border MY GIRL'S A SWITCHBLADE [ riverclan border patrol ]

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) she takes her daughter's trust in her extremely seriously. when mosspool's familiar gaze meets her own, willowroot straightens and dips her head. to the windclan border she must go, and she faces it with grim courage. her patrol follows behind her, loyally fierce lakemoon and quiet, contemplative fogshore- two cats the former lead trusts with her life. they are seasoned warriors, ones who will not start something at the border, no matter what gets to them. it's a patrol willowroot herself would've organized back in the day, and she feels a flash of pride at the ingenuity her daughter now possess. with them, midnightpaw and splashpaw accompany. her own apprentice, ten moons and sharp, is a bit of a wildcard, but the smoke knows that her dappled charge is smart enough to obey direct orders. lakemoon's new charge, splashpaw, is more unknown, although the girl seems level headed and kind. over all, this patrol should not be a problem.

at least, unless windclan tries something. stars know the moor dwellers believe they're justified in it. as the patrol approaches the yawning cavern where the river plunges into the gorge, the smoke feline steers away from the cliff, eyeing it with caution. too many lives have been lost here. they think of beesong, of smokestar, more recently of the slate blue body of sootstar's sister. the wind isn't particularly strong- it's a peaceful day, watery sunlight trickling between branches and tall grasses. still, anything can happen. they're not about to let another cat die on their watch.

pausing at the twoleg bridge connecting the territories, the smoke feline squints, recognizing shapes moving in the distance. it appears a rival patrol approaches. she turns, fixing her own with a stern look. "we mark our border, check for any issues, and move on, got it? i don't want any arguments." she shouldn't need to specify, but there's no telling what could happen. she's been ignored before.

THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // patrol members are @FOGSHORE and @LAKEMOON, apprentices @MIDNIGHTPAW, @splashpaw. feel free to reply before them, though! simple border patrol. takes place after the gathering."#91A26C"
  
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  WILLOWROOT ☾ SHE / THEY, WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORING MIDNIGHTPAW. PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a long-haired black smoke oriental with sage-green eyes. smoky long fur coats the length of willowroot's lithe body, cut through with dark ghost stripes. friendly sage green eyes that narrow in an almond shape, and her muzzle and limbs are thin and long due to her oriental heritage.

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[LAKEMOON]

.·:*¨༺ ☾ ༻¨*:·. The tensions that had settled between Riverclan and Windclan were thick, the disdain for the moorland rats heavy amongst the island cats, and Lakemoon was not excluded. The picture of a rain-soaked rat king before her is as clear as ever, missing a limb to stand on and with a ragged voice befitting a battered warrior. Windclan burns, Sunstar had proclaimed, their once bountiful territory burned to ashes. Lakemoon was not arrogant enough to deny the Windclanners' desperation, but to resort to stealing from the clan that had given them a place to shelter? Pathetic.
Lakemoon remembers the willingness to commit similar acts under Sootstar’s reign, Windclan was always happy to destroy regardless of olive branches extended, if it meant their individual victory. She spared no grief for the moorland warriors lost in the midst of battle, regardless of the morality of it all. Still, her expression is unwavering from its stoic neutrality as the border comes into view, she keeps her apprentice close. “Can you tell me what makes Windclan unique from the other clans, Splashpaw?” The silvery warrior quizzes her apprentice, azure hues steady on the approaching patrol, the stone-cool tone in her voice making it clear her inquiry was serious.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── SMELLING LIKE A BONFIRE ⋅ ࿏ ⋅ LOST IN A HAZE ──┐‎

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  LAKEMOON ☾ she/her, warrior of riverclan, 27 moons.
  ⭃ lanky blue tabby with low white and navy blue eyes and a slightly twisted right hind leg. A large facial scar stretches from her right brow to her left cheek, and another crosses at her chest and stretches down the length of her stomach.
  ⭃ daughter of Tempestmoon && Lilypad ࿏ sister to Wolfwind ࿏ mate to Lilybloom & mother to Snowkit, Graykit
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Noor ↛ @toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[MIDNIGHTASH]

જ➶ Having to go on a patrol to the Windclan border has her both on edge and excited. Perhaps excited that something might happen and Windclan can learn another lesson on how their stupidity will get them killed. Her maw twists tight as she walks beside her mentor, keeping herself close to the older feline as she allows her harsh amber eyes to focus on the view in front of her as they get closer and closee to the gorge. Though now that she thinks about it she hopes that Windclan is not silly enough to actually try to do anything. Don't want to lose another warrior to the gorge. A small smirk pulls at her muzzle at the thought but as her mentor speaks the smile drops and she nods quietly. "Sure thing." She mutters casually before her ears pull back as she hears Lakemoon.

A sour look passes over her face now that she is reminded that Splashpaw is with them. Ugh, the half clanner. The one that has so easily slipped within their midst and everyone thinks that is just fine. Ignoring the two she moves forward near the scent marker and begins to mark the border with ease, keeping her eyes open when the smell of rodent hits her nostrils. A patrol is coming and she curls her muzzle in disdain.​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

The murder of two WindClan warriors should've been enough for the chimera to keep his distance from RiverClan's borders, but there was a certain... self-indulgence he felt, knowing that his clanmates would protect him when things went awry. He knew their loyalty was not towards him, rather, they did not want to see WindClan humiliated by losing another to creatures as plump and spoilt as kittypets. Tufted ears twitched as he glanced ahead; the creatures at his back would likely not be as fit as he was. Granitepelt's raid had done a number on many WindClanners, not him though, he had protected the tunnels diligently and none had dared use them to escape. So then why had Sunstar praised the one who abandoned their post and the one who helped kill his Aunt? "Ah, RiverClan," he smiled as he moved towards them, his tail lashing with an unkempt arrogance. 'Bluepool... Why did you have to give them power over me with your death? Why were you that selfish?' Daggers poked at holes in his heart and he could only reply with insolence, knowing there was no greater failure than admitting love for an enemy, that his life was worse off for their absence even if they'd hurt him.

"How kind of you to pay your respects at the grave of a real warrior." The water roared in his eardrums, screaming for revenge. Black paws were too small to carry the burden of it themself, but somehow, somewhere, he hoped for a gust of wind from behind the RiverClanners that was strong enough to send them to drown. "I know your eyes did not find my aunt's when you threw her over, a cowardly gesture but one I can heartily forgive, should you bow your heads now in her honour and mourn with me." Sootspot lowered his head to show them what to do, his paper-thin pupils unmoving with the gesture. 'Another family member I cannot bury. Will you be as heartless as my clanmates, fishdungs?'

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[willowroot]

( ☾ ) it's to be expected that one of sootstar's former thugs greets them at the border. sootspot, son of the tyrant herself, sidles up to the border with sneering words of contempt. willowroot meets his eyes with a cool gaze, one eyebrow raised as his silky voice hisses out. "windclan," she responds to the greeting, voice curt but not unkind. they are grieving- this she knows better than many. the loss of a strong warrior is no small issue, and of course this tomcat is lashing out due to this. still, his words are grating on smoke tufted ears, and the patrol leader will simply watch as he demonstrates his request. "i hope prey returns swiftly to the moors," she responds simply, flicking her tail and turning to join her apprentice. she's not going to comment on the order, nor gift out apologies for the untimely death. the breaking of the warrior code has consequences.

there is no life in which willowroot will mourn bluepool, nor take suggestions from the enemy for how to plea for forgiveness. still, the windclan lead warrior was a strong, level headed feline. verdant eyes flick over the blue warrior, knowledge that she'd been his aunt at the forefront of her mind. she knows his type, knows the rage that boils beneath his skin (akin to smokestar's anger, cicadastar's wrath.) she'd not expected a friendly patrol interaction, but there had been some hidden hope that the enemy would not directly antagonize. oh well.

THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // "#91A26C"
  
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  WILLOWROOT ☾ SHE / THEY, WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORING MIDNIGHTPAW. PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a long-haired black smoke oriental with sage-green eyes. smoky long fur coats the length of willowroot's lithe body, cut through with dark ghost stripes. friendly sage green eyes that narrow in an almond shape, and her muzzle and limbs are thin and long due to her oriental heritage.
  

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[MIDNIGHTASH]

જ➶ Her nose wiggles, ears twitching as she looks toward the Windclanner and his easily passive aggressive words make her short. Flame patterned face tilts to the side as he continues on and on about the warrior that they were foolish enough to send into the lion's den. Foolish enough to break the code and then attempt to garner some type of sympathy from them for their own mistakes. The girl almost feels a smug look spread across her maw and unlike her mentor she has never been the type to be level headed nor kind and cool. She is a flame, brazen and wild. One taunt deserves another in her eyes and as her mentor comes close to mark the border the molly dips her head in almost understanding of the other's plight. She shifts and moves her haunches, fiery tail shifting as she goes to mark the border once more but her scenting goes over and into the gorge. Her gaze shifts slightly then and she makes a soft tsking noise in thought before she finally speaks up.

"I think that's honorable enough for a real warrior. I'm sure your aunt will appreciate it." In her eyes Windclan is a sham. Those wishing to pretend to be warriors while acting like vulgar rogues. Raiding and killing, trepassing and stealing. Nothing abouy him or his now deceased aunt screams real warriors to her and so she shall treat them as such. Turning away she keeps on down the line, though she casts her gaze over her shoulder to her mentor. Partially wondering if she will be reprimanded and Windclan defended.​

 

[Mossthorn]

What had happened with Bluepool had been a tragedy, sure. But in Mossthorn's opinion, it had been one that could have easily been avoided. Still, her heart twists in mourning on the fiery lead warrior's behalf, and even more so on behalf for her family and mate she left behind. It is no secret that the clan was not fond of Sootspot, but he was a WindClanner born and raised and she still holds the image in the back of her mind of him as a youth. How small and innocent he had been back then, it is hard for her to picture him as he is now. She watches her fellow tunneler with impassive gray eyes as he calls out to the patrol across the raging gorge, demands they pay penance to his aunt who had died a warriors death. A frown crosses her features but she does not stop him, nor does she offer a reprimand. He was angry, she understands, and RiverClan had not exactly been the best of neighbors lately.

Willowroot is forcibly polite, at least. Friendly, almost. Mossthorn dips her head in acknowledgement and is about to thank the warrior for her well wishes when all of a sudden, one of the apprentices is getting dangerously close to the edge of the gorge. Her heart leaps to her throat, certain she is about to watch one of RiverClan's youth follow in Bluepool's steps and plummet to their demise. She almost wishes she had because what she does next is an act of pure disrespect. Plain and simple.

"Absolutely there was no reason for that! If I was your mentor you'd be gettin' a real clawing ya hear?" she shouts angrily over the roar of the water, shooting the adults of the patrol a pointed and exasperated look. It did not matter whether it was directed at an enemy clan or not, there was no excuse for disrespecting those passed or for putting one's life in danger in order to take a cheap, petty, shot. RiverClan.. did they fail to teach their apprentices the concept of respect?

( .ೃ࿐ ) watch what happens next

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• MOSSTHORN WINDCLAN WARRIOR ; SHE / HER; SISTER TO TBD ; MATE TO COLDBITE
  

  A feisty she cat with a heart of gold. Her appearance is befitting her tunneler status, as she stands shorter than most, and her sleek black fur excels at repelling the dirt that she shifts through. Her eyes are such a light blue color that they appear gray and upon her pelt she wears many scars, testaments to the battles she has fought in her lifetime.

  ✦ Peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, no killing, maiming, or injuring without permission
  ✦ Skilled & experienced in combat. Fights dirty.
  

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[COLDBITE]

The WindClan border is a location of notable tension, even more so in recent days, and Coldbite's finely tuned sense for danger is doubly so at this particular spot, triply so with Mossthorn padding alongside him. Out of the many little blessings rediscovered since Sootstar reigned over these plains, this is chief among them: patrols are more likely to be in mixed company of those found both above the moors and below. Thus, his chance of spotting his mate waiting with the rest of his patrolmates each day is doubled, although on this particular border, that may only be a cause for concern . . . across the vastness of the gorge they might be, but if there is one thing he will never do, it is underestimate the lengths a RiverClanner will go to in order to taste blood.

The downside of this is that he must also patrol with the likes of Sootspot, who wields his verbosity expertly, his snake tongue a bladed weapon. Coldbite can barely keep a doggish growl off his breath as the tunneler barges into the dialogue, as smooth and polite ( if slightly tensed ) as the silvery stream weaving through enemy territory; in a matter of a few words and an instant, it's instead the crashing insolence of the gorge, hungry jaws waiting to devour the thinly stretched respect of the impromptu gathering.

" Sootspot . . . " he mutters in warning, the deployment of words itself a signifier of how seriously Coldbite took the tenuous diplomacy of this border. Grief is a familiar enemy, but one best dealt with from a distance . . . not with the kind of closeness Sootspot strives for, where one can feel the heat of its blazing jaws and see the air waver around you. Strong as his well - hidden distaste for RiverClan may be, he can appreciate the contrastingly cool attitude of the smoky - furred patrol leader across the way. For a matter of heartbeats, he thinks they may get out of this with the single thread of dignity their patrols cling to after so many moons of animosity.

Then, of course, one of the apprentices opts for the entirely idiotic; disrespect for the dead, practically spitting in the face of StarClan. Coldbite's scowl is instant, the slightest downturn of pale jaws in answer to the act, although his face remains mostly unreadable. His doggish tail flicks out, aiming to gently tap his mate's shoulder in an attempt to sooth her; he can't condemn her actions, of course, her assertion being entirely correct. You could behave how you liked in the heat of battle, but this behavior off the field was just disrespectful.

OOC : —

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