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Post by doge on Apr 21, 2024 22:41:03 GMT -6
#s://i~postimg~cc/C5Mpnq0N/wispfang~png | Wispfang,
yeah you deserve a fucking nosebleed.
the satisfaction would be guaranteed ~
419 words | tagged | notes:
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Wispfang twisted his head towards the murky waters rushing between the banks that divided the territory of the two clans. He glanced at Grackletongue with a nod, his tail tip flicking seemingly beginning to find amusement of impending conflict. "Someone’s nose and paws are gonna have a bad time pretty soon, I can't wait." Wispfang pointed out, his tone marked with sanguine, complimented by a shit-eating smirk plastered to his face. And after a moment he steadied himself with a deep breath and began crossing the river. The current tugged aggressively at his paws but the warrior was able to move with agility as his claws clung to stones slick with moss and algae. Once safely across, the white and gray tom shook off the water and surveyed the unfamiliar outskirts of RidgeClan. His target was a large bush, with branches sprawling and dense, positioned at the top of a small rise that overlooked the river.
With a quick glance around to confirm he was still unobserved, Wispfang approached the bush and raised his tail, marking it decisively with his scent. “You coming to mark a bush?” He asked and waited, keeping a look out before retreating back to the MistClan side of the river. As Wispfang retraced his steps over the slick stones, the cold river water splashed against his determined stride but he kept warm, his thoughts still seethed to get back at RidgeClan. Sure, some of them had broken off to become the Kingdom, but Wispfang wanted to see even more members do so. It could even give them the upper hand in future border skirmishes if they were to weaken their numbers. He imagined the confusion and anger that would ripple through the mind of whoever was to stumble upon the scent of MistClan and stinkhorns so boldly imposed upon their side of the border. It made the unpleasant smell of the mushrooms almost pleasant to the insensitive cat. |
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frolicking in the dirt, consuming filth.
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Post by trashheap on Apr 24, 2024 13:41:08 GMT -6
#s://i~imgur~com/M9hHLzV~png They’d been at their dirty work since sun-high, gathering all manner of plants and rocks and stinking things. Fungi mostly. The sort you could smell from miles off. The sort that once you got near it or stepped on it, you couldn’t work it out again. Like a skunk, but less conspicuous. They could not have been more fortunate to find as many as they had, and as they went about their work, Grackletongue could hardly quell his own excitement. And the stones… his eyes wandered over them briefly. The stones were even better. Sharp and malformed. The kinds that cut open pads and left festering wounds after. The sort every RidgeClanner deserved to trod on. Grackletongue prodded a pile of them with his paw while Wispfang glanced over the water beside him, smirking, saying something through it that betrayed their intentions. “ You’re telling me. This had better work…” his voice faltered as Wispfang worked his own way across the shallow, the corner of his mouth dipping in a frown. “ Heh. You’re crazy, man. Just don’t get yourself killed,” was all Grackletongue could manage, though he was standing, moving into the shallows and glancing quietly to either side of the tom. But there was no one there—not that he could see. Nor smell, though he had not expected to smell much in that fetid air. For a time, he relaxed, watching Wispfang lay a marker with a crinkle of his nose and making his own way across to lay a marker of his own. Together, they wound their way back across, sodden-bellied but undeterred, settling in the shade, driving their minds away from the reek of stinkhorn in the air. Grackletongue shifted on his haunches. “ …only bad part’s the waiting. You sure anyone’s even out—” a sound, and his breath held in his throat, for someone was out, and the sound of their pawsteps could be heard over the burble of the stream. “ Check it out,” he whispered softly, watching as a calico shape broke through the undergrowth. “ Looks like we got our first bite.” |
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Post by tor on Apr 27, 2024 8:31:01 GMT -6
#s://i~ibb~co/wK7htP1/kestrel~png Something reeked. Kestrelthorn wasn't sure about approaching the river lately. The season's earlier freeze, where all the clans gathered to socialize like it was a sun-lit gathering, wasn't so bad. And he supposed meeting that MistClan warrior - Mudbranch - hadn't been so bad either. It was his own cousin that soured the river for him, as well as the number of times he'd stepped on a thorn near the banks. Plus, Foxflight's near-death fall was still fresh on his mind, and Kestrelthorn kept slipping on ice around camp. He shivered at the thought of slipping anywhere close to the river. Staring at the flowing water through the gap in the brush, he knew he couldn't avoid it much longer. There was an awful smell wafting from that direction and he feared what it could entail. If he was lucky, it would just be some poor dead beast - an injured deer, maybe, or a fox that didn't survive leaf-bare. Something had to be rotting, and he prayed to stars he didn't care about that it wasn't a cat. He emerged from the brush slowly, a defensive scowl in place, that was quickly matched by raised hackles as he saw what he previously couldn't: two cats, wading in the shallowest part of the river. And, now that he was closer, he could parse the smell better. It wasn't something rotting - it was fungi. Fungi, and the smell of trespassing MistClan warriors. Ugh. He really should just turn around. He didn't care about this. ...but they were staring at him, and there were few things Kestrelthorn hated more than that. "You two got a death wish or something? Get the fuck out of here." |
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