sensitive topics WEREWOLF HEART ;; PREY? (RTA)

[FOXGLARE]

CONTENT WARNING: DESCRIPTION OF ANIMAL DEATH
The late-greenleaf sun glared down mercilessly upon the rolling moors of Windclan territory, shedding her steady, boiling wrath upon its hills and the small felines that called them home. While Foxpaw had considered himself lucky to be born with his dense, multilayered pelt as a kit living within the freezing alleyways of the twolegplace during leafbare, he had a hard time feeling any gratitude for it on this particular afternoon. The tunnellers were probably unperturbed by the day's heat, digging diligently away in the cooled-dirt darkness of the underground. Even still, there was plenty to be done upon the surface, prey to be caught, borders to be patrolled, and so on and so forth.

He and Jaggedclaw stalked along amongst the heather near the thunderpath, out of sight from any passerby monsters and intent on getting some hunting done as they made their round along the perimeter of the territory. The telltale rumble of an approaching monster was a common enough occurrence that afternoon that they heeded it no mind when the ground shook with anticipation yet again. However, in that same moment, the clear skies ahead were suddenly cut with the dark-edged form of hawk, diving from the heights above and swooping across the thunderpath toward something in the underbrush on Windclan's side of the path. Foxpaw watched as the soaring raptor was struck by the stone-pelted and lightning-fast monster and was tossed limply into the sand, the gargantuan thing not even seeming to notice the collision at all.

The pale tom approached the bird cautiously, eyes peeled for any sign of movement, moving to sniff it when there were none. It was odd, seeing the bird-of-prey's wicked talons and beak rendered useless and stiff, life snuffed out in less than a heartbeat. Foxpaw stood beside the body for a bit—perhaps admiring its dappled feathers up close—before lifting his gaze toward any cats nearby, "Y'all think it'd be fine to eat?" He wasn't a picky-eater by any means, Foxpaw would eat anything that could be labeled 'prey', but he wondered if anyone would have any objections to eating the hawk after it was killed on the thunderpath.

ALL IN ALL ˚⁀➷⋆ ༄ IS ALL WE ARE ; 8/23/23

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — sun . fox . foxpaw
  — cis he/him. 10mo moor-runner apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — a large, scarred, longhaired light ginger tabby with high white and grey eyes
  — smells like wet oak wood and sedge
  — sounds like leon kennedy, with a vague texan drawl.
  — the straight-faced and taciturn adopted son of houndthistle, lived as a twolegplace loner until 8 moons old, now a moor-runner of windclan. stalwart and loyal, he is not easily shaken and lives by a very strict personal code of honor.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — icon by mercurial, chibi by vulture
  — penned by eezy

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[Addervenom]

Life doesn't discriminate

Adderpaw lifts himself from a crouch. The rabbit he had his eyes set on long since fled after the rumbling approach of the monster zipping down the thunderpath. Frustration bleeds into his expression until he turns around and locates the bird of prey. Chocolate striped limbs bring him to Foxpaw's side, burning gaze sweeping over the felled bird so easily tossed aside by the silver monster's power. They were such strange things with strength and speed unmatched. He emits a gruff noise, tufted ears rotating forward as he tips his chin a little higher. "Personally, I don't see why not." It's not like he'd ever seen a monster stop to eat. If they even ate. "It would make for a large meal." He muttered shortly after, contemplating the taste of hawk. ​

Between the sinners and the saints​

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[Badgermoon]

The sun was hot on his back, which the halfhearted gusts of wind did little to alleviate. He crept lightly through the grass, @SCORCHPAW 's hunting lesson well underway, murmuring to her about the slippery way scents clung to the ground. The passing monster earned little more than a dismissive flick of one snow-caped ear, but Foxpaw's words brought his head up in curiosity. Trotting closer, Badgermoon blinked in surprise at the sight of a dead bird - a hawk, no less. He had never seen any winged creature felled by one of the monsters, and he stared down at the feathered corpse, elegant even in death, with a frown. He wondered what was wrong with this particular bird, that meant it had died in such an unusual way. Every other bird appeared able to manage navigating around monsters without being struck down. Had this one been uniquely stupid, or simply very unlucky?

"Some interesting souvenirs could come off of that." remarked the broad-shouldered deputy with a wave of his tail, thinking of the Clanmates he knew of who kept animals parts or other objects: his daughter's butterfly, Gravelsnap and Curlewnose's rock collection, Wolfsong and Sunstride's affinity for feathers..."I wonder if meat fed by meat tastes different." He had never eaten a predator, he didn't think - and snakes didn't count. Reptiles were weird in the first place. Part of him worried that, perhaps, there was something wrong with the hawk, a sickness or feebleness to the mind that would be contagious...but that, surely, was paranoid thinking. Still, Badgermoon bowed his head and sniffed intently, whiskers trembling.​

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchpaw's lesson is cut short by a curiosity she seems to share with her father; when the rumbling of the monster scares all their prey away from them, there is no reason not to investigate the thundering noise, right? So she follows her mentor, never losing sight of the white-tipped ears that bounce above the golden wheat. When they come upon Foxpaw and his scavenge, her discerning gaze falls quietly upon the thing, her own white-tipped ears twitching. Snakehiss had warned her of these birds once before, recalling the time that Cottonpaw had nearly seen herself whisked away by one-- but this beast lies in a crumpled heap at her paws. It would certainly not carry off any cats anymore.

"Do monsters never eat the prey they catch?" she wonders aloud, the acrid scent of the thing retreating further and further by the second. Her nose wrinkles at the thought of eating anything that particular smell has touched-- but maybe Foxpaw was just weird. And, she supposes, if it was the last piece of prey on earth, she would at least entertain the thought of taking a bite. But lucky for her, that is not the case. "I wouldn't eat it," Scorchpaw decides, definitive. "... But the feathers are pretty."​

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[BLUEFROST]

The tunnels nearest the Thunderpath carry reek like a miasma that is thick in her lungs even before she surfaces. The fumes no longer sting her eyes—she’s seasoned, nearing her ninth moon of life and sixth of warrior training—but she grimaces uncomfortably when it coats her tongue nonetheless. Combined with ShadowClan’s swampy stench, Bluepaw has to force herself not to recoil. She shakes dirt from her lovely gray and white pelt, eyes narrowing and near-watering from the monster-stink assaulting her senses. Vaguely, she can see a broad-shouldered golden and white cat at the Thunderpath’s edge, and cats collect around him.

Foxpaw has found a slaughtered hawk, its talons curling cold after the monster had slain it. He asks those present if he could eat it, and Bluepaw snorts softly. “If you wish to consume that, do it away from me, and do not taint our fresh-kill pile with it. It reeks of the Thunderpath.” She flicks a tufted ear in agreement with Scorchpaw, even as Adderpaw and Badgermoon muse over the size of it and the flavor of the meat. “Moor runners have odd tastes.”

The deputy’s daughter and apprentice wonders aloud—“Do monsters never eat the prey they catch?” Bluepaw rests her placid green gaze on the tortoiseshell and shakes her head. “Never. They kill for pleasure and feed the scavengers.”

✧ INFO.

• @SOOTSTAR mentor tag
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

The body, rumpled and fast-cooling across the pebbly line of the Thunderpath, reminds Sedgepaw quite hauntingly of the...something...he'd seen smeared across the pavement just a few weeks ago. There's no lingering remnant of it, now. The rusty patch of it ground into the tarmac is indistinguishable from all the other marks scattered here or there. This body is fresh in comparison to the rotting, stinking pile from before (which Sedgepaw wagers was once a raccoon), yet he can't help but to recall Weasleclaw's disgusted sneer when he'd suggested they even touch the thing, let alone eat it. A sentiment reflected in Bluepaw's icy stare now.

Does she smile? Like, ever?

Not that there's a whole not to smile about. Sedgepaw has to lift his chin and stand on his toes to peer over all the curious cats that have already congregated around Foxpaw and his felled hawk, but even from the back of the crowd he can tell that it's grizzly. Yuck. All that wasteful killing, and for what?

"We should be careful about getting too close, though," Sedgepaw offers, mostly to Foxpaw and Scorchpaw, because giving unprompted advice to someone like Badgermoon feels ridiculous. "They like to trample things on the Thunderpath over and over again. I think they're too big and stupid to tell when things are already dead." And cruel, he doesn't add. For some reason, it feels like the wrong crowd.​