Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Post by gammaneise on Jul 17, 2020 18:14:56 GMT -6
Who cares? There's no place safe to hide Nowhere to run, no time to cry
The sun was already on its slow descent towards the horizon as two brightly-coloured shapes weaved their way through the pine forest. Sorrelfeather had expected that for the duration of their curfew, however long it would be, he wouldn’t be able to get in a good hunt. Thievingstar seemed intent on taking away his usual hours for hunting, the tom dissatisfied with his catches despite their healthy green-leaf sizing. It simply wasn’t enough- let alone having to accompany some other warrior on a trip that could be mere steps outside of the camp’s boundaries.
As the red-silver tom skulked further into the now dimming forest, he glanced towards the tom he’d picked out for his ‘important duty’, a warrior with a pelt as bright as his. Though he usually would’ve complained about the pair up, Thunderheart’s reputation put Sorrelfeather at somewhat of an advantage. It was funny how the bulky ginger tom reminded him of his sister during their apprenticeship, at least without the negative connotations. Yes, Willowshine did get into trouble quite a bit… But that didn’t change the fact that he’d set it all up.
Oh, how enjoyable it used to be. The thought now, however, left him sick.
An owl, rather early to rise, gave a distant hoot in its waking. Sorrelfeather didn’t pay the bird’s cry much mind, though his ears swivelled in its direction for a moment. He simply gave an exasperated sigh. That was one more predator that would be snatching up mice at the same time. Not that they were hunting… Or at least not that Thunderheart knew they were hunting. No… This was a patrol, a patrol at dusk to look for any suspicious activity. Sorrelfeather doubted that they’d run into any rogue scent, relied upon it, in fact. At least he wasn’t totally vulnerable.
“Well thank you so very much, Thunderheart. I knew you’d understand my duty.” He barely put in the effort to hide the amusement in his tone as he spoke his gratitude, sniffing about the nearby thicket for anything interesting. It technically wasn’t a lie- Sorrelfeather was looking for any suspicious signs along the way of his much more important hunt, and some very well could have been left by rogues. Nobody would question him bringing back some prey, would they?
[attr="class","next"]Perhaps we should’ve waited another day. In the sky above, among that vast expanse of blue, the sun was already on its downward climb. Already, red bore up as it neared the rolling hills beyond, glittering off the lakes distant waters, orange, white, blue and crimson—and amalgamation of colors ever-welcomed after his dreary respite from them during the colder moons. It was a shame. Even with green-leaf upon them and the forest alive with prey, they had been barred from the woods most prime hunting hours: the night, when those timider of heart and inclined to skittering in the shadows made their presence known beneath the pine needles and leaf mold. But of those, all of ThistleClan had been omitted, for Thievingstar had deemed it too unsafe to hunt during those nightly hours, as if it wasn’t second nature to them.
A shame no one spoke against her. Frowning, Thunderheart let his gaze wander, towards the ever-present upsurge of undergrowth, the thorn-strewn bushes and lofty ferns sprouted from countless days of rainfall and recurrent thunderstorms. It was so different from the shriveled and decrepit mess it had once been, and the temptation of prey had only grown as the temperatures climbed. Things become fat on springs bounties, birds brought back amongst the boughs to serenade those on the forest floor below. All ripe for the picking, and picked they were. Even within their restricted time schedule, the clan thrived on the forest’s bounties, himself included, for he had already returned to his previous bulk. In each stride, he felt the poised confidence brought on by the nutrient-heavy influence of his new diet, the burden of muscle made lighter by the vigor of daily meals. It had been so long, he felt, since last he had felt so… good.
His thoughts beseeching him to a distracted state, he was only roused by the distant hoot of an owl… and the beleaguered sigh of his accomplice: Sorrelfeather, one of the few cats within the clan who could boast a coat of equal if not more significant brightness than his own. Though of the tom’s fur, it was more neatly kept, bearing a tedious shine that spoke of countless hours pooled into recurrent groomings. Thunderheart’s own sang a duller note, matted as it was with leaf debris and other such things he’d manage to track up on his venturings. Of these, he worried less and little about. He did not fuss them from his coat, but basked in their presence, accepting them as only he could, for even with a great deal of effort, there would be no removing them; they were as much a part of him as his pelt was. Besides, it wasn’t worth the lost fur.
“Well, thank you so very much, Thunderheart. I knew you’d understand my duty.” Barely suppressed levity rippled in Sorrelfeather’s mew, a soft tenor that reminded him more of birdsong than anything else. It suited him.
“Of course, don’t mention it,” the brevity of his words were followed closely by that low, thunderous purr of which he was so well known. It spoke of his good temper, of which he was more than willing to present to Willowshine’s own brother. In his eyes, they were practically kin, they’d known each other for so long. As for whether Sorrelfeather felt similarly of him, he did not know. To know one’s sister was one thing; in truth, though their company was oft shared, of the words they’d exchanged, he could not speak with equal confidence. In fact, he was quick in realizing he knew less and little about him. But that, of course, did not dampen his spirit. “Anything for Willowshine’s own kin. Although.. we’d best hurry. We’ll only lose daylight from here on out.” Giving his tousled pelt a brief shake, he lengthened his stride so that he might stroll alongside him. In doing so, he ventured further, “Now, where did you plan on going, anyway? I heard there are some pretty juicy pieces near the bog—well, if you’re into frogs, anyway… and getting wet.” At that, he smiled. Tags: gammaneise Wordcount: 683
Who cares? There's no place safe to hide Nowhere to run, no time to cry
And despite his obvious attitude, that mockingly ingratiating tone he carried as though he were sucking up to the bulkier tom, Thunderheart still gave him the friendliest of purrs and some simple words to match. He wasn’t exactly socially adept, was he? Sorrelfeather didn’t pay that much mind, however, if anything it was much nicer to hang around those who didn’t take everything he said as an attack. Perhaps Thunderheart would be his hunting partner for quite a while now that the curfew was stuck in place, and he had a feeling that the only thing to keep the friendly giant in camp would be his… Well, no longer, sister. What did he see in her? He almost pitied the warrior for pining over someone so… Well, Willowshine, but he still seemed rather content regardless.
The silver-red tom gave a humoured snort at what he assumed to be an attempt at a compliment, though it definitely came across as more of an insult. I forgot how popular she was.“Please don’t tell me that’s the only reason why you came along,” he lamented in a tone that still reeked of jest, weaving his way through the prickly undergrowth in a still-energetic march. He raised a brow at his hunting partner once they’d broken into an even pace, a soft purr of laughter escaping him at the tom’s warning. “It’s fine. We won’t get chewed out for a few extra moments, come on.” He was used to dragging others into his troublemaking, anyway, though for once he was certain that nobody would complain if they caught some plump dusk prey.
“At the bog, eh? I haven’t caught a frog since I was an apprentice.”And stuffed it into Thornpaw’s nest. He wasn’t even sure how many frogs he’d eaten in the first place. Perhaps that prank had put him off of the thought? He didn’t want to dwell on those memories for too long… especially not with company. “But I’m no mouse. A bit of wet fur never hurt anyone.” Frog it was. Maybe it wouldn’t taste as bad as he remembered it smelling? No harm in having a bite.
“I’ll race you there. Winner gets a frog from the loser!” He gave the bulky tom a light shove with his side before springing away through the underbrush, and though he’d already had his fair share of experience weaving amongst thorns and thick foliage, the density of the plant life near the edges of the seemingly fetid waters made navigating without collisions rather difficult.
“Please don’t tell me that’s the only reason why you came along.”
Thunderheart had the grace to look abashed. The tips of his ears grew hot to the touch, his eyes diverted, looking elsewhere, towards the brush that had begun to sprout up with a newfound fervor to either side of them, towards those lofty conifers with their veritable trunks and gnarled roots that jutted promiscuously from the boggy earth as if he had never seen such things before and was totally and completely enraptured.
Despite himself, he was a long time in finding a rebuttal. Surely that wasn’t the reason. I only wanted to lend a helping paw. Although a small part of him had been hoping to learn a bit more about Willowshine as they walked. It was an innocent enough want, he supposed, though Sorrelfeather’s lamentations suggested it was not a welcomed one over a genuine desire for his company. “Of course not, I—”
“It’s fine. We won’t get chewed out for a few extra moments, come on.”
And so, they walked in a relatively comfortable silence, Thunderheart occupying it soon enough with his prattlings of the bog and frog catching, while Sorrelfeather entertained him with a curious expression that sang with a particular mischief and, somehow, a certain sadness. It was not often he saw such an expression on so wily a creature’s face, but it roused itself well enough, before his very eyes, and he felt a great pang of sadness himself and an urge to extend his tail and rest it over the tom’s shoulders, although something in the way Sorrefeather retreated from such emotions repelled such a gesture from coming into fruition.
“At the bog, eh? I haven’t caught a frog since I was an apprentice. But I’m no mouse. A bit of wet fur never hurt anyone.”
“You can say that again. And in this weather? There’s nothing better,” Thunderheart purred, nodding his head in ardent agreement. Once, when he had been younger, he, Blazingstorm and Sleetwing had tried their hand at sneaking out of camp to hunt frogs, but then, that had been so long ago. We were kits then. It was his last memory of them all having been together, laughing together, playing together, rousing mischief together. Now they had all become so distant and far from one another; Blazingstorm hardly ever talked to him except begrudgingly, still in some way hating him for how he coddled him so, and Sleetwing had other matters to attend to that often left her too busy by far to entertain his antics. He missed them, but something told him it was not a subject he could yet comfortably explore with Sorrelfeather, having known him so little. Besides, the red-silver tom seemed to have an antic of his own, and at the mention of a race, Thunderheart felt a kit-like glee overcome him as the tom gave his shoulder a light shove and sprang forward to disappear amongst the underbrush.
“Hey!” A small pipe of protest, followed by the brusque shake of a head and thundering of paw and Thunderheart was after him, his cumbersome gait lightening ever so slightly as he barreled after his smaller accomplice, eyes squinting as branches whipped up to snap against his face in passing, body braced in case the odd root surged up to entangle a paw. It had been so long since last he’d taken flight in such a way, so long since he’d felt the wind in his fur, since he’d had the chance to be a bumbling kit again, large though he was. And he exulted in it. He threw his head back, hooted to the wind, and when the undergrowth yielded, giving rise to a great pond of turgid water, he nearly fell into the water altogether as he came lumbering forward, grounding his paws into the earth at the last second to come to a skidding halt that near sent him careening in, only to halt him at the bog’s edge.
“Phew! That was a close one,” his whiskers twitched, and he turned his great, broad features to look upon Sorrelfeather whose entrance had been significantly more graceful and halted him not but a tail-length to his side and behind him. “I never knew you were so fast! I nearly lost a paw chasing you!” Still, his eyes glinted with mischief and excitement. “Well, anyway, I guess we should see about those frogs, then… and since I lost the race, I’ll save the slimiest one for you.” A wink over his shoulder, and he set out, motioning for the tom to fall in step beside him. His eyes set to scanning the peaty soil, himself trying not to make his disgust show too plainly at the way the mud sucked and squelched underfoot. In an effort to take his mind off the sound, he ventured to speak once more. “By the way, you do know how to catch frogs, right? Wilowshine and I, we always liked to make a game out of it. One of us would chase it, and the other would pounce—you know, that kind of thing. If you want, I could show you how.” Tags: gammaneise Wordcount: 864
Post by gammaneise on Aug 13, 2020 23:22:28 GMT -6
Who cares? There's no place safe to hide Nowhere to run, no time to cry
A lighthearted smile still played on the tom’s face at the fading protests he’d heard from Thunderheart in his race away, only for those protests to be replaced with kit-like hollering in the background. His own purrs of laughter broke through in their run. Nothing could make him happier, or at least kinder, than a good run and hunt. It seemed as though Thunderheart was privy to that as well, given his little outbursts, though the cameo tom was just too quick for him. It certainly was a good effort, however. The warrior laughed and shook his fur of the debris he was now coated in as the large red tom thundered in… And almost fell right into the water as he attempted to stop his momentum.
“Oh, don’t take it personally. I’m possibly the fastest runner in ThistleClan… Though you didn’t hear that from me.” Now that he thought about it, it certainly was true that they’d never spent much time together in the past. He didn’t know Thunderheart was particularly fast himself, though here he was… Only a few moments late. “And I will take that slimy frog with pride, thank you very much.” With a flick of his head, he followed beside the large tom at the invitation to join him, the watery earth not only clinging to his paws, but also giving way every few steps, his belly fur being soaked somewhat early into their trek. This wasn’t much different to the mud, though it did smell rather unappealing, Sorrelfeather not showing much of a reaction given their not so lovely surroundings.
The silky-furred warrior glanced at Thunderheart once he spoke again, tail flicking absentmindedly as they both worked their way through the boggy land to find a good frog. “I already know how.” His brows furrowed at the mere notion that he wouldn’t be able to catch a frog, the tom wondering whether he should take offence to those words or not. Hearing Willowshine’s name threw him off of that thought. “No. I’ll show you.” The amusement left his tone then, the tom’s gaze focused as he pinpointed the murky-coloured body of a frog. The creature was still, hard to notice, aside from the rise and fall of its vocal sac. They were like little statues… Uncanny. “See? Easy-peazy,” he whispered, creeping towards the slimy creature.
Wriggling his hindquarters in the slightest as he neared the frog, he gave one final pawstep towards the creature… A poor move. His ears pricked at the loud squelch the movement had made, embarrassment already playing clearly on his face before the frog had even reacted. He really hadn’t hunted for frogs in a long time. Without even a croak of disgruntlement, the frog launched itself into the deeper water before Sorrelfeather could correct his strike, too fast of a swimmer to bother catching up with. “Rat’s ass,” he hissed through his teeth, flicking the soggy earth off of his paws and towards his fleeing catch.
He avoided Thunderheart’s gaze for a moment after, slowly looking back with as little shame as he could manage. The tom gave a frustrated sigh before relenting to his sister’s little game she played with the big red tom. “Alright, fine, fine… Teach me, oh mentor, in the ways of the frog.” The only thing he hated more than missing a catch was missing a catch with an audience watching… Though at least the young warrior accompanying him was golden-hearted. He assumed… If Willowshine heard about this one, somebody would be getting a stern talking-to.
“Oh, don’t take it personally. I’m possibly the fastest runner in ThistleClan… though you didn’t hear that from me… and I will take that slimy frog with pride, thank you very much.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Purring in that jovial way he had, Thunderheart fell eagerly into step with his accomplice, sniffing along those mud-strewn banks with a sudden rumbling in his gut. It had been so long since last he’d bitten into a frog; he’d almost forgotten how much he fancied them in his youth. Sleetwhisker always caught the biggest one’s, too. A sort of silent longing for his sister’s company overcame him then. It had been so long since last they’d occupied each other’s company. He could not help but to wonder how she must be doing, how she must be settling into her new life, her new den, and her new wants. Did she miss him? he wondered. Was she waiting for him to visit her? To ask her to go frog hunting with him again? A part of him longed to do just that, but at the mention of hunting tactics, his attention withdrew, back to the scenery at hand, that empty clearing of boggy earth, where reeds and midges held comfortable domain. It was oddly humid here, muggy so that the air felt thick in one’s throat. And the mud squelching underfoot was no better; he could not help but to think just how long it would take him to rid his fur of it. But at Sorrelfeather’s declaration, such thoughts were briefly forgotten. Excitement rose in place of reluctance, his eyes glinted with mischief at Sorrelfeather’s confident response.
“Alright, then show me what you’ve got, o wise frog hunter.” Stooping down, a vast expanse of vibrant red fur, Thunderheart plastered himself to the ground, crinkling his muzzle at the squelch of mud and the sensation of it seeping into his coat, but finding it a small inconvenience as Sorrelfeather slid into a neat crouch, the mischief leaving his features as he took in the spotted back of the very prey they sought.
Silence fell over them then as Sorrelfeather dragged his body forward, stilling between each croak to pause just long enough for it to return. He had just neared one when a whispered “See? Easy-peazy,” escaped him and his hindquarters set to wiggling. But, rather than pouncing, the tom extended a paw, where it landed with a loud sucking noise that roused the frog into motion. Stirred from its reptilian lethargy, it puffed its vocal sac and threw itself into those murky waters, its webbed feet making quick work of the water as it worked itself down beneath the surface, never to be gleaned again.
“Rat’s ass.” A hissed curse, the irritable flicking of a paw, then the secession. “Alright, fine, fine… teach me, oh mentor, in the ways of the frog.”
A sonorous purr rumbled loudly in his throat as Thunderheart stamped good-naturedly to his side. He gave the tom’s shoulder a gentle nudge with his own, one that was intended to be gentle, but near bowled him off his paws in his amiableness. “I thought you’d never ask!” Stooping down, he let his flank brush Sorrelfeather’s own as his expression became one of exaggerated seriousness. He motioned for him to follow his example. “See, the trick is… well, you want to herd them away from the water. Your method, while it works well enough, it gives the frog too much freedom. You’ve gotta treat them like rabbits—slimy, slippery rabbits. That’s the real trick. So you herd them away from their ‘burrows’ and lead them right into your partner’s paws.” He nodded his head judiciously, then flashed him a quick wink. “Here. I’ll show you. You just… stay here until I give you the signal. You’ll know it when you see it.”
Stalking away from him, Thunderheart dragged his great bulk through the muddied earth, his tail waving absentmindedly in his wake, just shy of stirring the reeds, his eyes beckoning those spotted shapes to reveal themselves to his searching eye. Then he saw one, a large one, stooped amongst the water, its reptilian eyes unblinking, its body rigged and at attention aside from its throat’s periodic fluttering. It was just the right size for eating, and Thunderheart’s belly gave an appreciative rumble at the mere thought. Alright, here it goes. Shifting so that he barred its path from the safety of its own pool, he stooped, gave his haunches a gentle wiggle, and made to spring forward… only to find his paws slipping in the mud, followed closely by the rest of him which landed with a resounding slap against the ground. By the time he recovered his paws, his fur was thoroughly coated, his eyes were near stuck shut, and his frog of which he had been so wanting to make an example out of was gone, skirting right past him in his tumble to submerge itself in the bog waters as its accomplice had so done.
“Ugh… well, don’t do that.” I guess I kinda deserved that... Raising a paw, he set to rubbing the muck from his eyes with an expression of exaggerated disgust. I’ll be cleaning this from my fur for days. “You know, I didn’t realize it before, but I think I understand now why I was always the one catching the frogs and not the one chasing them.” Pausing, he gave himself a doggish shake. “But hey, at least you know what not to do. Why don’t you give it a try? Just lead it towards me, and I’ll trap it between my paws… and don’t worry, I rarely miss.” Tags: gammaneise Wordcount: 946
Post by gammaneise on Aug 29, 2020 18:06:13 GMT -6
Who cares? There's no place safe to hide Nowhere to run, no time to cry
Sorrelfeather was moments away from flashing the kindly tom a scornful glance, though he knew that it wouldn’t be fair. That frog should have been the target of his scorn… And no doubt, he’d enact his petty revenge on the next frog that hopped into his path. For now, it seemed as though Thunderheart would have to coach him, as embarrassing as it was. Hopefully after this there’d be no more teaching needed. The red-silver furred tom gave a heavy sigh as Thunderheart nudged his shoulder in that same friendly manner… And in a rather amusing manner, he offered to show off his skill. Alright. Let’s see how this goes.
He eyed the large tom carefully as he was given instructions from a face that certainly didn’t suit the expression he was making. He held back an amused smile as his mock-mentor began to share the tricks of the trade, nodding exaggeratedly as he’d seen most young apprentices do for their first instruction. “Rabbits… Got it. Mhm.” He nodded absently at each word, gaze ridiculously riveted. And though the attention he gave was rather obviously a joke, he did still keep an ear out for anything that would help for the next catch. It was odd, catching one frog with two cats, though he certainly couldn’t talk about how much easier it would be to find their own frogs after his shoddy performance. “Ok, ok… Show us what you’ve got, big guy.”
The feathery-furred tom lowered himself into a crouch as his ginger hunting accomplice stalked his way into position, through those murky waters in order to spot a slimy morsel. Sorrelfeather did have to wonder if these frogs were worth it… Though he couldn’t deny being curious. His amber gaze locked onto the large tom as the other stopped, readying his pounce… Sorrelfeather’s muscles tensed in preparation for his own leap that was sure to come soon, but then…
Splat.
The frog was undoubtedly gone. Thunderheart’s pride along with it, it seemed. He watched the creature escape in a flurry of wet limbs as its rest was disturbed, the cat chasing the small creature now no longer a fiery red. Sorrelfeather snickered to himself to start with, raising from his crouch to stand, though upon looking at Thunderheart wipe the mud from his eyes, he broke into a guffaw. “Yeah, I’ll... Heheh… I won’t be doing that one, master of frog hunting.” The tom cleared his throat with a toothy grin, allowing the larger tom to get some words in before he embarrassed himself any further.
“Yeah. I’m starting to see why. But… This next one oughta do it.” When it didn’t work, you changed the strategy. That was just a good hunt. He gave the tom a pointed look before slinking back into the bog, trying to single out any frogs that strayed a little too close to the land.
Thankfully, the bog was practically swimming with these slimy creatures, so much so that Sorrelfeather was beginning to remember why he’d never really bothered to hunt them before. Perhaps the reason there were so many was the strange finesse required to catch them? Clever little bastards. Singling out the small body of a still frog, he glanced towards the water’s edge, watched his hunting partner for a moment to think of the path he’d make… and pounced. It almost seemed as though this one was following the right path for a single moment. His paws weren’t exactly silent against the sloshing water and the soft earth, though the frog had recognised its threat was coming from the very water it should have been safe in. For a moment, his eyes lit up with excitement… This could be it! Only to watch as the moment they both swerved to the earth, the frog made a quick turn and swam away.
“Ah- you slippery little-!” He growled at the fleeing ripples, tail lashing briefly, before diverting his gaze back to the muddied tabby that lay in wait. “Smart rabbits. You’re up for chasing this time… We’re both not gonna know how to do it at this rate.”
Post by Egotistic on Sept 12, 2020 17:10:15 GMT -6
THUNDERHEART | TC
[attr="class","next"]The air seemed to perforate with Sorrelfeather’s tittering. “Yeah, I’ll… heheh… I won’t be doing that one, master of frog hunting.” Mischief lit warm amber eyes as they besieged Thunderheart’s own mud-laden shape, merciless in their venturing as they took every inch of his dripping form in mirthful silence. It was enough to inflame the tips of his ears, but even Thunderheart was too well-bred not to laugh, and so did and veritably.
It was only as his laughter retreated into his great cadaverous chest that the air fell back into a fitful stillness disturbed by naught else but the tireless buzz of the bogs native pestilence, that Sorrelfeather slunk off, flashing him a pointed glance as his paws squelched in the mud, eyes flitting searchingly for any slimy heads that might endeavor themselves to peer above those murky waters that harbored them so fondly.
Then he was stooping and Thunderheart, large as he was, was stilling, shrinking into the mud, pressing himself low so that his stomach, drenched already as it was, was thoroughly and completely submerged, his chin inches above its surface, eyes staring out in a face painted brown with mud. And as he did so, Sorrelfeather ventured further, a lissome shape that moved seamlessly, even with the bog sucking precariously at his paws. Then he was stilling, settling on a target, and his body grew stiff and still. But then the frog was fleeing, and Sorrelfeather was cursing obscenities… and Thunderheart was lunging.
A red arrow launched fitfully from its bow, his paws roused a fitful den as they sprawled and slid against the slick earth, grappling for purchase and finding it in fragments as he bore himself forward, down towards that water’s edge where the stink of dead plant matter roused most pungently of all. And then he was diving, diving after it in all his bulk, throwing up a great crescendo of murky water as he pelted after his target, launching out his great tufted paws blindly until his claws sunk themselves into something soft and slippery. Greedily they drew themselves to his chest, and opening his mouth, feeling as though he might retch for the rush of foul-tasting waters that assaulted him then, he sunk his teeth into it and, striking out with his hind legs, found himself again at the surface, algae clinging to his proud tufts and muzzle… but a frog clamped firmly between his teeth. A weak trickle of blood ebbed from the puncture wounds left by his teeth, but aside from that, it was still. Lifeless.
At last, they had managed to catch one. A small one, though. Hauling himself out and forward, he floundered onto the bank, loosening his grip and allowing the frog to fall at his paws as he cast his accomplice a smug grin. “See? Just like rabbits!” Swimming, slippery, cunning rabbits. Huffing, he gave himself a veritable shake, then proffered the frog with a nudge of his paws. “But stars, they’re hardly worth it for all that meat. This could hardly feed an apprentice,” he observed morosely. “But hey, we still caught one, huh?” Dripping as he was, he flashed Sorrelfeather winning glance, water dripping from his whiskers and rippling down from his main, algae clinging to him in slimy, dripping drapes that sagged before his eyes. A bit was just loosening and falling into his face when he gave himself another dogged shake that sent a mighty spray over Sorrelfeather’s approaching shape. At that, he snickered mischievously. “...although I guess we could’ve come out looking a little less like bog monsters.” Tags: gammaneise Wordcount: 598
Post by gammaneise on Nov 21, 2020 16:24:30 GMT -6
Who cares? There's no place safe to hide Nowhere to run, no time to cry
It seemed, at least now that he’d noticed, that Thunderheart seemed to take failure in his stride more easily than he could. His temper had certainly flared up at every slippery little loss, though it wasn’t hard to see the humour in their situation when the great red tabby let out a booming laugh that betrayed his rather professional appearance. Well… The mud and muck had certainly made easy work of making them look ridiculous, so it was hard to act as anything more than a bunch of fumbling kits who’d lost every frog they tried to catch.
Even still…. He was almost certain that the hunt couldn’t be turned around here. He’d led the frog to an easy escape from both of their paws, and not even the flash of red he saw seemed enough to save this fumble. “Ah, don’t even bother. It’s probably-” but, lo, his words broke off into stunned silence as the red tom achieved what he’d assumed to be unachievable.
He came out looking like some horrifying bog-bound beast, a wonderful, earthy sheen of muck coating the entirety of what used to be a bright coat of embers, topped off with the soggy and tendril-like fronds of the plants that tangled their paws underneath the surface. It looked as though he’d even gotten a mouthful of that disgusting water, but even still, the large tom clung proudly to the lifeless form of the frog. Sorrelfeather eyed the specimen, slack-jawed, as though it were some rare creature he’d never lay eyes on again. For all he knew, after all, he’d never see it again. Well… Unless I’m ending up like that.
His eyes narrowed in the slightest and he gave an amused snort, however, as Thunderheart boasted over his victory. “Easy, bigpaws. That slimy rabbit was a beat away from hunting you.” He closed his eyes and turned his head aside as the red tabby shook his fur off, the two of them still looking more like bedraggled messes than cats. It was an effort, at least.
The frog certainly did look scraggly, and not very appetising, at that. It looked even less appetising when the red-silver tom thought about where it came from, and he was simply turned off of the idea of a meal in general when he regarded the poor state Thunderheart had been left in. I’m starting to think we weren’t supposed to hunt frogs, he noted pointedly as he stared at the meagre animal, if at least only to soothe his ego. “Well… I guess you’re right. We caught the one frog.” The one, single frog. He’d hoped for more on this trip, though the stars had been in the sky for long enough, to the point where he’d feared they wouldn’t be back in camp until dawn had settled in. Taken by surprise, however, by the other’s assault on his already muck-covered pelt, he sputtered and waved his head about as the taste of stale, stagnant water and plant life overcame his senses for a brief moment. He gave a light thwack of his paw onto Thunderheart’s seemingly monstrous side at that and a terse, prompt purr of laughter at those words.
“All part of the hunt.”
Departing felt like the easiest part of the night. It was a trifle and a half to even catch a single frog. Though he sighted yet another of the slimy creatures on their way back, it didn’t even take a flick of his paw to be noticed, the frog simply hopping away in what he now saw as a mocking gesture. One of these days, he’d get one of those darn bog beasts. The parting words he shared with Thunderheart were brief, and curt as usual, though he maintained a friendlier smile than what he’d usually allow… at least not honestly. Bidding the master frog hunter a glorious night with his wonderful meal, he slunk back into his den for a well-needed groom and sleep after the tiring ordeal.
