just a side character ♰ tadpoles

[Mourningbloom]

❝ TROUBLES WILL COME & THEY WILL PASS ❞​

With days getting warm and the snow melting away, he could feel a similar feeling across his pelt. A winter coat shedding, yet his long fur refusing to shorten, flowing down the sides of his face, off his legs, and his belly. He was just born that way, wasn't he? The chimera rolled his eyes at it. This never ending nightmare of fur. It bothered him. It was in his nest - in everyone's really, all of their fur slowly but surely leaving, but he only felt like it was so much worse with his own. It could have been true, but likely not. Surely there was someone else who had a worse shedding problem. Mourningbloom smiled at the thought. Not just himself. And that thought kept him company as he wandered the territory, carefully placing each paw in case he slipped into the swampy waters of ShadowClan's territory.

While he was not alone with his thoughts or with his fur problems, he absolutely was not alone in the territory. Life was coming back to the swamp, with croaks from frogs and toads all around. Boy, was he glad to hear that sound again. It grew louder as he walked, turning himself to the noise and heading towards it. Hunting wasn't a priority. Watching the toads could be fun, another learning experience with the territory. It's something he did growing up and training, but it never hurt to continue to watch. Could see something new, or something concerning. Mourningbloom didn't care what it was, so long as it could be entertaining to some degree. The tom placed himself against the edge of a deep-looking puddle, looking down at himself. A handsome cat, if I say so myself. He smiled at himself, before squinting curiously, head tilting.

Through his reflection, he saw... something. He wracked his brain to figure it out. How did toads work, again? They were like the birds, they had eggs, and then... "Tadpoles," he muttered, lowering himself towards the murky water. Quick, rapid movements under the water, hypnotizing and entertaining. Just what he wanted. "You all turn into something... not delicious, but good enough." He spoke to the tadpoles, to himself. His mind settled on that fact, and then he wondered... Would... tadpoles... taste good...? Blue eyes focused on the white across his face, back on his reflection once again. Idiot. They wouldn't. You aren't a kit. But.... A new light shined in his eyes, a playful and curious one. Tail twitching, he grinned before opening his mouth and plunging his face into the water, attempting to grab a small mouthful off them in his mouth.
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[BATCHASER]

Since newleaf began to sprout across the marshlands, Batchaser would slip out at night and wander the swamp. Today the lanky bicolor, pushed himself pass the undergrowth with a neutral expression on his face. Whip-like tail swept across the cool ground behind him. He felt like he should do something with his usual freetime from his dreadful warrior duties. Nevertheless, he continues to glide aimlessly around the territory. This time with a goal in mind.

All while he was alone with his fleeting thoughts, large ear swiveling to catch the croaks of toads and frogs around. He trudged through the swampy waters of the territory, as he heard a faint mumble from somewhere. He pauses his short hike, turning his head to perk up at seeing a clanmate. Ooh, Mourningbloom? What's he doing out here? With a tilt of his narrow head, the dark tom decided to join his chimera clanmate in doing.. whatever the other was doing. He is curious. Batchaser strutted through the waters on pale splashed dainty paws, with a slothful air surrounding him. A lazy creature as always.

"Ain't this a surprise." announcing his presence to his clanmate. Stopping next to Mourningbloom with a grin on his face, he inspected the other with a tilt of his head. Plopping down onto his haunches next to the other tom. He turns his focus down at the deep-looking puddle. Ah, tadpoles He watches as his clanmate dives his head into the water. He looks at the rapid movements of the squiggly creatures. "Hope those things taste good. If they even taste like anything." he commented, with a shrug of his shoulders.

OOC -` ♡ ´- DON'T WALK INTO THE FOG

•  
• no ref yet </3
• ( Ehhh ?! ) BATCHASER : warrior of shadowclan
  ➛ cismale ; HE / HIM, no problems with other pronouns ; currently 29 moons
  ➛ pansexual / single / not actively looking / open to crushes
  ➛ a tall, curly shorthaired oriental mix with half-lidded odd colored eyes.
  ➛ action , thoughts , "Speech , 7077A1"
  ➛ smells of rain-soaked pavement & sweet leaf rot
  
  - tags / @ on discord for plots
  - penned by calzone
  
  

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[smogstar]

Tadpoles, out and about already. Disappointment is made manifest in his already unpleasant demeanour; the delicate frown worsens into a dismayed pout, downwards-angled ears flatten against his skull. Thus far into Newleaf, Smogmaw had yet to stumble upon the swamp's most prized organic delicacy. Frogspawn. Delicious little globules of jelly, with the faintest hint of sweetness and the most peculiar, though appealing texture. He licks his chops as he thinks about it. Should the bogs already be bustling with tadpoles, it signaled that the eggs were depleting more swiftly than he had foreseen. A shame. A profoundly lamentable shame.

Following in Mourningbloom and Batchaser's wake, the deputy's shadow-striped limbs dance around puddles and squelch into sodden earth. With countless seasons spent in the wetlands, mud on his paws is a positively unbothersome sensation. What bothers him, though, is his two clanmates' discovery. "They taste better when they're still in their eggs," he remarks to Batchaser's appraisal, an undertone of surrender colouring his words. The tabby remains on all fours whilst the other sinks to the earth, but both are one in their keen observance.

Mourningbloom, mimicking a RiverClan cat with marked precision, plunges headfirst into the water intent on securing some tadpoles for himself. Smogmaw shall not join the younger cat, but he does not discourage him either. Not that it would matter, for his two-toned ears were submerged at the present. "Can't imagine them tadpoles are easy to chew," he comments idly, and a crinkle forms on his nose as he imagines the forthcoming words. "Those things prob'ly go down alive, eh? Imagine 'em, swimming around in your gullet." What a repulsive image. ​