private who would leave their son out in the sun? | houndthistle

( tags ) Fox's short time in Windclan so far had been turbulent and confusing, tensions were high as cats hissed to each other about enemy clans and rushed in and out of camp for prey and supply patrols. But, in another, much more real sense, these windy days within the clan had been mostly very... boring. The gold and white tom was confined to the boundaries of the camp, these cats had no trust for him to be anywhere without several sets of eyes on him at once. At the same time, Fox was no helpless kit, and he couldn't just sit around and mooch off their food and shelter for nothing in return. So, he was put to work doing menial chores like cleaning out dens and the like. He didn't mind it all that much, the clan cats didn't give him too much flack as long as he kept his head down and stayed out from under their paws. The mundane routine of this week gave him too much time to think, though, about someone he had been avoiding. He'd skirted around having to talk to his father for more than a minute at a time, edging away from his questions and fleeing with muttered excuses when the cramp in his chest became overwhelming. That was before Houndthistle had gone to go fight, and when he came back covered in blood and gore, looking half-dead and ashamed, something else filled his chest, something akin to fear.

He pads into the darkened entrance of the medicine den, a simple muffled "Hey." announcing his presence as he approached a particular patient with a piece of prey from the freshkill pile. It was a starling, he'd liked those. It was then that he took a good look at him for the first time. In many ways, he remained the same as he ever was, Hound's hulking presence demanded attention even as he laid in his nest. But, there was a weathered look to him that he hadn't noticed before, whether it was a more recent development or that Fox had not been able to recognize it with a child's eyes remained unknown. Plus, he had taken quite the beating.

"Ya look..." Awful. Like someone tried to gut you and take your eye as a prize. Like this nest should've been your deathbed. "...alright. It hurt any less now, a'least?" Pink nose sniffed at the shoulder closest to him, and he pulled his head back with a displeased wrinkle. The herb poultices patched over Houndthistle's wounds gave him a sharp, astringent scent that mingled with the den's heavy air of blood and dust and cats in pain. His gaze dragged up to Houndthistle's, lingering on the place where his other eye was, unseen underneath cobwebs and herbs and the feeling punched through his chest again. Fox couldn't stand it, how could he lay there and look at him so patiently, the same way he looked at him as a kit? How could he look like that and be the same man who'd abandoned their home, who had marked him for death and moved on to join a new family? The same one who now, after meeting him again after all these moons, had gone out and nearly gotten himself killed, almost leaving him all alone again with a bunch of strangers?

Brow furrowed over grey eyes and teeth gritted together as the ache in his chest only grew, his eyes found a familiar home staring downwards, appearing to study the starling at his feet, its feathers glossy and neat. He didn't know why he hadn't turned to leave yet, but the feeling was threatening to burst and he had nowhere else to go, really. It was with gritted teeth that he would growl, "This is bullshit."

"SPEECH"

@HOUNDTHISTLE
 

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"

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Houndthistle hated the medicine cat den. The unfamiliar smell was something that usually brought him discomfort, especially since Windclan's medicine cats didn't have a good track record of being particularly loyal or reliable, Vulturemask no exception in Houndthistle's critical opinion. Afterall, the tom aswell wasn't particularly friendly with him and Houndthistle couldn't argue the feeling wasn't mutual. But, for once, he was actually grateful the whelp was duty-bound to atleast ensure he wouldn't die. He rested, sprawled out as comfortably as he could be as breaths wheezed and features pulled in grim winces at each subtle movement of his muscles. He'd spent awhile trying to assure his apprentices he was fine, that he was going to be fine-afterall, if an entire rogue group couldn't take him down, two mongrel Shadowclanners definitely couldn't-and when he was finally left to rest, all he could do is just... sit and reflect. He'd heard that Riverclan had also had a bit of an upperhand on Windclan during a skirmish he couldn't quite get all the details about, and he couldn't help but think how... insufferably ignorant this entire thing was. Instead of focusing on ensuring the clan was entirely ready, Sootstar decided the moment they had even an inkling of strength to go and take the fight over some wounded pride. Of course, she couldn't foresee the Riverclan cats attacking, but something in him told him he, as per usual, was right in his observation of vengeance. Now, half the clan was torn up, defenses were down, and Sootstar had lost another life. If Shadowclan, Riverclan, and Skyclan really wanted to raid them, now would be the time, and Sootstar had set them up for the perfect victory. It'd be a slaughter if even a small patrol of fully rested, well-fed warriors broke in.

He exhaled, ears perking as a muffled voice entered the den and he opened his single eye, lifting his head to greet the visitor. Eyes narrow to try and see which cat it was, but quickly recognized the shape of his son, making him shift uncomfortably to hide as many wounds as he could. He clears his throat, nodding curtly in greeting, as he turned to look at Fox, though upon recognizing the prey he carried, Houndthistle's stomach grumbled in hunger. "It never does, but I'll be back on patrol 'fore long... Vulturemask tol' me a week 'fore I can get back movin' 'round, lest an infection comes up," He responds, large paw coming to swipe the bird toward himself, completely missing his mark as his paw likely came and thumped against Fox's leg. Annoyed, he exhales hotly, adjusting his paw until it finally can grab the dumb bird, bringing it toward himself as he began to pluck the feathers, preparing the meal for them to split.

Fox growls something that stops him, feathers in his maw, as his eye flicks toward the golden and white tabby. "Speak up, boy," He says, ears flicking in his direction to hear what he had to say, "If ya got somethin' to say, say it. Don' go mutterin' to the ants, y'know they don' listen to us." Something he always used to say to Fox when he was but a kit, frustrated and unable to articulate how he felt for one reason or another.


"speech"

  • text
  • Physical Health
    57%
    ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders.
    Mental Health
    98%

  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

 
( tags ) Fox had nodded idly at Houndthistle's response, a week of rest before moving around again wasn't so bad, considering how he looked like shit and all. A massive paw came over to take the bird from him and he missed severely, ending up colliding awkwardly with his ankles. Looks like it might take more than a week for him to not walk face-first into the den wall, which would have made him crack a smile if he wasn't already in a sour mood. Instead, he just nudged the starling towards him more without a word.

"If ya got somethin' to say, say it. Don' go mutterin' to the ants, y'know they don' listen to us."It was something he'd heard dozens of times before, and hearing the man speak to him the same way he did when he was a kit made that feeling in his chest writhe further. Even so, he complied, his shoulders straightened and he lifted his head to face Houndthistle squarely.

"This. Is bullshit." He repeated more clearly, grey eyes glittering with frustration. A tabby tail curled up tightly around his paws, tailtip twitching rhythmically while the rest of his body stilled to contain the kinetic energy sparking through his veins. Fox suppressed outbursts on instinct, instead the boy wound himself tight and kept confusing and unsightly emotions wrapped beneath bristling fur. The last thing he wanted Hound to take away from this was that his son still couldn't control his emotions like some sort of toddling kitten. What did he want? The words fell off his tongue before he could come to a conclusion himself.

"This. Actin' like everything's s'posed to be all hunky dory now cause I'm not dead or somethin', when th'whole time I thought you died gettin' crushed by a monster or-or by another fox or somethin'.. but I see now that you jus-, you just left." He could feel his speech becoming more frantic, words rushing out like they knew they would never get said if they didn't get said now. He looked at the bandaged up injuries and got mad at them all over again, had he really gone and tried to toss his life in a fight like it was nothing at all? It was like...

"Y'know. I don' think you care about nothin', at all. " Fox glared up at the creature he couldn't wrap his head around, wanting him to give some sort of answer he could make sense of.

"SPEECH"

 

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"

C_Angelkisses.gif
Houndthistle listens as the words flow first controlled, then frantic, filling his ears and mind like flood waters. His ears pressed back, silent, as he turned to look at Fox with an unreadable, cold look on his features, letting the youth talk. But he couldn't stop the frustration, that heat that flooded his veins as each word was a jab and accusation at him, claws slipping from sheathes to bury into his nest and the starling. Does he not understand what I've done? What I went through during that time, during this time? He thinks everything is hunky-dory because I haven't had an outburst? His mind snarled, single eye narrowing at his son as the youth's final accusation was plastered on his pelt, like big ugly red scars clawed into his pelt, dripping for the whole world to see. But he remained quiet a moment, stumpy tail giving one... two... three loud thumps against the den's floor as he looked back at his son with that cold guarded eye. And when he did speak, it wasn't with warmth or emotional outburst, not even sympathy or apology.

"Y' think I don' care?" He growled, tone low and graveled deep in his chest, "Look 'round, boy. This ain' a life of sunshine and butterflies. I do what I need t'survive, t'make sure I got a prey in my belly and I ain' gotta fight a whole clan 'lone in the woods. I look't f'ya, I searched the marsh, I searched the pines, star's-sake I wen' to twoleg place and foun' nothin'! I'on know what more ya wan' me to say or to have done. Would'ya have liked me to sit at our ol' den, waitin' for y'to decide t'finally come on home while these damned cats tried t'run me out, killed me? 'cause if I did that, neither of us would be here anyway." His tone got more biting as he went on, words more defensive, aggressive. He had gone off, fought to make sure his leader wouldn't take his pelt and skin it like the rest of the yellow-bellied mongrels who refused to fight, and here his son was, spouting ungrateful rhetoric at him. Gravelsnap and Mirepaw understand this fox-dung, he should know how it is, He thought bitterly. "I taught ya that. I taught ya that we do what we need t'survive! It ain' always gon' be easy, but y'ain' been here, y'ain' seen how this clan is and those are things that y'must learn or y'll get hurt, d'you understand?" The tone was more commanding now, fatherly with how he snaps. He knows his son is tough, afterall, Houndthistle raised him and he obviously survived the fox attack, despite what Houndthistle had come to believe for moons, so he knew he was atleast smart enough to know some things, but Houndthistle also knew what happened to cats that didn't... catch on quick enough. And he'd hate to have to bury his son so soon after getting him back.


"speech"

  • text
  • Physical Health
    57%
    ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders.
    Mental Health
    98%

  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

 
( tags )
There was a grim satisfaction had in taking in Houndthistle's reaction, in hearing him get defensive and knowing that he'd struck a nerve somewhere. But, his prodding failed to provoke out of him a truth he was sure was there. Instead, he got a lecture, dismissing him outright and going on about how much he'd gone through. Hound wasn't getting it, Fox didn't have a group to watch his back and put leaves on his wounds, he had one cat to depend on, one that he thought had disappeared for moons and one that had just went and almost got himself killed. Why was he acting like he shouldn't be pissed off?

The youth's face cracked into a snarl to snap back in his own defense, "'Decided to come back'? Yeah-!" He scoffed, "You don't know nothin' about what it took to get back there, nothin' about anything I've done ta survive since then! Had to fight a rat-brained twoleg to finally escape, it wasn't like-" he cut himself off suddenly, biting his tongue. Fox didn't want this to be a battle of who-had-it-worst, and his own frustrations were getting away from him. Something odd, different, panged in his gut hearing Hound insist on how much he'd searched. It was different than what he'd felt thinking he'd just left without another thought about it, and the possibility that his anger couldn't be fixed on a negligent father but instead on just the casual cruelty of coincidence, on the apathetic paw of fate, made him a little queasy. Fox preferred having a face to blame. He huffed, feeling somewhat defeated and tired of arguing about this, "Didn't know so. Sorry." Why did it end up with him apologizing now? Claws dug into soft earth beneath him and he glanced off to the side at nothing in particular, "Doesn't matter much now anyways, ah'guess."

"Y'don't have to act worried for my sake, don't plan on puttin' myself in the dirt so soon."
He would be the first to admit that he knew mouseshit about this place and what to expect living here but he figured as long as he kept four paws solidly on the ground there wasn't anything he couldn't face like he always did.The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to Hound or to the moor cats, he didn't want there to be a whisker that could be held over his head by them. Fox shrugged and said gruffly, "Lived through yesterday, lived through today, I'll live through tomorrow jus' the same."

OOC:
mobile post!!! hope this is ok

"SPEECH"

 
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