private now i'm worried for my soul and i'm still scared of growin' old ( you were good to me ) // hound

[✧ Sootspritespark.]

✸​✸ I KNOW THAT I'VE GOT A BIG EGO ✸✸​

---

sootspritespark & 37 moons & demi-girl & she/they & skyclan queen​

---

Sootspritespark has not spoken to mason since their night together - has no need to really. She'd told him of her plans, spun her web of little white lies, gotten what she wanted. There was no need to seek out a tom who'd know what he'd gotten into, who'd have nothing to do with his clanborn kits. But she cannot say the same for her ex-lover. She has learned much in his absence, that he is of windclan, that he is the enemy. She does not want his first meeting with his kits, their kits, to be upon the battle field. Not unless that is what he choses.

And so the molly waits, careful and cautious, sticking to the limbs of the tree she has chosen as her waiting place. It is not her first attempt - not even her second, but her third. She wonders absently if that is what others call karma - she made him wait three days, so now will he too. Whatever the case, her ears perk at the sound of pawsteps, at the waft of familiar scent - her own heady and tinged by milk and dog and twoleg even moreso than before, the time spent away from her clan and her duties leaving its mark in the absence of even a hint of skyclan-scent upon her.

"Hound," she calls out, a gentle greeting despite it all, though she is not willing to leave her perch to set foot upon the ground - not after what she has learned, not after what she knows, not after how things had... ended last time. She doesn't trust herself not to make the same mistake twice. Yes, the branches are a safer resting place indeed.

"... we need to speak," she doesn't know how much he knows, what he has been told, if he had considered the repercussions of their actions that day. She knows she certainly hadn't. And so she waits, sunshine eyes searching his face desperately, hoping to find some spark of something that might prepare her for how this conversation will go. She hates this, this feeling of not knowing.

— really don't know why its such a big deal though ✸

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: @HOUNDTHISTLE
  tw/cw: —
  
• — a small and notably round molly with ink black curls and a white-speckled belly. she wears a bowtie collar with a bright white and lemon yellow plaid pattern, and always seems to be smiling. beyond the normal clan-scent, she smells heavily of milk-scent, dog, and twoleg.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ffff99]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Where most expect a a tom to be overjoyed, to be ecstatic at hearing the idea of his friend having kits, Houndthistle was infuriated. Since the gathering, since Blazestar had dropped the knowledge, Houndthistle's entire world felt like it'd been flipped upside down. He'd withdrawn, tumultuous in the knowledge as he rapidly tried to think, to process what it meant, and he'd avoided Fourtrees as much as he possibly could. As his ability to navigate improved, more and more, Houndthistle took to solo hunts, to solo training, anything to avoid the pressing matter. But when he catches a waft of familiar nutmeg mixed with milk, that anger couldn't be kept at bay. He'd been hunting, solo as usual, when the smell had caught his attention, and, checking to make sure he wasn't seen, he stealthily and with the wrath of a man scorned, dug through the foliage with single eye of blazing fire and murky gold, lips drawn in a tight line. And when he sees her, perched up there, he pauses, just a moment, his name falling easily from her tongue in a way that makes his resolve falter, like a wrathful raven perched upon the trees looking down at him with mocking cruelty in all her beauty.
His tail gives a lash as she speaks of them having to talk, eyes narrowing suddenly as he remembers the reason he was so angry, so infuriated it nearly ebbs off him in waves. "I'll say," He snorted, defensive already and dry with a lack of his usual humor or warmth, rasping his tongue across large fangs, "Ya goin' 'round all the clans an' tellin' them the wonderful news, Sootsprite?" His claws dig deep canyons into the dirt beneath him, rooting him in place as his brow furrows, looking like a more scathing remark rested upon the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, waiting instead for her own response.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  75%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[✧ Sootspritespark.]

✸​✸ I KNOW THAT I'VE GOT A BIG EGO ✸✸​

---

sootspritespark & 37 moons & demi-girl & she/they & skyclan queen​

---

His words say volumes, and she cannot help but breath out a sigh - eyes closing as she tries not to rally at his call. He knows nothing - understands nothing, clearly. She cannot blame him, but- still. She does not need anger, not here, not now - just look where it had gotten them last time "No," she says, remaining as serious as she can - though lips curl upwards before she can stop them, eyes glittering with amusement. "Only windclan I suppose - " the bitter remarks slips out before she can help it - the thought of battle raging beside her, of what might have happened had these kits not been starclan blessed as they are.

"I had my little-ones safely, with my twolegs, back home where we belong - no thanks to your.... friends efforts," another pause, another drawl, and pink tongue flashes out to lick her lips anxiously - she almost doesn't want to say it. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all. But her heart stutters not i affection but in anguish, for a memory long-past. They can never be - wind and sky, forest and moorland, him and her. That does not mean he should not know - should not be given the chance - for their sakes. She cannot imagine doing otherwise. "Two of them are yours. Look just like you," and oh, doesn't that just tell it all? Two she says, oh so specific in her wording - just two, not all.

— really don't know why its such a big deal though ✸

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• — a small and notably round molly with ink black curls and a white-speckled belly. she wears a bowtie collar with a bright white and lemon yellow plaid pattern, and always seems to be smiling. beyond the normal clan-scent, she smells heavily of milk-scent, dog, and twoleg.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ffff99]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

He licks his teeth once more in response, his shoulders only briefly tensing under her statement. So she learned, then, of which clan he pledged his life to, which clan he risked being killed in just to see her ungrateful tail for. "You'd learn eventually," He said simply, shrugging off the discomfort that edged on the outskirts of his anger. He averted his gaze from her, instead glancing toward the great rock that sat in the center of the clearing, pelt twitching as she confirmed the kits were safe, healthy, back in that accursed den, but still his mind pressed, nagging, for her to confirm it. Things lined up too well... they made too much sense. He was dumb, oh he was dumb, but he wasn't stupid, despite what she may draw conclusions to. And, finally, it slipped from those damned teeth, the confirmation he dreaded.
Two of them are yours. Look just like you.
He inhales deeply, claws rooting him deeper into the ground as he tried, desperately, to wish himself as a tree like these great oaks, to be rendered out of touch with this crashing reality that built resentment and anger into his gut, made that old beast deep within flourish with the energy of a lover scorned. "So much for not lookin' at anyone because of me, huh?" He lets out dryly, bringing those words she spoke last time to throw right back into her face, ears pressing back tightly against his skull as a gentle breeze buffeted his thick pelt. "Ya came 'ere, 'xpectin' me to do what, exactly, Sootsprite? I doubt ya wanna come 'ere an' beg to be by my side, ya already made yer choice perfectly clear, so save me an' you the time an' spit it out," He spat out angrily, bitterness coating eachword with that poisoned dagger of pain and hurt, refusing to meet those sunshine eyes he knew he'd always love and he'd, now, always hate.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  75%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[✧ Sootspritespark.]

✸​✸ I KNOW THAT I'VE GOT A BIG EGO ✸✸​

---

sootspritespark & 37 moons & demi-girl & she/they & skyclan queen​

---

Something sharp and hysterical rises, her body tensing - like a string about to snap "Because of you-? Hah! I looked for the same reason that for so many moons I did not," she says, bitter, wounded. "Because I finally understood - you said it yourself, didn't you - we are not, cannot be. That I could 'rot' with the rest of them, that we'd never get our happy ending, that life we always dreamed of, that I'd never have them," and oh, she's doing it again. Waves of anger crash against her chest and her head, heart beating away like a battering ram, and it's almost enough to topple her, this wave of dizzying anger and pain. "... but no, starclan took that too, took them from me, my kits, replaced them with yours. star-blessed," her words are strangely reverent, but not for him - not for them. No, she finds peace only in knowing that her kits will be someone someday - that it has been written in the stars. It has to be.

"I'd wanted you the chance to see them - to know of them. To choose your own flesh and blood over whatever keeps you bound to the foxes you call clanmates." Teeth gnash for a moment, and she finally stands - hauling herself to her paws to look down upon him. Step after step she strides forwards, lowering herself further and further down, near close enough to reach and yet - paws do not touch the ground, as instead she stills, careful to retain what safety she can. She already regrets it - coming here, telling him, giving him the chance. To know, to hurt her.

Curls blow in the breeze, as she lets the silence linger. voice quiets, until she is all but whispering - words barely carried by the wind. "And yet, who is it who's runnin now," emotions flickering by. Its such a sad sight, she thinks, the two of them. Mistakes made, again and again and again. "... thistlekit, and fennelkit," she says finally, dull and lifeless. There is no going back, no changing - no penance for what they have done. Star-blessed, or star-cursed she wonders - her certainty, her hope faltering in that moment, as she thinks of pale fur. But it matters little in the end. "At least do them the honor of remembering their names - when you meet in battle, when they lie bloodied at your paws; when you end their lives, or when they end yours,"

Because how can there be any other way, when the rats he runs with come in the dead of night, to kill, to steal, to take what is not theirs. There is no place safe - not even the nursery. Not within the forest, not within the clans. There is only blood and death and danger at every corner, at every turn. But she'd made her choice long ago - her paws just as bloody as his now. She turns then, claws digging deep as she hauls herself back upwards, not giving him the chance to turn things back around, to spit even more venom and vitriol, to add more flames to the fire, to this endless cycle. She pauses only once, ears back and tail still - "... this is goodbye then, hound... may starclan forgive us both for what we have done,"

She does not think they will.

— really don't know why its such a big deal though ✸

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: mentions of death; very brief glossing over/implication of stillbirth
  
• — a small and notably round molly with ink black curls and a white-speckled belly. she wears a bowtie collar with a bright white and lemon yellow plaid pattern, and always seems to be smiling. beyond the normal clan-scent, she smells heavily of milk-scent, dog, and twoleg.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ffff99]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

His ears flick at her outburst, gaze hardening where it remains on the rocky cliff that hangs over the pair of them, it and the ancient oaks above the only witnesses to this situation, to these bitter re-openings of wounds that they both claimed they'd sever, that they'd destroy and would stop beating over and over and over, but it seemed they were both a pair of gluttons for the pain, for the agony.
Houndthistle stands there like a stony statue, but internally he flinches at her words, he rears back in his mind, quick to defend, quick to jump at the idea of how she started all this, how she was the one who established she didn't want him. But he bites his tongue, silent, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction as he comes to the terms he was a father, a father to kits he'd never get to see, to half-clan, half-kittypet kits. But as she speaks their names, solidifying their realities, their existence, he does flinch. Thistlekit... Fennelkit... She even went as far as to name them after him. That side that always appealed to his father growled how he should have named one Dog or Hound after himself, after his father, after his father
s father, but it was too late. Another thing he was robbed of by her. Finally, as she turns away, he speaks, his gaze turning to her retreated form slowly. "They're not mine," He states coldly, not daring to let any emotion leak into his voice, "If ya wanted me in their lives, ya wouldn' of taken 'em to them so, no... they're not my kits an' I'on want nothin' to do with 'em, Sootsprite. Congrats, you won." She won the prize she always wanted, and, of course, he was the sore loser. The story repeats, the tale remains the same, and Houndthistle watches her, not caring if she turned back to him or not. It didn't matter, anyway. She already got what she wanted and that's all that mattered, right?

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  75%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​