LIFE SENTENCE ; hunting patrol

[ThistleBack]

The mouse had lost him in the tangled roots of a small evergreen. Somehow managing to dodge his fray of sharp claws that score and scrabble, spraying frozen soil with the violent sling of his knuckles. A deep growl tumbles from his jaws as he yanks at a frost dusted root, it wags and groans as he rips at it. Shoulders rocking as he pulls. It rips at a corner and he lets go with a angry throw of his head, it waggles in the air like a beheaded snake. Grey eyes narrow and menacing with glare.

Thistleback shakes out his fur, and shifts, breathing out with a sigh. " We can try the west side- by the river. I need to rest first " he mutters, snatching up a small branch to chew. He slams himself down next to the trunk of another pine, eyeing the rest of the hunting patrol. " or we can try our luck on the rockpile… east" he offers.

" no adders in this weather, so either is fair " he adds, gnawing on the stick.

​

OOC INFO REF

• — rolling die for catches on discord! feel free to do so too <3 Thistle catches nothing
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
• 
  
  

​

 

[QUILLSTRIKE]

CUZ I DONT REALLY LIKE ANYBODY​

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OOC- Quill rolled a 12 for prey, so he manages to catch a shrew! Quality was a 9/10, so its a big, plump sucker!

The world had turned bitterly cold in the span of a few weeks, and the long, warm days that Quill had been born into were gone, replaced with the dreary, frigid landscape that was currently surrounding him. His patchy coat had grown in thick to try and fight the chill, but not even that was able to fully spare him from the winter season. Even if it had, it probably wouldn't have made things any easier. The land around him would have still been dead and covered in snow, the prey barely running and the clan lacking the herbs Dawnglare needed to keep them from getting sick and dying.

As if to reflect just how bleak things could become if the clan wasn't careful, the patrol hadn't been having much luck that morning when it came to finding prey. Outside of a few cats who'd managed to get lucky, most were still waiting to catch that first piece of prey. Quillpaw, funnily enough, was among those lucky enough to have already made a catch.

He re-appeared among the patrol a few moments after Thistlebacks call rang out, drawing the tall chimera apprentice back toward his mentor and the rest of the group, a vole clutched in his jaws. The thing was rather large, and fat to boot, and he had half a mind to give it to Deersong and the kits once they made it back to camp.

He kept his expression schooled despite the mild satisfaction he felt at seeing Thistleback winded and irritable, still sore over all the training a rude wake up calls he'd been given over the last several weeks. Instead he nodded and made his way over to a nearbytree and began to dig out a hole to stash his kill in so he could keep hunting with the patrol.

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skyclan - male - 8 months - bisexual - homoromantic - single - very tall tabby tomcat with broad shoulders

 

[Finchfang]

Patrols were the bread and butter of a warrior's life, and Finchfang had long since perfected his ability to glide along to hunt or mark the border like an automaton, allowing his long, slender body to carry out the motions required of it while his mind wandered elsewhere. Some days simply required it; some days he needed to let his thoughts unwind, unhindered by concentration. But some days needed just the opposite, so he had also learned how to fully occupy his physical form, to feel each and every step, the breath of the wind on his whiskers, the thrum of insects in warm season or the harsh kiss of frost in leaf-bare. Some days he needed to keep a distance between himself and his mind, needed to fill his whole heart and soul up with the physical, with dirt between his toes and the salty, enticing taste of blood against his tongue.

And, speaking of blood, he had gotten lucky - the forest had given up one of its own to him. Which was just as well, since today was a day where he wanted nothing to do with his own thoughts. Finchfang carried a small sparrow gently between his jaws as he followed Quillpaw, depositing it in a groove beneath a rotted stump. Drawing a paw up to his face, he brushed an errant feather out of his whiskers and spoke quietly, addressing the lead warrior. "I would probably try my luck by the Rockpile." in his opinion, it was a better choice - the popular destination was popular for a reason, after all, and he was dreaming of the soft, fat mice who loved to dart between the weathered stones. Besides, going near the river meant going near to their border with RiverClan, and he simply couldn't find it in himself to keep an eye out for those fish-eaters. Not today, anyway.

His eyes wandered to the thick, meaty shrew the apprentice had caught and he gave an approving swish of his tail. "Though it looks like some cats don't need luck. Nice catch, Quillpaw." ​

 

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

His tail is twitching like a squirrel's as Fireflypaw rushes up a tree, sensitive eyes squinting and nose sniffing curiously as he tries to search for anything he could catch. Being on the ground was fine, but he found it much more fun to run amongst the trees. Big paws stabilized himself on the branch he was perched on, blue eyes peering down at the patrol below.

"Nice catch, Quill!" He adds on his own compliment, grinning down at the other tom. His ears perk as he hears scrabbling not far from him in another branch, pupils narrowing in focus as he shuffles around and along the branch he was on. Jumping onto another, landing with clumsy hold. His tail lashed behind him..

And then he leaped upwards, racing across a thick branch to chase after a bushy tail; teeth latching onto puffy fur as a resounding screech echoes from his prey. In his teeth is gripped a scrawny, scarred squirrel; twisting and turning in his jaws. He stomps a paw down onto the squirrel's body, before his teeth bite into the neck and snap it with ease. He lifts his kill up, pride swelling in his chest- his first catch..

"Huck! Huck! Look!" He calls down to his mentor, the sloppy kill bleeding down his chest; he'd need more practice, this was just instinct. Sloppy, and dangerous- he could have fallen. But he caught the squirrel nonetheless- luck was on his side just this once. Or maybe the squirrel was too old to run. He climbs down the tree, dragging the bloodied squirrel with him. Thistleback mentions something like going to another place, and Fireflypaw tilts his head. "Whadduwee godda do widdis?" He asks, mouth muffled by the saliva that poured out of his jaws and onto the squirrel in his mouth. It tasted so good.. He was so hungry, too..

@HUCKLEBERRY ​

 

[DUSTBREATH]

. . . the moment his teeth sink into thin, scrappy brown fur, a victory sound erupts from the depths of his throat despite himself. his paws ache from the cold, but the sudden splash of warm - iron blood dripping onto his barbed tongue warms him, fixes him in placebo comforts. it was familiar, the edge of hunger ; he'd grown with it, considered it a family friend. starvation haunted him like a shadow, ever - present amongst the concrete jungles of twolegplace. he quickly snaps the screeching creature's neck, ending it's life and lifts himself back to full height, it's limp body hanging plump from strong jaws and wasting no time returning back towards the sound of nearby voices. quillpaw and fireflypaw carry their own prizes and its with a chuckle that he joins them, tail lifted to express his pleasure, " look at you two, very impressive! " he speaks, vocals boyish and alight despite it's low, growling tone. he drops his vole, paws moving to break the ice underfoot and bury it shallow, " you'll be outhunting all of us before . . soon . ."

he's covering his kill, speaking, when he spots him — thrashing, just a few tail - lengths away. he stares, blinks, watches the lead warrior tear the root loose in a rage — watches the ripples of muscle along his back as he does, forces his gaze away, lets mischief warm the contours of his chocolate features. we can try the west side - by the river. tufted, curved ears lift upon his wedged skull and his steely expression brighten fractionally, by the river. if he were lucky, mudpelt would be out and about! he's mulling over seeing his brother again when thistle continues : i need to rest first. golden eyes fixate on the inkspill of a tom with a teasing snort — dashed with white, spiked like briar patches in snowfall. with his vole safe and buried underpaw, the young tom pads towards his senior, dropping into the power snow with a flourish.

dustbreath lands gently on a single shoulder, instantly moving to rub the top of his head against a patch of unfrosted grass, warming his wind - bitten features, " feeling your age, old man? " the chocolate tom meows slyly, flicking his dandelion gaze towards him with a demure grin. thistleback was hardly older than him, though he didn't know that ; the warrior was always a little brutish looking, older than he looked, but the steady flick - flick - flick of his tail gives away his playfulness. orphaned at a young age, he looked little better, only hidden away beneath the ruff of mocha fur that shrouds his lean frame. a paw lifts, tongue rasping over rounded knuckles before brushing rough over the curve of his cheek, suppressing a shudder at the brief warmth it brings. as much as he'd like to venture towards the rivers . . " i second the rockpile. " more cover, less ice. the rivers were crusted with frost the last he'd ventured that way, and he wasn't keen on freezing his paws off any more than he absolutely had to.

— out of character ( ⠀general information ⠀) visual reference —

• he rolled a 12 so the man catches a vole hehe
  
• ๘ ♱ ಎ : ⠀⠀ DUSTBREATH⠀⠀ —————— ⠀⠀dead - eyed ghost boy
  m. he / him, warrior of skyclan. a dark chocolate ticked tabby with vibrant honey eyes and curled ears. he is coltish, thin and whiplike, with a thick chocolate ruff riding around a broad, lean chest. he is mostly fluff ; oaken rivulets ticked with mocha ends that deepen towards the extremities, brown backdrop making dandelion gold luminaries even brighter. his ears are tufted and lightly curled, and behind him a large, billowing tail.
  
  − twenty seven moons, ages realistically. smells like fern and elderberry.
  − bisexual, single. apprentice to be decided, voiced by andy biersack.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  to be added
  

​

 

[Ashenclaw]

[ ☾ ] Large, blue paws moved across pale whiteness and crouched a few tail lengths from the rest of the hunting patrol. Narrowing green eyes onto that of a bird that had been chirping away as it waited for the rest of its flock to arrive to go south for the winter. Things moved smoothly across the snow and a fluffy tail stuck out behind him as it barely brushed the whiteness underpaw. Then there was a tense motion before taking a leap towards the bird, but one thing caught the blue tabby off guard; ice.

Those massive front paws slipped on the ice underpaw as they leapt upwards for the bird, falling short of the feathery creature and hitting the ground hard. Hailstones' chest hit the snow first before his chin did and he bit his tongue in the process, tasting blood almost instantly. There was a low growl of annoyance from the massive cat and a shake of his head to dislodge the snow from his muzzle and cheeks. Well that was an upmost failure of a catch. How did he not notice the ice under him? Now kittens might have to go to bed hungry tonight and it'd be on his head for it.

Hailstone gave a small huff in anger before marching back over to the patrol, seeing that young Quillpaw had caught something and Thistleback also was empty-pawed. He hoped neither of them saw his absolute failure of a fall on ice, but then again he fell so hard it cracked the ice under him. The blue tabby lashed his bushy tail back and forth for a moment, "No luck here either," He commented after Dustbreath seconded the idea of going to the rockpile.

speech

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[sheepcurl]

Though its a large hunting patrol she had been dying to get out of camp, especially since her wounds from the skirmish were now scarring over. She winds around the trees and makes sure her apprentice is following her; it'd be her fault if he got hurt in the weather and shes not sure if she could stand to see poor Green hurt next. She flicks her tail, stops and lets him fall besides her before she turns to speak to him. "Be careful, cariño, make sure you remember my advice okay? Always stick downwind from your prey and watch for ice-" she can't help but giggle at Hail's failure, guilt sparking in her chest.

She breaks off real quick, scenting the air with minor frustration. Trails were stale and almost immediately she knows in the back of her mind she won't catch anything. Ears perk but to no avail, only faint chattering and... Unfortunately no bird song, at least not to her ears and with a huff she shakes her head, decides to head back with a huff, returning to Thistleback and nodding along his words before three cats show up with prey. Ah! At least the patrol won't come back completely empty-pawed this time. "Any luck, hijo?" she'd address her apprentice when he returns as she keeps her vision on the prey the others brought, silently hoping he got something.

// @GREENPAW ​

"speech"​

 

[GREENEYES]

His outings in SkyClan's time of grieving have been few and far between. It's Sheepcurl that urges him out, whether of her own volition or not. It's a hunting patrol they find themselves on, one rather large - rather anxiety-inducing, the amount of warriors he could curse. But, Sheepcurl and Fireflypaw are here with him, a fact that keeps his nerves at bay.

He keeps close to his mentor, paws stepping carefully in snowy paths - terrain no longer powdery and soft, but glazed in ice. Greenpaw watches with wide eyes as Hailstone breaks away, as he attempts to catch a bird that'd made it's unfortunate arrival on their patrol. A leap upward staggered by an icy boost leads to an opportunity for the bird to escape, and an opportunity for Sheepcurl to speak to Greenpaw. An urge to be careful, to remember his training as they prepare to break off from the patrol.

"I'll be okay," he promises her with a nod, though his words are shaky with nerves that begin to rise within him. The orange tom wanders off in search of prey and a reason to make Sheepcurl proud. With leaps always too clumsy to succeed in a kill, the kid has yet to produce his first catch. And, oh, how proud Sheepcurl would be, if he could find something and bring it back! A happy moment deserved, in dark times.

He tries to remember what he's told, tries his best as he begins to follow the scent trail of a mouse. Tracking, he could do. Tracking was the easy part for him.

Greenpaw stops in his tracks. There. A small thing, but food nonetheless. Slowly, he begins to creep up on it, and, for a moment, he forgets to be careful. He forgets, and feels a foot slip as he steps forward, ice-glazed snow breaking beneath him with a sharp crunch. It startles the mouse and it promptly skurries away. No, no!

He races forward, trying to chase after the creature. Greenpaw nears it, and it's within paw's reach, but he still finds himself failing as it runs under bushes. He loses track of it, and is left without food to bring back. Great.

Dejected, the apprentice returns to the patrol with flattened ears. Sheepcurl sounds so hopeful when she speaks to him, but all Greenpaw can do is shake his head. "It got away," he tells her, disappointment heavy in his voice as he spots others with their own catches - Fireflypaw with a squirrel in his mouth.

Their patrol is successful, but Greenpaw would have liked to catch something too.
​

 

[ThistleBack]

[ speaking to Quillpaw , mentioning Soil ]

Quillpaw’s jaws are weighted by the success of a proper hunt. The former stray in Thistleback’s soul itched with the flea of ambition, but the growth of mold named wisdom made his tight frown crack into a smirk. He nods back to the striped prodigy with silent approval. " That should go right to Soil when we get back to camp. I hear he isn’t feeling well " he murmurs, knowing the kid would probably weasel it over to Thistle’s little family. While the piebald secretly endorsed Quillpaw looking after his beloveds, he made no comment of it. Deersong did that for him, he knew.

[ speaking to Dustbreath ]

Dustbreath buries his own kill, and settles restfully next to the heavily breathing warrior. The exertion of brief rage desired just a few more draws, but not before a teasing test of words is brushed over nicked white ear tips, curved up to the skies like battered horns. A wide spread smile flashes over his maw, and his bladed tongue darts out to lick over his incisors in pretended offense. He meets honey eyes, and a playfully flicking tail. " you wanna feel that vole shoved through your nose " he chuckles back. A tranquil moment shared between the two before the others start returning to the patrol post.

[ speaking to Finchfang, Greenpaw, group. ]

Finchfang carrying a sparrow, " Left behind on the journey south, I see " he comments, but pulls himself back up to a stand. " Oh yes. Quillpaw lives deficient in luck for sure " he smirks, a jest on the unlucky reassignment of his apprenticeship. That’ll never get old, but in truth- perhaps the two were growing on eachother.

The small squeaking screeches of a squirrel sound above, and the sweet sugar iron of prey blood bathes his senses. The black muzzled tom-kid calls out from above, Thistleback snaps his chin upward and watches the climb back to the snowy ground. Blood dripping messily on his lighter fur. " very good Fireflypaw. Get that blood off your fur. Your father will be very happy to hear about this " he instructs, and suspects Huckleberry will show the young cat how to bury prey for proper storage.

As a cheerful Sheepcurl and disappointed Hailstone and Greenpaw emerge. Thistleback flicks his white tipped tail, " Rockpile it is then. Greenpaw, would you like to lead? " he spots the emotion on the ginger and white apprentice’s muzzle, translated with the flatness of his ears. The honors of guiding the patrol, Thistleback hoped would cheer the kid up.

​

OOC INFO REF

• — hopefully the tl;dr brackets help a lil haha
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
• 
  
  

​

 

[Ashenclaw]

[ ☾ ] The tomcat seemed rather upset with himself over the fact that he had fallen to the ground on ice and gave a small nod in understanding as the group came to the conclusion of going to the rockpile. The large cat moved along with the group and had hope that they would find something in the rockpile. Things were getting harder and he was more and more considering bringing his own food to the clan so at least the queens and kits could eat. Then again, Blazestar would murder him more than likely for that.

Upon reaching the ice covered rocks of the pile that laid in Skyclans territory, Hailstone lifted his head to sniff the air for a moment and looked back at his clanmates. He couldn't pick up much besides stale trails and the hissing sounds of snakes he could not see off hand. Still the blue tabby hopped onto a rock and lifted his tail slightly as he continued to sniff around, before scrambling backwards.

Barely getting away, a snake had been disturbed from its spot in the rocks and lunged for Hailstones' front leg. He had just barely seen it before getting away and he breathed heavily at the near-death expierence, "Well fuck," He breathed and took to getting down from the rocks. Maybe he should just stand guard or something while the others had better luck.

speech

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