camp SEOITHIN SEO ╱ ATTEMPTED DEN REPAIR

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

❝  Of the many skills a clan cat'd need to master throughout their lives, there was one such thing that Hound had never quite found his way with. Others would make it somethin' pretty, with clean and perfect edges, not a drop of rain getting through to the sleeping pelts beneath without so much's a struggle. Houndsnarl, though? When it came to weaving his dens, he was worse than a fish out of water. Why they'd seen fit to ask him to do it was feckin' beyond him, but stars help him, he'd never even blink at an order given. Whatever frustration it caused him would be worth the result. At least...that's what he keeps telling himself. With reeds and moss and a bundle'f twigs between broadly-set paws, the warrior is staring at the nursery with an expression torn somewhere between dismay and concentration. Sour apple eyes are squinted tightly, his jaw clenched and ears pulled slightly back. Were it not for the faintest tick of his pupils across the den, he might've seemed frozen.

Where could he even begin? It'd been nothing more than another storm, but the others'd that tidied the dens up afterwards made it seem so simple. If he just tugged that reed back into place, could it...? No. The answer was a clear and resounding no. Hound sighs and gets to work as best he can, reaching up to tuck a new reed into the gap and thread it between the others. Perhaps that'd be enough.

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[CRAPPIEPATCH]

From the entrance to the medicine den, a pair of curious eyes track every one of their clanmate’s movements, narrowing a bit more each time Houndsnarl makes a mistake or struggles to thread a reed between a couple others. When the expanse of their vision is down to nothing but a sliver—they really should be more careful about how hard they squint, Mama used to say they’d get wrinkles that way—the tortoiseshell stands up with a huff. They pad over to sit a few measly tail-lengths (the length of the warrior’s tail, not their own stumpy one) away from Houndsnarl, leaning in just a bit to observe his actions.

"Wow," he sucks air through his teeth, dull green gaze landing upon the wreck that is Houndsnarl attempting to weave… something. "You are not good at this." The insulting tone is lessened by his voice pitching high, somewhat squeaky, and he clears his throat. Embarrassing. But still not as embarrassing as whatever the warrior is doing with that grass.

As though they’re speaking to a kit, Crappiepaw speaks slowly, clearly enunciating each word. "Do you know what you’re doing? Do you need help?" The only thing keeping a direct insult from slipping out their maw is the respect that Crappiepaw holds for the dark-striped tom. Houndsnarl doesn’t deserve to be called a fool for being bad at weaving—he likely already understands that.
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[ FORTUNE LOVES THE BOLD ]​

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[BEESONG]

beesong, once upon a time, could've been good at weaving. but what could've been is ruined by old injuries long healed, the burns stretching his skin tight and blurring half of his vision limits the fine precision required for weaving. so, he leaves the delicate weaving to his clanmates, focusing instead on his herbs and his exercise routine.

they're setting herbs dampened by morning dew out to dry, when crappiepaw passes by them. beesong's ear flicks, idle curiosity causing asymmetrical eyes to follow the young apprentice over to houndsnarl. houndsnarl, who is glowering at the mess of a nursery as if it'd insulted him. is he trying to fix up the den after last night's storm...?

beesong huffs out a quiet laugh, as crappiepaw declares that houndsnarl isn't good at this. as the last of the herbs are laid out into the sun, the healer moves to join the pair, glancing over the shoddy work of the warrior. he might not be good at weaving, but he knows when someone's handiwork is fucked up. "crappiepaw's right," he says with a hum. "it'd be best if you get some help with that. it'll pass by quicker, and there'll be less drafts for the queens to complain about afterwards."​

 

[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw sits just outside of Beesong's den, two minnows dangling from her jaws. She'd been on her way to bring them to Beesong and Crappiepaw -- a meager offering, but one she is quite proud of. Minnows are quick, but she, as always, had been quicker. Sunlight flashes from the blue-silver scales as she ducks inside and drops them beside the scarred medicine cat and their ever-present patient.

She's prepared to ask them some mundane question about their day when a flash of movement catches her eyes. Houndsnarl eyeing the mild ruin of the nursery after the rainstorms. She follows Crappiepaw over, hiding a smile at her friend's barbed words. She considers adding an affirmation, but Beesong themselves does it for her, and she shakes her head pitifully at the dark tabby warrior.

"We can't all be good at everything," she says loftily. The arrogance of her comment does not strike her. "I believe Smokethroat is busy, if you'd like me to help. I can gather some reeds." She glances Crappiepaw's way, a brow quirked as if to ask them if he wants to go with her.

- ,,​

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[TIGERHEAT]

The tom avoids tasks like this. Thinking them below his station. Let the mollys deal with weaving closed gaps in dens. Not like it is his problem anyway and he keeps his nest tucked in a remote location in the camp. A place where he can be alone and not constantly shoved or kicked by another individual all through the night. Besides his large size means he needs the room anyway. There is humor in his gaze S he sees how Houndsnarl struggles with the whole issue. The way he stares at the set up and makes a move before retracting it. Others come forth to offer their aid and he snorts a little before he drops the small fish he caught on his way back to camp. "Just let the queens fix the gap if they don't want to be cold. Im sure some of them are still able bodied." He narrows his cold gaze upon the woven sticks and reeds before he shakes his head. Personally he will not lift a paw.

After all they seem to have enough helping paws as it goes. He plans to continue going hunting and bringing back dinner. ​

 

[Snakeblink]

There is something strangely fascinating in watching someone struggle with a familiar task. Snakeblink can’t look away as Houndsnarl’s paws clumsily move a few reeds around, opening new holes in the den as he attempts to close others. His tail lashes a few times, the only outward sign of his impulse to reach out and help despite being nowhere close or brave enough to: No, just- right there-

It doesn’t even occur to him to provide assistance until Beesong and two apprentices do, their biting comments making him chuckle and wince at the same time. He considers leaving them to it: they seem to have the situation well in hand, and he’s almost scared of being the next one humbled by Crappiepaw and Iciclepaw.

That’s until Tigerheat speaks up. Snakeblink feels himself bristling, body tensing with the effort it takes to bite his tongue. His disregard for the comfort of queens shouldn’t be a surprise knowing him, and yet—

“No, they’re right,” he says while joining the little group, carefully not looking Tigerheat’s way as he gives the red tom a wide berth. “It’s a good thing to do, but it’ll be better with… help.” It comes out sounding more disparaging than he meant to, Tigerheat's presence casting a shadow over his mind. He gently tugs the reed Houndsnarl just moved back to its original place and tries to focus on the task at hand.
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ooc. information.

• 
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 34 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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