private The empty pocket waltz || Buckfire

[Marigoldstem]

-ˋˏ ༻༺ ˎˊ-

While she hadn’t spoken with Buckfire a lot she felt a form of comradery with him, their paths hadn’t crossed with the clan at the same time but they were close enough in tandem. It’s an unspoken bond, one-sided even, she truthfully is unaware of what his opinion of him was and truthfully he didn’t mind ever not knowing. His presence was ubiquitous and so was his attitude, at least in the pawful of interactions she has shared with him before and after he had fallen ill. She liked to think of herself as a good judge of character and as such he truly thought that the tom seemed friendly enough.

Dusk was settling over the moors, the sun bleeding bright oranges into a cerulean sky. The pair of them seemingly had chosen to eat their respective prey in a similar area. She stretches, crossing cream paws over one another, teeth clacking as she yawns, the taste of thrush echoing on her palette and feathers tucked underneath her paw from being plucked.

The tabby looks over to the newly named moor runner, always raised to be xenial she felt the need to bow her head, out of politeness but general respect present in her motives. “What do ya think of your name? I think it’s pretty neat, reminds me of evenings like this” he grins and glances once more to that blend of fiery oranges exploding the sky into a contrasting palette. “Back home- the barn, I thought WindClan was a lot different than what it is” his confession is light and paired with a chuckle “did you hear of it before you joined or is this all a big shock for ya?”

|| @BUCKFIRE ||
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[BUCKFIRE]

Fresh-kill is delicious out on the moors; Buckfire has been afforded the opportunity to try prey that he's never even caught before — this thrush, in particular, was tender and delicious. The flavors, albeit similar to other avian varieties, were unique and Buckfire found himself enjoying the taste. It was a meal well-earned in his opinion, as he had spent all day hunting with Scorchstorm. He still wanted to catch a moorland hare; such a hefty critter would be the ultimate prize.

His ears prick once a nearby warrior, Marigoldstem, begins making casual conversation. Buckfire mutually remembers the other as a former barn cat; although born and raised in different places, their ties to life on the farm were ultimately what connected them. "I like it. Not sure what Sunstar's thinkin' was, exactly, but it sounds pretty cool." The brown tabby answers with a grin after swiping his tongue over his maw.

It was reassuring to know that there were other cats in WindClan who were, well, non-clanborn. Outsiders. Sometimes Buckfire thought it was crazy, knowing that most of these cats had never ( and never would ) step paw outside of the set boundaries. "I heard a lot about the clans after arrivin' at the barn. They said they were savages who killed anyone who came near their border." The tom recalls what passersby and other loners had recited to him, to which he wanted to chuckle and shake his head. "WindClan's a tough bunch. They know how to hold their own. But I think other cats have got 'em all wrong." Buckfire supposes that the WindClanners would put up a good fight, but they are not the bloodthirsty killers that many outsiders painted them to be.

"Ain't heard of clans before I came 'round these parts. Everyone just keeps to their own where I come from... or they stay with their kin." In another universe, Buckfire would have been fated to stay on the farm where he was born and live a repetitive and dull life with his mother and siblings. Yeah, they would have been fed and safe, but it wouldn't have been exciting. Hopefully life in WindClan would be the same — ever-changing, fulfilling, and brimming with opportunities.

𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋

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  a new warrior of windclan, buckfire is thirty-two moons. he is shadowing scorchstorm. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells of cotton grass and gorse.　✦

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[Marigoldstem]

-ˋˏ ༻༺ ˎˊ-

"Do you think it's uh.... Against any rules to ask him why you were given that name?" He assumed there would be no harm in asking, maybe it was against WindClan politeness to ask, or maybe Sunstar just made them up on the spot? She was certain that if she were for some reason made leader that he would just make em all up on the spot but that's a clear reason why she should never be put in a position like that. At least Buckfire likes his name, though he wouldn't really know what to say if the answer had been no.

"I mean maybe they did before Sunstar was leading 'em" he recalls the aid that was sought from horseplace in the midst of Sootstar's reign. She wouldn't bat an eye if hopefuls were slaughtered for even thinking about crossing to the border back when she was in charge of the place. He rests his head ontop of cream paws, gazing up at the tom beside her with curiousity. She had to agree that the current WindClan was nothing like that, the idea of it's bloody history hanging overtop the clan like that was an interesting concept. Maybe a little sad but he had to wonder if anyone in the clan actually cared about perceptions like that, especially since they didn't seem keen on letting any other outsiders in. Truthfully he hadn't asked much about WindClan after Celandinepaw had left, the topic too bitter for the mouser up until she herself had decided to leave.

The lucky few he muses, good thing the pair of them had decided to join the clan when they respectively did. "So where did ya go apart from the barn?" While she had seen the world beyond the clans it was never very far, he enjoyed the comforts of Horseplace so why would he try to go somewhere where no family resided? "Did you travel with family or has it always just been you?" She wasn't sure if these questions counted as too invasive, he truly hoped not since he was just looking to know Buckfire better.

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