camp WITHOUT A DAWN [✧] intro

[DUSTWHISKER]

It's an unfortunate flaw of his, Dustwhisker knows - waiting idly is not his forte, and it probably never will be. Impatience has always riddled him, from his days as a kit and waiting his turn in mossball, to the days of the plague and waiting for news on his kin's miserable status.

Shrouded in dirt from a day of work - one with more effort put into it for Sootstar's tunnels than others can say - Dustwhisker emerges above ground with a growling stomach and a well-deserved meal held in his expectations upon his return. A juicy rabbit, he imagines first - a prime meal for the moors - though a bite of pheasant would be satisfactory too.

Much to his dismay, the kill-pile garners an audience today, lowering his chances of a good meal, if he has to wait around. A dusty tail flicks in annoyance as he watches the group, dull-yellow gaze picking out the unimportant among the crowd. Aggravation sets in as they all stand around, as they take too long - oh, hurry up!

A narrowed gaze leads the young tunneller forward, closing in on the fresh-kill pile - or, the cat-formed barrier around it.

"Move," he sneers, pushing past the nearest of his lower clan-mates to get a look at the prey they surround and - ah, perfect. Waiting there, more patiently than Dustwhisker ever could, just for him - the last proper semblance of prey, a rabbit to take into his jaws and carry off, to leave the others with the pile's scraps. He does such, scooping the meal between his teeth before giving the crowd a final shove as he leaves it to settle elsewhere with his meal.

He's sure Sootstar would rather her most devoted warriors be fed first, anyway.
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[RATTLEHEART]

From an outside perspective, Rattleheart always seemed to be a bastion of patience when it came to waiting for his turn at the freshkill pile. He never wore an annoyed expression as he lingered nearby, taking advantage of the relative peace and quiet to get to work on cleaning up his pelt. Truth be told, a large part of it was simply out of habit. He'd never been a particularly large cat, and when he and his siblings were younger, they could simply split up and hunt for meals for themselves. That had changed when they had joined Windclan, but the tunneler's attitude never really had. He was petite and used to running off of his own frantic energy, so he could deal with getting the scraps that were left when everyone else went and rushed the pile. Let them all fight over the largest pieces of prey left.

Though, patience did have its limits, and he couldn't deny the annoyance that flooded him when he saw Dustwhisker lumbering forward, commanding others out of the way with the confidence of a far bigger cat. The dirt that decorated his pelt indicated that he had been working, yes, but hadn't they all? Rattleheart sure wasn't free of the remnants of the tunnels, and he knew that several of his gathered clanmates weren't either - so why was Dustwhisker acting like he was so important?

He was able to keep his muzzle shut for only a moment, eventually giving in to the irritation shown clearly through his irritably twitching tail. "Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?" Despite the aggravation clear in his words, the monochrome feline made no move closer to Dustwhisker - he wasn't particularly interested in a fight. "The least you could do is have some common courtesy to not try and shove your clanmates aside." At this point, he could hardly even tell if so many more Windclanners were becoming unruly and self-important because of Sootstar's influence, or if that was just what his clanmates had always been like.
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[ PENNED BY EO ]​

 

[PEONYBREEZE]

❀༉˖° Even the most painfully oblivious of cats could notice that something was off - that the raised hackles of WindClanners was not a simple by-product of the chill slowly but surely settling in.

It was evident in the way Dustwhisker lingered by the gathering of cats by the fresh-kill pile, bouncing on the bottom of his pawpads and stretching his neck out like an owl to try and get a good look in between conversing maws. And, like any good owl, he swooped in at the right moment (which was thanks to his pushy shoulder's own doing), and emerged victorious with a piece of prey.

What a show.

Peonypaw would be lying if he claimed he didn't get where the short fuse was coming from, but he couldn't help agreeing with his mentor's words. You could have just said something, and they'd have moved out of the way.

"Maybe," he started, looking at Dustwhisker but ultimately speaking to Rattleheart, "we will have to resort to upholding a queue here, or everybody'll try to eat each other." It was meant as a joke, if anything on that stoic face could be read as humorous.

°
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