The measure of my days (Pre-Gathering Chatter)


Chrysalispaw hadn't even noticed that he bumped into Snakepaw's side, nor did he care to acknowledge it until he heard the tom spit back. Pointed ears turned towards the dissonance in an already-turbulent crowd - it was like finding a pearl in the greater sea, and yet he could sense how it did not flow with the silver tides of the Gathering. It was a disrturbance on top of the bedlam, another unwound string in the broken instrument, and yet something that commanded his attention. Daggers for a glare perched upon the sable-coated feline, whose coat shone of the same nightly hue that his own did, except the other's was emblazoned by a singular white splotch upon his chest. The most repugnant thing about Snakepaw, though, was that he stunk of that pungently persevering stench of the moorlands. Like the coat color that one was born with, Chrysalispaw had always believed that there was no masking the smell of where one came from. No matter how hard the other would try to scrub the smell of heath and gorse from his body, it would never come off. It was as innate as they air they breathed.

"I hope you're not speaking to me, Windclanner. You should be the last cat to talk about smell when your kind wallows in those dirt-infested tunnels you kep your mangy corpses in." A snarl drew itself from his lips, like blades eager to come forth from the shelter of their sheaths. Perhaps he had been looking for a fight, and perhaps those that rested upon the heavenly bubble of Starclan would turn their heads down to him. His chest puffed out as if to rival Snakepaw's arrogance with his own, as if he aimed to show the other who was in charge. If Starclan blinked, he would be happy to give this Windclanner a taste of what the "kittypet-clan" could do. He intruded just a whisker's length away from the Windclan apprentice, careful not to tread too closely lest he catch that moorland stink like a fitful plague.

(Talking to @SNAKEPAW )​
 
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"You'll Never Be Unloved By Me"​

There was the bustle of voices around him as the large tomcat drfited from the Skyclan patrol, freezing as the sky struck the high rock and he looked up to where the leaders sat. What was that? He craned his neck but he couldn't really get a good view from where he stood, "The wrath of Starclan-," He muttered to himself softly before shaking his head. Then the blue tabby looked around for a moment, spotting a few of his clanmates chattering with each other and one cat took his attention; Chestnutsplash. Gatherings where still awkward for Ashenclaw, he wasn't use to going to them as everyone else was, so he more so gravitated towards his clanmates.

He moved on his way over to Chestnutsplash and gave a slight smile at the cat, "Gonna be a crazy one today isn't it?" He questioned with a wave of his tail. The tension in the air was thick and he was sure this would be a rather- interesting gathering tonight.

@CHESTNUTSPLASH.

Speech
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✦ ★ ✦​
 
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Dogfur craned his neck to the side when a grey-furred SkyClan warrior picked up on the tail-end of his ramblings. The tortoiseshell purred, even as he was being scolded. Wide yellow eyes fixed themselves on Silversmoke's face, watching his lips as they moved. Either the ShadowClan tortoiseshell was socially inept or he chose not to interpret the SkyClan lead warrior's words as a threat or challenge. "I'm just saying," He purred, lashing his twitchy tail out from behind him. "Why do we think a storm and lightning is a bad omen? ThunderClan was named after them—are they cur-sed too?" He waved a paw about dismissively. "I do not think so. Apart from ShadowClan now with our beloved leader, ThunderClan is the only other Clan that has brains larg-larger than a mouse. I mean, just look at our deputy—" Dogfur pointed with his nose to where Smogmaw was, his lips pulling back in a smile. Was he supposed to hold his tongue for the announcements? Ach—hopefully neither Chilledstar or Smogmaw was watching.

"Rainecho." He smiled, leaning a little closer to his friend as he looked back at Silversmoke. "She'll tear you up, friend." He looked back at Siversmoke, brows raised. "I wouldn't wan' get into a fight with her!"​

//interacting with @SILVERSMOKE @Rainecho , pointing at @smogmaw
 
Her head swivels from a hardy chuckle heard, shsded features focusing on a familiar prickly dark warrior with a stark white face. Thistleback, was it? He tacks onto her comment and a smirk pulls at her lips, nodding in agreement. "Too egotistical to realize a warning when she sees one. What a shame—and here I was hoping to see her burst into red mist." The molly adds with a dramatic sigh, her eyes rolling as Sootstar takes her position and speaks quietly among the leaders. A brow quirks at the stone colored tom, his incredulous questions having her mind whirring for a moment. Was he some newcomer or something? SkyClan was known for taking in newcomers and kittypet warriors, perhaps he was one of them? "Yes, it was their doing. You see where it struck? What kind of coincidence would that be if it was just random?" The warrior replies, her ivory whiskers twitching in question. Her gaze traces over him blatantly, observing him as if he were an unforseen object. He didn't look like a kittypet, his pelt was mottled with scars and he wore the face of a warrior and not some plump spoiled Two-Leg toy. Perhaps a rogue or a loner from Two-Leg Place. She had also hailed from there when she was young, before joining the colonies before the clans.
A familiar accented tone pipes up now, followed by fawn color fur with white splotches. Her gaze was laced with worry as they trace over her freshly laid wounds. Cindershade straightens up and narrows her gaze at Sheepcurl, her fur prickles at the mention of them. The obvious is stated, with RiverClan and WindClan both tattered and beaten but she still can't help but bite her tongue before answering. "Yes—they did. WindClan raided our home in the dead of night like the vermin they are!" Her rasp tone raises as she continued to speak, and suddenly a familiar hellish of golden and anber gaze meets her own blazing green. She holds her chin high as Tigerfrost smirks at her, showing him that she was still here. She had lived and hoped her claws would forever be engraved into his skin like his was upon hers. She doesn't move her gaze away from him until he turns away, finally returning back to her previous conversation. "WindClan thinks they're righteous, thinks they do no wrong and are manipulated by the demon that sits upon the stone where lightning just struck. Though her warriors are no better. Threatening to kill children, exiling and trying to kill any that oppose her. StarClan have shown who they're angry at as you can see." Sootstar's end couldn't come soon enough.
// Interacting with @SLATE @ThistleBack and @sheepcurl ; glaring back at @TIGERFROST
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​
 
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here I was hoping to see her burst into red mist

Another cackle splits his jaws as the dark pelted cat paints a comical picture in his head. Hypothetical bliss. Right then and there, the river-swimmer earns an appreciative glance. He pays Sheepcurl a nod in return of greeting, taking idle notice of the way Cindershade's demeanor changes with the question from her.

Slate’s question is quickly responded to by the reedland feline, her response powerful and conviction practically beats as a heart within her.

" that one, huh? " Thistleback rests his tongue between his teeth as he follows the cross of daggers that be Tigerfrost and Cindershade. " me too. " he speaks pointedly, lifting a brow and picturing the tabby’s skull planted under his paw. Seems they had a mutual enemy within enemies. " If this comes to another war, you and I should split his skull for den decoration " hatred spoken so casually.

He shakes his head as she explains Windclan’s latest scheme, " When they raided us in the blizzard to steal herbs, I had kits in the nursery. " he hisses bitterly but draws his venom back with a shuffle of hard callused knuckles. " we owe them all the marks of our teeth in their skin. Perhaps arrogance can be bled out like adder venom " Thistleback wraps his tail around his paws and combs his greys over the moonlit clearing.

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OOC INFO REF
  • — chattin group tag @Cindershade @SLATE @sheepcurl

    Cinder is officially his favorite riverclanner. dijodifje


  • MqZ0nzd.png

    Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
    — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
    — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
    — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
    — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) Quillstrike
    — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
    — voice & accent
    — biography･ﾟ✧​
    OPEN for Dice battles | 🎲 stine#3004
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❪ TAGS ❫ — Perhaps he was a fool, always throwing venomous words toward strangers without any way of knowing how they'd react. Then again, this was supposed to be a peaceful environment, was it not? Nobody could lay a hair on Snakepaw for fear of StarClan's wrath (or, at the very least, the leaders'). A youth like him craved attention, whether positive or negative, as long as he could snag an opportunity to prove his worth above other cats. At the end of the day, though, Snakepaw likely wouldn't be the one to hit first; he was mostly bark and no bite.

The apprentice remains unphased by Chrysalispaw's insults; it would take a lot more than bringing up the stench of soil and dirt to get under Snakepaw's skin. He made jabs toward the tunnelers about that fact all the time. "Such strong opinions coming from someone who lives amongst kittypets. Say all you want, but SkyClan will always be lower than WindClan based on that alone." Sootstar was not above taking in youths from kittypet backgrounds, but that in itself was a rarity and would not be mentioned at all by Snakepaw. Outsiders living amongst the WindClanners was not something he was necessarily proud of.

// @CHRYSALISPAW ​
 

Ah, the gathering. Frankly she didn't know why she came, she didn't want to be here. Perhaps a combination of her recent preference for silent solidarity with her clan or the fact that every other clan seemed to be loud and obnoxiously present, she couldn't say; but Halfshade was unimpressed already. Moreso of the company than the lightning bolt though it had raised a few hairs in alarm, cats around her murmured of omens and such, thinking this a sign of StarClan's disapproval of WindClan's leader but if so why did they not just kill her outright? A few moments longer and it would've been very easy to do so. Her belief in StarClan teetered constantly on the edge of neutral reverence and uncertainty but she believed it all the same; they just confused her at times and the lives they gifted did not seem particularly durable if ShadowClan's current trend of lost leaders was anything to go by. The torbie wondered if any other leaders had died repeatedly and perhaps just not hit that last one, were any on the cusp of falling as well? Hard to tell, it's not like there was any visual indicators that seperated them. No marks that faded as each one ticked down.
Her ears fell flat in silent thought, Smogmaw had wandered off to hide as he was accustomed to doing in such events and she was left to meander on her own; tempted to join him but second guessing upon seeing the dark tom he spoke to. Well, she would make herself a little aquaintance as well.
Preferably not the squabbling apprentices near where she stood, goodness she was glad Loampaw was the quiet sort. She'd be at her wits end if hers went off like this.
[Ooc]
-Open to interactions :3
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As Chrysalispaw encroached on Snakepaw's space, he noticed how the boy's downy kit-fluff clung to his cheeks, with eyes almost bulging from their sockets. Chrys towered over the black-and-white tom, though that didn't impede on how he felt. No matter how young, he had no problem knocking cats down a peg. Especially if such words were regurgitated from the maw of a Windclan cat. Daggers for eyes brandished themselves at the forest-top hues of the other. Those spittling fangs almost resembled his own venom, as though the adder had met its match, as though serpent's wiles were matched by its own anathemic grimace. Two snakes hardly bothered each other, showing teeth only to those that dared bare it first. In a twisted way, his enemy had also become his mirror. Chrys hadn't realized it, but he and Snake were much too alike for comfort. The same abrasive tongue, the same words waging war, the same frenetic face.

"And your dumbass, dirt-dwelling clan got their asses kicked by the so-called 'kittypet clan.' So I wouldn't push your luck unless you want to reenact that day, rabbit-eater." The chimaera raised his left paw, coated in blackness as though it had been dredged from the Gathering's shadow, the products of night's chagrin. The tom would have blended into the twilight if not for the half-mask of russet flame that he donned. The moonlight caught upon the slivers of jagged claws, unsheathed from their place. Though, the Skyclan tom simply stood his ground and waited to see if the Windclanner would make the first move. If he were as much of a foolish kid as Chrys took him to be, then he would take the bait.
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    ── Right. That's all the usual shit, isn't it? Maybe the bolt of lightning was an interesting addition to the pissing contest, but StarClan could probably work on the clarity of their signs and, y'know, dissuading conflict. But WindClan's already eager to claim it as a sign of favor, while RiverClan chomps at the bit for a chance to condemn them. Hadn't he decided he wasn't going to bother with these fucking meetings anymore? Shit, he's impressed the agreement to maintain neutrality while here has held this long. If only they didn't need to stand on ground fed by their blood and bones to remember the fruits of war.

    He drags a paw down the side of his face and heaves a great breath. Rosemire glances around, considering just leaving before one of his blood vessels burst, but he spies a RiverClanner who looks...well, like shit. It's sympathy or pity that directs his paws over to him, and he glances at the nearby apprentice curiously, but returns his gaze to the darker feline. "How can you tell if a tree is a dogwood tree?"
    ​
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  • //interacting with @CLAYFUR​
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  • ──── surr'oseal'isme (rosemire; formerly roseal). he/him. reluctantly shadowclan.
    ──── approximately forty months old and is not entirely certain of his true age.
    ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
    ──── tall, scarred albino w/ sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail (voice).
    ──── ─── currently noticeably haggard. starting to regain weight, but still rather thin.​
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Antlerpaw doesn’t seem keen on mingling, and Clay can’t blame him for that. The apprentice has known nothing but hard times throughout his entire life—their mother is a ShadowClan traitor, and their winterborn littermates have been treated poorly by certain RiverClanners as a result. Not to mention the loss of their camp, warring with WindClan, Gloompaw going missing—and now…

Clay has to stay strong for Antlerpaw. He can’t break down crying in the middle of all the clans. So he watches the gathering pass by him with tired, unfocused eyes, just wanting the entire affair to be over with already so he can go back home. Home, to RiverClan, to a cold den and ann empty nest that only barely smells of his lost mate.

His thousand-yard stare is broken by a voice at his side, asking him about… trees? His gaze shifts to the feline who speaks to him, a white, ghostlike cat who smells of ShadowClan. "I don’t know," he responds glumly, dipping his head to his chest. He isn’t prepared to be tested by a ShadowClanner tonight—he barely even knows what different trees look like, anyway. His voice is small, tired, as he follows up with: "Sorry."


// talking to @rosemire
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​
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    ── Rosemire had expected scorn for his allegiance, or a serious answer, or an unamused thwarting of the joke— he didn't expect this. Somehow, the forlorn set of his features deepens into the kind of exhausted misery that stirs more of that uncomfortable, twisting pity in his chest. The dejected resignation in the RiverClanner's apology is even worse, and Rosemire thinks that maybe he shouldn't have approached him at all if he was just going to upset him.

    Pathetic. Leashless tempers and ceaseless squabbles and miserable wretches like this in every corner. It would be more difficult stealing moss from a kitten than encouraging them to tear each other apart.

    He swallows hard and smiles weakly, ignoring that intrusive voice that sounds too much like his own. "No, it's uh. It's a joke. You can tell by its bark." Rose clears his throat, smile still painful. "Not a very good joke, is it? Thankfully, it isn't actually mine."
    ​
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  • talking to @CLAYFUR​
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  • ──── surr'oseal'isme (rosemire; formerly roseal). he/him. reluctantly shadowclan.
    ──── approximately forty months old and is not entirely certain of his true age.
    ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
    ──── tall, scarred albino w/ sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail (voice).
    ──── ─── currently noticeably haggard. starting to regain weight, but still rather thin.​
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Clay had kind of hoped that the tired ache of his voice might scare the other cat off, or at least bore him enough to send his attention elsewhere. He would normally be prepared to smile back, to give a cheerful response to any cat—but it’s just not a good time. He looks to Antler, willing the apprentice to say something before the ShadowClanner continues with whatever kind of mocking he’s surely got in store.

Brown-striped shoulders slump in preparation to turn away, but to his surprise the white tom doesn’t insult or mock him. Instead, he dryly offers the answer—you can tell by its bark. It was a joke, the ShadowClanner explains, and Clay offers a snort. "No, it was funny. Sorry, I’m just… uh. It’s hard, you know?" He isn’t about to describe why this gathering is so hard—ShadowClan doesn’t need to hear about their loss unless Cicada decides to speak of it. And admitting he’s gone feels impossible.

"Wait… why would you steal that joke?" He raises a brow, ear flicking as he eyes the other.


// talking to @rosemire
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​
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    ── He doesn't explain why it's hard— but Rosemire can assume he's suffered recently, that he's still suffering. He has the look of someone who's seeing the world as a stranger, and it's a look Rosemire's had staring at him after the Great Battle from the faces of clanmates, from stagnant water. Later, too, when they were all gaunt, hollowed-out caricatures of cats, so the RiverClanner doesn't need to say a word. He doesn't know who he's lost or when or how, but he doesn't need to know.

    "It is," he agrees, exhaling roughly. At least he's gotten a snort out of it. Not that he's exerted a great deal of effort. "And I definitely didn't steal it like some thief under the cover of darkness. It was inflicted on me, too, and one day, you'll probably pass it along to someone else." He winces. Sounds a bit like a disease when put that way, doesn't it? "So. You have anything better? Or worse?"
    ​
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  • still harassing @CLAYFUR​
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  • ──── surr'oseal'isme (rosemire; formerly roseal). he/him. reluctantly shadowclan.
    ──── approximately forty months old and is not entirely certain of his true age.
    ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
    ──── tall, scarred albino w/ sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail (voice).
    ──── ─── currently noticeably haggard. starting to regain weight, but still rather thin.​
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The other tom speaks of his own joke like it’s something that he had no say in, like a curse he’s bound to pass along. He winced at his own words, though, and Clay is suddenly reminded of ShadowClan’s own tough wintertime. He hasn’t heard much news on the only clan they don’t share a border with, but two of their leaders have died since the clan’s formation. Is this tom just as broken up as he is?

"You’re talking about it… like it’s whitecough," he says, trying to force a chuckle. It is funny—but his heart is hurting, shattered in his chest, and he can’t follow through with it. The albino warrior asks whether he has a joke of his own, and Clayfur sighs.

He isn’t quite in the mood for an exchange of jokes, but he can at least entertain this tom. "Uh…" The more they talk about terrible jokes, the less room the ghostly ShadowClan warrior has to question his devastation and dishevelment. What was meant to be his very first gathering—reason to celebrate—has transformed into a nightmare, and he doesn’t have the energy to get as angry as Cicada surely will once the leaders begin to speak. "Do you know why leopards can’t hide from us very well?"
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​
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    ── He wishes he could tell the RiverClanner that he doesn't have to indulge Rosemire without sounding condescending or self-pitying. If he told him to fuck off, he would— without hesitation. The darker feline wouldn't have to force amusement, and maybe Rosemire should do the legwork for him and excuse himself, but he's...lonely, isn't he? So few in ShadowClan aren't sharp-tonged and bitter.

    "It's close enough," he says with a pained smile, and he very nearly tells him to forget Rosemire even asked for a joke from the way he pauses. Is there anyone whose company he wouldn't be an imposition on?

    He opens his mouth to tell him something to that effect when the other tom asks a question first. Pale eyes blink once, then twice. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen a leopard," he muses slowly, even as he understands it's just the lead to a joke. "Anyway. Enlighten me." Rose thinks he knows, but he keeps it to himself. Half the fun of a joke is telling it, after all.

    ​
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  • ──── surr'oseal'isme (rosemire; formerly roseal). he/him. reluctantly shadowclan.
    ──── approximately forty months old and is not entirely certain of his true age.
    ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
    ──── tall, scarred albino w/ sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail (voice).
    ──── ─── currently noticeably haggard. starting to regain weight, but still rather thin.​
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Could you blame her for the way her hair raises with that crackle of energy? Striking down with jagged light, and though it may be what her very clan was named for, the verocity of real and true thunder oh so close, she could not say she was used to. Despite the lack of anything she's felt in some moons, she cringes at the site, gooseflesh rising beneath the tufts of her fur. Only a fool wouldn't be scared of it. And a fool Sootstar certainly was.

Try as she may to carry on, her uncomfortableness still shows on her face. You could slice through the tension with a claw tonight, all things tense... You could tell some clans were sticking to eachother more than others.

And then, she hears her name. With an inquisitive brow, she looks too it. She shouldn't be as surprised as she is to see who it was. It was easy to forget.

She makes her way semi-dramatically, bumps into cat after cat much on purpose "Oh. Ow. Oof!" She groans, though notably, it doesn't carry the same energy it might've when they were both younger. "Ooh, my scars. Ooh, I think you reopened a wound–!" She's nearing her now, and the faux-groans fade as she gets closer. "Those dogs, ah... Sure did a number on me, ya know." She flicks her now-nicked ear. Wasn't there before, Lakemoon might notice if her brain wasn't waterlogged by now. She sniffs. There's a hint of a friendly teasing in her voice, though she is very much judging her. Who knows, though. Maybe she loved fishy fishes so much she was willing to put up with their ass of a leader. "Huh, guess you wouldn't though, actually." She gives her littermate a petulant look.

[ LATEEE but talking to @Lakemoon . >:3 ]​
 
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The ShadowClan warrior seems surprised, or at least caught off guard, when Clayfur asks his question. He says that he doesn’t recall seeing a leopard before, and Clay shakes his head. "I don’t think anyone’s seen a leopard before, only heard about them in stories." He assumes they are creatures of stories alone, but perhaps they are like Bigpaw and Mothcat—real, out there somewhere, hidden well in the wilderness. Shifting in the darkness, sticking to the shadows, staying carefully out of sight. "But they can’t hide because… they’re always spotted."

He attempts to lift one corner of his mouth into a smile. He fails, and tears are still prickling at the backs of his eyes, but he doesn’t think he truly has any more tears to cry. He’s probably cried all the water out of his eyes at this point. And he’s about to thank this strange tom, for at least a little bit of a distraction, when he realizes—he never asked the ShadowClanner’s name. "Oh, uh, this is awkward... I never even introduced myself. I’m Clayfur." He doesn’t think he needs to explain his allegiance; he’s sure the other can scent the fish and river on him, if it’s not all disguised by the grief.


// @rosemire
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​
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Ah, that is terrible. He closes his eyes to fully appreciate the suffering it inflicts, drawing in a deep breath and allowing it to settle with pangs of misery in his chest. "That," Rosemire begins slowly, "was worse than mine. Deservedly, of course. I did force you into it." He looks about as miserable as Rosemire feels, which means he likely feels even worse; tips of icebergs, and all that.

He wonders when it will become taboo to care about such things when they do not live within the same borders. It's both profoundly amusing and heartbreakingly wretched that they are still Pine and Marsh, jealous and bitter.

What else can we expect when the leaders are the same who made a great slaughter here? When StarClan has fed and watered their arrogance? Division was not a means for peace. Right. Dead horse meet stick.

"Here I was enjoying the mystery," he says a bit wryly. "Well, Clayfur, my clan nonsense name is Rosemire." He studies him for a moment, as though trying to gauge whether Clayfur will be receptive to anything that isn't the forcedly playful exchange of shitty jokes. "I visited RiverClan once, but only to clean my paws. Is it muddy there, or has your water learned not to be a pain in the ass?"

//@CLAYFUR

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LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
Oh. Ow. Oof!
The dramatic voice that catches the scarred warriors ears is followed shortly by the sight of her sister, bouncing from one cats shoulder to the next.
Wolfwind’s voice lacks its normal enthusiasm, only noticeable to Lakemoon being as her arrival still reflects on her littermates bold personality.
Lakemoon quirks a brow bone upon Wolfwinds words, discussing the faint sting in her chest they inflicted. While only teasing, they were very much true, and the judgement was as clear as a running stream, hiding under good natured jabs.
"Hmph. Not by my choice." Lakemoon remarks simply with a bitter roll of her eyes. Still, she takes a moment to look over her sibling, still as protective of a littermate as ever. She was taller than the last the silver warrior had seen her, though a good difference still remained between them. Whilst Lakemoon seemed to only bear more scars since their last meeting, Wolfwind seemed to have gained.. was maturity the right word? Even if she lacked the behavior, she certainly looked grown.
Wolfwind seems to make a point by flicking a nicked ear, and Lakemoon scoffs, "Just wait ‘till you look like me." She retorts, though her scars were very much from her own stupid decisions, or by some starved rogue, potato po-tah-to.
"I am sorry to hear about Emberstar though, she was a good cat." This remark is genuine, Lakemoon couldn’t imagine that horror.

/ talking with @WOLFWIND

"speech"
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She'd known it. She'd known. So why was she so relieved to hear it from her sister's own mouth? "I'd hope not!" Wolfwind says it like she'd known, but her face clearly softens with her sister's grumbling response. Her act shifts from innocent bystanders onto her sister herself, letting her body briefly crash into the tabby's, her wounds merely that detrimental.

It's her turn to quirk a brow, now, gaping in mock-offense with what Lakemoon says. Though, if she's honest, the offense is at least a little bit real. "You saying my scars ain't cool enough?" she exclaims with a single lash of her tail, eyes narrowing with the perceived challenge. "I got this ear from your dogs." She turns to show off a part along her flank. "Got this from a SkyClan kitty." Any others had for the most part, been taken care of, but that didn't make her lame or anything! "And y'know," She licks her lips. "Others."

Lakemoon smells every part a RiverClanner, even if Wolfwind knew she didn't really belong there. The good-humor fades from Wolfwind's face, then. Her gaze falls on nothing. "Yeah." She supposes she was, even if it was the detriment to others... and her damn self. Slowly, Wolfwind nods. "She was."

[ Talking to @Lakemoon . ]​
 
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