Word travels fast.

He's heard about the group that lives in the marsh lands. Heard about them all his life. Not once had he had interest in going towards them. But- especially as of late- Larkspur's been hearing about a second group. A group causing trouble for those marsh cats. Ones that have decided to take up part of the forest, to live in the pines. Kittypets, some have claimed.

For one reason or another, the brown and white tom finds intrigue in this second group. Why would kittypets want to live out in the forest? Why couldn't the marsh folk just, kick them out? Truly if they were kittypets, they could just send them back to their twolegs, right?

He leaves the moorlands he's stuck around - in some way, shape, or form - all his life, looking for answers, to see if these ever-so-powerful kittypets are even real. Pine needles stick to his pelt as he wanders through the coniferous forest. Of all the places those kittypets could settle, they chose here? Couldn't they choose somewhere more... open?

A white paw steps on something sharp, and Larkspur hisses at the pain.

"Stupid forest," he mutters to himself, lifting his paw to inspect it. Out of all the rumors he's heard, why did he choose to investigate the validity of this one?
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Feeding a whole group was never easy. He supposed it was easier to ignore the grumbling of ones stomach when there were kits to feed, but he didn't enjoy the idea of starving himself. He loved the kits here, he truly did- but there was a war just on the horizon. And nobody wanted to fight in a war where they could die at any time.

The sound of twigs snapping catches the napping tom's attention, his arms swinging limply from the tree branch he was currently on. A quick glance down allowed him to take notice of just exactly who or what it was. A cat, foreign to him, cursing the forest- and a chuckle is drawn from yawning lips soon after.

"You know, keep cursing the forest and it might just bite you again." The tom called from above, standing up to carefully walk across the branch and over to the tree trunk, using his claws as friction to help him slide down. When he landed with a soft thump, the tom waltzed over with a nervous grin. "The name's Vermilion. You can call me Ver. What brings you to our forest, um...?" He asked, drawing it out in question- did he say his name? He didn't think he did.

White paws jump back as a voice echoes from above. Pale eyes scan the area, the canopy of trees, for the voice's owner. A flash of flaming fur reveals the owner of the voice, the flame-point soon landing in front of him. Larkspur takes another step back.

Perhaps, he should've thought harder about this. Perhaps, Larkspur should have realized that going into hostile territory - while tensions were supposedly at its highest - was not at all a good idea.

He supposes he's lucky though - the feline in front of him seems to not mean harm. Unless his demeanor's all just a rouse, to lead Larkspur into thinking he was friendly, only to attack him later.

"Larkspur," he feeds his name to the tom, Vermilion. "I heard there's trouble brewing. Thought I'd take a look around. Don't know what I was expecting, really."

He stops for a moment, wondering - was this one of the kittypets? The reason for the marsh group's troubles? Larkspur looks back up at the trees around them. Were any more of them hanging around up there, waiting to attack?

"I mean, surely a group of kittypets wouldn't be cause for trouble for marsh cats, right?"
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Vermilion tilted his head at the tom's name- odd, that one. He shrugged his shoulders, the mention of trouble brewing causing his tail to flick nervously. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping nobody would come or eavesdrop, before he turned back and chuckled bitterly.

"Oh no, there's trouble brewing for sure. Not exactly if we started it, though. Marsh cats were stealing food from the land we settled on, and it caused some squabbles. Don't get me wrong, though. We're not all kittypets. I don't know why they call all of us that, it's very odd to me. I came from lands a good ways away from here- I'm as wild as can be, I guess. Just not born under their customs. So I'm not what they consider to be 'pure' wildcat."

He shrugged his shoulders again after his ramble, tail flicking for the tom to follow him further away from the camp- for his group's safety, or Larkspur's own? One would never know when it came to Vermilion, as confusing as his morals were.

"I can show you around, if you like? It's not much, and the pines'll prick your pelt quite a bit."

Larkspur lets out an amused purr.

"Ah! So you lot are real then." Sure, it wasn't as silly of a tale as he'd heard. It was just some group of boring ol' cats taking up space the marsh group didn't want them too, rather than the bumbling group of kittypets he'd half expected to run into.

But still! Larkspur couldn't wait to see the looks on the faces of those he's heard such rumors from, couldn't wait to tell them that he'd met one of the very cats they were telling tales about.

And then, Vermilion offers to show him around. He couldn't pass such an offer up! The tales he could tell just from seeing where they live were endless!

"I think I can take a few more pine needles," he tells him with an assuring nod.
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