Stilted, silent, he lies in wait. A scientist stalking his subject, he watches, glacial eyes narrowed and lips set in a heavy frown. The little thing scurries through camp. He's been here for awhile, apparently toddling into Skyclan's eager maw while he was away. From Windclan, two nights before, and it would hardly be relevant. Suspicious, but destined to be forgotten once the kits were out of sight. In one ear and out the other, muddled into thoughtless cotton.

Things were different now.

It was a new perspective - not so black-and-white. Windclan seemed no better than a band of rogues, scarring each other for fun - their twisted idea of beauty, ugly crisscrossing marks. But still, there was him. He hates Windclan, but he can't. Mind-numbing, impossible to understand. He can't understand. An empty frown shifts into grimace. Claws scrap at the ground. He narrows his eyes at the strange little thing, leaning in, abruptly coming into his space. "What are you?” his tone isn't quite accusing, not yet. Harsh, but with the air of a genuine question. Were they born little monsters? Surely not. But that was the case more often than not... wasn't it?

[ interrogating @Coyotekit </3 ]
I won't apologize for being who I am
Young albeit thick chorded muscles become tense and taunt, bunching as mint green eyes narrow upon his target. His shoulders give a faint wobble moving up and down like a smooth vertical pendulum as he awaits the perfect opportunity. The poor prey in question? A shiny little black beetle scuttling through camp. Hind legs snap into motion as he throws himself forward, cream colored paws flexing to capture the unsuspecting insect. With a soft thud he lands, lifting a paw to check his accuracy. "Gotcha!" He chuckles whilst wearing a toothy grin. The beetle attempts to scurry off haphazardly and just as Coyotekit makes a move to leap upon the poor bug he finds himself nearly crashing into Dawnglare's face. Stopping short, Coyote stumbles a bit, face scrunching in mild confusion at the question offered to him. "Uh..." What did he mean by that? Nevertheless, the young tom was a bit uncomfortable with how close the older male continued to hover over him. "A cat?" The inflection of his voice held a questioning tone. Wondering, hoping that the answer given would satisfy the scowling male.
Tryna throw shade on me say a lot 'bout you
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Blazestar hadn't been present when Daisyflight had allowed a WindClan warrior and her two young siblings into their camp, and he's glad he hadn't been. Every fiber of his being screams at him to drive them out, to tell them to beg Emberstar or Cicadastar or even Briarstar for mercy, but he can't bring himself to do it.

Still, knowing there is a pair of WindClan kits in his Clan haunts him. Any moment now, Sootstar and her scarred league of maimers and murderers could march into their pine forest and demand to know where they'd gone. And at this point, what would he do?

He watches Coyotekit, but not like Dawnglare seems to be doing. He's watching the kit stalk the beetle, long limbs smooth with WindClan grace, and he's feeling a strange fear buzzing at the fur on the back of his neck.

He says nothing, when Dawnglare interrogates him, but at Coyotekit's response, "A cat?" he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. Had they been indoctrinated? Were they violent like the rest of WindClan? Surely not. Surely they are kits like any other, innocent. "A SkyClanner," he says, smiling at the kit. It feels forced, and it partially is, but he's hoping he can speak it into existence.

- ,,
  • Like
Reactions: Coyotecrest
Gnawing bone, teeth clatter and crunch loudly against his paw. Hoisted in a soft patch of grass, he keeps slicing and tearing with his constant shift and swing of his paw as he chews and props the bony remains of a squirrel. Not caring for the pine-nut taste sticky and ugly on his tongue. His attention was leveled on the kit and his pursuit of an insect. Youth had its natural clumsy, but Thistleback would admire the hunter’s instinct with a subtle twitch of his tail.

Suddenly though, his attention is brought to the change of scene- on the large medic and his sudden inquisition toward the scrap.

Windclan, a band of moor rats marching behind a bloody crown. Sootstar would probably go down in history as the heartless. A stain on the moorland history herself. It was easy to hate her for the ones with hearts left on their shoulders. Thistlebacks was in his gut and wielding thorns. He admired her ability to be so cold, and for her dogs to follow so blindly. Admiration didn’t come with respect though, if she ever trod on Skyclan she and her hill-runners would find his teeth. His collar, a veil of comfort and underestimation- he was no kittypet though and he would prowl these grounds with his protection despite his cold black heart and loose concept of morals.

Coyotekit’s blood pumped with Windclan muck, but Thistleback’s own wasn’t pure- criminal street stray ran through his so what of it? Silver eyes dance over Dawnglare’s frown then shift to Blazestar. There’s something subtle but odd about the way the flame-point looks at the child. He can’t name it, but he’d speculate they had similar thoughts if not the same flavour on the tongue.

a Skyclanner, this feels like it confirms something- but he’s not sure what. Thistleback gives the skeleton one more shake before leaving it behind and approaching the trio with slow steps, knuckled paws crackling and dancing under nicked skin. " that- … and anything you want to be" a grin graces his maw. Words hoping to instill ambition into the kit- to be the best. Speed on his side by way of genetics, if there was any child to root for it was this one. " you’re quick on your paws. Pair that with a mighty Skyclanner leap- you’ll be a force worth reckoning " he rumbles out a rare purr.

" With proper training, no-one will ask what you are again " his grin lifts to the medicine cat with a sudden tilt of his head. He’d spin on his heel then, swaying with every step back to his chewing bones.

  • — Thistleback | thirty moons | cis-male
    — daylight warrior of Skyclan
    — bisexual | fallen for Deersong 9.29.22
    — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes. Wears a purple collar with brass clasp.
  • bVBPWus.png

I won't apologize for being who I am
As the seconds ticked by Coyote grew increasingly uncomfortable, so much so that he takes one then two steps back. Yet in doing so he finds himself bumping directly into Blazestar's leg. "Sorry..." He whispers low, sheepishly stepping out of the leaders way. They are both staring at him and while he feels like Dawnglare's is judgmental, Blazestar brandishes a smile. "A skyclanner." The ragdoll voices, speaking up further for him in the midst of the tension. It sparks a small glimmer of hope within him, a glimmer that is snuffed just as quickly as he looks back at Dawn and thinks of other disapproving cats like Figpaw. What was the point in calling himself something others clearly did not want him to be apart of? "I um..." He doesn't know what to say and his voice dies off shortly after it begins.

Yet another appears, his figure tall and imposing, the easily recognizable Thistleback. Words of affirmation leave the warrior's ghostly pale lips, reigniting the formally smothered flame of hope that rested within. Another moment of acceptance, this coupled with Blazestar's earlier comment earns a small grin from the boy. "You really think so?" The question was rhetorical, but the piebald's rare purr confirmed it all the same. There was a subtle raspy purr of his own that rumbled throughout his being, taking a moment to bask in the positivity currently surrounding him. "Then...I'll try to be the best skyclan has ever had." Coyote announces, minty orbs resting upon Blaze before dancing to Dawn with his usual toothy grin.
Tryna throw shade on me say a lot 'bout you