Oh he's felt it for days with the way his bones and joints throbbed, with the way his arthritis has flared. Winter was upon them as the rogues settled within the hills under their new leadership, as warriors of WindClan. Goat wasn't quite sure what to think... but if this Sootstar could die and come back to life, she was worth following, and she'd get them through the winter.
Goat sits in camp, talking to cats of varying ages as a light snow sprinkled down upon them, glittering their coats. "Ye see... cats o' the mountain said there is a great ol' snowy owl somewhere in the world... sittin' in a big fir tree that makes it snow. He hibernates until leaf-bare, they say, only wakin' when his belly grumbles and its time to hunt again. Every time it's belly grumbles it snows, harder the grumble the harder the snowfall. Of course... ye all know owls are demons, mhm? That is why the snow is so chilly and bitter! It uses it's power to send snow to the earth to freeze and slow its prey down... and that includes cats!" Oh well, if the WindClan cats have not heard his rants and warnings of owls he certainly would be giving them an earful now. His pink nose wrinkles in a grimace against a cool breeze, it was much warmer in the forest under the protection of trees... In WindClan you had no shield but your fur!
"I can tell ye more... but it'll cost'ya a morsel! Knowledge such as mine cannot be heard for free..." He dismissively turns his head to the side and shuts his eyes.
( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )
╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· GOAT, male — he / him
╰ ‣ 144 moons . libra . ages on the first
╰ ‣ rogue . mountain-born .
╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smell of fir trees and late rainfall , status — 100%
╰ ‣ blue and white tom . scar over right eye . amber eyes
╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
╰ ‣ Blunt, impatient, stubborn, loud-mouthed, short-tempered / warms up to become soft-hearted, protective, and considerate with those he grows close to.
╰ ‣ finds moderate difficult in relating to others . can be cruel, rarely shows mercy
╰ ‣ Appreciates titles such as "sir & mister"
╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· BEETLE x HAWTHORNE
╰ ‣ homosexual .
╰ ‣ skilled fighter . average hunter .
╰ ‣ will start fights . unlikely to flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.
This was his first time seeing snow, and Bristlekit is mystified by it. He darts through the clearing, batting at the cold flakes as the chill of winter's breath burns against his nose. The snow looked akin to starlight as it settled within WindClan's many pelts, and the little dark tabby is even more excited to see that it settles upon the ground. As the season went on, perhaps this would develop into a blinding blanket of white, and the world would look transformed.
But for now, Bristlekit finds himself listening in to Goat's story about a great snowy owl, a demon, he says. This owl apparently hunted cats. Bristlekit snorts at the thought, he wouldn't be caught dead getting carried off by an oversized bird! He'd bite and scratch that snowy owl to death if it tried. With his chin held high, Bristlekit speaks boldly, "If that owl comes to WindClan, we'll kill it." He informs with a devious smile. Of course, the idea of an owl demon covering the world in snow was an entirely new concept to Bristlekit, and he's all too eager to learn more. The boy manages to drag a mouse from the fresh-kill pile, dropping it at Goat's paws before staring up at him expectantly. He wanted to know all about this strange owl, and the snow, and perhaps the mountains too.
Coyote lays down with his limbs tucked tight underneath himself, honeyed ears plastered against his cream colored cranium. This was his first snowfall and leaf bare but he could hardly say he was thrilled about it. If anything the frigid season only reminded him of the loss of his mother. Her haunting words reminding him of how she would not live long enough to see the snow fall. His head tips back to watch the onslaught of little flurries drift lazily about and for a moment he wonders if the snow managed to reach the borders of skyclan. If so did the enjoy it? Where they happily romping about like Bristlekit? Frosty brume escaped his nose as his head fell level again, quietly tuning in to the conversation being held by Goat across the way. Silently he mulled over the thought of a demon owl causing the snow, tail twitching to and fro at the possibility. It sounded unlikely, but then again so did multiple lives and star pelted cats. A low hum vibrates within his throat in response to the kitten's bold declaration. "I can believe that I guess. I haven't heard of any other clan successfully defending against hawks...so owls can't be too different." He murmurs, finally breaking his silence. Although his gaze drifts from Bristlekit to Goat and back again feigning concern. "But you should put that mouse back Bristlekit, I believe he likes eggs much better." He adds, actively poking at the elderly tom's dislike for shelled yolky goodness.
Snow is something she loves and hates, its so pretty BUT its cold and being born just a few months back meant she had never experienced the biting cold before. Shes gathered round the elder with wide eyes as she fluffs out her fur, grumbling under her breath as a bitter wind cuts through her pelt regardless of her attempts to stop it. He's talkin bout' owls being demons or something and it piques her interest, tilting her head with a grin.
"Yea, yea! If Windclan beat the hawks then we can send those owls packin back to where they came from!" she chimes in with Coyotepaw before she sends a quizical look at Bristlekit. He's not much shorter than her and she can only assume shes just slightly older, eheh, gives her more power, but when Coyote speaks about Goat wanting eggs she huffed. Dang! She lost her authority, he was older. "What stupid bird would lay their eggs in the moors though? It's gonna be so hard to find," she whines gently, puffing out her bottom lip and looking at Coyote as if he were their final savior.
"Owls are not demons, they are birds. Predators, yes, but not elemental beings." Shorty remarks from his mate's side. Stoic and logical in the face of fantasy and folly, it is not annoyance that drives the golden-shelled tom's words, but purely the intent to inform. His ears swivel as the children that had surrounded them begin to pop off with questions and statements - more fantastical words of killing owls and fighting off hawks with ease. He is reminded of the young cats of his mountainous youth, just as bull-headed, all stupid in the end as they thought they could take one predators alone.
He begins to open his mouth to say that killing owls is a fool's mission - their meat is far too stringy to be of any nutritional value - when a pale she-kit (perhaps a she-cat? age was such a difficult thing to process in younger cats as he got older and older) pipes up with her own queries. She scoffs at birds laying eggs in the moors but Shorty has seen stranger things in his time. "Pheasants are bush-dwellers, if memory serves." He offers in his monotone, though his expression isn't unkind. "They lay their eggs after the snow melts and they hatch in the tall grass. Taste nearly as good as juncos in a pinch."
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