camp walk to the other side ✘ patrol return

[SMOKESTAR]

His pelt drips filthy water and clumps of mud, caked on and drying across his face and back where he had rolled into the dirty waters from the sudden shove. Smokethroat's tail lashes as he pads back into camp, expression disgruntled and and flaking dried dirt cracking from the scowl across his maw. He's none too pleased and it shows but he doesn't waste time cleaning up, only pausing once to set the moss he carried down by the medicine cat den before padding over to the leader's den to poke his head inside first, "You're gonna want to hear what we came across while gathering moss." It was calmly stated if not edged with annoyance and it was only then did he wander over to the river's edge to dunk his head in with one quick tilt down before lifting it up to whip back water and dampened fur in a rapid shake. It would take more than that to get him clean again, but he was happy just not having mud plasted across his face any longer so he set about splashing the rest of himself with less enthusiasm than that first dip.
The rest of his patrol was probably setting down their own moss collected by now, thankfully they had managed to come back with their original job done but he was still bothered they'd not been in a position to pursue the loner that had been so obviously trespassing. He wondered if they were the cause of the river's issue or if they were curious about it as well; most cats outside their clan avoided the water for obvious reasons.

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[Ooc]
Takes place after THIS thread! Not a pafp!
Patrol tag - @GILLSIGHT & @ICICLEFANG & @>Honeystone
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[CLAYFUR]

From his place lounging in the sun, the warmth against his fur feels… not quite right without another’s pelt pressing against him, but it’s getting there. At least he doesn’t feel icy even while sunbathing anymore. And, speaking of icy! He watches his niece return to camp from her patrol, alongside Gillsight,—Gillsight, named after the most amazing tom to ever grace RiverClan’s ranks—Honey, and Smokethroat. The dark-furred warrior at the head of the patrol stalks to the water’s edge, dunks his face in, and it’s only then that Clayfur takes in the sight of mud streaked across monochrome fur.

Pale paws carry him swiftly through the camp, an ear flicking in greeting to the entire patrol. "Good day for a mud bath, huh?" He calls to the white-speckled tom, tipping his head to the side—curious. "Did something happen on your patrol?" Smokethroat isn’t typically the kind of guy to take a dip in the mud, to roll around and dirty his pelt for any reason that’s not deathly serious.​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[PIKESPLASH]

( tags ) At Clayfur's words he can't help but agree. Smokethroat isn't the type to willingly throw himself in mud much less bathe in it. It feels criminal to see Smokethroat like this. Although he panics and tries to make himself smaller when Clayfur makes it sound like he's teasing Smokethroat for mud bathing. That isn't the case he knows, but you never know with someone as terrifying as Smokethroat. The question of is something happening causes him to lift his head up. It's not a question without reason. Smokethroat's odd appearance returning suggests something has happened on the patrol. He doesn't think the patrol fought another clan because if that was the case their pelts would be lined with blood not mud. Also, let's not mention the fact that Smokethroat would be more pissed had there been a fight with another clan.

A battle is ruled out with other cats. Another thing he could think of was a scuffle with an Otter or something, but that doesn't feel right either. It had to be some sort of scuffle because no way would Smokethroat tell a patrol to have a mud bath or even drag one out to play in the mud. "W-was there a fight or something?" I'm just glad we don't have to drag a cat to the medicine cat den. One victory for Riverclan today! For now, with our record someone might get hurt before the day ends.​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

His head tilts up and he laughs once, a brief 'ha!' of a sound at the question as he raises a paw to start grooming only to forget it was also caked in mud and he reflexively gags at the sudden mouthful of dirt he just gave himself. Smokethroat spits to the side to rid his maw of the debris, sticks his tongue out in annoyance and shakes his head. The momentary lapse in judgement left his teeth lined in grit and he would get a drink in a moment to clear it.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Clayfur. You know me...love rolling in the mud. Love eating it too. Favorite hobby." His tone is a low rumble, humor as dry as the mud caking his pelt and he gives a dismissive snort before sighing. "River might be blocked, water is low in some places...and I-"
He pauses as Pikesplash approaches and arches a brow at the other cowering from him and shaking like a newborn kit left to the elements; could never understand that tom, weirdly skittish and constantly walking about like he worried his tail would get stepped on at any moment. Odd fellow. He continued on with the explaination, both to Clayfur and to answer the other warrior's question on whether or not there was a fight. Smokethroat shook his head.
"Loner on our territory, shoved me in a puddle and took off. Didn't want to go chasing them in case there are more, last thing I needed was my patrol getting jumped by a bunch of outsiders trespassing. So we'll probably send another out specifically to handle it. I'm sure Cicadastar will want to lead it personally."
The dark tom glances upward thoughtfully, lone orange eye squinting into the sky to judge the time of day and hours left to them. "Might need to wait, I don't want to send cats out in the dark if there's danger..."
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[>Honeystone]

—

— Her maw was fixed around the moist moss she had gathered, had it not been she'd likely be trying to spill any sorts of words to quill the possible anxieties to rise. Her grey-blue gaze would drop with each scrap of mud that fell from the pelt of the disgruntled black tom. The high white lilac molly would nod her head at the other members of the patrol to gesture where they could lay their moss while Smokethroat sought their leader's audience. It was okay..After placing down her moss, the warrior would take in a deep breath before shutting her eyes and letting it out steadily. The molly's eyes would reopen and she'd turn herself to face the approaching clanmates with a soft smile, although this was one that struggled to reach her optics.

"We.. Ran into some complications." Honeystone would gently offer a vague explanation to the tall chocolate tabby tom. Her attention would then turn to a more timid voice, her smile tightening before weakening. Her head would turn to the leader of the patrol as he took up to actually explaining the issues they ran into. The stray loner.. The river. So many issues at once, it was bizarre, to say the least. She'd nod her head along with the tom's words before looking at the two. "Nothing Riverclan can't handle though. We'll go through each issue one paw at a time, that's all we can do right now."— tags​

— tags​

 

[CICADASTAR]

his head pulses with a tense, throbbing strain at the temples. greenleaf sun beats down upon them all, and the arching branches of their willows provide little shade against the blazing onslaught. when smokethroat’s patrol plods through the reed curtain leading into camp, tall ears perk, swiveling at the sound of an impending report. despite being a little filthier than normal ( he gives his mate a pointed up - down look ), they seemed not to be in too much distress — he responds to clayfur’s ever - present jokes with the same amount of interest as always, narrow - eyed and straight - mouthed. pikesplash stutters a question and finally — finally — " a loner? " his voice lifts, irritation building at the base of his paws, twining up the length of his forelimbs and burrowing deep in his chest. he glances towards honeystone as she speaks, offering words of encouragement that he furrows his brow at. despite it, he nods, slow and steady. molars chew at the tender inside of his cheek, displeasure brimming from each bristling edge of him, ” i’ll take a patrol to scout at dawn. with any hope, your patrol frightened them off. “ if they’d run, perhaps they knew better than to return. lucky enough to escape once, it would be a fools errand to cross their scent lines again.

one thing, however — his mind snags on, all too suddenly, ” what do you mean the waters low? how low? “

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

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[BONERIPPLE]

જ➶ "A loner?" Her voice carries as she makes her way over to the rest of the group and the returning patrol. A loner pushed Smokethroat into the mud and then ran off. Her muzzle keeps tight as she tries not to laugh but the image in her head is unrelenting. Still she keeps herself a bit far away from the deputy and leader, eyes focused on Clayfur before she settles beside him instead. If there is one loner there is also the possibility of others and she is glad that they didn't go after them. Her claws press at the ground in through given they had the nerve to push the deputy in the first place. Was it really a trap? Her jaws part as if she is about to speak before she snaps her jaws shut. Right. And the next news is not so great either. There are places where the river is low and she glances to Cica before looking back to the deputy again.

"Is it drying up?" Though she doesn't feel as worried as most do when it comes to the river there is concern there. Given that a lot of cats need fish to survive or they will have to adapt to hunting on the land.​

 

[Cindershade]

"Seems like you seem to love eating it." A quiet voice interjects to Clayfur and Smokethroat's bit of banter. A brow had raised upon her shrouded features, expression twisting into a quizzical one as she had watched Smokethroat ingest a bit of mud that had slathered on speckled paws. "Perhaps a dip on the river would do you better." A huff of laughter leaves her now, though no smug grin or smirk would encroach on blackened lips. Ever since Beesong's death and her own brush if death, an unending exhaustion now plagues upon her—sleepless nights full of tossing and turning, ending at the edge of camp or just outside of it, watching the night sky until the pale light of dawn would crawl from the horizon. Sharpened eyes were a bit more dull, and a bit more lifeless.
She says nothing as the deputy continues to explain, the word 'loner' causing a sleekened spine to raise akin to quills. RiverClan just couldn't have a break, could they? A tumbling of stones, one falling atop of them right after the other. Velvet ears pin towards the crest of her helm, tail flicking in agitation as he goes on. Voices echo in her stead, tension palpable to the gathering group that seems to overshadow him mentioning the water's current level and how it seems more low than usual. A blushed tongue clicks against gnashed teeth as she listens, mulling over what could be causing the river to begin to receed and if had anything to do with the loners. Or maybe it was something else. "Could it be beavers?" She inquires, imagining the plump chestnut colored creatures that were bigger than most cats, flattened tails akin to paddles and their long front teeth. They usually kept to themselves, but could bore a problem considering they like to build a wall of sticks in the water to stop it's flow. She's never understood such a thing nor the why, but if it was, perhaps a patrol could chase them off. She attention is then turned to Cicadastar, nodding in agreement at his decree of sending a patrol out first thing tomorrow, hopefully this Loner situation would be an easy fix and they could go on with their lives.

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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[CLAYFUR]

The dark-furred tom responds, his tone dripping with sarcasm, and Clay’s grin stretches wider. But it quickly disappears again as Smokethroat continues, giving his report on the patrol. The river is low again… which isn’t great. The last time the river was low, they spent far too long living in a camp stained with blood, shadowed in death. Pike asks whether there was a fight, if that’s why Smoke is covered in mud, and the tom responds with an explanation that they’d come across a loner and he’d been shoved into a puddle. That’s a bit concerning, really—that a random loner would approach Smokethroat, much less shove him into a puddle. Smoke is occasionally intimidating, and Clay can’t imagine he’s any less so whilst on patrol. If a loner feels confident enough to attack their second in command, then what comes next?

He can’t handle another surprise attack, can’t handle losing another cat he cares about. The tom stifles a noise—what if Icicle is next, or Gillsight, or even Cicada himself? No one outside of RiverClan can be trusted (with the exception of Boneripple, who now sits at his side as a RiverClanner, not an outsider). Whatever loner the patrol saw… they are a threat. Cicadastar, thankfully, decides that he’ll lead a patrol to check it out, and Clay can feel the tension bleed steadily from his shoulders. The storm-mottled tom will keep them safe, as much as he can. Clayfur only hopes that he’s chosen for the patrol—he wants to see the outsider with his own eyes, see what a loner is doing so far into the territory.

Cinder pipes up, wondering aloud about the reason for the low water level, and his muzzle twists into a scowl as she speaks. "I hope it’s not beavers…" he grumbles, ears flattening against his head. Ugh, he hopes the low water level isn’t due to a nuisance like beavers. Why couldn’t it, for once, be a fluke? A one-time issue, worrying them only for the water to come back the next day? If they have to chase out beavers and loners, they’ll be in for yet another rough season.​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[iciclefang]

Iciclefang is quiet as Smokethroat gives his explanation, with some light interjection from Honeystone. Her uncle seems to lose his mirth as he learns what had truly happened, and she can’t blame him. If their territory is truly infested with hostile cats, their Clanmates could be in danger. “It could’ve been worse, but we don’t want to give them time to cause us any real trouble,” she murmurs. She nods her head at Cicadastar’s quick assertion—he’ll take a patrol to deal with the issue.

Cindershade slinks over, pantherlike in her shadowy coat, and mentions the possibility that beavers could have caused the water levels to rise. Clayfur’s reaction causes Iciclefang to frown. “Surely StarClan wouldn’t force us to deal with loners and beavers at the same time?” Partially said in jest, but she has the nagging feeling that something has to be causing the river’s depletion…
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[Flutterpaw ☆]

Flutterkit blinks at the sudden flurry of comments, questions, and movement in front of him. He blinks slowly, registering each of the adults' words in turn. Smokethroat, Honeystone, and Iciclefang talk of loners and shoving, of hoping that there isn't anything to really worry about. Cicadastar talks of low water and patrols - was the river going away? Were they going to chase down the river? And above it all, Flutterkit hears Clayfur and Cindershade mention beavers.

"What are beavers?" The question isn't specifically directed to any one person in the throng of cats, but instead generally projected. Were they big and scary? Would they come take him away in the night, along with the river? Meanies.​

 

[silverpaw]

silverkit has gathered that the mood here is very serious. she does her best to assimilate to it, flattening her own ears down and plastering a big frown on her blue tabby face.

"oh, beavers are big scary birds," says silverkit in answer to flutterkit's question, nodding seriously as she speaks. "they're real big and they have the heads of giant SNAKES, and they have the biggest teeth you ever saw, like as long as three cats — and they snatch you up and steal you away to EAT you!! they're SO scary, and i think they're gonna come and get us now an' that's why all the grownups are upset."

she continues to nod to herself. yes. that's definitely the explanation that makes sense. she settles down next to flutterkit, pleased with the interaction so far. maybe she is making a new friend.

"and don't worry," she adds as an afterthought, spurred on by iciclefang's worry, "the beavers have probably eated all the loners by now. just like they're gonna eat US!!"


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.˚◦○˚ TAGS ˚○◦˚.

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  • abandoned by the border, sibling to otterkit, adoptive daughter to pikesplash • 3 moons old • silver tabby & blue tabby chimera with a dusting of white freckles • meticulous, attentive, opinionated, LOUD!! • peaceful powerplay welcome • wants to make friends! •

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