I SEE YOU, YOU SEE ME // stuck in the mud


Jun 8, 2022

The marsh was always wet and murky, but it wasn't always muddy.
Dusty has found himself in quite the predicament, after chasing a swiftly leaping frog on solid ground he had decided to run right through a stretch of mud. He's done it before, it gets you a little dirty but that was a part of the hunt sometimes! But this time? He has made a grave mistake.

Several minutes have since passed as the long-furred tom scrambled and slipped around in the mud, which was evident to anyone who may have seen him as his coat smeared with the substance that trapped him. Hell, he was even certain it somehow had gotten in his mouth as all he could taste was dirt. Dammit... how embarrassing, his inner-voice groans before he once more slips and falls with a humph. Luckily landing on mud wasn't the hardest of falls... still wasn't like a feather either. He was bound to wake up with sore bruises tomorrow, yet his main concern was any of his group mates stumbling upon him... Oh! And stars forbid his family, they would be the ones to not let him forget about the time he got stuck.

He continues to squirm when suddenly he hears the sound of water sloshing around and low chattering. Cats were nearing... His heart-beat spikes in pre-embarrassment, not knowing what else to do he drops flat to the ground, pressing up as close to the mud puddle as he can. A silent prayer is sent to whatever gods there were watching above that his pelt hid him enough and his group-mates would walk right on past... not bothering to give the mud puddle a second look.


╰☆☆ Though she is engaged in conversation, Flicker's observational skills are sharp. Despite being born in the oak forest, her moons in Briar's colony had gifted her with the uncanny ability to discern mud from slime from bog water, a toad's scent from a frog's from a lizard's. She knows her home, and she knows her groupmates.

Perhaps if she'd not been on the lookout for a bite to eat, Dusty would have been safe from her roaming orange eye. But there's a barely recognizable chunk of tawny and white fur lodged in the swampy ooze, and she stops to stare.

"Dusty? That you rolling in the mud?" She grins, pausing so she can let her companions catch up to her. "Cool new hunting technique. Y'know. Becoming the frog."

After a moment, the thrilling and hilarious idea that Dusty might be stuck occurs to her. He's absolutely drenched in muddy water, and she can see spots where he's attempted to stand and backslid all over again. If he thinks I'm gonna help him out, he's got another thing comin', she thinks, and her smile widens.
( ) the marshes are a fickle thing, bigfoot believed that traversing these muddied fields are not easy for paws not built for it. his, large and webbed, manage to capture enough surface to keep him stable. it seems the land has claimed another victim, and the molly above him gloats over her state of being free.

sadly, her enjoyment would end soon with the appearance of bigfoot, who would never really see the point of letting someone stay around in the mud if they did not wish to. although, he thinks that it could have some calming properties. maybe because mud is always cool. "you're not gonna help him?" the beast drawls, eyeing the molly and the poor soul wriggling in the consuming mud. he does not know their relation to each other, in fact, he barely knows these cats.

it's kinda hard to keep track of them all.

"I wouldn't wriggle much. sometimes mud sinks ya' in more. lot harder to get out then." his eyes dance about the scene as the sentence rolls out of his mouth with seemingly no concern. he's trying to think of what to do, other than grab the tom by the scruff and start pulling. "I think I could either grab you and pull, or you grab onto me and pull." it's a choice, at the very least. bigfoot is a, well, big cat. he just hopes he has the strength to pull the poor tom out.
Howling Wind steps gingerly through the damp pine needles, trying her best to ignore the mud coating her paws. One would think that the seasons she's spent here raising her kits would have acclimated her to the environment, but that wasn't the case. No, she isn't fond of the mud that stains her tongue as she grooms her pelt throughout each day, desperately trying to keep it clean. She never did grow fond of the musty, stale smell that lingered here. Some of her denmates believed it to be peaceful here; she stays for survival, knowing her family is safe with the numbers. That, and she is loyal to the friends she's made, like their leader. Still, that didn't mean she had to like their home all that much.

Flicker's voice catches her off guard and she turns towards her in surprise as her son's name is called. With her ears perked, she strides forward to stand beside the tortoiseshell just as Bigfoot joins them, and lo and behold, there is her first-born son, caked in gooey mud and slumped flat against the ground. First, a blink of surprise is all she displays on her face before a gentle purr of amusement rises up within her. "What are you doing?" She trills, already making her way down to help him out if he needed it.​
( ) Gray has lived in the marshland his entire life, yet he still loathes his 'home' just the same. The mud that catches between his toes and clings to his fur, the slimy amphibians they call food, the stench. He only remains here out of familial obligation... The dark-furred tom doesn't understand why his parents would ever choose to live in such a dump. Desperation, he supposed. After all, there's safety in numbers.

Side-by-side with his mother, Gray is pulled towards Flicker's snickering with a similar curiosity. His older brother's name departs Flicker's lips mere heartbeats before Gray's eyes catch sight of his kin, tawny fur caked in mud. An amused snort is exhaled sharply through his nose, a crooked smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. "Hah! Good luck washing that out of your fur." Gray allows his mother to help Dusty while he lingers next to Flicker. There's no way he's getting himself stuck right alongside Dusty. He surpresses a shudder at the ghostly taste of mulch upon his tongue at the thought of having to clean up all of that mud. "You're gonna be smelling like frog dung for a quarter moon at least."

Fire had been looking for Bigfoot when she stumbled upon the scene. Her fiery form slipped up beside the large tom, her head tilted in question at what exactly was going on. Was Dust stuck? Her emerald gaze would move from Flicker to Howling to Gray as the reactions ranged from amused indifference to teasing.

Fire would look around for a moment and then meowed softly, "Maybe we can find something for Dust to bite onto and then pull him out together?" She turned to look at Bigfoot, as if seeking his approval for her idea as her tail swished behind her in a growing concern. Her gaze would find Dust once more and she would offer her group mate a silent comforting smile. Perhaps once they got him out she should help him clean up before going back to camp.
Slime likes the marshes. The snowy sections of his coat give him away amongst the shadows, but he enjoys it nonetheless. He isn't able to navigate it any better than his peers, though he had every opportunity to slip away to cleaner, more solid-ground places, he doesn't. He wants to carve out a home here, however young and new he is, and that's enough to get him adapted to the mud and swampy waters. Plus, it's fun to watch others grimace and try to weave clumps of mud from their pelts (especially when he isn't also assigned with the task).

"You've got yourself in trouble!" he caws at Dusty, shoulders shaking with laughter. "I wouldn't have seen you, 'cept everyone else is gawking at you like a drowned rat." The tortie contemplates sitting back and watching the rescue effort, but karma was dedicated.​