- Nov 27, 2023
- 145
- 25
- 28
-ˋˏ ༻☽༺ ˎˊ- Though the ache of his wounds were setting in, Slatetooth wasn't quite on his deathbed yet, unlike some others of the rebels that joined them in Horseplace. That meant he could work - and there was plenty of work to do. He parted from Gravelsnap shortly after Sunstride called for patrols, and scanned the crowd with a calculating green gaze. He didn't know the first thing about herbs, and was in no shape for hunting just yet. Looks like moss-collecting was his best option.
Parting the wave of bloodied cats, he scanned the heads of his Clanmates for someone in good enough condition to join him. It would mean death to walk these areas alone - how many of Sootstar's dogs were lurking in the shadows, preparing to catch their new enemies off guard? His gaze landed on a fawn tortoiseshell in similar condition to his own: scratched up but able to move, even with a shredded ear much like his own bitten one. He slowed his gait as he walked past her, giving one last look around before announcing, "I'm going moss collecting. You're free to tag along if you're well enough." It's aimed towards her, but with a broad enough volume to invite anyone else, although he didn't expect much. The cats in his closest proximity were injured, some far worse than himself - it was Slatetooth who was eager to get back to work so quickly, to cleanse his mind of the day's happenings and his brother's icy voice.
As he left the barn, sure enough, the she-cat wasn't far behind him. Moth.. something. He barely knew the name of any of his Clanmates, after all his moons of being aloof and reclusive. If they were to reclaim WindClan one day, now would be the time: he would not find himself a stranger once more amongst the cats he risked his life for. And yet, despite his conclusion, he remains deafeningly silent as he glances around the area next to Horseplace.
He searches for trees or rocks to find moss from - assuming it's not all dead from the frost - but his eyes seem unfocused, trained on some distant thought. The battle was on replay in his memories - the first attack between Sootstar and Sunstride, the tear of his ear in Nightmareface's jaws, his paws coated in his own father's blood, and seemingly worst of all - Gravelsnap's icy voice when he was informed of Lynxtooth's death. Green eyes casted down towards his paws as they walked, towards his white toes stained red - and Slatetooth began to drag them into the white snow as they walked, stamping them every once in a while, cleaning the blood off his paws. Despite the looming threat of another battle, he wished to never bloody them again.
Parting the wave of bloodied cats, he scanned the heads of his Clanmates for someone in good enough condition to join him. It would mean death to walk these areas alone - how many of Sootstar's dogs were lurking in the shadows, preparing to catch their new enemies off guard? His gaze landed on a fawn tortoiseshell in similar condition to his own: scratched up but able to move, even with a shredded ear much like his own bitten one. He slowed his gait as he walked past her, giving one last look around before announcing, "I'm going moss collecting. You're free to tag along if you're well enough." It's aimed towards her, but with a broad enough volume to invite anyone else, although he didn't expect much. The cats in his closest proximity were injured, some far worse than himself - it was Slatetooth who was eager to get back to work so quickly, to cleanse his mind of the day's happenings and his brother's icy voice.
As he left the barn, sure enough, the she-cat wasn't far behind him. Moth.. something. He barely knew the name of any of his Clanmates, after all his moons of being aloof and reclusive. If they were to reclaim WindClan one day, now would be the time: he would not find himself a stranger once more amongst the cats he risked his life for. And yet, despite his conclusion, he remains deafeningly silent as he glances around the area next to Horseplace.
He searches for trees or rocks to find moss from - assuming it's not all dead from the frost - but his eyes seem unfocused, trained on some distant thought. The battle was on replay in his memories - the first attack between Sootstar and Sunstride, the tear of his ear in Nightmareface's jaws, his paws coated in his own father's blood, and seemingly worst of all - Gravelsnap's icy voice when he was informed of Lynxtooth's death. Green eyes casted down towards his paws as they walked, towards his white toes stained red - and Slatetooth began to drag them into the white snow as they walked, stamping them every once in a while, cleaning the blood off his paws. Despite the looming threat of another battle, he wished to never bloody them again.
┌── WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG
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YOU'RE A LOADED GUN ──┐
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SLATETOOTH ✩ he/him, moor-runner of windclan, 17 moons.
⭃ a reclusive short-haired black tom with low white and green eyes.
⭃ mate to no one. son of lynxtooth x adelaide. brother to gravelsnap and ashpaw.
⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.