private witch hunt [smog]

[hyacinthbreath]

♚ @smogmaw

The tom's words reminds her of her father, oddly- the way he spoke, calm and calculating. The snot that dribbled down his nose and snorts at an attempt at breathing properly through phlegm. Hyacinthbreath wasn't unintelligent, she knew motive when she saw it- many cats had stood up against Sootstar, herself included, but you cannot make a difference if the one cat who you're supposed to depend on, turns against you. Everything she knew in love was ended because she called irresponsibility out the moment she heard of it- danger, that could have been avoided if that brown tabby she once called Brother would have used his brain for once instead of thinking about his pride.

Her paws slip on melting snow, though she catches herself with grace- shoulders wedge uncomfortably. Her son was gone now, left with his clanmates- all that was left was Hyacinthbreath and Smogmaw, standing at the edge of Fourtrees together. He asked to speak with her when ears weren't listening in, when eyes weren't burning into the back of her head. "I can't stay for long," She huffs softly, watching as her warm breath creates a cloud in front of her. Lightningstone would be coming back to check on her soon, making sure she wasn't a traitor. Was she? For a creature who so desperately yearned for a place to belong, roots just never took its place with Hyacinthbreath.

She turns to look at the tabby, considers offering him food for going through this danger. But she holds her tongue. This wasn't a friend, merely a cat with motives she understood. Warmongering had its benefits, but when the war was on the inside.. It led to instability. Hyacinthbreath had been making that point for a while now. "Beware of the traitor in plain sight, Smogmaw. A true moor cat believes in freedom, in choice. If Her Majesty wills it, one could lose their eye in an instant. If she wills it, War could begin. She is no friend, Smogmaw. She's a ghost of who she used to be, a husk drunk on power. If your Clan turns against you, you are nothing." Thick accented tune hums, the tiny lynx point looking up at the tom. "The Fates have their ways of taking what's owed to them."​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[smogstar]

Smogmaw, for a moment, did not anticipate any further dialogue with Hyacinthbreath. The current dealings between Shadowclan and Riverclan were tense, strained by the alliance that his clan shared with the warmongering moor cats. Given the lynx point's exile, he presumed her loyalties would have already shifted to suit her new home's interests. It was certainly the case for Bonejaw, who'd finally mustered the gall to show her face at a gathering, in defiance of her false heart and falser loyalties.

Giving consideration to the smaller feline's presence, it's safe to assume the fire in her heart yet burns for her old home.

The two of them lingered in the underbrush of Fourtrees' perimeter. For the time being, they both ignored the departures of their respective clans, but as per Hyacinth's bated breath, it is clear that she did not want to keep this up for long. And thus, he listens carefully, offering her a heedful expression which denotes his full attention. He gives his thanks as well, through a nod of the head after her diatribe came to a close.

There is an urge to frown, and he is successful in quelling it. The words which came from her mouth were enlightening enough, for sure, but opaque all the same. As it stands, the mackerel tabby is equally as interested in the why as the what. Both a flick of the ear and a momentary glance behind him would come from the tom before his response.

He needs to get going, too.

"Please, help me understand," he says with trepidation in his tone, "at what point did the disloyalty begin? How exactly did the skirmish with RiverClan change things?" Unfortunately, with the swamp laying so far away from the river, his knowledge on recent events is limited at best. Smogmaw does, however, understand one thing. Power, at its essence, is finite, and WindClan ceded some of that power to their adversaries on that day. This does not bode well for the already-powerless clan he lives in. "The last thing I need is Sootstar stabbing her claws in the backs of me and my clanmates," he drawls on, pressing for more knowledge, "or worse—pulling us into a war with multiple foes." ​