Post by Snakestar on Aug 6, 2011 21:20:41 GMT -5
Snakeface looked around at the patch of green, a small smile on his face. His eyes glittered with ambition. Yes, this would be his. This land would belong to ShaleClan. BriarClan could suck it. The tom sat, tall and proud, confident in his own territory. Because it was his. Above him, the light gray clouds rolled forwards like an army on the march. A lovely image. The storm had passed and the foliage smelled lush. This patch would be a magnificent addition to his domain.
Riverside. It was so strange to feel the grass under his feet. It felt alien. Wrong after so many months in the unforgiving desert. It tickled his paws and he grimaced. Had he been so shaped by the bastards that he couldn't even stand the absence of sand under his paws? No. Fuck no. The world flew by in smooth, whirling shapes. His chest pounded. Blood streamed from his face and blinded him. Where was he? Run, run. Keep running. He was free. Finally... Cloud gasped for breath and he thought he was going to collapse. He willed his paws onward. He crossed rivers like an otter, darted over fields like a rabbit. His chest was going to explode. Then he smelled something. Cat. Them? Were they here? He was too tired to tell. As the young cat flew, a patch of briars and something else came into view. Cat. Only when he couldn't move anymore did he stop short of the stranger, bristling. He couldn't see and his eyes stung from wind and blood. He looked at the cat. Then he tried to move again but he couldn't. So he was blind now? He just stood and stared like a stiff corpse. Then, as if called from the grave, he narrowed his tiger orange eyes and said. "Who are you?"
Snakeface was already plotting how to keep a stone-hard grip on the land when the newcomer entered the scene. He couldn't spare the warriors for a sentry, but this door into his territory could not be left unattended... The cat before him was a bloody mess. He looked tired and wary and worn and suspicious. The leader decided not to fuck around with this one. "Snakeface of ShaleClan, whose territory you stand on now." Okay maybe a little bit. The long-bodied tom simply enjoyed the possibilities of not immediately revealing his identity. Despite the vaguely threatening words, the cat's tone was light-hearted and even a bit amused. His brilliant blue eyes betrayed nothing but honesty and perhaps a bit of stray curiousity. The stranger was certainly a cat with a story, and stories interested Snakestar more than anything.
Riverside clawed the ground and hiss softly. Clan? Was every land claimed now? "Are you going to chase me off, then?" he challenged, just daring the cat to try. Which probably would have been easy at this point. Sure, the cat didn't seem that bad. He was used to getting yelled and cursed at. It was a little confusing, to be honest. "Or maybe you'd -- augh, damn." a stram of curses and jests was cut off by the metallic stains of his wounds once again. He stopped short, staggered, and heaved. Okay, Cloud. Be smart. "Sorry." he managed to choke through gritted teeth. No. No he wasn't.
Snakeface smile remained. He had to admit the loner's psycho act was amusing. "Hmm," he said, considering. "It's fine," he replied automatically. He wasn't concerned about sorry. He never was. "I think not. What my leader won't know won't kill him. You look tired, so how about this? I'll let you rest for a while and I won't chase you off, and in exchage, you tell me what you're running from." It was fairly obvious. Any normal cat would have stopped to rest before now, and really there was just something about this tom that screamed desperation. Maybe it was the bloody wounds and heavy scarring. Huh. "Deal?"
Riverside. That was it? No strings attatched? He had no qualms about talking about Whirling Winds. He would engrave this hatred into his soul and make it known. They'd already scarred him enough -- metally and physically. "Not like I have a choice." the rogue replied flatly, though a hint of a humorless smile flicked across his muzzle. Obviously, he was still skeptic, but this Snaketail seemed a whole lot nicer than Marsh and Sky and the lot. Slowly, tentatively, he sank to his paws. "Is there a den we can get in?
Snakeface considered the stranger's question carefully, disregarding his previous comment with little more than a thought. "I'm afraid I can't take you to camp. Leader and all. There is a place not far from here that's out of the open, though." Honestly, the loner looked like a broken wreck that really oughtn't go anywhere soon, but if being out of the open would make him feel better, then so be it. "Here or there, it doesn't matter to me."
Riverside hated the grass, and quite honestly, he felt exposed in the open. Even leaves would be better than this tickly green stuff. It was going to drive him mad, and he already had enough problems to worry about and ow his eye was bleeding. He gave a terse little nod. "I'll tell you about it when we get there..."
...
Riverside felt a lot better in the shade -- and by extension the leaves around the trees. Sighing, he plopped down and tucked his worn feet under him. The wound around his eye had stopped bleeding by now and he could finally see a bit better. The wounded eye was slanted awkwardly, puffed shut, and was annoyingly blurry. He tilted his head to look at Snaketail and began. "You probably know this, but I'm not from anywhere near here." the muscular tabby tensed and flattened his ears, glancing around nervously "Have you ever heard from Whirling Winds? They're a tribe to the west. I was an Owsla there. A fighter. But I ran away." The end. He was a really good storyteller like that.
Snakeface. The stranger's eye really should be looked at. It would turn him blind if he didn't get proper healing. "Never heard of it, what's a tribe? Is it anything like a Clan?" Oh no, the leader was unsatisfied with so many plotholes. A tribe of cats to the west? Cats who recruited fighters who ran away at the expense of every wound on this cat's body? That brought up another good question. "Why did you run away?"
Riverside. "Well, I don't know a lot about clans... so I can't really answer that question..." the ex-owsla replied awkwardly, "It's just a group of cats that lives together. I ran away from Whirling Winds because those cats happened to be insane. I was kidnapped and forced to work under some bitch and kill people on a whim. And the General was hardly a good samaritan. I got sick of the war-talk and the fighting and killing and left..." A bit too much had been said. He took it back. He didn't like to talk about it. But he made a promise and he intended to keep it. Ol' Cloud wasn't all bad.
Snakeface. Huh. It sounded as if the tribe was little more than loosely-organized savages rampaging around the lands. Personally, Snakestar prided himself in organized savage rampaging. Anyways, the stranger clearly had authority issues, which was certainly something to be considered. "Fair enough," he replied once the scarred tom had finished. "Clans, at least ShaleClan, are much more organized. We have a Leader, a Deputy, Warriors, and Apprentices. All but the Elders and Nursing or Pregnant she-cats are required to work for the success and safety of the others in the Clan. There's also a Medicine Cat who, by the way should get a look at you, patches us up. Unfortunately, that happens a lot. We get hurt." The blue-eyed tom frowned, twisting his neck to look back in the direction that they'd come. "If you're looking to get away from war... War's been happening here for generations. This is just a lull in the action, and thank StarClan for that. I think too many cats died in the last big battle and now nobody has the cats for fighting." He sighed and glanced downwards before lifting his head to stare at the loner, whose name he had still not caught. "Anyways. You look pretty beat up. I'm sure I can convince my leader to let you shelter with us. Our Medicine Cat can fix up that eye and anything else you've got." Clearly this tom was a fighter, and that would be useful in the war. Perhaps he would exchange his services for protection from his old tribe. Hmn. That could wait until they were back at home, where all of Snakestar's games eventually led.
Riverside. Well, he should have expected war. What a crazy world this was. At least there was order here. And from the sound of things, these Warriors didn't fight each other for shits and giggles. Cloud frowned and shuffled nervously, unsure if this was some sort of crafty trap. Nooo stop that. What choice did he have? He knew very well that his wounds would get infected over time, and then all hell would break loose. "I suppose you're right... uh... th-thanks..." he replied crudely and rose shakily, testing the reliabilityof his own legs "...lead the way, I guess." He'd made it this far. What was a few more inches... feet... yards.... Just get to camp.
Riverside. It was so strange to feel the grass under his feet. It felt alien. Wrong after so many months in the unforgiving desert. It tickled his paws and he grimaced. Had he been so shaped by the bastards that he couldn't even stand the absence of sand under his paws? No. Fuck no. The world flew by in smooth, whirling shapes. His chest pounded. Blood streamed from his face and blinded him. Where was he? Run, run. Keep running. He was free. Finally... Cloud gasped for breath and he thought he was going to collapse. He willed his paws onward. He crossed rivers like an otter, darted over fields like a rabbit. His chest was going to explode. Then he smelled something. Cat. Them? Were they here? He was too tired to tell. As the young cat flew, a patch of briars and something else came into view. Cat. Only when he couldn't move anymore did he stop short of the stranger, bristling. He couldn't see and his eyes stung from wind and blood. He looked at the cat. Then he tried to move again but he couldn't. So he was blind now? He just stood and stared like a stiff corpse. Then, as if called from the grave, he narrowed his tiger orange eyes and said. "Who are you?"
Snakeface was already plotting how to keep a stone-hard grip on the land when the newcomer entered the scene. He couldn't spare the warriors for a sentry, but this door into his territory could not be left unattended... The cat before him was a bloody mess. He looked tired and wary and worn and suspicious. The leader decided not to fuck around with this one. "Snakeface of ShaleClan, whose territory you stand on now." Okay maybe a little bit. The long-bodied tom simply enjoyed the possibilities of not immediately revealing his identity. Despite the vaguely threatening words, the cat's tone was light-hearted and even a bit amused. His brilliant blue eyes betrayed nothing but honesty and perhaps a bit of stray curiousity. The stranger was certainly a cat with a story, and stories interested Snakestar more than anything.
Riverside clawed the ground and hiss softly. Clan? Was every land claimed now? "Are you going to chase me off, then?" he challenged, just daring the cat to try. Which probably would have been easy at this point. Sure, the cat didn't seem that bad. He was used to getting yelled and cursed at. It was a little confusing, to be honest. "Or maybe you'd -- augh, damn." a stram of curses and jests was cut off by the metallic stains of his wounds once again. He stopped short, staggered, and heaved. Okay, Cloud. Be smart. "Sorry." he managed to choke through gritted teeth. No. No he wasn't.
Snakeface smile remained. He had to admit the loner's psycho act was amusing. "Hmm," he said, considering. "It's fine," he replied automatically. He wasn't concerned about sorry. He never was. "I think not. What my leader won't know won't kill him. You look tired, so how about this? I'll let you rest for a while and I won't chase you off, and in exchage, you tell me what you're running from." It was fairly obvious. Any normal cat would have stopped to rest before now, and really there was just something about this tom that screamed desperation. Maybe it was the bloody wounds and heavy scarring. Huh. "Deal?"
Riverside. That was it? No strings attatched? He had no qualms about talking about Whirling Winds. He would engrave this hatred into his soul and make it known. They'd already scarred him enough -- metally and physically. "Not like I have a choice." the rogue replied flatly, though a hint of a humorless smile flicked across his muzzle. Obviously, he was still skeptic, but this Snaketail seemed a whole lot nicer than Marsh and Sky and the lot. Slowly, tentatively, he sank to his paws. "Is there a den we can get in?
Snakeface considered the stranger's question carefully, disregarding his previous comment with little more than a thought. "I'm afraid I can't take you to camp. Leader and all. There is a place not far from here that's out of the open, though." Honestly, the loner looked like a broken wreck that really oughtn't go anywhere soon, but if being out of the open would make him feel better, then so be it. "Here or there, it doesn't matter to me."
Riverside hated the grass, and quite honestly, he felt exposed in the open. Even leaves would be better than this tickly green stuff. It was going to drive him mad, and he already had enough problems to worry about and ow his eye was bleeding. He gave a terse little nod. "I'll tell you about it when we get there..."
...
Riverside felt a lot better in the shade -- and by extension the leaves around the trees. Sighing, he plopped down and tucked his worn feet under him. The wound around his eye had stopped bleeding by now and he could finally see a bit better. The wounded eye was slanted awkwardly, puffed shut, and was annoyingly blurry. He tilted his head to look at Snaketail and began. "You probably know this, but I'm not from anywhere near here." the muscular tabby tensed and flattened his ears, glancing around nervously "Have you ever heard from Whirling Winds? They're a tribe to the west. I was an Owsla there. A fighter. But I ran away." The end. He was a really good storyteller like that.
Snakeface. The stranger's eye really should be looked at. It would turn him blind if he didn't get proper healing. "Never heard of it, what's a tribe? Is it anything like a Clan?" Oh no, the leader was unsatisfied with so many plotholes. A tribe of cats to the west? Cats who recruited fighters who ran away at the expense of every wound on this cat's body? That brought up another good question. "Why did you run away?"
Riverside. "Well, I don't know a lot about clans... so I can't really answer that question..." the ex-owsla replied awkwardly, "It's just a group of cats that lives together. I ran away from Whirling Winds because those cats happened to be insane. I was kidnapped and forced to work under some bitch and kill people on a whim. And the General was hardly a good samaritan. I got sick of the war-talk and the fighting and killing and left..." A bit too much had been said. He took it back. He didn't like to talk about it. But he made a promise and he intended to keep it. Ol' Cloud wasn't all bad.
Snakeface. Huh. It sounded as if the tribe was little more than loosely-organized savages rampaging around the lands. Personally, Snakestar prided himself in organized savage rampaging. Anyways, the stranger clearly had authority issues, which was certainly something to be considered. "Fair enough," he replied once the scarred tom had finished. "Clans, at least ShaleClan, are much more organized. We have a Leader, a Deputy, Warriors, and Apprentices. All but the Elders and Nursing or Pregnant she-cats are required to work for the success and safety of the others in the Clan. There's also a Medicine Cat who, by the way should get a look at you, patches us up. Unfortunately, that happens a lot. We get hurt." The blue-eyed tom frowned, twisting his neck to look back in the direction that they'd come. "If you're looking to get away from war... War's been happening here for generations. This is just a lull in the action, and thank StarClan for that. I think too many cats died in the last big battle and now nobody has the cats for fighting." He sighed and glanced downwards before lifting his head to stare at the loner, whose name he had still not caught. "Anyways. You look pretty beat up. I'm sure I can convince my leader to let you shelter with us. Our Medicine Cat can fix up that eye and anything else you've got." Clearly this tom was a fighter, and that would be useful in the war. Perhaps he would exchange his services for protection from his old tribe. Hmn. That could wait until they were back at home, where all of Snakestar's games eventually led.
Riverside. Well, he should have expected war. What a crazy world this was. At least there was order here. And from the sound of things, these Warriors didn't fight each other for shits and giggles. Cloud frowned and shuffled nervously, unsure if this was some sort of crafty trap. Nooo stop that. What choice did he have? He knew very well that his wounds would get infected over time, and then all hell would break loose. "I suppose you're right... uh... th-thanks..." he replied crudely and rose shakily, testing the reliabilityof his own legs "...lead the way, I guess." He'd made it this far. What was a few more inches... feet... yards.... Just get to camp.
