other WHY HAS NOTHING CHANGED — prayer

[SNAKEHISS]

Alone Snakehiss walks; condemned, cast out, and ultimately aimless. Even after everything was said and done, even after ruining his last chance at remaining in his birth home, he still believed that he had done the right thing. The darkening of the sun, the wildfire and the deaths that followed, the dog attack... StarClan had tried to warn them, but Snakehiss had been the only cat to listen. In his attempts to save his clan from further destruction, he had been cast out of the moors.

Heather scent faded from his midnight black pelt, typically groomed hairs appearing disheveled and scruffy, Snakehiss feels long detached from the tom he used to be. He had been a self-proclaimed prince of the moors, a proud warrior who had vowed to bring honor to his blood. Snakehiss had accepted that StarClan had different plans in store for him now. However, the former deputy could not deny his struggle to acclimate to independence — life without the protection of a camp, without a fresh-kill pile, without anything he's ever known. These lands are strange to Snakehiss; he takes each step with caution, wary of the rogues and creatures that dwell out here. The only thing he can manage to be thankful for at the moment, if anything, is that he had not been cast out in the dead of leafbare. The temperatures that befall the land at night were survivable, even without the surrounding heat of a den of warriors.

Silverpelt gazes upon him now, Snakehiss can only hope with fondness. A dim emerald gaze lifts to them momentarily, taking in the breathtaking array of twinkling, distant souls above. They had not smitten him yet. They believe in him, just as he believes in them. Snakehiss had been the only WindClanner to see that only they were more powerful than a single leader, that they held reign over all living cats. He had been blind once, a dutiful soldier of Sootstar's, torn between his faith to his leader and faith to StarClan. His blindness had nearly gotten him killed. "StarClan, spare my kits." Snakehiss utters aloud. "They are young and naive; they do not yet realize the dark path that they follow." It was a difficult decision, to leave the security and safety of the community. Snakehiss himself had grappled with it and he would be a fool to expect his young brood to have the mental capacity to do so. "I have faith that they will one day hear your message as I have." My kin will open their eyes and see while the rest of that clan follows that brute to their deaths. He hopes, he wishes, he urges. Snakehiss had once detested the very thought of bringing his own children into the world, especially with the likes of a loyalist, but they were his flesh and blood. He did not wish death upon them now, at least not while they still had the chance to escape from WindClan's peril.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀 𝙃𝘼𝙎 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

• fyi, snakehiss has been wandering around the loner lands near the horseplace!

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  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; exile/rogue; former windclanner
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — father to rowankit, violetkit, cricketkit, and privetkit (duskclan)
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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[CYGNET'S CRY]

"You pray to your stars, and yet, it has brought you here." The ghastly smolder of Cygnet Cry's one good eye met Snakehiss' sleek form, as he stood upon a makeshift throne of a low-hanging bough, almost as though a cadaverous revenant who clung to the woods. From a quick glance, the tuxedo-pelted exiled was aimless, not truly following any sort of trail or wayward path. That is a quick way to find yourself lost out here. This stranger prayed for his kittens, though not even the lurid scent of another presence hung to the other, of which perplexed the runtish smoke point. If he had children, then why did he seem as though he were running from them? Perhaps he did not run from him, but from the wretched lands that had birthed and weaned them. Cygnet knew that the clans prayed to their 'Starclan', though he found it macabre in a self-righteous way - how presumptuous to believe that something as grand as the stars must be branded with one's earthly home. Even in the badlands did he have the gall to invoke the damned name of that which could not give him salvation now.

"You are from the clans, correct? Is there something you seek in these lands?" Lilting voice called from the shadows of the branches, though there was hardly a smudge of kindness in his honeyed words, and no concern to be gleaned from brief exchanges. Cygnet's Cry rarely gave any solace to those he did not deem worthy of it. The weak, the elderly, and the young all got his brief comforts. All else was meant to fend for oneself, just as he had for so many moons. "I do not take kindly to those from the clans. I advise you to leave if you are still tethered to those that infest the territories with false ideals." His right eye then shimmered in a dangerous sort of light, with slitted pupil and almost serpentine curl of his body, like he aimed to strike if Snakehiss were not careful. He did not move, though, simply remaining stationary upon the stilled limb of the creaking tree. In fact, an old friend had advised him of a feline who looked quite a lot like this stranger, though the beast of rumor appeared more haggard and ragged than was foretold. He couldn't be sure that it was him, though.

( retro to cyg's thread in shc )​