horseplace ROLLING IN THE HAY // night WindClan patrol

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

It was unusual being this far out in the territory; especially without having traveled by tunnel for any of it. She can’t help but feel if she had traveled by tunnel she would’ve made it here several heart-beats sooner, when walking atop the soil, time seemed to grow slow. Though rusty, Sootstar’s ability to navigate in the dark was matched only by a few of her former clan-mates. The WindClanners who had hailed from the marsh use to be almost entirely night dwelling, it was when prey had been the most active… but again, so had been the dangers of the swamps. Still, this was a good opportunity to flex a muscle she’s not used in a long time and aid WindClan in becoming better secured. Crickets sound and the distant sound of two legs chatting can be heard as they arrive on the outskirts of the horse place. She hardly pays the sound of twoleg vocals mind, it wasn’t too uncommon around here and they always went unseen in the tall weeds. ”We should almost start marking closer to the horse place…” Sootstar meows to the patrol, noting their scent line diminished. ”Especially now that rogues have taken a liking to killing our clan-mates.” Sourly she adds, brows furrowing bitterly thinking of Tigerfrost and Vulturemask. // @Azaleafrost @BLUEPAW @SUNSTRIDE @GRAVELSNAP Any loners or mousers in the horse place area are welcome to post! WindClan WILL be particularly aggressive with rogues, mousers may power play seeing Sootstar around and knowing who she is

 

[SUNSTAR]

Sunstride is not unfamiliar with the dark. Though he cannot claim as steady a knowledge as Sootstar must have for her life before these moors, his own had been one of travel and exploration. He and Wolfsong would trade restless nights staring into the black sky in search of danger. This is not unlike it, though his paws now move and there is no resting figure for him to lean against. Still he grows accustomed to Wolfsong's new duties. That they will no longer patrol together, and the golden tom was busier with plants than with prey– he mourns it, strangely, but dares not say. Being so precious a cat in StarClan's eyes must lend him some safety. Though the threat eternally lingers, they are here to tend to it. Walking these moors in the dark now, he finds solace in that fact at the very least.

"If only they paid any mind to our borders," he breathes, voice low in the night yet carrying well enough between those on patrol. They had remained outside of them with Vulturemask. His wounds still ache at times, a phantom pain despite having fully healed. Tigerfrost, however– he has no faith in them remaining beyond the scent barrier. "We may only hope that this is enough to dissuade them."

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES ╱ REFERENCE ╱ 07.10.2023 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘕 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, monogamous. mate to wolfsong from 07.05.2023.  npc x npc, no larger family.
  —— has recently regained some of his earlier lightness, but maintains his steady facade.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

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[COLT]

Nightlife around the barn ain't nothing special. In the cold months, things quiet as soon as the sun sets; all life seems to scurry away to whatever hovel or warm place folks can find so that they tough out the night until the morning starts to thaw out the farm again. Now's different, though—it doesn't get dark until late, and even then, it's pleasantly warm. The passing breezes are cooling, not biting. They rustle through the grasses slowly, unhurried, and jostle the bugs that chirp and sing beneath the canopy of twinkling stars up above. They carry the voices of the housefolk up on the porch, lounging in their rocking chairs and cradling steaming mugs in their hands.

And the voices of clancats too, apparently.

Colt eyes the lot of them from nearby, secured behind a jutting wall of grass for the moment. They've got sharp scents bleeding off their pelts; wild and distant stuff, absent of the homeliness of the farm. It tickles at his nose, makes him tense and wary in a way that he hasn't had to worry about in a while.

Those cats...WindClanners, as they call themselves. They aren't exactly a friendly bunch. Particularly not that moor-eyed molly leading the fray, brow knitted and stern, even through the cloak of darkness. He searches his memory for a name, and eventually scrapes one up along the rusty recesses of his recollection. Sootstar.

But as Colt's gaze wanders, he finds that he's locked eyes with one of their patrol members. They look wild-eyed. Dangerous.

Well, might as well bite the bullet.

"I ain't mean no harm," they announce, stepping out from their shroud, and do their best to give the impression of honesty. Some folks rely on him for things like these. Maybe not smalltalk or negotiations, but safety. Reliability. He knows away around a fight—and, most importantly, he knows the sheer importance of avoiding one in the first place.

They stand loose and unbothered, though hold a wary, tense line in their back. He's got a better look at all the WindClan cats now that he's out in the open, and they stare at him with unbridled distrust. Not that that particularly bothers him, being that he's in the same boat and all.

Colt grinds the piece of rye tucked against his teeth between his canines. "Jus' out here takin' a stroll, 's all. Fine evenin' f'r it." At least it would've been. He knows that these clan cats go around marking up their territory, just not usually at night. And not usually when anyone's around to cross paths with them.

"You folks always out this late?" he prompts. Hopefully, they get tired of his rambling and turn tail, either finishing up their work quicker or abandoning whatever nefarious plot brought them up this way in the first place. Not that Colt could stop them himself, though.​

 

[BLUEFROST]

She is again the only apprentice on Sootstar’s nighttime patrol, only this time, their destination is not SkyClan’s camp. Her flank twitches nervously, feeling exposed under the moon atop the moorland. Though she’d have never guessed it, Bluepaw now feels small and clumsy above ground, whereas in the tunnels she once regarded as frightening and claustrophobic, she is almost in her element. She finds herself missing the shadows, the twists and turns, the small spaces that hold no predators or enemy warriors, but dangers she is prepared to face. She is close by her mentor’s side, green eyes glowing warily.

Sootstar tells them to begin marking closer to the Horseplace. Here, it smells strange. Her father had hailed from here, as had other cats when WindClan had first been created, but she doesn’t associate it with them at all. There’s the stench of some unfamiliar, reeking animals, the distant barking of a dog somewhere beyond their territory. She gives Sunstride a nod. “I hope this keeps them away.” Her heart pounds when she thinks of Vulturemask, cold and ripped to shreds, Wolfsong named in his place as her mother swore revenge.

Tufted ears swivel, and she sees a glimpse of white among moving shadow. A cat with a pelt like their deputy’s, patched black and white, with luminous eyes that glow in the darkness. He isn’t on their territory, but her fur begins to fluff out all the same. “Who are you to address WindClan?” She says, her tone cold and more confident than she feels. “You folks always out this late?” She twitches her whiskers, replying in the same faux-authoritative voice, “We won’t be questioned by outsiders.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

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[GRAVELSNAP]

Being out so late at night, so far from camp, does not frighten them so much as unnerve them. They catch themself looking over their shoulders more often than they should, head on a swivel. Danger could be lurking in each and every shadow, enemies could be waiting to tear them apart just as they had Tigerfrost and Vulturemask. They have long told themself that they are afraid of nothing… but they do fear death. They fear the darkness of the unknown. And out here, even surrounded by a patrol of cats who they trust—with one notable exception, of course—Gravelsnap’s shoulders are tensed, body coiled like a defensive snake. They are prepared to strike, they just aren’t certain which direction the danger is coming from.

They trot along behind the rest of the patrol, dark ears shifting to take in every possible noise around them. Sootstar and Sunstride discuss the rogues that have caused trouble for WindClan, and a tremor passes through the young warrior’s legs. A mere scent border will not stop a pack of bloodthirsty brutes who are dead-set on wiping out the moorland clan. But before they can add their own opinion to the conversation, an unfamiliar cat speaks up to ask whether they are always out this late at night. Bluepaw, brave and fierce as she is, shoots back venomous words at the stranger, the rogue, and Gravelsnap suddenly doesn’t feel as nervous anymore. If this strange cat doesn’t frighten Bluepaw, then surely they shouldn’t be concerned either.

They take a step forward, head held high despite the tense line of their spine and shoulders. Hazel eyes narrow to slits, a suspicious glare trained on the enemy. After Bluepaw speaks, they add, "Why does it matter to you, anyway?" Waiting for an easier kill? If that is the goal, then this cat is sorely mistaken. No WindClanner will be made an easy kill for an outsider again. ​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

She lets out a huff in agreement to Sunstride, she’s not able to open her maw before a Tom emerges from his hiding spot. ’I ain’t mean no harm Her fur bristles but the thick scent of hay and horse that radiates from his fur calms her. WindClan has never had an issue with the mousers in the horse place, none have ever crossed their scent boundary. Yet that was not enough to buy them friendly greeting from WindClan, she moves not at all to reprimand Bluepaw for challenging the outsider. Gravelsnap asks what it matters to him, Sootstar says nothing but stares intently at the loner for a reply.