private Tell my kin to pick up a shovel - Foxpaw

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Houndthistle did his best to respect his son's space. Since their confrontation in the medicine den, he'd given the tom a wide berth, letting him settle into clan life and get a feel for everything. Of course, he kept tabs on the boy, he'd feel like a bad father if he didn't, but he tried his best to let him have his own life, make his own path in this hellscape that Windclan had slowly become. But, as much as he'd like to keep the cotton over Foxpaw's eyes, Houndthistle knew he'd eventually have to divulge this information he carried upon his shoulders like the entire heavens were teetering there. It was what led to the awkward request to hunt, Houndthistle's gait stiff and filled with tension as he led his son into the heart of Windclan's territory, checking subtly over his shoulder to make sure they weren't followed or to make sure the golden and white tom did, indeed, keep following him.

His mother had preached to Houndthistle that if he could trust anything in his life, it was his family. And her words felt like a sick reminder as he gazed at his friends' faces, every smile he'd given them never reaching his eyes when they'd ask if he was okay, if anything was bothering him. Perhaps it was his father's fault he was so paranoid of divulging any personal information to the cats he'd lay his life down for, or maybe it was the very real fact that if he told this secret to anyone he trusted, they'd turn around and turn him in. Afterall, he trusted them for the same reason Sootstar did and that was their loyalty to Windclan-though Houndthistle felt their loyalty to Windclan would outweigh any logical argument he could make to save his own hide. No, despite how much he loved his friends, he knew they'd turn his tail over to Sootstar and he'd be punished however the tyrannical mad queen saw fit. High probability said death would be what awaited him if he breathed this secret to them. So, who'd that leave him to divulge this information to? The only thing he considered kin, his only real family. His son.

His paws stilled as he reached an expansive but private area of the field, his eyes scanning once more to make sure no patrols would pass by before he turned to his son, his eyes deathly serious as he inhaled deeply. "Son, I need t'tell ya somethin' but I need to know yer gonna keep this between us, okay?" He asks, the deep graveled tones of his voice wavering with the fear he held in this moment, the tension rolling off him in waves as he waited for Foxpaw's response, ears flicking nervously as he stayed on high alert for any movement that wasn't them at this moment.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• @FOXPAW !
• Physical Health
  
  75%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[FOXGLARE]

Despite its many challenges and hidden social pitfalls, the day-to-day rules of successfully living in Windclan were fairly simple—be useful and keep quiet. Foxpaw had never been a cat that had any trouble being conscious of his speech, but among the moor-cats—even more than among the alley cats and kittypets of the twolegplace—Foxpaw made well to remember to guard his tongue and listen always. At this point, he could not say how well he fit into the mold of clan life, but he lived and worked alongside the clan cats for enough moons to fall into some feeling akin to comfortability within Windclan. Soon, he would be tested and—hopefully—given a new, permanent name and declared a warrior. Perhaps then he could say with confidence how it felt to be a Windclanner, though even that was doubtful.

Foxpaw had noticed the obviously pointed silence that stretched over moons between him and the cat he called his father. He couldn't parse what the meaning behind Houndthistle's distance was—whether it was borne out of unease, disdain, or something else, he did his best not to push it. It was clear to him that there was some boundary crossed in the medicine den that day, so Foxpaw had elected to skirt along only the edges of his father's periphery. With this being said, it came as a surprise to him when the huge grey cat requested him to accompany him on a hunt.

He padded behind Houndthistle quietly, sharp eyes and ears sweeping the grass and hedges along Hound's blind side. He had been sniffing at the ground under the guise they were trying to track down prey, but Houndthistle's stiff and determined gait clued in the white and ginger tom to the possibility that hunting may have not been his sole priority for this outing.

When they finally came to a halt, Foxpaw took in the odd, tightly-coiled state his father was in with guarded interest. Anxiety did not suit a feline of his stature, he decided, cold dread seeping into the space behind his ribs. Houndthistle spoke, and Foxpaw's steely eyes narrowed at the wavering in his voice. He spent a long second staring at that burning amber eye, searching for something he couldn't ever seem to grab hold of. Despite everything, the child in Foxpaw still trusted the man with his life.

It was with a low, but resolute voice that he said, "Alright, what is it?"

Foxpaw made no flowery reassurances or declarations of sealed covenants, he didn't need to. He thought if Houndthistle had any trust in him, he would know that his word was promise enough.

ALL IN ALL ˚⁀➷⋆ ༄ IS ALL WE ARE ; 8/23/23

• OOC: sorry this is so late ! </3
• 
• 
  — sun . fox . foxpaw
  — cis he/him. 10mo moor-runner apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — a large, scarred, longhaired light ginger tabby with high white and grey eyes
  — smells like wet oak wood and sedge
  — sounds like leon kennedy, with a vague texan drawl.
  — the straight-faced and taciturn adopted son of houndthistle, lived as a twolegplace loner until 7 moons old, now a moor-runner of windclan. stalwart and resilient, he is not easily shaken and lives by a very strict personal code of honor.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — icon by mercurial, chibi by vulture
  — penned by eezy

​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

That was all he needed. A single confirmation and Houndthistle sank down to his haunches, the mask he wore lowered just enough to show the effect these last few moons had had on him. A paw was lifted, dragged down tired, weathered features as he exhaled. "Back when I was a young tom, I met this girl, got real smitten wit' her," He started, procrastinating around the real point, the thing that knotted his stomach into a tight coil that made it feel like he had some sort of parasite feeding off of him, "I lov'd her, she had these... pretty yella eyes, as bright as daffodils in the summer... an' curly black fur that was..." He smiled softly, thinking of her smile and the way she always looked at him when they were younger, so enraptured by what he had to say, but upon realizing he was talking with his son, he cleared his throat, regaining his composure again, "Anyway, I was... I was real taken by her an' when we planned to run away, she never showed. But, uh- well, turns out she came back..." His gaze dropped, and the emotions he usually kept such a tight grasp on seemed to flicker all at once. Anger, betrayal, disgust, frustration, and despair. He felt like such a mess right now, and it tore at him even more to be such a mess infront of his son, the cat who was supposed to look to him for an example of strength, resilience, and to just weather everything thrown at him. But Sootspritespark had always been his kyrptonite, even when she left him, he still found himself going to Four Trees those times, even if it was just to argue, even if it was just to fight and yell at eachother, because seeing her was like the sun in all it's ways. The heat, the pain, the warmth, and the comfort, all wrapped into a bouncing, curly-haired ball.

"She turn't out pregnant. She told me I have two kits of the litter," Another bitter hit to his ego. It was a confirmation to him, that he was right, she saw him as a plaything, and now she had used him as a means to her own end, and stolen the things he had dreamed about as a young, foolish, love-drunk tom. "The issue is... she's Skyclan... an' she-she's a kittypet, one o' their 'daylight warriors,'" The word was spoken with the same distaste. Everything about this was mockery, it was a joke that Houndthistle, the tom who'd taken pride in his ability to survive, his fighting, his loyalty had been brought down to this razzled, distant, pathetic thing by a kittypet, a kittypet who he didn't know had ever told him the truth on anything. And, now, she was an enemy to him.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  100%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[FOXGLARE]

Foxpaw sat in silence as Houndthistle made his confession. The young cat was confused at the man's apparent heartache over his account of love lost, but he made no move to question him. Besides, he was about as well-versed in romantic matters as a mole was in counting clouds, so who was he to say?

As more of the truth unraveled in front of him, Foxpaw began to bristle. On that day in the medicine den, Foxpaw had accused Houndthistle of being selfish, an accusation borne mostly out of frustration in his obvious lack of care in himself. Through hindsight, Foxpaw might have even acknowledged that his own selfish fear of losing him all over again played a not insignificant part in his reaction—these were words he would not utter, of course.

Now, as Houndthistle confessed that he had fathered the kittens of a Skyclanner and a kittypet of all things, Foxpaw realized just how selfish the man was capable of being.

Fox held no affection in his heart for kittypets. He loathed recalling the ones that littered his memories of the Twolegplace, greedy and cruel creatures that would gang up on lone street cats for fun. Even the rogues of the twolegplace were careful to not unsheathe their claws at any chance they got, they'd all seen even the tiniest of scratches swell and fester with infection. The kittypets, however, had not a care in the world for where the recieving ends of their claws landed, resting on the knowledge that they could tuck tail and run back to their twolegs for plenty of food and comfort. His thoughts flashed to a particular dark alleyway, of the sickly smell of blood and fester living inside his nostrils for days as he sat alongside...

He had no doubt in his mind that the kittypet-warriors of Skyclan wore the same pelts, padding alongside the forest cats for no reasons besides quelling boredom and an off chance they'd get to take part in some bloodsport. To think Hound would be so close with one of them to have kits with her made his stomach turn.

"So, what're you gonna do now?" he asked finally with a low growl, hard grey eyes masking a fire within. Foxpaw remained deathly still as if faced with an approaching predator or unsuspecting prey—the way he often did as a roaring hurricane of emotion crashed inside of him. Was Houndthistle going to leave him behind in Windclan to be with his lover and their kits? Would that be the noblest thing for him to do? Would Foxpaw have to choose between him and Windclan? He imagined having to return to camp alone, forced to scorn Houndthistle as a traitor, putting a target on their whole family's backs while he remained an agent of Sootstar, distrusted and scorned by those within the clan. Or was Houndthistle just looping him into his secret, some attempt at a sin confession to set his soul free?

The choice remained in Houndthistle's paws, and Foxpaw resented the power they held.

ALL IN ALL ˚⁀➷⋆ ༄ IS ALL WE ARE ; 8/23/23

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — sun . fox . foxpaw
  — cis he/him. 10mo moor-runner apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — a large, scarred, longhaired light ginger tabby with high white and grey eyes
  — smells like wet oak wood and sedge
  — sounds like leon kennedy, with a vague texan drawl.
  — the straight-faced and taciturn adopted son of houndthistle, lived as a twolegplace loner until 7 moons old, now a moor-runner of windclan. stalwart and resilient, he is not easily shaken and lives by a very strict personal code of honor.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — icon by mercurial, chibi by vulture
  — penned by eezy

​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Houndthistle didn't have to look at Foxpaw to know the glare that was piercing straight through his pelt, a fire attempting to burn him down from the inside out and ruin him more than he already felt. He could feel it, and it was the same glare he gave Ghostwail when she so callously threatened him and his family. Taking a deep inhale, Houndthistle lifted his head, eyes closed as he turned his face skyward, letting the sensation fall over him as the sun warmed his pelt, become one with all the other burdens on his shoulder, trying to drag him down to the darkest pits of his mind, before levelling with Foxpaw once more. "I tol' her they're her's. If she wanted me, truly, in their lives, she'd have brought 'em to me to protect 'em, but, instead, she kept 'em there to be enemies of our clan," He said, "Right now, though, Ghostwail, that wretched, mangy rat, may have an inklin' on how those kits are related t'me. She came to me, not that long ago, an' made idle threats t'me. I ain' gon' ask you to forgive me fer what I've done, ain' nothin' able to give me that fer I'm a doomed tom, but I want ya t'know, I ain't lettin' 'em hurt you an' I ain' leavin' you. Yer my son, ya deserve t'know what I've done an' how I've screwed up." The admission is as freeing as it is damning. Things were complex already, with both him and Foxpaw's relationship based on the fact Foxpaw was alive when Houndthistle assumed him dead. That guilt, of not waiting long enough, ate at him already, and seeing the scars all over his son, near mirrors of his own hardship, it ate at him that he was some how responsible for his son's suffering. The least he could do is admit he messed up, tell his son how it might affect his life, and assure him that no matter what happens, Houndthistle isn't leaving him to be hurt this time. They'd have to rip his heart from his chest and ensure his body stopped kicking before that happened.

"If ya wan' head back t'camp now that ya know, that's fine. I can deal with Ghostwail on m'own, 'specially since it's my grave I've dug," He started, inhaling again as he rolled his neck, feeling a few of the bones pop from the pressure they were always under, "But if ya wan' help yer ol' man figure a way of ensurin' I ain' gon' mess this up more, I'd appreciate it, son." It was an olive branch, an attempt to reconcile and open up a bridge between them once more. As much as they were Windclanners, they were family first, and family figured everything out together, especially when it affects the both of them.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  100%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[FOXGLARE]

So he was leaving the kits to be hers and hers alone. Foxpaw couldn't say his decision was a noble one, but he couldn't say there was anything he could've done otherwise, given the circumstances he'd put himself in. Besides, the baby mama was a kittypet anyways, it wasn't like she was fending for the kittens all by herself. His ear only twitched in acknowledgment at it, wondering idly if he'd ever catch a glimpse of his Skyclanner half-siblings one day, be it at a Gathering, in battle, or otherwise.

Foxpaw scoffed at Hound's admission of having already been found out or at least suspected by another cat. Of course, things could never be that easy. Even more than that, it was by the likes of Ghostwail, of all creatures. The pale, grimy phantom of a feline gave him the heebie-jeebies already, it was frightening to think of her nosing around in his business. "What kinda threats... Does she wanna rat you out to Sootstar? There can't be no way to connect some random Skyclan kits to you, right?" It seemed like a hare-brained plan to him, she could go ahead and claim he'd fathered any litter under the sky with all the amount of proof she had. But another voice ticked the back of his brain, would Sootstar care? He'd caught on to only a snippet of the Moor Queen's character, but he knew she was not at all unwilling to turn claws against suspected traitors.

"No shit, ya screwed up." Foxpaw grumbled finally. He wasn't expecting to get an apology, or even the semblance of one, in all honesty. He tried to turn it over in his head, piece together a word for how he felt, but it dropped into his stomach and squirmed uncomfortably there, warm, weighty, and wet. He wasn't going to grant him forgiveness. Not today, at least, and not tomorrow, either. But there was something that hit him in the eyes so he could only glance briefly at Hound's burning amber. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat to say decisively, "I'm holdin' it to you, then. No chickenshit promises, yeah?"

If he was so willing to sacrifice his own pelt for Fox, he wouldn't keep him from it. It was his funeral, not Foxpaw's.

Houndthistle gave him his out, his chance to turn around and wash his paws of it before they were dirtied. But, if there was potentially already a target on his pelt, what use would it be for? Instead, he sat down, stalwart. He was the stupidest cat in the world, a fuckin' idiot. He cursed his damned sense of loyalty.

"How d'you plan on 'dealin' with her, anyway?"

ALL IN ALL ˚⁀➷⋆ ༄ IS ALL WE ARE ; 8/23/23

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — sun . fox . foxpaw . foxglare
  — cis he/him. 11mo moor-runner of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — a large, scarred, longhaired light ginger tabby with high white and grey eyes
  — smells like wet oak wood and sedge
  — sounds like leon kennedy, with a vague texan drawl.
  — the straight-faced and taciturn adopted son of houndthistle, lived as a twolegplace loner until 7 moons old, now a moor-runner of windclan. stalwart and resilient, he is not easily shaken and lives by a very strict personal code of honor.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — icon by mercurial, chibi by vulture
  — penned by eezy

​