I'LL WRECK THIS IF I HAVE TO — windclan hunting patrol.

[THISTLEPAW !]

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The gorge is a terrifying sight. As they cross the twoleg bridge connecting their territories, Thistlepaw feels a chill down his spine at the sight of the sudden drop on the earth. How many lives had been lost, and how many more would be? But he would risk it. He would risk death if it meant feeding the Clan, would risk it if it meant taking a Riverclanner down with him. He doesn't feel bad to be stealing from them, not after everything they've done and taken from him and WindClan. The seal-point can see it clearly, the body of his mother lying on this very bridge as she gives her life for a RiverClan apprentice, only to be paid off in humiliation and laughter

"The fish-faces shouldn't mind sharing, they got the river all to themselves." He mutters to his littermate with a snort. His statement was true. . . RiverClan could fish all they want, whenever they wanted. So this trespassing was fine, StarClan would forgive them — it was a matter of life and death for them.

Glancing at the river with scorn, Thistlepaw turns the other way. "I'm not getting my paws wet," Not in this weather, at least. But he might as well leave the fishing to RiverClan, it's their thing. And he is rewarded in his stubborness as he catches the scent of something nearby. Diving into the frosted reeds, the apprentice returns with a water vole in his jaws.

𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 *:･ﾟ✧ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓

• 
  ooc. — @GRAVELSNAP @SEDGEPOUNCE @bunnypaw
  Rolled a 4 ( encounter ), 15 ( keeps prey ) and 4 ( prey size ). 1 point!
  
• 
  

  LH Seal-point with low white​

  
• 
  
  
  THISTLEPAW he / him apprentice of windclan
  son of Rattleheart x Venomstrike, brother to Bunnypaw, Crunchykit, Breezepaw and Splinterpaw.
  Lissom seal-point prickly-furred apprentice with white markings on his face, chest, belly, paws and tail. His tail is long and has a tufted tip.
  "speech" thoughts

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

➴➴ In the years they have lived in WindClan's territory (and it is hard to believe that it's been years, they think) Gravelsnap has never been keen on straying too close to the wetlands. The last time they had, it was due to necessity—to keep Peri's litter of kits safe. Now, it is due to necessity as well, but not borne of a need to keep anyone safe. Now, it is hunger that drives them and their clanmates (and in Thistlepaw's case, a bit of spite, but they won't deny him that). As they cross the bridge into RiverClan land, the river's rushing fills their ears with static. They have a clear escape route if they need to flee.

"Keep an eye out for enemies, and stay close to the bridge," they say to the patrol, eel-black tail flickering behind them as they pick their way through mud and rocks. They don't enjoy the idea of crossing into unknown territory, risking being caught and pummeled by a RiverClan patrol, but they justify it easily. Peri has been sickly for as long as they have known him, and he is likely to fall ill once again with the early-onset cold weather. They will need to help provide for their mate, and they will do so gladly. After the terror of nearly losing him—once, twice, how many times—they will not let him slip away to something so small as a chill.

They glance across the territory, and just in time they spot a mouse scurrying through the sparse brush. Its path is marked by a rustling of fallen leaves, making it easy for the warrior to snag it in his maw. He returns to the patrol, to his apprentices, with raised brows and a small smile upon his face. Thistlepaw has managed to catch something of substance, at least. "Good catch." He speaks through a mouthful of mouse, but his words are hopefully clear enough to understand.

I DON'T NEED THE STARS ➼ I GLOW IN THE DARK

• ooc: rolled 19 (keeps prey) & 9 (small prey)
  apprentice tag @SHEEPPAW
• 
• GRAVELSNAP ❯❯ they/he, moor runner of windclan
  ⭃ average-sized black and white warrior who seems smaller than he is. speaks rarely and quietly.
  ⭃ mate to periwinklebreeze ; sibling to slateheart
  ⭃ mentoring sheeppaw & thistlepaw ; formerly mentored thriftfeather
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay is allowed, but they hate physical contact & will lash out if not close friends / family
  ⭃ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[SHEEPPAW]

As the patrol crossed the bridge into Riverclan touched land, the river to the side was rushing to his ears like static. He swivels an ear towards his mentor, nodding in agreement as he slides his focus to the other apprentices on the patrol. He splits from the patrol, his plumy tail hardly touching the mud and the rocks littered on the ground. The black smoke didn't want to get pummeled by a Riverclan patrol, no thank you.

The cold felt like a comfort to him, as he pressed a paw forward. Nose tilted up to scent anything worthy nearby. The scent of rodent catches upon the wind, making his nose twitch. Carefully dropping into a hunting crouch, she stalks off in the sparse frozen - over grass. A mouse. That's easy enough. Should've been easy enough to catch with her claws, she stalks towards the distracted prey. Closer until she is at a pouncing distance when-

The mouse pauses in whatever it is doing before it scurries away into the underbrush. Sheeppw lets out a sigh and returns to the group empty - pawed. Her tail twitches in frustration. "Had some bad luck catching something..." He grumbles as he slithers up next to his mentor, brows knitted together.

⊹ ⏜ ۫ . 𝙎𝙉𝙊𝙊𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙐𝘿𝙎 ᶻ 𝘾𝘼𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘽𝙐𝙄𝙇𝘿

• ooc. rolled a 7 (failure) & 4 (mouse)
  POINTS: 0
• no ref yet </3
• ( WHAT? THE FACE? ) ꕤ ‧₊˚. SHEEPPAW. ╱ windclan apprentice.
  ⤷ CLOSETED GENDERFLUID ; HE / SHE
  ✶ CURRENTLY 12 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 29TH.
  ✶ undecided / not actively looking — mentoring none.
  ✶ a lanky, longhaired black smoke with high white and blue eyes
  ✶ thoughts ; "Speech, B9D6F2" ; attacks only
  ✶ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✶ smells like night air & windblown heather
  — all opinions are ic
  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone

​

 

[ROWANPAW]

Rowanpaw didn't like this. They weren't much of a rule-stickler, a feline who vehemently insisted on enforcing the Warrior Code and tattling on anyone who didn't abide by the sacred laws, but they possessed a moral compass that only strengthened as their maturity developed. They wanted to follow the code because it was there for a reason, but, would dire circumstances be enough for Rowanpaw to bend their beliefs?

This internal conflict bubbles and boils uncomfortably in the pit of their stomach as the patrol crosses over the bridge to RiverClan. This is so strange and wrong, but... they could smell prey nearby. WindClan needed to feed themselves.

Managing to block out the voices around them and fix their attention on a grazing rabbit nearby, Rowanpaw dropped into a hunting crouch. They did not hunt above ground often; another set of skills was required in order to track and kill prey outside of the close proximity of the tunnels. Rowanpaw knew the basics of a moor runner-style of hunting, though, and their confidence ( and perhaps luck ) paid off. A medium-sized rabbit is taken into the small chimera's jaws, almost too large for them to carry entirely. Hopefully they could speed this along so that they could leave without confrontation...

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐃 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍

• roll: 15 ( finds prey )
  prey size: 13 ( medium )
  pts: 2

• 

• 

  — rowanpaw / eleven moons / they/she pronouns
  — windclan tunneler apprentice / mentored by swiftshade
  — snakehiss† x berrysnap / littermate to viperpaw and privetfrost
  — sh black/tortie chimera w/ blue and amber heterochromia, scratches across right eye
  — click for tags

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[DIMMINGSUN]

Just like the others, Dimmingsun has history with this place. He traverses the land with an expression crafted of stone; traverses with his jaw set, tight enough to hurt, but not nearly as much as the memory of Bluepool's death. Perhaps if he listens hard enough, he will hear the echo of a star... of Bluepool telling him he is a fool. After all, none of it had stopped him from coming here for round two.

But he cannot strain to hear above the howl of the wind. Dimmingsun has to focus on feeding his Clanmates — whatever the cost may be.

Had it been worth to try and steal prey back then, after the moorlands had been seared and burned down into mere piles of ash? It is hard to tell... and he may never be able to, for he does not possess the otherworldly wisdom of evident ancestors. He only has his instincts and gut feelings to listen to, regardless of how good or bad that might be.

"Maybe they're asleep," he muses at Gravelsnap's warning. Of course, impulsive as he might be, Dimmingsun is not about to drop his guard due to a lack of RiverClanners. They could be lurking in any corner, and the patrol has apprentices.

Try as he might, Dimmingsun cannot catch a whiff of anything- not even fish, though he has to wonder if those even emit anything at all. The cold seeps into his bones and snips his focus; the frustration that wells up does not help much either. "And so is the prey... or maybe my nose."

He is about to give up, but ironically, it is the arrival of RiverClanners that alert him. Darkened blobs move on the horizon with their tails high in the air; no doubt coming for the trespassers, but in their haste, they send a mouse scurrying for its life... right into Dimmingsun's eager claws and hungry teeth. "I got it!" A yowl of triumph erupts from him — finally, finally, he is not the only one returning home with empty paws.

Rolled 18 & 5; 1 point.

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

Why are we doing this? A dark flame burns through him, growing heavier the closer the patrol treks to RiverClan territory. More specifically: Why am I doing this?

WindClan is hungry. It's this constant, pressing weight, a looming omen burnishing the horizon. It's no different than when the moor was burned away, only now the land is scorched with frost, and they prey makes itself similarly scarce. Is this what they resort to whenever the going gets tough? Stealing from perceived conglomerate enemy—nevermind that every clan's got a few bad apples, and even WindClan still suffers from the outside belief that they're all a bunch of heathenous, kit-stealing rogues. The Warrior Code can't just be for good times. Hardship can't be an excuse to erupt into chaos. It's fine because it's RiverClan. Sure.

They're all suffering the coldsnap. Sedgeoounce would rather scour the moor over and over than succumb to this. But...Bunnypaw. In the patrol's meadow-long trek, Sedgepounce fixes a troubled glance to the back of his apprentice's head. One of the only times Bunnypaw's ever shown a lick of conviction, and it's to follow her brother to RiverClan to steal. Shoulder to shoulder with him now, Bunnypaw's feet tread the place her mother died, all for the sake of vengeance-blinded Thistlepaw. Too bad the Rattleheart he knew wouldn't have raised his kits to be so hateful.

Standing on the rough-hewn planks of the Twoleg Bridge, Sedgepounce makes his choice. He keeps an eye on Bunnypaw, ready—even as his fangs find a skinny water vole—to shield her from harm's way, whenever this patrol inevitably bites them all in the ass.

// rolled a 17 & 8 for 1 point!
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[bunnypaw]

Thistlepaw said it'll be fine. Her brother did not need to convince her whatsoever, did not need to plead or beg; all he had to say was that it'll be fine. She trusts him wholeheartedly, even as said heart thrums like a rabbit in a tunnel in her chest. She watches as left and right, cats catch voles and rabbits with no clear RiverClanner in sight. If she saw the little tom who got her mother killed... would that justify this theft? Would having him watch her take down one of their mice, their squirrels, their birds - would that correct everything in the end?

A mouse parades passed her paws, chased by the hungry trample of another cat. Bunnypaw stares numbly, not realizing how she has stilled so suddenly. Thistlepaw has caught something, as has his mentor and her mentor. As has some apprentices, and Dimmingsun, but she... she cannot. Her paws backpedal to the bridge once again, and she looks to Sedgepounce with a miserable, "Can we just go home?" falling from her tongue.

[ rolled a 9 and lost prey :( ]​

 

[SHAGGYDOG]

Shaggydog prowls at the rear of the patrol, its pawsteps silent on the frost-tipped earth. It cares little for the bridge, the river, or the distant murmur of conversation among its Clanmates. The rush of the water, so loud to others, is a dull thrum in its ears, a backdrop that neither soothes nor distracts. Its mind is focused elsewhere. Hunger claws at its belly, and with it comes frustration, sharp as the biting cold. It doesn't think of StarClan or the justification of crossing this border—philosophy is for cats with full stomachs. This is about survival, plain and simple. WindClan needs prey, and prey is here. The rest is irrelevant.

The faint scent of mouse reaches its nose, cutting through the icy air like a thread of warmth. Shaggydog freezes, one paw raised mid-step, ears swiveling to catch the faintest rustle of leaves. There it is—a flicker of movement beneath a thorny shrub, brown fur blending with the brittle underbrush. Dropping low, its body presses against the cold ground, long fur brushing against the frozen stalks of grass. Each step forward is deliberate, weight shifted to minimize sound. It creeps closer, muscles coiled, breath held. The mouse is oblivious, its tiny paws scrabbling at the earth.

Closer. Closer still.

Then, a gust of wind ripples across the moor, carrying Shaggydog's scent straight to the mouse. It stiffens, whiskers twitching, before bolting for the safety of a nearby burrow. Shaggydog lunges, claws swiping at empty air. The mouse vanishes, leaving nothing but a faint trace of its scent and the rustle of disturbed leaves.

Shaggydog stands there, breath visible in the chill, its claws sinking into the dirt. It watches the empty space where the mouse disappeared, the sharp sting of failure tightening its jaw. It doesn't sigh or curse; it simply turns away, tail flicking once in irritation, and pads back toward the patrol. "Mouse slipped past," it says bluntly as it rejoins the group, voice as even as if it had been discussing the weather. It doesn't bother to explain or soften the failure with excuses. Its sharp green eyes flick over the others, noting their catches—or lack thereof. Without another word, Shaggydog sits back, licking the frost from its paws. There will be other chances. There always are.

[ rolled an 11, found prey but lost it ]​