Mamma told me [Slate]

[Pigeonsong]

Pigeonsong was truly grateful to still be breathing at this moment. One second he'd been witness to a fight between two clanmates and the next they'd been fighting side by side against a dog. One of the biggest threats any clan could face. Breathing out a weary sigh, the sandy tabby made his way from the warrior's den. His wounds weren't terrible, merely a cut down his flank from yellow teeth. It would've been much worse if Slate and Silversmoke among others hadn't joined in his defense. Their whole camp could've been destroyed but as he cast his amber gaze at the camp walls that still stood, he felt pride.

The tom arched his back and stretched his forelegs, twinging slightly as the scab on his side threatened to crack, if only for a moment.
"Stupid dog." He muttered, a small grin plastered on his face as another wave of gratitude washed over him and he made his way towards the Freshkill pile.
He knew many were skeptical of Slate because of his origins but the tabby was not one for prejudice. The scarred tom couldn't change where he'd come from anymore than Pigeonsong could.
What Silversmoke had said, he knew came from a place of personal judgment and not a genuine concern for his clanmates. Those words he'd heard were much too personal to come from a place of worry for his clan.

That was Pigeonsong's assumption anyway, he dared not to consider any thoughts like this more than mere conjecture.
"Hey Slate, come have a bite to eat with me. It's celebratory and we can always grab some more prey after, Dog killer!" He beckoned the other tom over with a flick of his stripey tail.
Of course the dog had not actually been killed but he wanted to make the other tom smile or feel better somehow. He really didn't know what it was like to not be accepted but he didn't think any of his clanmates deserved to feel that way.

@SLATE

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — He had really gone and made a mess of himself now, hadn't he? Slate's reputation in SkyClan had always been shaky at best. He was like an adder; always coiled and ready to strike if provoked, always giving others a reason to be wary and uncertain toward him. Slate didn't need anyone here to like him, as he had only bound himself to this clan for his littermate's sake, but he also didn't need another reason for his life to be more difficult. Silversmoke had ruined all of that for him. He ruined everything. Maybe if the lead warrior hadn't marched up to him and started barking orders then the dog wouldn't have heard them.

Speaking of the dog, Slate rouses from his idle sitting when he hears the name "Dog Killer" tossed his way. He pricked his ears and swiveled his head in the direction of none other than Pigeonsong, a younger warrior he didn't know particularly well. The sandy-striped tom was one of those jovial types, much like Auburnflame, and it seemed that he had made it his mission to earn a death wish from Slate. The Maine Coon had froze, leaving the other SkyClanners to fend the beast off. That had been utterly humiliating. Nothing—absolutely nothing—ever stood in the way of the ex-rogue and tearing someone apart, but a dog... a slick-jowled, eye-glowing, bloodthirsty cur, was enough to break him.

He knew that he should have slept outside of camp that night. The scarred warrior had received his share of questionable glances thrown his way, he certainly didn't need a bright and cheery voice in his ears. "No." Slate declines curtly, a flat frown plastered across his maw. He got to his paws, figuring now would be a good time to depart camp and get away from the hustle and bustle. "And don't call me that." Slate issues a warning. Dogs were a touchy subject to the former rogue, though nobody seemed to know why. Not even Cloverjaw.​

 

[Pigeonsong]

In the chaos and confusion of the fight, the tom had hardly noticed Slate freeze. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't really had time to take note of his clanmates until the smelly beast was fleeing back to where it had come. Of course that didn't matter, Slate didn't know that Pigeonsong had no idea that he'd been rooted to the spot and hadn't partook of the fight.

"No." The words were cold and bitey, the way one might respond to an unruly apprentice and Pigeonsong stiffened slightly, unnerved. He'd certainly meant no harm, the light tabby had only wanted a celebratory meal but it seemed certain to him now that Slate wanted no part. Unfortunately for Slate Pigeonsong was more stubborn than one might assume.


"Oh, sorry, Slate." He began, his words cautious, his tone lowering to a resigned mew. Whatever had offended the tom eluded him but he wasn't willing to quit just yet. The ebony tom begins to slink away and he follows just behind, the scab on his flank hurting slightly.

"Couldn't help but notice you're not a big fan of Silversmoke." He adds evenly, he himself not particularly fond of the rigid tom in question. It was a starting point at least, he was sure if he could get Slate to talk on his own, this entire situation could work itself out.