private FRIEND OR FOE —— silversmoke

[SLATE]

The past few days have brought a whirlwind of change, in some ways personal and in some ways greater. Slate was a lead warrior of SkyClan no more, his reason why not divulged to the public but quietly accepted as he reeled back on his typical duties. The Maine Coon does not cease what he has always done, partaking in patrols and handling tasks around camp when needed.

In a period between work, Slate eyes the fresh-kill pile with interest — food was always enticing to the massive cat as his belly hungers to be filled to its brim. However, he spots the long-furred figure of a familiar silver tabby nearby. He was by himself, seemingly having parted from his new better half for the time being. A large part of Slate still wonders what the deal with that was; he knew they were friends, but he would have never surmised how close they were. The whole clan knew now whether they liked it or not. Slate is all the more motivated to keep his new circumstance as low-key as possible. He is not ashamed of it, as Silversmoke nor Johnnyflame probably isn't, but Slate erred on the side of privacy when it came to personal matters.

That being said, Slate was not keen on barraging Silversmoke with questions about his love life. It was not often that the two toms actually talked for the hell of it; they had come to some sort of silent mutual understanding moons ago and had left it ever since. The tom can't exactly guess where he stands in the silver tabby's eyes, but he assumes somewhere in the midst of neutrality. Tentatively he approaches, for a moment wondering if this was even worth it, before he decides to grunt out, "Well-rested?"

While not necessarily the nosy type, Silversmoke's abrupt disappearance had impacted SkyClan as a whole. Slate had no issue with gauging details from the former lead warrior's capture. Besides, the role of twolegs intrigued Slate — Silversmoke did not appear marred or mistreated on the outside, save for his new battle scars, so what exactly had occurred in the past couple of weeks? "You're lucky to have escaped." It wasn't always easy to slip out of the grasp of a human, surely Silversmoke knew that. When they were intent on keeping their possessions in their iron grip, they would be hellbent on having their way. Shuttering windows, blocking exits... even so much as keeping animals in a cage where they could control them. "What did they do t'you?" He inquires, expecting an answer of some sort. Did they try to collar him? Pet him? Operate on him for whatever freakish reason they deemed necessary?

Vivid memories of Slate's steely prison and the foreign smells of humans and objects loomed in his mind. Disturbed by the return of these recollections, he twitches the end of his bushy tail.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

• @SILVERSMOKE

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  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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[SILVERSMOKE]

It was perhaps only once one felt safe and the adrenaline had fled their body that one could tell just how worn down they'd become. Johnnyflame had noticed it first; the disappearance of his coat's shine, the haggard way his limbs moved when he dragged himself to the warrior's den on the day of his return, all of it had made the tom appear older than ever before. A few days had passed since that time and though he could finally eat properly again, his limbs still burned from his marathon to freedom, as if he'd used energy reserves upon energy reserves to return home. He moved through the camp like mist, unseen, unintrusive, until he wasn't, and before him stood a creature that could see through his attempt at transparency. Meeting the area above Slate's eyes, Silversmoke's tail swayed slowly, gauging the other suspiciously.

They had been on... acceptable terms for some time, not friends, but not at each other's throats, able to work together for SkyClan's sake. But, within that brief fraction of time where he forgot himself, he could not help but see Slate as the bully that had once tried to take his eye, the rogue who would sneer and smile at his misfortune. He blinked, and a vision of his clanmate, houndlike but faithful, returned. A lump formed in his throat as he shook his head. "No," he admitted bluntly, presuming the maine coon would leave it at that. He did not. Silversmoke's eyes narrowed, as if seeking competition from the other tom, as if tempted to declare to him that it'd been skill, not luck, that had set him free.

He'd be lying if he tried to deny the truth, worse than that, he'd be disenfranchising the times his skill had saved him.

The silver tom's shoulders slouched in defeat, nodding slowly at the other's sentiment. "I know, I hate it. Victories should be earned, but I did none of the planning for my escape, all I had to do was run... it's hardly fitting for a warrior." Had StarClan granted him such strength, he'd have fought for his freedom and battled every Twoleg he came across until he either sat within his home again or died trying. But he had weakness, and fear of those who walked on two legs had gripped him to the point of paralysis for most of his time. Every day he longed for SkyClan, but what he couldn't admit was everyday he had felt scared he would never see them again. He reclined on his haunches when it became evident Slate was going to speak to him for longer, wincing slightly as his muscles contorted.

"They fixed my back and put a cone around my neck. But other than that... they left me alone. Everytime they approached me, I reminded them that they stole me from my home, after the second time I made them bleed, perhaps they thought I would be more forgiving if they gave me some space." He was not. Vengeance ran as freely as blood within the tabby's veins, even if a part of him realized the idiot had only tried to help him, pride could not shed the feeling that he had been irreparably wronged. "...There was something though, a phrase they kept repeating to me as if I should know it. Mike? Mike Roe?" His brows raised, head tilt accompanied by a confused frown. "Do you know anything about that?" Slate had been captured before, hadn't he? It was a shared memory now, perhaps, somewhere, the black tom had heard about this dreaded Mike Roe.

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[SLATE]

It's foreign, witnessing the former lead warrior in such a dwindled state. Slate supposes he could recall feeling a similar way in the wake of his twoleg abduction — exhausted, out of practice, and mentally recovering from the horrors he'd been subjected to while locked away. From the sounds of it, Silversmoke had not been taken to the dreaded Shelter, but that did not mean that he still couldn't have experienced human cruelty.

Silversmoke's commitment to preserving his honor nearly prompted an eye-roll — while Slate understood wanting to achieve success through one's own efforts, such as in a hunt or fight, twolegs were a different level of threat altogether. If the silver tabby had to escape with the first opportunity he was afforded, dipping out the back door or otherwise, then so be it. Twolegs were far more powerful than cats—than most animals, in fact—so it was difficult for the ex-rogue to view making a narrow escape as weak. "You did what you had to." The tom grunts in a half-hearted attempt to reassure the other, though he doubts that any words coming from him would be of any comfort.

Intrigued, Slate pricks his mangled ears as Silversmoke details his encounters with the humans. They had fixed him and affixed a mark of ownership ( assuming that was what a "cone" was ) and had refused to allow him to leave the premises. It sounded awfully familiar to the Shelter, when the twolegs had removed the mites from his ear and imprisoned him in a steely trap. They wanted to control animals for their own selfish reasons. "They were tryin' to make a kittypet out of you." Slate figures, slightly wrinkling his nose in disgust and sporting a disapproving frown. "If you hadn't run, then they might've done to you what they did to Daisyflight." The Maine Coon needn't say more, knowing that Silversmoke remembered what had become of the she-cat's fate. She had, presumably, lashed out at the humans one too many times which had sealed her unfortunate demise. The former deputy had not returned home with the escape party.

Faux brows furrow as the silver tabby tom confides in Slate a rather peculiar term that the twolegs had used: "Mike Roe". It had been many seasons since Slate had lived under a human's roof; he faintly remembered some of their language but not a lot. "Mike Roe" was not something that he could recall hearing. "No." The amber-eyed tom shakes his head. "Twolegs are strange. I'll never understand them." He rumbles.

Speaking of twolegs, Slate thinks of the strange tom that had shown up on SkyClan's borders with the purpose of updating the clan on Silversmoke's whereabouts. He had not been there to witness it himself but had heard talk from other members of the clan. "That kittypet of theirs seemed pretty concerned. He said that you saved his life." Presumably from the rogue that he'd killed, which could explain why the tom had felt an obligation to see to it that Silver returned home safely.

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

• this is so late but i wanted to get a reply in anyway </3 don't feel obligated to follow up!

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  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-two moons. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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