private Look at me, I'm a cool kid || coyote, vixen



All Milkthorn wanted recently was change. No, he was not seeking approval for the damned Dusk clanners. But forgiveness to those that begged at his paws, that threw their life to him- that pleaded for forgiveness. For thriftfeather. But Sunstar burned with hatred, even if they seeked to follow the right side, even after nearly a year. But he had no voice. He held no followers besides Vulturepaw, who unfortunately was gaining negative attention from his clanmates as well. Who's denmates held venom on their tongues to the young boy. And it was quite unfortunate for the boy who Milkthorn had become quite close to.

But he seen disdain from his clanmates. And perhaps that's why he chose to go on his own to hunt, traverse the moors. Though, he kept his senses about him. He was dumb- but not that dumb, especially this far in the territory. A hare hung from his jaws, and looking around him, the rosetted warrior would then begin to dig a small hole to bury his most recent catch. As he set the prey down, a scent stung and burned at his nostrils from across the border.

His scarred muzzle pulled back in a low snarl, gutteral from his throat. "Ya stink out there, ya know. Don't try anything stupid." He warned, deciding against burying his prey here, and taking careful steps back as the moor-runner kept blue eyes flickering for the scents he smelled blowing towards him. Not good at masking their scents, are they? The tom would not turn his back towards them though, not yet- he was still too close to the border.

@vixen @Coyote.

 

Vixen leads and Coyote follows, it's a dynamic that she's used to but lately she finds herself restless. DuskClan provides opportunity for metamorphosis, a break from the monotomy and dreariness that Twolegplace carries like a plague. That life is deleterious to a mind such as hers, skills long gone unused as she spent days only fighting for scraps. This is simply one rung of the ladder to achieving something greater, she's determined to be of something of worth to this clan. It spurs her to outsource food, the scraps of flesh that dared to call themself prey in the scrublands was barely enough to feed but not enough to satisfy. In this stage of her metamorphosis she is still the loyal follower to her sister, a soldier waiting to be told where to swing their sword. So when Vixen leads the charge to stroll she finds that perhaps the goal of climbing that never ending mountain in social hierarchy could be simultaneous with her previous rank as that loyal dog.

The land blends from those harsh edges of what can be considered as DuskClan's territory to the softer edges of the moors, along these edges comes a rather pungent scent. Not SkyClan but she can identify it to be some variation of clan cat, maybe this is the WindClan her sister had mentioned? Regardless her throat aches at the thought of clan cats again. Both in sanguine fury at how poor her last experience went and a dull pulse of pain from Quillstrike's blows. It's floral in a way she has never known, reeking a different stench in comparison to Twolegplace gardens. The scent of hare is carried on the wind, it is what deters her from just gesturing to Vixen that she wants to leave. The fact that she is eager to prove worth and the fact that her sister very well wouldn't listen to her aids that deterrent.

The snarl draws her in, something flickers in her gut, burning and ravenous. It only takes one shared look with her sister to spur the tortoiseshell into actually approaching the border where the moor-runner remained. Where he retreats she stalks, paws a whiskers edge from crossing that invisible border, she's used to trampling through the territories at this point, this one would not be the one to stop her. "Stupid?" She repeats, head tilting in one smooth motion. "We're merely looking for food, seems we found it." there's no attempt at warmth, not bothering to deceive through any guise of kindness.

Her throat itches, paws burn, pelt bristles at the feeling of Vixen's eyes and she decides to try taking the lead for once here. Fate sealed she takes that moment of tension to walk beyond that border, strides purposeful in her approach towards Milkthorn.

  • COYOTE
    She / her, Rogue, 17 moons (ages on the 3rd)
    NPC x NPC | Sibling to Vixen, Viper, Kite, Hawk, Wolf, Spider & Shrike
    A long haired tortoiseshell with hazel eyes | Judgemental and spiteful, a cat that lacks respect for others and refuses to feign it.
    "speech" | thoughts | attacking
    All opinions are IC only!
 
They've had no luck hunting so far. If there was one thing Twolegplace had on DuskClan, it was the presence of food: it was easier to find between the upwalker dens, with bountiful mice that tried to scurry between the square-stones and under wooden fences. She's about ready to give up, and the scent of hare hasn't quite reached her nose yet, when a scathing voice rings out: a young tom, claiming that she and her sister stink.

Vixen pops up from the den she'd been investigating (empty) and peers over the ridge, eyes wide, chittering a wordless warning that turns into a throaty purr at the sight of the younger Clan cat. Oh, a WindClanner! She's been told about these by the DuskClanners who used to live there: how they'd all followed someone to oust the followers of their still-strong leader. Goodness, and yet he calls them stupid!

With tail held aloft in a friendly greeting, Vixen trots towards this seething stranger. She passes Coyote, sparing her bristling sister a glance, but continues onwards. In doing so she crosses the scent markers, aware and uncaring of their presence in equal measure. She's a fox-length from the unintroduced Milkthorn when she stills, tensed, and parts her jaws to scent the air in a purposeful display of disrespect.

"Oops!" She trills, eyes narrowing to pleased slits, maw curling upwards in a toothless grin.

Go on. She demands wordlessly of the brat who'd challenged them. Her tail twitches. Make it fun for me.

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  • VIXEN ✧ she/they, warrior of duskclan

    — "a lean tortoiseshell with yellow-green eyes."
    — single ; loyal to her siblings before her clan
    — speech is in #AC315A
    tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.


 


Blue eyes narrowed, frowning at their display to cross the borders and start trailing towards him. A part of him thought to flee- to get help, but instead he stopped in his backtrack. The hare hung from his jaws, eyes glinting back and forth between the two mollies, pupils turning to slits in a sense of aggression. If he were to run, he could lead possibly his whole clan to death- more could come. More that would haunt their lands and try to retake control- or even vengeance for their warriors.

"This hare is not yours," he rumbled simply, settling the hare down to spread a clawed paw over it's body, glaring down at the two. A sigh escaped his maw, merely frowning. But no fear passed through his blue eyes as he watched them, trying to formulate words. One girl trilled, seeming pleased with herself that she was forcefully pushing the boundaries. He let out a snarl, muzzle peeled back in a contorted way, before leaping forward. Forearms aimed to grapple coyote, limbs outstretched and claws unsheathed. If he can hit her with enough force, and get a clear grip, he'd aim to bite down on her shoulder, jaws tightening to snap shut at whatever purchase he could get.