private SWAYING TO DRUM BEATS 【★】gorge discovery


Jul 6, 2022
It was a peaceful foggy morning.

Gray clouds formulated in the distance, promising rain within the next several hours. The grassland and the crops twolegs have planted were as dry as bone, the land needed the up-and-coming rain…

A gust of wind blows over a small group of hunters, carrying in the fresh scent of rainwater. Their motive for this early morning hunt was to bring back food before the anticipated storm.

It seemed the rabbits had a similar plan. Many scurried above ground to nibble at grass stalks, filling their bellies so they wouldn't soak their pelts later on. Silently, the patrol stalked them in the dead silence… easy pickings they believed these rabbits would be.


A petrified yowl pierces the air, startling the plump rabbits that feasted. With long ears perking up in alarm before the patrol has a chance to make a move, they turn tail and retreat to their burrows. It takes mere seconds for the herd to vanish into the shadows.


This time the fearful words rang clearly through the air. Without much thought, the hunters set off to investigate. Was that a clan-mate of theirs who cried?! No one was able to identify the voice for sure, but they couldn't risk it.

The crying and pleading for help continue, easily leading the group to the scene.

Long ago, the earth had split open here… the almost claw-mark shape gash in the world spread out for several fox lengths. Just at a glance, they could tell it was far too wide to jump over and most certainly way too deep to survive a fall. Undoubtedly this was a startling scene for anyone who has not laid eyes on such a phenomenon before.

They don't have time to sit and marvel at the sight before them though, tiny black forepaws can be seen clawing desperately onto the ledge. A cat dangled helplessly from the cliff, not a clan-mate, but a rogue.

They must've sensed the presence of the patrol.

"HURRY- PLEASE HELP! I- I can't hold on!"

Clan-mate or not… this cat was staring death straight in the eye. One rock that came loose or a claw that lost its grip and it was over. They may not have any obligations to this cat, but they still had to try and save them. Right?

May StarClan protect them, regardless of the decision they make.

(It is entirely up to the RPers the outcome of this scenario and how the thread plays from here. Do they save the falling cat? Or do their efforts end up being in vain? Do they even try at all?)
@open to any future participants who sign-up for this discovery
Jenko trails behind the hunters, his eyes crossed and his head tilted. He examines every movement with a fervid curiosity, instinctively copying each motion. His are much more unpracticed, evident in each ungraceful pawstep which the dry grass crackles beneath. The wind buffets him, his ears flattening against the annoying whistling with teeth gritted. It carries with it a scent reminiscent of a recently filled water bowl, but more wild. Paired with the dark clouds gathering above head, Jenko guesses that this means rain is on it's way. He glowers up at the approaching storm. He hates getting wet. The sensation of soaking fur plastered against his sides, weighing him down, makes him want to rip off his own coat.

He would not openly complain, though. Despite his distaste for the assholes who reside on the moors, he's spiteful enough to be hellbent on proving them wrong. He'd show them all that he isn't going to run back to the twolegplace with his tail tucked.

The patrol comes across a herd of rabbits grazing. Jenko remains tucked in the tall grass, his stare still not leaving the warriors. He would not attempt to catch this quarry; he would not risk losing prey due to his ineptitude. Not yet. He's not ready yet. For now, he must observe.

But he does not need to try in order for the rabbits to escape. A yowl splits the sky. Jenko startles, his fur bristling and tapered tail bushing. Who was that? The Siamese didn't recognize the voice; which doesn't exactly surprise him, since he's still learning the names of everyone here. The rabbits flee, but Jenko is no longer focused on the hunt. Rising from the tall grass, Jenko flinches as another cry pieces the air. He's quick to follow on the patrol's heels as they run towards the cacophony, but within minutes he's fallen behind, his breathing coming in quick puffs as his lungs burn from the exertion he's unused to.

It doesn't take long to find them.

Jenko skids to a halt, his eyes widening. The ground before him has been split open, as if a giant claw had raked across the earth. There's a thundering in his ears, reverberating in his skull. He hisses, grimacing.

The cat who'd led them here clasps onto the edge with unsheathed claws. Fear scent rolls off of them in waves. Jenko could not distinguish whether they're a clanmate or not, their figure a blurred shape from this distance. But he would not sit idly by while another cat dies. He fears he isn't strong enough to pull the cat up by himself, but maybe if they worked together...

Jenko picks his way over to the feline, careful where he places his paws. The thundering in his ears grows louder, and at this point, he doesn't know whether it's from the gaping pit or his own heartbeat hammering in his chest. "You push yourself up while I pull," Jenko says, raising his voice over the noise. Then, without waiting for a response, the blue point leans over to grab onto the cat's scruff.

He glimpses the drop.

His stomach twists, a shuddering gasp gripping him. No cat could survive that. If he falls in...

Jenko closes his eyes and digs his teeth into the cat's scruff. With a grunt, he sits back on his haunches, pulling with all of the strength he could muster.
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Hunting with a kittypet. Sootstar likes to remind him every so often that he isn't as special as he likes to think he is, and while part of him can respect that, he had to roll his eyes at the hunting patrol he's been stuck leading. The blue-eyed, blue-faced kittypet trailing behind him is doing his best, but Weasel finds things to nitpick in his head: clumsy paws, stiff strides, heavy breathing.

He does his best to ignore it. As long as he doesn't spoil my hunt, then it doesn't matter, he thinks, flicking an ear. The scent of rabbit is hot in the air, just like the electric current that shoots through his fur with the wind. Thunder rumbles somewhere above them. A late greenleaf storm, the sky pregnant and dark with clouds.

But the noise that pierces the quiet isn't thunder at all -- it's the shrill, panicked cry of another cat. A voice Weasel doesn't recognize, but would he? He still doesn't know his Clanmates that well, besides perhaps Sootstar, Hare, and Lunaria. He glances over his shoulder to ensure the kittypet is still behind him and is admittedly relieved to see he is.

The two toms bound across the moor, scattering rabbits with their pounding pawsteps. Weasel blinks raindrops from his eyes -- where is the cat? He can't see anything except --

His paws nearly lose the earth. His forepaws barely cling to the edge. He gives a swallowed gasp that hurts his throat, lurching forward and almost meeting a terrible fate.

Jenko, though, manages to skid to a halt. The kittypet has beaten him in grace -- Weasel pretends to not notice. There's a black cat, unfamiliar but sliding all the same, crying for help.

Weasel's eyes uneasily move beneath him. The drop is terrific, dark at the bottom as though nothing exists there at all. His heart lurches, racing as he remembers how close he's come to greeting the abyss face-first.

The kittypet does something spectacularly brave, then, in Weasel's opinion. He leans over the lip of the cliff and sinks his teeth into the dangling cat's scruff, then sits back on his haunches and pulls with all his power.

Weasel wastes no time. He goes to Jenko's other side and sinks his teeth into the little bit of scruff the stranger has left. He's sure they're hurting him, but the tabby pays no mind to his discomfort -- if he wants to live, he'll shut up, be grateful, and let the toms do their lifting.

With enough strength, he hopes they can bring the black cat over the edge, into the moors again and away from certain death.