camp UNWANTED ANIMAL ╱ DEV.

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

[ this is just a development post, nothing is really happening but minor warning for faint violent imagery and some internal self-hatred ]

❝  There are teeth in his throat. Carved beneath his skin, they flex against his windpipe and press into his veins; against them, his heartbeat thumps an unsteady rhythm. Ba-dum, ba-dum, as it shoves against ivory monoliths. A tide to a mountain, but a tide that threatened t' vanish into mud as the grip wore down. Faster, desperate, his heart chases after the pulse and to the wound, crawling up from the pit'f his chest. Heavy and burning, choking out the air. Ba-dum, ba-dum. Twisting. It curls itself to shapes as it comes up. Conjures face after another, obligation after love. When he'd been one with the marshes, blood'd felt both a daily occurrence and the worst of rarities. Love, he thinks, had been much the same. Rat bites an' scraped paws; shared smiles and brushed shoulders in the dark. A scruff tipped red; his heart crawling up in a red tide. Teeth, stuck deep in his stars-damned throat.

How terrible it was, to feel it all at once. Both'd grown since naming this place his home. That night under the stars, he'd felt nothing but pride. A place to heal, a face he would gladly follow. So much's changed since then. In both love an' blood, Hound'd been made into something new.

One rough paw sweeps over exhausted eyes, and Hound sinks to the dirt. Morning's still fresh on the horizon, ground dewy with the faintest of melting frosts. Leafbare's yet to truly threaten them, yet the leaves're starting to shift and the worries weigh heavy on his shoulders. He's yet to fully heal from the fox's maw. (Love and blood.) It'd kept 'im up all night. You should be out there, obligation demanded. Your blood's worth no more than their empty bellies. His paws are twitching. You should be more than this. With a sudden intake of breath, harsh an' rolling in like a growl, Houndsnarl shoves up to stand. Each muscle along his leg jerks to full tension, eager to drag the pained paw from the earth. He doesn't let it. The dawn patrol's coming back. Trickling into camp with prey in their maws or warmth on their tongues.

One'f them, an older apprentice, is leaned heavily to their mentor's shoulder. A warrior trickles off to greet their mate with a brush of noses. Kittens, awake far before any mother'd hope, rest at the nursery's entrance to call for another. And Hound looks on with something red rising up with the air that he breathes, 'til it rests just behind his teeth. Blood and bloodied love. That's all he's left to give, isn't it just?

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: hound's being emooooo srry
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[Snakeblink]

The sun rises, bringing fresh new light and warmth that suffuses through Snakeblink’s body like an encouragement. He’s been awake since before dawn broke, waiting the sun out: he never sleeps past the first patrol’s departure. Too much noise, too much agitation. It makes him think there’s something going on that he should be paying attention to — and there usually is, especially at the turn of seasons.

Apprentices eager to start their day or dragging their paws; aging warriors pulling themselves out of warm dens with weary, practiced habit, gazing at their younger counterparts with the relief of knowing themselves well succeeded, or else with the faint worry of a veteran unsure of what will come after them. There’s always something to look at, to take note of, something worthy of notice. Something to keep an eye on.

More than light, though, dawn brings clarity. The only thoughts he gets at night are maudlin ones, encouraged by the impenetrable darkness all around. It’s easier to think clearly with the cold Leaf-bare sun shining down on him, and not just because he can actually see more than three steps in front of his own nose then.

It’s also a reminder, doubled with the sound of the dawn patrol returning: daylight is here, and there’s work to be done.

Snakeblink slips out of the shadows outside the warrior’s den where he was crouched in wait and circles the camp in his own private patrol, assessing what might be done. He could hunt, of course: there’s always a need for more fresh-kill. But should he? Moons of living with other cats and he’s still unsure of how to conduct himself in the structure of a clan, where he fits in the current of activity sending patrols out and bringing hunters back in. He might never get used to it — but something arrests him before he can lose himself to that particular thread of introspection.

A movement, dissociated from that of the patrol dispersing through the camp. A twitch that his hunting instincts immediately interpret as the spasms of a fish out of the water, ripe for the reaping, before his brain catches up.

It’s Houndsnarl, he thinks, blinking in the dim light of morning. The dark warrior cuts a strange silhouette like this — Snakeblink is used to seeing him stand tall and imposing, or stalking his way through camp. But he was wounded recently, wasn’t he? Some gruesome incident with a fox, if Snakeblink heard the medicine cat’s mutterings right while lurking around his den. Perhaps he can lighten the burden somehow: that is work worth doing.

He slinks past the fresh-kill pile, swiping an eel sticking out of it on the way, and considers how to approach the warrior. He… usually gives Hound in particular a wide berth. Snakeblink isn’t the only one intimidated by the tom, he’s sure, but he knows better than to get in the way.

Now, though, he must, so he does. He pads up to Houndsnarl quietly and drops the eel in front of the other cat’s face with a wet flop — he’d have tried to make it less… splashy, but the damn thing slipped right through his teeth.

"Have you eaten yet? You should." He shifts in place, puts himself just a little behind Houndsnarl’s bad shoulder — protection for him, wounded, and for Snakeblink, now out of easy swatting range. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s underestimating Hound’s ability to take care of himself, so he adds, "Wounds like this one will rot sooner than heal. " ​

ooc. information.

• ooc: (edvard grieg's morning mood playing in the distance) what a nice day :) time to splash some dude with an eel
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 34 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

❝  He'd thought it meant something, that day with the three of 'em. Hardly more than children themselves, whatever suffixes some names might've carried. In the time it took to begin healing, Hound'd begun to doubt– not the worth of those that he'd pulled back from those desperate teeth, but of his own wound. It'd wept red, dried to tug at patches of his fur and peeled away as the days passed on like the slow split of the river's current against a rock. It'd healed on the outside, but on the inside...well, perhaps it'd be easiest to say that Snakeblink was a little too late to try an' salvage the mangled edges of self-doubt. They'd already begun to blacken.

An eel, at least, is a fine way to drag oneself from the drowning weight of their thoughts. The chocolate tom jolts some, wounded paw leaving the ground and body turning to better catch sight of the smaller warrior. It's a rare day that he's startled. Suppose he should've expected it from someone so light on their paws. Perhaps it'd've been easier had he known enough of him to expect it. Hound rarely reached out to build a bridge, and Snakeblink's wariness'f him is clear enough to have him avoiding it. No use reaching out when the other'd just shy away. Whether or not he truly would...best not to find out, he'd say. It seems he'll learn now.

Tensed shoulders loosen some. The dense fur 'round his throat begins to smooth back down. He watches him with narrowed eyes for a moment longer, and then, abruptly, settles. Newly-rounded eyes find the eel, and his paw only raises to wipe silently at the droplets of water that'd sprayed across his face. "More than just the wounds," he mutters, an absent and begrudging admission ripped from his maw by this cat's unfamiliar kindness. As soon as they've left he tries to reel them back. The stars are unwilling to erase them, and Houndsnarl plows ever on. "Suppose you should share it, then, if you're bothering me about it all. An eel's too much for my lonely stomach."

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: i am actually in love with snake what the fuck
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[Snakeblink]

Snakeblink had intended to leave as soon as the offer of a meal had been accepted, as he knows not to overstay his welcome, but the complex emotions that flash over Hound’s face pin him in place. Startling him is not unexpected, although he did not mean to, and he’s familiar with this sort of narrow-eyed suspicion being turned his way, but he can't help to see more there, perhaps more than there actually is. Perhaps it’s only because he’s looking for it but it seems so obvious suddenly, from the tense lines of Hound's shoulders to the hooded, haunted eyes. Pain, yes, but something else as well. Something deeper, a sort of melancholy hooked into the marrow of his bones. Snakeblink recognizes it the way he would the ever-changing waters of the river: something unknown yet deeply familiar.

What follows, though, is… calm. A deliberate show of relaxation, as if this is safe. As if Snakeblink is a surprise, but not necessarily a bad one. The realization floors him, and he is so intent on deciphering it that he nearly misses the chocolate tom’s words entirely. For a second he even thinks he’s imagined them, or misinterpreted the offer somehow. This morning is just one shock after the other.

He rarely eats with others. His anxious isolation feeds on itself like a snake swallowing its tail, as the less others see of him the less comfortable they are with him around. He has no reason to refuse, though — and, frankly, he would not wish to even if he had. The confession and companionship, grudging as they are, are like water to him.

"When you put it like this, how can I say no?” He drawls. “I’m afraid I don’t have much appetite either, but I will certainly try my best to free you from the burden of eating an entire eel by yourself."

He folds down besides Houndsnarl and tucks his tail around himself, the tip just shy of touching the other cat. Snakeblink peers at him thoughtfully. He wants to ask, if only to find if he can help in any way, but he doesn't know how without digging his claws into the words Hound clearly did not mean to voice. He flicks an ear as he gestures to his wounded shoulder, fishing for an appropriate way to satisfy his curiosity.

"Is the pain outlasting the injury, then?" ​

ooc. information.

• ooc: what if i bundled hound into a blanket and fed him soup. what then
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 34 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

​