Jul 11, 2022
In the dead of night, Kestreltalon stole across the border into Skyclan. Only then did she come to a halt, taking a moment to catch her breath. The run from Windclan to here had been long and hard, and the risk of getting caught sneaking out of her clan or trespassing in Thunderclan had nipped close at her heels. Now though, she was finally where she meant to be.

Not that it made her feel any safer.

It had irked her when Sootstar had barred her from going to the gathering, even though she hadn't had much interest in it in the first place. One clan had caused her enough trouble, she was in no hurry to meet four more. At least, until her returning clanmates delivered news of their new enemy. Skyclan. Whose quarrel was, apparently, with the oh so beloved leader of her clan for murdering one of their own.

That had caught her interest. They might be the only group of cats who would want Sootstar gone more than she did. It was, at least, worth looking into.

Kestreltalon had buried her curiosity all day, keeping to herself and going about her business as normal. Then, once the whole clan slept, she slipped out of camp and raced across the moors in the direction of the forest. There wasn't much of a plan to speak of, but she knew she had to move that night. While everyone else was still exhausted from their trip to fourtrees. For all her faults, she could cross the moors quicker than any other cat. She'd be in and out before a soul knew that she had been anywhere.

She had made good time thus far, but now came the real problem, actually figuring out what she was doing. Her nose crinkled at the stench of the unfamiliar clan as she padded tentatively into their territory. It was as rank to her as that of Windclan had been when they first came to infest her moors, but had the additional unpleasant tang of kittypet. Then her ears flattened suddenly against her head. "Fox-dung!" she hissed under her breath. Her scent, she had forgotten to mask her scent. Some wayward Skyclanner was going to rip her apart before she got a word in. "There has to be something around here..."

The one-eyed molly began rooting through the undergrowth, searching for something to hide the smell of Windclan on her. All the while glancing over her shoulder to mark her escape routes.

If the Wind Clan she cat was looking a cat who hated Sootstar then she had come to the right place at the right time. Sky Clan was full of warriors who disliked the gray she cat who seemed to rule her clan with an iron fist. And it was him in particular, who’s blood boiled at the very mention of that badger-hearted she cat.

He had yet to be allowed to go to a gathering, his sharp tongue and hatred for not just Wind Clan but River Clan as well had ensured that. But really, could you blame him? Cicadastar had killed his father, whose only action against him had been defending Red in the battle. Not once had they exchanged claws in the fight and Sootstar had killed his brother in cold blood, when just driving him off would have been more suitable.

When the scent of Wind Clan, masked but still there, hits his nose, he freezes, the hair on his back raising a growl forming in his throat. “Who’s there?” He calls out. “Show yourself and I may just let you leave with only a few claw marks” of course he would though, he would never kill a cat for trespassing. He wasn’t them. His blue eyes narrow as he waits for the cat to show themselves.

He sees her before that happens, hears her murmur to herself. He wants to rake his claws across her flank, but it looks as if someone had already beat him to it on her face. He can’t help but wonder what had happened. But he wouldn’t be caught dead exchanging pleasantries with a intruder. “Whatever you’re looking for, try searching your own territory on for size” he growls, getting himself ready to pounce, to drive her off of Sky Clan land.
Prowling across the moon bathed nettle decorated ground, with the sweet and sticky sap of pine crusted on the shadowy trees and the pecking of nosy birds looking for bark worms- it was all a bit too much for the city cat sometimes. He was getting used to it though, like the junk littered yards and metallic clang where the upwalker he liked resides. Anything for long enough can adapt.

Such as these wayward forest cats and their strange ways he had been adapting to. Tensions strung out like muscle, and just as easily bruised and worn. Murder, and not the type with the crows- hung heavy on the tongue of rumor and truth of fact of the two clans. At the paw of a woman he’d never met, Sootstar. She lead the moorland cats where the hills rolled for tails on. If word of maw was worth what it was, then she was ferocious and prideful, where Blazestar is humble and cautious, patient in ways but it was all from Thistleback’s observation. An opinion of his own- perhaps the flame-point leader was quite capable of being vicious. Tale told in time, of course.

Thistleback was following Redstorm, having caught the taste of Windclan just as the growling red-furred feline he had sidled near. The warrior he followed had a darkness in his growl as it began, deep and rooted in the air with a certain venom. Again, an opinion- but Thistleback’s silvery eyes slight toward the tom before finding the stranger in the night.

She was sifting through the ungrowth like a tunnel-rat, only fitting that the moor cats always smelled like fresh dirt and grass. Maybe they were tunnel rats, now why’s this one here? Redstorm speaks in warning- whatever keeping the warrior from simply springing into action and tasting that sweet revenge? was beyond the black and white daylight warrior. He stands a whisker or two behind him and simply stares as the one-eyed Windclanner. Flicking a barbed tongue over his jaws and ready for whatever Redstorm seen fit.

Casual pleasantries, that’s why he had a tongue for words. A fight perhaps? that’s why he had teeth. For now, he is quiet and observant. Serving as silent backup and a curious set of eyes.
A voice called out to her and Kestreltalon froze. "Just my luck." She muttered tensely under her breath. At the very least, the Skyclanner hadn't leapt at her right away. She still had some time to get a word in. This could still turn out well, all she had to do was make sure to say the right thing.

A tricky thing for her.

Pulling herself out of the undergrowth, the molly backed away from the two tom's slowly. If they decided to start anything, she wanted to put ample distance between them and her, that way she'd have as much time to get away as possible. She'd need it too, at least here. It was moments like these that made her wish she never had a reason to leave the moors. Without all this mess of a forest around her she'd be able to make a run for it no problem. She was still fairly confident in her ability to get away if need be, but it'd be trickier for sure.

"Alright, alright, calm your ass down. I'm not here to start anything." Kestreltalon asserted, her good eye flicking between the two of them. Her whole body was tensed, ready to spring up and run at a moments notice. Every part of her mind was screaming at her to get away, and if they moved an inch closer she would listen.

“Whatever you’re looking for, try searching your own territory on for size”

A sharp, nervous grin was her response. "Well, it'd be hard to find you lot on Windclan territory. Doubt my beloved leader would take kindly to that." She snarked, her reference to Sootstar dripping with sarcasm. She tilted her head, showing off the nasty scar that replaced one of her eyes. "I'm here to talk, because we have a common enemy. The same snake-heart that killed one of yours? Took my eye."
She smells familiar.

Dawnglare waits, eyes narrowed as he stands amongst his clanmates. She reveals herself to them, sky-scent and multi-colored. What was she? the question rings in his mind, solemn song, but nothing rings back. Not yet. And why was she here? Of all cats, Windclan took their borders seriously didn't they?

There's a flutter in his chest— good news from today, a valuable little thing that'd fallen into his clutches. It shines in the rays of early leaf-fall, glitters between his own pearly whites. His mood has dampened now, but it was slight. His eyes narrow with curiosity, rather than hostility. They have a common enemy, she claims, and he tilts his head in response. "N' Soo'sar?" he questions, unwilling to relinquish his treasure in this moment. A Windclanner— perhaps she was only here to take as they loved to do.

But she was Windclan. Why hate her leader, surely, when she could leave? One wrong step, and Sootstar would escort her out herself, he's sure. Either that or escort her to Starclan, but if she already made it this far...

He shifts his treasure in his mouth, makes another attempt to speak. Though, giddyness overwhelms him for a moment as he gets another glimpse, feels it shift between teeth. Wonderful thing. There's the beginnings of a giggle in his throat, not quite right. "Hehe— sh— she's keepin' it? She would—" —do this, he wants to say. She's already taken their hearts, sickly pink scars raked across their chests. What was next, an eye? A leg? "D'you seek revenge, then? Take it back?" Burn her, flay her, anything.

The smell of moorland amidst the pine forest is nowhere near a welcome scent to Squallmist.

Rather, it sends him back to that night. To Haze, lifeless on the ground, sorry yellow eyes staring back at him as he struggled to take his final breaths. To chants of 'kittypet' surrounding him, taunts thrown at him as he's swiped at by his brother's murderer, as a child tries to step in, as Squallmist, too, almost reunites with his father in the stars.

The silver tabby's claws unsheathe at the sound of an unfamiliar WindClanner's voice, one followed by a voice all too familiar to him. Redstorm.

Though his brother now outranks him, Squallmist will always be older than him. Squallmist will always be sworn to the duty of protecting Redstorm, and, the SkyClanner simply cannot lose another family member. Especially not to the moor-dwellers. Not again. Not ever.

He's swift in moving towards the site of the discussion, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Though he's not swift enough to arrive in time to gather the full conversation, he learns quite quickly that the moor-dweller shares a hatred towards the blue-furred leader.

"Should we be surprised?" he asks, claws digging into the soil beneath him, "My brother's murderer, harming her warriors? Clawing at her deputy, her medicine cat? Taking out eyes? Do you really expect us to be surprised, when we already knew she was capable of creating such a gruesome scene?"

Stormy eyes stare down the warrior before him, an air of uncertainty lingering. What if this was a trap? What if Sootstar sent the one-eyed warrior to gather information? Where they about to be ambushed?

"What exactly is it that you want, moorlander? Friends? Someone to pity you?"
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