watch some guy spin a bass drop .. smogmaw

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — For a while it's just the sound of pawsteps navigating through the marsh. The rain has made the land a bit muckier than usual. Sabletuft was putting more effort in making sure he didn't trip over his paws being sucked into the mud more than what he and his counterpart were actually set for; scouting the WindClan border. Ah, there was still time before they reached the point of having to actually use their skills anyhow.

There's a break in the thick mire that breaks into more solid ground. Sabletuft tries to shake off the mud every few steps. He isn't quite sure if he should say anything, stars what could he even say? He and Smogmaw had been battle-brothers, once upon a time. And now it felt like they were world's apart. So much had happened since that battle. Since they were made to obey StarClan's guidance. Since so much death had befallen him. Would Smogmaw be interested to even know? Part of him wondered if, in all the chaos that happened, he might believe Sabletuft hadn't valued their friendly coalition before.

In the long stretch of silence, he is the first to speak."Would you imagine where we are now, just a year, two years ago?" He mused as he tapped his paw against a log, ridding most of the mud now. "I never thought Briarstar would lead me into something like this. I knew she was always just a few steps ahead but... and you. You've got a legacy to come, that's for sure."— tags

@smogmaw ​

 

[smogstar]

A grimy coalescence of mud and soil takes a tight hold of the deputy's paws, staining the silvery strands up to the crests of his ankles. By instinct, he flings the filth off with every pawstep, though he remains heedful of the older warrior in his company—he doesn't wish to treat Sabletuft to a mudbath, not unlike the one Rosemire had so generously given him moons ago.

Smaller patrols, such as this one, were Smogmaw's second-most preferred way of scouting the swamp's perimeter, just below him doing so all on his lonesome. The possibility of inane chatter and smalltalk is kept to a minimum, and they generally proceeded at a faster pace, since there were no apprentices lagging behind. On top of that, the tom was joined by someone whom he didn't take immediate issue to. Sabletuft has been a steadfast presence for the bulk of his continued existence; a face that has become deep ingrained into his memory, and a mental terrain he has learned to adeptly explore. He and the other tom fought shoulder-to-shoulder in the heat of the Great Battle, and both stood by Briar as she established what is now known as ShadowClan—not to imply a shared history is grounds for respect, which it isn't, but it certainly helped to build a mutual understanding of one another.

The thunderpath border with WindClan's land lays just within sight, however the two toms would draw to a halt in a hollowed clearing where the ground was remarkably firm. Smogmaw does not object to the break, though his deadpan gaze would gradually drift towards Sabletuft's form as the silence persisted. Now would be as good a time as any to offload all the smalltalk from their systems before pressing on, but based on the manner in which his counterpart appeared to consider his words, the deputy prepares himself for something more—something, dare say, sentimental.

A black-capped ear flicks to the wind when the words come, which they do shortly thereafter. His chin tilts down in an almost-nod of a gesture, a movement to indicate his listening, however keen it may be. "Two years ago..." he echoes, tone as grungy as the earth as he tries to navigate through distant memory. "That'd be, what, some twenty moons back? I'd have been in the marsh colony for a heap of seasons by then, and my father and littermates were still alive and well." Out of the run-of-the-mill, day-to-day conversations that he finds himself surrounded by, Smogmaw absconds from those of a more tender variety. For the moment, though, he would spare Sabletuft a fraction of his guarded vulnerability.

Inhaling sharply as the other male remarks on the current state of things, Smogmaw follows in Sabletuft's suit by rising up to the same log and ridding himself of the gunk he'd collected. "I won't pretend to know what the future holds," the ashen-toned deputy accedes, "but, I do know that a lot is going to change. We'd lived in the colony for years; the clans are young, and with the way they're structured, clashes like the Great Battle are simply inevitable." A wave of the head is given in the trajectory of WindClan's territory. One would think, in the wake of the brutal war that tore the colonies apart, there would be measures to ensure such conflicts wouldn't happen again. If recent gatherings are anything to go by, however, it's glaringly apparent that not every clan shared this priority.

He looks back to Sabletuft, his gaze remaining vacant, but the beginnings of a smile tainting his jaw. "I'll continue to fight at your side, Sable," he finally pledges, "so long as you do the same for me." ​