camp NO BATTLE DRUM ╱ RECOVERING

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

His father'd always called him a boneheaded beast. Were it any less of the truth, he might've been offended by such a title. Hardheaded the way that death itself is hardheaded– relentless, tireless. Though Hound's not so inevitable, he is just as stubborn. This time, at least, it seems he'd outlast it.

Leafbare's left a frosted nip in the air, but even the bite of it's not enough to keep him down. The pale sun hangs high, its distant warmth enough to work at melting small layers of snow. With the help of paws to clear it, and a bit of luck with frosting over again, a patch before Beesong's den's been made bare. Flat, without grass to soften anything, but sturdy enough to not be turned to mud and large enough to hold his body with plenty room to spare...stars, that was all he could ask for in times like this, it'd seem. Holing up to heal had left the chocolate tom stir-crazy. Every day his lungs felt clearer, the cough less troublesome, but every day he's not quite well enough. A bit longer, the medic'd say. A few more days. And another. And another.

It's not been that long, in truth, but stars above if it does not feel like it. Recovery's still a bit longer off, too. A day or so, for certain this time he'd hope, but fighting off this leafbare chill is more work than he'd have thought. Even coming out to taste the sun has left him a more tired than he'd expect. An' so this came to be: Houndsnarl, breathing easily for the first time in a grand while, asleep just outside the medicine den. He's curled up like a kitten, face lax in dreams and paws twitching for all to see.

†  OOC NOTES INFORMATION †

• 
  ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[flint]

info — Flint does not wear concern gracefully. He doesn't wear it at all; it coats the tips of his fur like frost in the early morning, stiff and uncomfortable and warded off with effort. It's only rarely that he must knock the crystals loose, but Hound is consistently the bearer of such winds that freeze his damn pelt in the first place. He'd never successfully banished the boy from his mind after he'd given him over to the care of another. Even when pretending he was little more than an occasional pupil, Flintstrike hadn't escaped the creep of cold whenever a young Hound did something especially stupid.

He continues to keep his distance, and he has enough self-awareness to recognize it's guilt that weathered the divide between them. Lately, the cough wracking many lungs has been all the more reason to keep to himself, but it hasn't kept him from Hound entirely.

Finding him asleep, dappled by a winter sun and muscles fluttering with deep dreaming, Flint has to pause. He has grown much from that bundle of wet fur squirming at Flint's belly, but that is all he sees now. And, like that brumous day moons ago, he chokes on the potent war of self-loathing and reverence. He cannot move, so he sits nearby, stiff-backed and silently warding off any would-be disturbances with a narrow-eyed stare. ​

 

[Snakeblink]

Snakeblink has a keen nose for misery. He's drawn to dark thoughts the way others are to prey trails: with a single-minded determination to follow it to its end. The part of him that whispers fix this in his mind speaks in the same voice as his hunting instinct, and his method doesn't change in any notable way between either task. Both require discretion, quick-thinking... And perhaps more stalking than strictly necessary.

One thing is certain: both keep him well occupied in all seasons. Prey may be scarce in leaf-bare, but Riverclan never runs out of dissatisfied cats.

Whether he knows it or not, Flintstrike exudes that particular somber feeling which the remarkably nosy Snakeblink finds impossible to ignore. Then again, perhaps the older warrior isn't trying to be subtle. The way he stares at Houndsnarl, his eyes dark with tangled thoughts and his spine straight and tense as a tree against a storm, he might as well be yowling there is something wrong with me and I don't want to talk about it. Snakeblink hears the first part loud and clear... And deliberately ignores the signal that follows. He's not sure he can help, but how can he not try?

(He has no idea what is wrong with the two – were they friends, once? There's such a strange impression of remorse in Flintstrike's eyes...)

He tip-toes around Houndsnarl, wary of waking him although the noise of a busy camp hasn't managed to achieve that feat. Sickness and pale sunlight will not so easily relinquish their grasp on the tom. He slinks up to Flintstrike and makes sure he is seen doing so: this is the kind of warrior he would rather not take by surprise. Who knows what kind of deep-set instinct for violence he might find himself on the wrong end of. Once near, he inclines his head in a respectful greeting, never taking his calculating eyes off the older tom. He nods towards the sleepy bulk of Houndsnarl.

"You might join him," he murmurs with a faint, wry smile. ”I'm sure the warmth of another body would be welcome in such weather, especially given the state of his health.”

ooc. information.

• 
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 36 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[iciclefang]

( *+:｡.｡ ) Iciclepaw has watched the sickness spread throughout RiverClan, and has kept her guard up with due diligence since the first sign of a sneeze. If a cat so much as sniffles beside her, she relocates at least four foxlengths away. She already feels out-of-sorts with her mentor recovering in Beesong's den. Restless. The last thing she needs is to be stuck in there with the one-eyed old fool.

The tortoiseshell watches with icy stoicism as Houndsnarl crawls his way from the sick room and curls up in the weak sunlight. Fresh air -- cold air, but fresh and biting and crisp -- lulls him to sleep, and he twitches like a kit curled beside their mother.

She fixes both Flintstrike and Snakeblink with an impassive glare. "If either of you go cuddle with him, you'd best stay far away from me. You'll get us all sick," she says, her ginger right ear flicking pointedly.​

( I HAVE THE ANSWER, SPREADING THE CANCER ; YOU ARE THE FAITH INSIDE ME )

 

[DogTeeth]

Dogteeth settles himself outside of the warrior den, with a watchful stare toward the movement near the medicine den. How could his latest thoughts not center around Houndsnarl? The dark furred stubborn beast a reoccurring concern burrowed deeply under his skin. Dogteeth’s tired eyes widen as Hound emerges, only to settle in the sunlight and fall back into sickly slumber. Yet the large cat looks so peaceful, and soft in his sleep- despite being a notably powerful warrior. The blonde’s ears rotate a bit, catching Iciclepaw’s words with a inward sigh. Like her namesake, she had a coldness in her words but also, truth.

Snakeblink was trying to lure the older rigid pale warrior as if he wasn’t perhaps as icy as the apprentice’s wise few words. Dogteeth eyes Flintstrike but it is briefly and as usual, unreadable. Having nothing to say to the unpredictable enigma, and a kind word would probably prove to be water off the duck’s back.

His steps toward the resting Houndsnarl were chary and pattered gently as to not wake him. Halting about a tail-length from the other before dropping down gently. He inches just a whisker or two closer before a soft wordless song rumbles from his chest.

A soft purr dancing around his hums to lull the sickly dark furred warrior into better dreams. Watching the rise and fall of his pelt carefully, heart leaping every time the illusion of staring too long made it seem like Houndsnarl was skipping a breath.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth
  — twenty-five moons
  — voice ref
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with blue eyes.
  — very gentle soul / easily upset and sensitive
  — deals a nasty bite
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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