THOUGHT I DREAMED HER — gossip

[. Heathershade .]

When she had been a humble farm cat, Heathershades days were primarily spent catching lazy mice and warming her back under the sun when the weather allowed.
Now, she would be proud to say her paws almost never stopped moving, she floated from one task to another throughout her day, happy to be of use.
Her day is over, though. The sun has just begun to set, casting the sky in a brilliant blend of lavender and pale orange.
Normally, the chimera would opt for a night-hunt, but tonight her paws throbbed, and she decided to take a beat.
Her wind-down is interrupted, however, by the sound of whispered voices from nearby, chatting away as though they were a pair of starlings.
Have you seen Sabletuft sneaking off lately? Only on the nights of a gathering.
Have you heard that wailing in the night? I heard Stumpyspots is the one responsible.
No way! Well I heard that Heathershade-
"Hm?" The lilac warrior chimes in before the last sentence can be spoken, fluttering ever so slightly closer to the small group.
"Keep going, dear! I’m curious as well." Heathershade’s voice is free from sarcasm, her trill genuinely curious. She turns to the nearest cat, sun glazed eyes aglow with interest. "What’s the hot gossip on me?" This question is said with a gentle smile, and a slight tilt of her head.

"Speech."​

[ COCOA BUTTER KISSES ]​

 

[smogstar]

In the passage of a ShadowClan warrior's daily obligations, the extent of one's downtime was truly a pittance. Morning patrols, then hunting patrols, not to mention apprentice training, and ultimately Moonhigh patrols, it left little room for rested haunches or moments of leisure. Hence, it eluded Smogmaw entirely as to why his peers spent what meagre freedom they had discussing the affairs of others. There's an undeniable appeal in studying a clanmate's profile, learning what makes them tick and what makes them turn, so as to ascertain potential weaknesses or benefits. Yet, the distribution of rumours held negligible weight. It's a waste of time and a waste of breath, given that it isn't even good gossip either.

There is but one tidbit of talk which seizes the deputy's full attention. Hearsay typically flows through one ear and out the other, though an observation regarding a friend of his, Sabletuft, fastened to his mind like a thorn to flesh. On the eves when the moon is at its fullest, whilst the bulk of ShadowClan's fodder leaves for the gathering, the lead warrior has picked up a habit of withdrawing from the camp. This, to him, sticks out like a sore tail. He can't quite recollect any gathering that has been graced by Sabletuft's presence, be it personal choice or something else entirely stifling it. But to heed that the tom nevertheless slips away on those nights, heading out on secretive excursions to only StarClan knows where, it whisks both discomfort and displeasure into a belly-churning concoction—the described manner of behaviour is not unlike the departed and dearly-missed Flickerfire's, and what a mess that was.

Hearsay. It has to be hearsay, and nothing more.

A long-drawn exhale slithers from his throat then, as he rises from his squatted posture. On calloused paws does the deputy approach the rumour-crazed buzzards, and he devotes a special focus towards perhaps the youngest warrior in the midst. "Your eyes're set on someone, Heathershade," he lies, contriving a believable batch of gossip to further tickle the interests of the nearby loudmouths. "So the story goes, it's someone who's already smitten with another. You sly thing." An awkward, yet smug smile is then coaxed into existence, teasing the she-cat from his lower jaw. ​