NOW THAT SUMMER'S COMING ╱ OPEN

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

Despite everything that'd happened in this one cycle of the moon, the waters of RiverClan are calm. For perhaps the first time in a long while, Houndstride wishes that it wasn't. The picture painted 'cross its smooth waters might've been a beautiful one in another's mind. The sky's a soft blue, deepened by the glassy dark, and newleaf's brought a smattering of greenery back to the bank. It waves and shivers in the reflection, almost daring to dance. It's peaceful. Flawlessly so.

And like an open wound or a smear of mud through fresh-bathed fur, there's him. A blight upon its beauty, sour and scarred. His eyes alone are bitter enough to poison these glorious waves, even without the help of his grimacing muzzle just below. That too is scarred, but it's been left long enough to heal some. He's a lifetime of 'em smattered through his pelt. Buried in dark fur, or clearing up some where the fur is short. This, though– he's no vain beast, thinking too little of himself to ever see beauty in his face, which is alone the memory of a monster. But his ear is sorer than his damaged pride, and when he looks at himself he can only think of Wolfsong. What'd once been a familiar sort'f friendship sours. It's an infection far greater than any that might attack this wound.

Much a he may try to avoid it, the water's left everything clear. A deep gouge splits his ear, and it echoes in his throat with every second he stares into the river: you lost. With a low sound of disgust, Houndstride smacks his paw across the water's surface. The broken reflection returns all too quickly, but his gaze has turned away.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: tl;dr, wolfsong and hound fought shortly before windclan's first raid, but if anyone asks he will say it happened during the raid. he's admiring his brand new shredded ear.
• ──── houndstride. trans male, he - him - his pronouns.
  ──── over three years old. born late december of 2020.
  ──── bisexual but with a heavy masc 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"

​

 

[ashpaw!]

The raid has sown anger in the hearts of Ashpaw's clanmates, and misery in some — she knows that she's lucky to have escaped mostly unscathed, lucky she's not sitting vigil for her kin. It ... feels like a changed place. She thinks they're changed people.

Here is Houndstride, changed in many ways: no longer Houndsnarl, named now for his quickness — for loyalty, for rescue. He is changed in some ways that Ashpaw won't ever know, too young to know his history, and now — he's changed on the outside, too.

Ashpaw's got scars too. She's got a scar down her flank that hides under her long fur. And she's got little white patches under her cheek, fur that grew back white after claws ripped it out — she doesn't talk about them much, because talking about them means bringing up the man who did it. But. Anyway. She knows a little bit about change, about scars. Maybe when she's Houndstride's age she'll know a lot more.

"Hi," she says softly, coming to sit beside him. "That looks like it hurts..."

She's kind of at a loss for what to say. She flinches on instinct when he smacks the water — gah, keep it together, Ash — and tilts her head, worried. Does Houndstride have friends? Who does he talk to when he's sad? She knows he's friends with Cicadastar, and with Clayfur. Maaaybe she should get one of them.

"Do... you wanna talk about it?" she offers. "You'll look really nice when it heals, I bet. Like a warrior. Like even more of a warrior than you are already." Raised in RiverClan from kithood, it's the greatest pride Ashpaw has ever known to fight for your clan, to wear battle scars. Doesn't occur to her to imagine the blemish as anything else but an honor. ​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• ooc text goes here
  
  
• - 9 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
  - crushing hard on iciclepaw
  - happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
  - very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
  - got real fucked up as a kid so if she seems like she was fucked up as a kid, that's why
  - "speech"
• - KICKED FOX ASS
  - she is on a JOURNEY
  

​

 

[Riffleheart]

The riverbank was soft beneath Riffleheart's paws as he padded along the water's edge, inhaling deeply to catch the scents of snowmelt and new growth. Another leafbare over, another newleaf rolling in like a verdant fog...the blue tabby could not help but feel joy as he walked, absently tracking the flashes of fish in the depths of the water. The sight of two of his Clanmates brightened his spirits only further, even if they seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation - a serious one, yes, but perhaps not a private one. Angling himself toward Houndstride and Ashpaw, the warrior nodded sagely as the younger tom swatted the river itself. "I don't think it's learned its lesson yet." extending one foreleg, Riffleheart gave the water a solid slap, warmth flashing in his green eyes. Surveying the small storm of ripples, he nodded gravely and mrowed, "That should do the trick."​

 

[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw was scarless- he knew not the blight of them, nor the sting, though many his age and older already did. It came paw-in-paw with Clan life, didn't it? Fighting for what you loved- though, it felt wrong that you should be punished for it by a rend to the skin. Maybe it wasn't a punishment, but a medal- something you bore to prove you really did something good. He'd choose to believe that, mainly because it was nicer and it made the world make sense a little bit more. Good people were rewarded, and evil was punished. The same scar that marred evil would sing on the face of a hero.

The gawky apprentice made his way over, bug-eyes instinctively falling to a little gathering of stones at the river's edge. He clattered one against the other, ear flicking as Riffleheart harshly broke the water a second time. "I huh-hope it doesn't hurt too much." If it was a medal from the raid- and it must be- it was the making of a hero, a protector. Houndsnarl didn't deserve for it to hurt.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SWAMPWATER]

The shapes of their clanmates are muddled from a distance, but grow sharper as the pewter feline picks his way over to the riverbank. Houndstride, a fierce warrior, strikes out at his reflection in the water, and Ness—he can’t help but to comment on it after Ashpaw brings up the other’s most glaring wound. "Battle wounds all ‘round, yeah?" Their words hold lightness, but their tone is stiff, emotionless.

Swampwater settles upon the shore, silken tail tucked carefully away from the water. Their own wounds aren’t severe, are mild in comparison to the ruin that mars the pelts, faces, hearts of their clanmates. Not that they’re concerned ‘bout much else than them WindClan pellet-eaters, at this point. Awful as it sounds, their concern for the well-being of their fellow river cats doesn’t begin to compare to the bonfire in their chest (the wild animal that claws at the inside of their ribcage, the thing that rages inside them) and tells them to focus on WindClan only. The moor rats must pay for their evils.

After a moment, they click their tongue, swiveling their head to observe the others—two apprentices, two warriors, and himself. What a group they make. They don’t look at Ashpaw or Fernpaw too long, flaming eyes skimming over their bright pelts quickly. Their gaze settles on the ripples that Riffleheart’s smack created in the water, even as they speak to Houndstride. "I wouldn’t be too worried. You got enough looks to make up for the ugly ear." It’s true; everyone has scars, there’s not many cats these days who don’t have ‘em, and the ugliness of scars don’t make any cat themself ugly.
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[ BURN THE WOODS ! ]​

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