]

( tags )

The cats that approached him seemed about as friendly as he expected them to be, though not being immediately pounced on was something of a relief even if he suspected it wasn't completely off the table. This posse was somewhat of a diverse group, age-wise at least. The first cat to speak up at him looked to be about his age, if not younger with his open, inquisitive stare. The boy was thrown off by the question, not expecting to answer anything more personal than a 'who do you think you are to dare trespass onto our patch of dirt?'

"Nowheres specific, I guess. The plan's anywheres far enough from the twolegplace " he shrugged. It didn't cross his mind to lie about it, so he answered truthfully. He despised the place, really, and he figured that if anyone shared this feeling it'd be the cats living out in the forest (or moors in this case). Another of the younger cats was a kind he was more familiar with. It seems he'd run into the Hot Shot of the group, one of those that make a big show about wanting to sink their claws into you. There was always at least one of them in all of the gangs he's bumped into, but he had to tamp down the temptation to smack them on the head every time he did come across one. "Nose works fine, s'just filled with dog smell." He was successful in keeping his tone even, though his ears twitched back in irritation at the black tom's condescending voice as he went on about chasing him out.

Though they were mostly a lanky-looking bunch, they didn't look emaciated in the way he was used to seeing in his fellow street cats. Their pelts too were sleek and lacked that dulled and frazzled look that came with nights sleeping beneath twoleg carrion amongst the rats. They must've found a good deal out here on the turf they claimed to be looking so comfortable, he felt a pang of envy in his chest for them and the other cats that found themselves a group to lean on. Hmph, whatever, he had four perfectly sturdy paws to stand on himself anyways.

A gold tabby adult would address him with an even voice, though his words weren't anything he had wanted to hear. Turns out these clans had claimed the whole forest as theirs. "Sheesh," he muttered, "the whole damn river..." Going back through the twolegplace and around past the river and the forest in which he was born would be a shitshow. Plus there was the whole ordeal with the sneering hotshot about to put his teeth in his heels, or so said that smiling tabby.

"Ah'right," he said gruffly, narrowing his eyes at the bunch, "Noted, I'll figure it out."

He could feel his brief welcome coming to a close, but he wasn't mousebrained enough to want to turn his back on these folks completely, and began to take some pawsteps backward. Though, as he watched a large black and white tom unsheathe his claws claws and others bristled with a passive threat, he was filled with that familiarly ironic rush of adrenaline. His whiskers twitched minutely at the thought of daring to take a swipe at the blustering black tom's snarling mouth. Could he get away with it? He could, he was convinced of it. Something held him back though, and he made no further move towards them, slate-colored eyes only narrowing further.

"SPEECH"

​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

With an assumed @MIREPAW in tow, Houndthistle was hunting not far from where this ordeal was happening. In fact, the only thing that brought the brute lumbering over were voices that sounded less-then conversational, idly wondering if he'd be able to see someone get ripped apart. But as he shouldered through the shubbery, stubby tail flicked to hold open the grass for his apprentice, Houndthistle, once more, was greeted by a ghost of his past in a new dress. Uncharacteristically, he stepped back, amber eyes wide as he inhaled sharply. His fur along his spine bristled and it honestly looked like he had seen a ghost, looking the familiar golden and white form of a cat he believed dead. He seemed to do a double take, not believing his eyes, before he took a few steps forward once more, shouldering through the patrol with little care for them at this point. "Sun?" He dubiously breathed, unbelieving as his amber eyes roamed over his son's form. His eyes hovered on the scars, the torn ear, mouth setting in a line at their sight but his shoulders quivered.

Without another word, the large tom would use both paws to attempt and sweep the young intruder into his arms. If successful, he'd bury his nose in his fur, holding him close. "Where in th' crow's nest have ye been, Son?! Stars... I thought I lost ya, I look't and I-I look't, hopin' I'd find somethin'!" Even more strangely to his clanmates, Houndthistle's voice was thick with emotion, more words then he's used to speaking flooding from his mouth as he looked near-tears at his long-lost son.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  100%
  ⤷ no current wounds
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

An unusual scene indeed. She had been watching the intruder begin to slip away as her warriors claws unsheathe in threat. She was about to dip her head back into her tunnel, assuming the scene to be resolved, when almost from out of nowhere Houndthistle’s eyes grow wide in sheer shock. Green eyes dilate, Sootstar stares with intense confusion… Houndthistle knew this cat? More than just that it seems. This was Houndthistle’s son. Her pelt is thick with sand as she descends from the slope to stand beside her deputy, emerald eyes narrowed against the intense sun. Fixing a look on the young stranger he looks him up and down, noting the similarities between father and son. ”Houndthistle, explain.”

 

[MIREPAW]

જ➶ On the move with his mentor the young apprentice is bouncing along the tall swaying grass. He hasn't been able to catch anything fkr the moment but he is sure that with Houndthistle here they can bring something back. As they go the tom picks up the scent of others and also a stranger which most times doesn't bode well. With a glance to his mentor he follows after the tom and his eyes narrow on the stranger but Hound's reaction makes him pause. The way in which his eyes widen and how he scoops the other up makes him feel strangely jealous. His own pelt bristles and his maw tenses before he shakes his head. Yet hearing the way his own mentor speaks about the stranger and even more so calls him son makes his maw suddenly hang open. "Wha...?" His eyes of seafoam stare at his mentor for a long time and he hears the emotion in his voice. More emotion than he has ever heard.

Yet he thinks about his right to get jealous and angry like this. He has none. Hound is just hid mentor, not his father. But it doesn't make him feel good to see this. He is...alone afterall. Taking in a harsh breath he steps back, further and further till he is hidden near Heatherpaw. ​

 

[FOXGLARE]

( tags ) He had thought often about what he would do at this moment. He was only a kit during that hazy, panicked time he had been taken by twolegs whilst recovering from his wounds, and during his subsequent escape and a mad dash back home. What kept him going was the thought of his father, waiting in their den worried for him. They would reunite with relief and Hound might've even been proud of him for being so brave. That moon of misery would be but a blip in their history and they could go on living their lives as they always had, or at least how he always had been living before.

Of course, that moment never came, and he had arrived to an empty nest, scent muddied and washed away by sleet and rainstorms. He waited some days for any sign of his return, all the while his mind went in circles thinking up reasons why his father was nowhere to be found. At some point, he had convinced himself that Hound had died, that he tracked his smell onto the thunderpath, and in his distraction, a monster came barreling down the path and collided with him head-on. Fox couldn't remain there any longer, the place was haunted by the death of his kit-hood and an unshakeable image of a grey body flattened and lifeless against stone, so he left and didn't look back.

It was only later that he had even considered the possibility that Hound had simply up and left. What if he had been glad to have Sun out of his fur? Maybe the fox had been a convenience, Hound could wash his paws of it all and move on, had he waited even a day for his son to come back? Guilt chilled and hardened into resentment, and his melancholic mind became preoccupied with imaginations of getting back at that deserter of a father. He imagined he would run into him somehow wandering down any of the stone paths of the twolegplace, spitting him an earful of curses or even clawing him on the maw and forcing him to look upon what he'd left behind.

In the end, he did none of those things.

Emerging from the brush seemed to be a cruel mirage sprung directly from his imaginations. He stood stone-still, lashing his tail across the ground to feel the earth brush against his fur, for confirmation that it wasn't some overly vivid dream. The mountain of the man that was his father stood as tall as ever as he pushed past his clanmates and toward him. He stood dumbly as he was pulled into his arms, face full of fur and a scent that had been committed to memory, now also oddly foreign. His voice, too, was both at once achingly familiar and unexpected, thick with emotion and asking where he had been all this time. This wasn't like anything he had imagined happening, Hound was alive and had seemed, indeed, to have moved on. And yet, here he was hugging him like he missed him and saying all this and that about how he'd look't. The combined stinging behind his own eyes and the sound of blood pounding in his ears made his face feel like it was being squeezed like a berry. He belatedly realized that they had an audience and would prod his paws against the other, attempting to push away from the embrace and fixed his gaze unto the ground beneath him, steeling his gaze and attempting to school his face into something he felt would look neutral. He offered a short answer to Hound in what was little more than a mutter, "Went back when I could, but you'ere gone..." He didn't exactly want to get into the whole thing right here and now, especially not while he was hardly able to think straight.

A small dark sandy she-cat (who seemed to appear out of a hole in the ground...?) barked a question at Hound(thistle?) and though he wasn't addressed he wanted to establish something before his father said anything, "Name's Fox. I'm his... yeah." He didn't know why he couldn't say it, and his eyes twitched away from her, feeling oddly scrutinized by the woman. Fox dragged his eyes up to meet Houndthistle's gaze for the first time yet, hoping he didn't betray anything as his stomach lurched with feelings of.... something. He didn't know.

"What is this?"

"SPEECH"

​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Houndthistle's face remained locked on his son's, a single tear escaping his usually iron-clad visage as his ears flicked back, letting him push away. Houndthistle was never one for affection, rarely was he one for touch, but the sheer... intensity of seeing what he believed was his dead son made him only want to hold him close, keep him safe once more. And, it dawned on him, he did lose him. The words that Sun spoke, explaining he went back but Houndthistle was gone made him close his eyes, exhaling shakily. His own dreams and thoughts had been haunted by nightmares of his son's 3 moon old face telling him he was a horrible father, that him leaving that day was what got Sun taken, got him killed and it was all his fault.

As he inhaled to speak more, having forgotten entirely about his clanmates, Sootstar's voice rang out. A command, and Houndthistle's back stiffened, not turning around as he was suddenly aware he had gotten emotional infront of basically his leader and a good majority of his clan. The dampness on that one side of his cheek made him wonder, idly, when the last time he had cried had been, seeing as not even Tigerfrost's death had gotten such a visceral, vulnerable reaction out of him. He cleared his throat, lifting a large paw as though to clean his ear but really wiping that tear, before turning back to look at Sootstar and the rest of the patrol. His eyes flicked between each cat, hovering on Mirepaw a moment, scanning his reaction, before finally ending upon the Moor Queen herself.

As he's about to explain, Sun-"Fox?" Houndthistle questions, head turning in shock and confusion to his son who had named himself after that vulgar creature. He blinked, brows knitted, before flicking an ear, placing that one to be addressed later. He catches Fox's gaze, giving a nod of approval, glancing at Sootstar a moment to let her know she's been acknowledged and will explain in one second before giving Fox a more, wary, comforting pat to his shoulder. With that, he turned to address his leader. "I raised him when I was a loner. His mother... his mother wasn' able to care for anymore 'im, so on her request, I took 'im in as my own," He explained to Sootstar, steeling his previously emotional outburst to return to atleast a more normal range of emotion for him, "'Bout three moons 'fore the Great Battle you had, I came home to where we stayed and found our den drenched in the scent of a fox. For an entire moon... I look't for 'im, thinkin' he survived, but when I came up with nothin', not even a body... I couldn' stand to be in the forest no-more. I left and came 'ere." He had gone into more detail to Gravelsnap about his son, but these were merely the facts, that's all anyone needed. Finally, he inhaled, looking at Fox.

"Home."

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  100%
  ⤷ no current wounds
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​