NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN \ windclan patrol

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw’s mood is sour as he leads his small patrol toward the ShadowClan border. Any attempts at idle chatter are met with curt or despondent responses from the chocolate tabby. The scent of the putrid marsh rats is enough to cause his teeth to gnash together, and his fur is near-bristling the moment they near the Thunderpath.

He’d been prepared to claw the smug look off the first ShadowClan cat to taunt them, but there’s an eerie silence on their side of the territory. Weaselclaw pauses, one forepaw half-raised. “Strange. I’ve never heard it this quiet.” He looks at Wolfsong and Snailstride with a frown. “Marsh is full of loud insects and frogs… it’s usually…” His brow furrows as he trails off.

He continues, marking a clump of heather with his cheek, when a strange scent accosts him. He recoils—it’s clearly on ShadowClan’s side of the border, but he’s never encountered it before. Harsher than fox, stronger than badger, but clearly predatory in nature. “Smell that?” He mutters to his patrolmates. “Their markers are faint over here. And that… that scent… what is that?”

@WOLFSONG @SNAILSTRIDE
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── Wolfsong did not attempt to engage Weaselclaw in conversation after the first failed, and so it is a fairly quiet patrol— but the silent tension mounts the closer they reach the shared border with ShadowClan. The last time he was here, it had not ended well for WindClan. Sootstar and Houndthistle were changed, marred by this battle, and all of WindClan felt their defeat keenly. It is rarely comfortable facing your failure, but he is confident no ShadowClanner can outstep him in a battle of wits. He is prepared to counter whatever passes for a smug insult from the dredges of a bog.

Except the silence continues, stretching onward, a foreboding shadow. He frowns, returning Weaselclaw's glance. "I have only known such stillness in times of danger," he says quietly, paws grounding themselves in the dirt even as they continue moving on. He smells it shortly after his fellow lead warrior, stiffening. It is...familiar, and yet distant in memory— a remnant of the mountainous world he and Sunstride left behind.

"I've smelled it before," Wolfsong murmurs. "But I cannot place it. This is..." He shakes his head. "They must be related. We should not linger here long— their disappearance is a dark omen."
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[SNAILSTRIDE]

Snailstride wasn't sure what he'd done wrong to be placed on a patrol with such WindClanners, but he kept his head held high and a grin stretched from ear to ear as they found solitary comfort at the back of the line. ShadowClan's border was one they'd visited once before, the jeers and taunts from both sides a cacophonous song that he should've loathed but secretly loved. Today they were fodder and today, it was not as fun a game as when they could blend into the bristling moor brush. The silence was deafening from the other side of the Thunderpath, when not even the distant rumble of Monsters could be heard, the Moor Runner had to wonder if time had stood still. The Leads notice it too and force their smile to fade as the strange state was addressed. Soon, it became apparent that it was not the sun freezing in the sky but rather a 'time of danger', and with several focused blinks, they leered towards the marshlands. What in StarClan's name was going on in there? They move closer to the pair and inhale, an odd smell causing them to shake their head vigorously and recoil.

Living a sheltered life on the moorlands where the only adventure was sneaking off to watch the horses, it was a foreign occurrence that left his mind racing for answers faster than their rapid heart. "Smells like spiders." They would arch their back if the comparison got too much attention, a brow cocked in a gesture of, 'what?'' should they be met with the incredulous looks they were expecting. "Well, I'm happy to not stick around! Those ShadowClanners are always so... blergh." They weren't unconvinced that the odd smell wasn't just a new ShadowClanner who didn't know how to wash themselves. Without hesitation, they marked the very edges of WindClan's territory.

​

 

[smogstar]

Eclipsed by dangling fronds, Smogmaw's observance retains an intense hold on the nearing WindClan patrol. The deputy watches from the refuge of a lofty fern plant, holding a rigid posture that stands in stark contrast to the pendulous leaflets before his face. He had come to a sudden standstill upon catching the pitter-patter of foreign paws, and sought a concealed location amid the swampy thicket for his own patrol soon afterward. His reason for doing so went unspoken, but his patrolmates should comprehend it implicitly and without question—keeping the enemy oblivious to their presence is wiser than giving them a glimpse of their own vulnerability.

In the event that the moor dwellers, against all odds, manage to extract a modicum of understanding regarding their current plight—their displacement, the loss of some clanmates, or their utter defenselessness in the face of the invading bears—it would present them with an opening to strike at ShadowClan and overcome them with minimal effort. And as per Smogmaw's world-weary opinion, it must be ensured that this notion strays no further than the realm of possibility. ​

 

[Magpiepaw]

Alongside Smogmaw a dark furred form wriggles his way to the forefront by the deputy at the edge of the tar and grit leveled path that divided the territories in two; Magpiepaw's eyes scan the patrol before him and he is quickly disappointed at the lack of gray speckled fur he sees across the border but he does allow his blue-violet gaze to linger on Weaselclaw a few moments longer than he meant to. This was Cottonpaw's father, wasn't it? Of course, Sootstar's mate and thus father to her kits; it was strange that he knew this but never made the correlation entirely in his head and he guessed it was because he only really cared for the gray she-cat and not her other siblings and he looked nothing like her aside from their eyes. His head tilts as he looks to the gray tabby deputy next to him and then forward once more before deciding he does not care much for politics and only wants to ask his questions, "Hello, WindClan! Um you-" Weaselclaw, "-are Cottonpaw's father? She was not at the gathering, is she okay? Can you tell her Magpiepaw said hello." He wants to say so much more, ramble on his new title and tell her all about the bears but he holds his tongue because he does not even know if his simple request will be taken. Maybe he can make more of it, head turning to pluck one of the blue-sheened feathers he often kept hidden in his tail for just such an occasion; an odd collection but with his nest in camp now unsafe he had nowhere else to put them. His head bobs, he nudges Smogmaw and glances across the thunderpath; feather between his teeth before looking at the moorland cats once more.
"Can you give her this?" Far be it from him to walk across and pass it over, he would not have the reaction time to avoid a monster if it began to rumble forth.
​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw nods to Wolfsong in acknowledgment. “I have only known such stillness in times of danger.” His tail lashes, whiplike, behind him as he peers over the Thunderpath. He thinks, for a moment, he sees movement—signs of cats, or something far worse? A sense of foreboding washes over him, but he does not allow it to show on his face. Snailstride’s comment about ShadowClanners normally would have earned an amused snort from the tabby, but now he only nods in agreement. “You’re both right. No reason to linger here any longer than we need to. Whatever it is is ShadowClan’s problem, not ours.”

He prepares to lead them away from the Thunderpath when a strange voice calls out to them. Weaselclaw stiffens as he spots the familiar blue pelt of ShadowClan’s cursed deputy beside an oddity of a feline. Enormous eyes devoid of light blink at him. This creature inquires if he’s Cottonpaw’s father, and Weaselclaw’s lip curls. “How do you know Cottonpaw?” The logical answer is they’d met at a Gathering, but he can’t help but be enraged at the thought of this ShadowClan cat befriending his cherished daughter.

The strange cat asks him to give her something. Sunlight glints off its surface, revealing a blue-streaked feather. Weaselclaw’s lip curls further, revealing a bit of fang. “Are there rats in your brain? My daughter does not want a gift from ShadowClan. Cross this Thunderpath and I’ll make you all regret it.”

// i’m so sorry magpie </3


​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​