strange days | open

[FOGTHIEF]

His family would be furious if they knew he was out here and even he knows it's pretty reckless behavior but Fogpaw can't help it. There's a chest tightening, soul sinking isolation that comes with not being able to communicate with his clanmates like everyone else does. His true feelings are a mystery to his peers, his advices and attempts to comfort played over in his head repeatedly as ineffectual. How often others look at him with confusion and discomfort with that confusion. No one knows his even simplest thoughts- not even his favorite color. Others often take for granted what the young tom so desperately covets: just to be understood on the most basic level.

It's lonely. Plain and simple.

So he wouldn't really call this running away (he intends to return after all). It's just a desparate fumble for some sort of comfort and this place is always there to talk. This loud and beautiful business of the land outside of Shadowclan. He wants to see sunshine in full glory, not fighting through the tangled mess of the marsh. He wants to see bright green grass grown up high before leaf-fall dries it all up. Fogpaw wants to see a twoleg in the distance that isn't through the eyes of a monster. He wants to listen to others speak. He wants to see how other cats live and if they just look through him when they're not bound to the social necessities of a clan. If trouble comes calling, he can hide. It's a vacation in a way (though those don't typically start with tears and running from home in the dead of night), but most of all, it's an attempt to escape his own head.

Fogpaw's attention shifts around the forest, his eyes the color of polished clay and his pawsteps feather light. He doesn't have a clue what he's looking for but he is looking. That's when the stinging metallic tinge of blood reaches his nose and despite the warnings clawing at the back of his mind, he approaches. Sticking to the shadows of the trees, quiet as the breeze trickling leaves from the canopy while he nears the source.

/the blood can be anything and anyone can post!​

 

[HAUNT]

Things are becoming too noisy around these parts. Often enough he keeps his distance from the twoleg nests. But he has eyes and ears there and what he has found out certainly seems not worth the agrivation. Talks of wild forest cats and other things, tch, he was born wild himself. So he doesn't find that to be special. Just more competition and grievances. The blood that cakes his claws now in the dead of night within an unmarked forest is avian in origin. The glossy black feathers telling and he used a prior meager meal to catch this bigger one. Just scraps. The curled furred tom watches the dying bird and he sighs as he carefully digs claws into the throat. Get it over with quickly and be thankful he managed to catch it. A crow is nothing to scoff at. Turning his head slightly, smoky hued pelt shifts and ears pull forward at what he thinks is a sound. Maybe something drawn in by his kill? Regardless he isn't up for sharing at a time like this and so he makes that apparent.

"If you are here for a meal, scram. I'm not up for sharing." His raspy voice is strong as he swipes a pink tongue along sharp teeth. The black feathers shift as he steps his weight off the bird and he moves around his kill to block it from view at least that is till he sees whom has come across him. His eyes widen and he glances behind the youth but he also doesn't smell more. Strange. "Ain't weird at all. What are you doing way out here, boy? It's late and bad things typically start creeping about. Not here to try and take my crow, hm?" He doubts that but he has to keep his wits about him.​