Life had not been kind to Ghost. It had not been kind to any of the Soldiers within the Coalition. Mass produced in a program to create expendable fighters for the main group, most of them didn't live to see their first year, let alone get the chance to experience a full life. Torn apart by dogs or rival groups, it was a cruel, painful fate that awaited most of them. Sometimes though, Ghost wondered if it was better that way.
He'd been born under a different name, the eighteenth kit born in that very first wave of child soldiers. And aside from Nineteen -a tomkit from the litter after his that eventually went on to serve as his squadmate- he'd outlived every single one of the cats from those first five litters. And every few months another wave of new soldiers was born and then trained, sorted into squads and thrown on the frontline to chase out stray dogs or ambush rival groups. And he watched them die to.
In the beginning it used to hurt. Every time he lost a friend it was like a knew knife lodged itself into his chest. Everytime he was given a new soldier to work with or was placed in a new squad, a piece of him died when they did. And so he'd learned to stop making friends. To stop caring altogether.
And thus, Ghost was born.
The day the Coalition betrayed him and his group, slaughtering his squad in a double-cross that only farther proved how little the higher ups thought of the soldiers, he'd made sure to let Eighteen die there too. No more weakness. No more pain. None of the things that were attatched to who he used to be.
Because the things you cared about were the things that hurt the most.
"Oi, boys! You free this morning? We can head out and I can teach you two to hunt rabbits real windclan style!"
Mothmeadow.
He wasn't surprised at how close her and Nut had gotten since the Rogues first joined, both of them seeming to share a similar spark. Ghost couldn't say he shared it with them. He'd learned to stop shining ages ago, more at home in pitch black and shadows. He was wary of her in the same way that he was wary of Puff, concerned of the effect she'd have on his fellow soldier. He'd already lost Nineteen to the softness of another cat, and for some reason the idea of losing Nut to another left some part of him agitated.
That being said, he didn't dislike Mothmeadow.
"I didn't know you could fly, Moth,"
Ghost made his way over alongside the lilac tom, stoic and silent as the two exchanged words.
He'd only hunted rabbits a few times with Nathanos back when they'd both joined, the two of them working as a team to capture the long-eared bastards since both toms were ridiculously large. And that by no means meant that Ghost was slow, because he wasn't. His legs were long which made for large strides, and his reflexes were shockingly fast, but none of that changed the fact that he was a heavy cat, not build to excel and turn on a dime like most of the Windclanners were. Nut, while much shorter, was a stocky cat with muscle mass that probably didn't help him out all that much either, but since the scottish idiot didn't seem like he was about to turn down her offer, Ghost figured he'd might as well go to keep an eye on things too.
Besides, there was nothing wrong with learning some new tactics, even if he could only ever apply them in theory.
"It's in her name, ain't it? Moths fly." he replied to Nuts comment before letting dark amber eyes land on Mothmeadow. "I used to hunt rabbits with Nathanos when we first joined, but the bloody things are too quick for me to catch on my own. Don't suppose you got any tips for that outside of 'get faster', do ya?"
rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes
