on the verge | quiet contemplation




How long has it been since she stepped paw back into camp? Not since the early morning she supposes, not since that awful encounter with the soft group that seemed to always want to cause an issue with them. Her tail sways carefully back and forth as she hangs on the precipice of a rock, claws scraping on the edge. She hasn't been doing much out here save for thinking and being idle. At one point she had thought to go hunting to clear her mind and be of some use but then the thought of maybe running into one of them pushed it away. So now she just sits on this rock and watches a small pool of water. Small bodies of tadpoles swim back and forth, none the wiser that this pool of water will just dry up and they with it. Their lives will be fleeting and yet they seemed to be enjoying what they have in this moment. Her gaze flicks between the many bodies before she exhales and then breaths back in. She is for the most part tumultuous on the inside. Though much of her feelings have been buried deep inside since that fateful day she does have feelings that she doesn't show. They are fleeting things and she is sure that this too will pass with time but for now it bothers her.

She has never in her own life thought of harming a child, a kit. It is not something she personally finds comfortable but to be called a lunatic for something she has never done makes her uncomfortable. To say she would pounce on a child makes her angry, indignant. Especially in front of them. Her wounds ache, they burn. The rat bit stinging against her side. She's been clearing it with rough drags of her tongue, checking it with smelling. It's all she can do and she hopes it heals. The others aren't as bad and so she has left them to heal on their own time. Another exhale brings her slowly coiling her body up as small as it can get upon the rock, a loaf. Her eyes closing.


- feel free to post before howl does

"There you are." The plump tabby picked her way through the needle-littered marsh, trying to ignore the dampness of the ground on her paws. She fluffed out her pelt before taking a seat beside Bone on the rock and following her gaze into the pool. "You haven't come back to camp yet." No doubt because of the day's earlier encounter. She wished that the molly wouldn't let herself be agitated by the other group's words. Everyone seemed to be looking for a fight these days, and one just had to pick their head up and move along. Howling Wind had to remind herself, however, that Bone was seasons younger than she was, and quicker to take things to heart. Quicker to react. Such an attitude came with youth, she supposed - she couldn't blame her.

− ♱ ABOUT : he’d never thought he’d see the day a member of his newfound colony hurt a child. his former, he could hardly remember — nothing past flashes of raving, bloodshot - mad eyes and drooling maws and fear. he remembers burning herbs and bundles of flora, cats nestled in rose bushes and spearmint stalks. he remembers being afraid, above all else. upon joining the marsh colony, he’d stupidly led himself to believe he was safe from the horrors of that time. from the biting sting of hunger and death, the fighting, the anxiety. cicada had placated himself by believing things would go little further than this ; the kittypets were a cowardly group, and even rain had the soft, delicate air of a spoiled twoleg nest ornament. it wouldn’t be long before he and his possee went running back to their cushy, pillowed lives and hard, bitter kibble and left the feral colonies to their lives. to their land. their youth would be safer within the tall, colored nests just beyond the pine anyway.

the mottled bicolor heaves a sigh, sugarcane breath billowing heavy against rubbery lips. cicada had done his best thus far to reinforce camp walls and placate the low, worried murmurs of those aware they were a whisker away from war — he felt the roots of age deep into his bones like black thread, weaving delicate into his joints and bringing forth a heavy, throbbing ache. he didn’t know what he would have done in the kittypet’s place. had one of his own been attacking ; opal, sage, quiet, dizzy.. the curls along the back of his neck begin to bristle at the thought, the feral urge to sink his teeth into the flesh of one bold enough to threaten the new life of their colony . . he'd half a mind to pull the molly aside himself and cuff her over the ears, but it was hardly his place. his attention, however, lingered on briar and what punishment she would ultimately see fit. he just hoped the rest of the colony seen it fit, as well.

himself included.

his approach is marked by nothing but the rustle of undergrowth and pull of mud against the pad on each ivory paw, icecap luminaries first fixating on howling as the tabby approaches, watching as she nests next to a dark, lithe figure settled amongst the littered pine. bone. rats were horrible, savage little creatures and he worried for her open scrapes, blushing pink - red in direct sunlight. cicada didn’t understand how she could lie on that rock surface comfortably. light paw steps bring him alongside the small body of water, glancing down into the reflective surface and into the electric blue of his eyes, watching the little creatures flit nervously from his shadow, “ stimmt, no shame in that. “ the man speaks, low, accented vocals lifting slightly as he seats. a paw comes to hover just over the water, feeling the cool surface beneath his pad ; it was hot today, and his coat did nothing to help that. turning his head, his focus would fix on her wounds again, leaning forward just slightly,”how are you feeling?” a soft smile comes to grace his jaw, eyes worried and tired and rimmed with hunger. he understood she probably didn’t feel fantastic — they certainly didn’t look it — but it didn’t hurt to ask.


the smell of blood is overwhelming. its copper tanginess clings to fur like no other, leaving quiet nauseous and unsure. would they end up just as covered, had they investigated? they always aired on the side of caution, but the brief scents of bone, howling and cicada make her worried. more so, cicada. the brute had always been nice and overprotective of them, just as their brother had been, so it made since, right? for them to worry? against all their better judgement, they head to the scent, sensitive nose twitching back and forth, before they simply cover their nose with their paw. she doesn't like the scent. it's overwhelming. all too powerful. nothing was worse than blood- with the exception of the sweet smell of death itself. she's smelled both, and can faithfully say she likes neither. hates them. upon slowing, they see that the wounds lie not on cicada, but on bone. bone was hurt. it wasn't good, but it was better than it having been cicada. like usual, they press against cicada, feeling safe near him, worried gaze looking over bone. gently, she presses her head against cicada's leg, before making a confused gesture as if to say what happened? had no one rlse been around, she might of simply said it but there was entirely too many cats... two too many.


There is a little surprise when someone finds her out here on her own. Truth be told she hasn't expected it but she is moderately grateful that it is Howling that does find her. The older molly has a soothing presence about her and so she doesn't show any agitation and only allows a light flick of an ear to let her know she has heard her. "Sorry. I haven't really been in a mood to be around a lot of others right now. Just doing a lot of thinking...." The truth, she doesn't hold back her words and so she finally turns her head to look at Howling when the other molly comes to sit beside her. She wants to ask what she things and it lays heavily on her tongue and so she just goes and blurts it out. "How do you feel about what happened in the oak forest? What was said?" If she is frank about it she's angry, she's upset, she's unnerved, but she keeps it bottled inside like a storm ready to burst out.

Suddenly she stiffens as she hears another voice, but a familiar voice. Her burning gaze turns toward Cicada then and she blinks for a moment, listening to him with slight confusion. She can see him then, the worry in his gaze. The worry directed at her and she doesn't know how to think of that. Instead she shifts her body a little and looks down before finally speaking up as another joins them near her rock sanctuary. "I'm fine. I feel fine. My wounds ache but it will be fine and they will heal. You look tired though. Are you resting enough?"

Howling Wind let out a sigh, a puff of air as she relaxed beside Bone. She leveled her gaze straight ahead, focusing on a dragonfly that hovered lazily above a pool of algae-covered water. "I think that ugly tom was a pompous fox-heart," She admitted gruffly. "His companions weren't pleasant either. Neither were we," She added on pointedly, sending a look towards her denmate. Bone could be...abrasive, sometimes. No one's temper helped the situation, but the tabby wanted her to know she wasn't angry. Shifting her fluffy tail, she attempted to brush it against the black and white she-cat's flank comfortingly. What was done, was done. No one was harmed. Cicada and Quiet arrived next, and the plump feline looked to each of them with a gentle smile. Dipping her head in greeting to each of them, she sat up expectantly.