RUN AND RUN | a particular patrol

[FERNDANCE]

Leading patrols had become second nature to the Warrior now, and today's started like any other. Hunting out in the territory did not always promise good results but for Ferndance, the chance to stretch her legs and do one of her favourite pastimes was enough to make the experience worth it anyways. As with most ShadowClan patrols, she'd accumulated quite a motley crew, though a great part of her longed for Dogfur's company too. The unknown residence of her friend was the biggest distraction she'd ever faced, the anxiety enough to send her usually ditzy mind even further into lands left unexplored. Still, a brave face was required. Though her pawsteps were quiet as they sloshed amidst the mud, her mouth lacked a similar discretion, rambling on about the state of gossip amidst the camp and whether caterpillars were named after cats or if it were the other way around. Annoying to some, it brought a sense of normalcy to the cinnamon tabby that had been missing since Dogfur's disappearance, but she was so caught up in conversation that she almost missed the obstruction that was in front of her.

Turning her head to face the direction she was going, Ferndance's eyes immediately darted downwards at the strange object in her vision, immediately raising her tail to tell those behind her to stop. Her back began to arch as she slowly swished her tail left and right, indicating that the others should circle around whatever it is she had found. Seated by the edge of some tall weeds was a large black mass and, as she wrinkled her nose, she was baffled at how she did not detect it sooner. The she-cat leaned forwards, gave a tentative sniff, and recoiled, blinking demurely as she tried to comprehend not what it was, but what on earth had left it there. She had been a traveler once, but not all the information of her journeys had stuck with her. Trying her best to flatten down her rustled fur, Ferndance mewed, "Wow that is.... that is certainly a big ol' pile of dookie." She looked to Smogmaw for guidance on how to proceed - should they continue hunting? Report the toilet habits of a mysterious creature? Something else? It seemed fresh but for some reason, she didn't think she wanted to meet the animal in question.

Remembering her brief bout of sickness after Applekit's present, the white-pawed she-cat quickly clarified, "It isn't mine.... in case you were wondering.". Incredulously, her head fell to one side. "Any guesses?"

[[ please only post if your character was assigned to the patrol mentioned in the discord! -- tag list: @Wolfpaw. , @smogmaw , @SHARPPAW. , @Rainecho , @Magpiepaw , @Frostbite , @ROOSTERSTRUT , @Crowpaw. ]]

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[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — So much had been happening in ShadowClan as of late, so much so that Roosterstrut had begun to feel more like a spectator than anything. Halfshade and Smogmaw had a family of their own now (seemingly as quickly as they had even gotten together), Ghostpaw had died, and Betonyfrost's kits were nearly apprentices now... Roosterstrut sometimes wonders if he should be doing more, like settling down or amping up his contributions to the clan. Was he a valuable warrior, an asset to the clan, or was he the burden that Smogmaw believed him to be?

Speaking of the mackerel tabby, Roosterstrut makes sure to walk furthest from him, staring forward and focused on whatever was in front of him. The tabby tom, intuitive to the patrol lead's motions, came to a stop and curiously glanced around her to see what she was looking at. That... was an odd sight, to say the least. "Certainly something bigger than a cat... or a fox, even." His ears begin to flick backward, a realization that the patrol has encountered something unfamiliar and new. New wasn't always a bad thing, but when it came to strange creatures roaming near ShadowClan's territory... that probably wasn't a great sign. Other creatures weren't exactly friendly to cats; dogs, foxes, snakes, twolegs, you name it. What could this possibly be?

His head swivels in the direction of the rest of the patrol. "I don't recognize it." Roosterstrut inputs, wondering if anyone else had any insight. Ferndance always seemed to possess facts and information about random flora and fauna native to the marshes. If the lead warrior herself couldn't put a name to whoever made this dirt then surely no one else knew.​

 

[Frostbite]

He wished he could say this was the first time Poppypaw had bitten him, but it wasn't. They just had that kind of..... Energy, together. Was he just biteable, or was she just crazy, or was it both? She said something stupid, so he said so. And she bit him. Did he deserve it? Probably, but regardless, Poppypaw was absent with this patrol and Frostbite got to experience a modicum of peace.

But peace wasn't native to this swamp, now was it. It seemed the place thrived on misery and death.

Ferndance's gossip was interesting to listen to, at least. She got him to wonder if caterpillars were named after cats, too. Well, were they? Starclan was silent to his curiosity. Perhaps they werent meant to know. Was it the same with katydids????

The disgusting stench of dirt struck him and derailed his thoughts. What kind of creature made such an awful smelling pile of-

That's the question, isnt it.

Something new was in the swamp.

He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps we have a visitor somewhere.... I don't know of anything that could make.....Something as big as that." He said.

A bear? A moose? These were considerations, but....Those animals weren't from around here. So then what left this?
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[smogstar]

[cw: just general grossness idk, its a thread about shit]

It may strike his fellow patrolmates as counterintuitive, that the deputy would tread on the ankles of a lead warrior and not lead a patrol of his own. However, in justifying his presence today, Smogmaw had come equipped with as good an excuse as any: arranging these patrols was maddening at times, and he simply didn't want to do it. Should this line of reasoning fail to persuade, then the tom could at least pull out the ol' "I'm a father, and kids are a paw-ful" card—which wasn't entirely true, since watching over thoughtless flea-brains happened to be his exact field of work.

Second in the column of ShadowClan warriors and apprentices, he trudges along at a reasonable range from Ferndance's flank. @SHARPPAW. lingers nearby, about as aloof as ever, while Roosterstrut appears to be keeping him at a distance. Nothing out of the ordinary. It's a rather mundane patrol until the ticked tabby at the helm grinds to a sharp halt, which nigh on results in the deputy colliding with her (his mind had been elsewhere, and the gesture had gone unseen). Within moments, an immoral odour would imbue his senses, reducing his expression to an unlovely lour and causing his stomach to seethe. In a region where questionable scents were the norm, Smogmaw can safely say he hasn't been so offended by one such as this.

At Ferndance's following motion, which he heeds properly this time, the dark-toned tom closes in on the culprit. Upon glimpsing it, his eyes bulge in surprise. "Heavybranch could," he responds to Frostbite, while averting his gaze from the literal mound of shit. This didn't strike him as a cat's doing, though, and he swivels to note Roosterstrut's suggestion of a larger animal being the perpetrator. He'd know a thing or two about foxes, now wouldn't he? "Couldn't be an animal from Horseplace, we're a good leap away from there," he'd meow, "not a twoleg neither, because s'far as I'm aware, twolegs don't shit in the woods." And if they did, Smogmaw would have heard a sound.

His and the lead warrior's regards would align then, a silent request for further instruction in the she-cat's eyes. "This is no longer a hunting patrol," he asserts, turning to observe everyone else in his midst. "We cannot guarantee whoever left this has left the territory yet. Let's give the perimetre a survey, and then tell Chilledstar what we've found."

Smogmaw then proceeds to dry-heave.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† New-leaf makes the marshland feel stuffier than he'd ever thought it could be. Cats clumped together under the guise of patrol – bundled like the piles of muck they tread upon themselves. Some of them resembled it more than others. Roosterstrut was a bright - eyed face amongst the rest of them; ticked strange or striped stoic. Frostbite... something in between. She doesn't understand why tom was still here. Why he hasn't left them behind along with Bonejaw, or became a named nobody along with Flickerfire.

Was that unfair to think? Not really. He doesn't think so. When something happens, it could always happen again. She'd never expected it the first time, so would she more, or less the second? Sharppaw doesn't like thinking about it. Maybe he should stop caring at all.

That's what he'd been told, hadn't he? Trust only yourself.

Sharppaw breathes the same air she has across her moons of apprenticeship. Warriorhood trudged ever closer in time, but in skill... No, not really. Time says he should prepare to bear this on his sleeve; warrior amongst ShadowClan's ranks. (For what would he ever be but a ShadowClanner? No matter how desperately he ever wished for anything else, he couldn't have it any other way). Time says he would feel the blue gaze of Chilledstar upon him sooner rather than later. Experience said that he should run as far away as he possibly could because he wasn't ready.

Who knows if ShadowClan's higher-ups really cared about any of that. Sharppaw believes it, regardless. Because what else would he do if he didn't?

They are brought to a halt, and a foul scent breaches his thoughts that second later. His paws skip ahead to obey Ferndance's gesture, perhaps to eager to get away, get away– but what they're surrounding is... is...

" Is– Um– " He's tripping over his own words, as if the scent itself was tangible and easy to slip on. " A– A badger? " She's never seen one. She doesn't even know if they'd ever step foot into a place like this. But she's heard of them from other clans... Were they big enough, though?

It pains her that Smogmaw is the one they all turn to. The rank demanded this– The rank. She accepts what he says with a breath, only moving urgently when it allows her to look away from his retching.​

 

[Magpiepaw]

He remains dutifully at Rainecho's side, though his tail injury was not fatal it still remained wrapped in its binding to prevent him causing it further harm and he wonders if just snapping it back into place was an option; thought perhaps not. Starlingheart would have fixed it already if she knew how, he was left to continue waiting for more knowledge to be granted her and until then his training with his mentor was merely left to border patrols and hunting; nothing that would give way to much injury like combat though he loathed the day they ever attempted it. Magpiepaw did not want to fight, he would rather others more skilled sully their claws in such a way.
The black and white apprentice's lapsing thought nearly has him walk headlong forward into where the others are directing their gaze and were it not for a stumble he might've become far more familiar with the reeking pile than any soul would dare want. His legs locked as he swayed in place, nose wrinkling and ears pinned back upon catching the scent of whatever mound of repulsion they had come across. Questions rang out on what made it, thoughts mulled on freshness and size and he balked at the idea of lingering long enough to inspect it further. Magpiepaw spoke up with alarming clarity then, no whimsical and breathless omen or poetic waxing that could be misconstrued; for once he is blunt as a stone to the head: "Can we discuss it further away?"
Or did they want to all stuff their noses forward and take a whiff. There was plenty wrong with him, his head bobbed and his legs stumbled unsteady but his sniffer worked fine and he'd like to keep it that way.
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