x|Serving.x.The.x.Institution|x

[☆§wìftflame☆]

[OOC: Okay, yeah, about that potential I'm not living up to? It's thread titles. I totally should have left this to someone else.]

Surrounded by the two other cats who'd somehow wanted to go hunting at such an early hour of the morning, Swiftflame's pads tread easily the path out of camp they'd followed so many times before. [OOC:Was that a run-on sentence or just rambling? xD] As they did so, the flame-colored ears twitched slightly as they received Beetlewing's fumbling comment. "Oh! Er, yes. Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you. Oh, and hello." Swiftflame gleaned very quickly that this cat would worry and fear about anything and everything. The she-cat made a quick mental note to avoid him in any battles before returning his confusing statement with a comparatively warm greeting for such a frigid morning. "Hi, I'm Swiftflame, in case we haven't met which I don't think we have."

[/b] She paused for a moment to scent the air hopefully, looking for any trace of an animal, listening for the tell-tale scurry of paws in the dead undergrowth beneath their paws, but found nothing. "Maybe more towards towlegplace..." Swiftflame muttered to herself, barely audible, before continuing. "Uh, well, just wondering, but who was that cat you were with by the camp entrance? I've never met him before, but when I've seen him he's acted like a grumpy old elder. You're not friends, are you?"[/b] Swiftflame kept her ears pricked up, listening for a reply, but now picked up the pace slightly, trotting lightly and soundlessly towards Twolegplace, where the few remaining animals might have taken refuge from the winter-shocked forest.[/blockquote]

[Aah, sorry, I kind of left Mothwing out of this, I didn't realize until I'd finished. And I put this in twolegplace because that's where they'll end up.]

[Twigtail]

Beetlewing padded quietly after the other two warriors, paws treading softly over sandy soil as he concentrated on stepping on the softest patches. His large head was kept low, and his owl-like eyes were narrowed in concentration while he watched where he placed his bluish paws. At the unexpected feminine sound of the she-cat’s voice, the big tom’s head jerked up (mostly out of surprise that he was being addressed, really), and consequently nearly tripped into Mothflight. “Sorry!” he mewed hurriedly in the other tom’s general direction before turning his amber eyes to Swiftflame.

“Um… no, not formally, anyway,” he meowed, replying to her introduction. “I’m Beetlewing, then.” He fell silent after that and went back to watching his paws, assuming the reddish she-cat had finished addressing him. Faintly, he heard mumbling coming from Swiftflame again, and he looked up briefly, narrowly avoiding another stumble. Deciding he’d imagined things, he was about to turn his gaze back to his feet when the she-cat’s voice came (distinctly this time) from in front of him. For a moment, the big blue-gray tom thought she was talking to Mothflight, until he realized that a grumpy cat by the entrance could only be one tom. Realizing after a short time that the she-cat had been addressing him, yet again, he hurried to reply.

“Oh, you mean Twigtail. No, he’s not my friend. He wouldn’t ever do that,” the blue-gray tom added. He doubted the ornery ginger tom had any friends at all… and also doubted he wanted any. “He’s not very nice, not at all.” Realizing how openly he’d just spoken, Beetlewing stuttered out, “Oh. n-n-no! I didn’t mean it like that. Oh—” It would probably be best if the big tom stopped trying to talk. Not only was he tripping over his words, he was tripping over his paws. He was losing concentration on his carefully quiet walking. The tom dropped his head to watch where he was walking, and hoped dearly that Swiftflame took pity on him and started talking to Mothflight instead of him.

[ooc: Ugh, lost my muse. Anyway, 1) I happen to really like that title, and 2) that was neither run-on or rambling, it was strictly a sentence.]

[Đarκsong]

Mothflight padded beside Swiftflame. He wasn't really listening to their conversation. His mind was wandering everywhere. Life for him was a jumbled up lonely mess. Well, he supposed that he was lucky to be on decent terms with most clan members, but Mothflight didn't really have any 'friends' to speak of.

Realizing that he was being anti-social [like Darksong] by not adding anything to the conversation, he nodded to Beetlewing and meowed, "I'm Mothflight." His mind wandered away yet again when they talked about Twigtail.

He then smirked at the mention of Twigtail not being nice, "Perhaps he and my brother should be friends....." Mothflight stifled a chuckle at his own words.

[Twigtail]

The big tom was concentrating on the naturally heavy falling of his large paws. He focused on the way they sank slightly into the sand, at the very soft crunching sound his pads made. His ears pricked and listened to the way the cold air stirred the small and dead plants, rubbing them together so they rustled with crunchy noises. He felt the way cold leafbare air scorched through his nostrils and down his throat, carrying the ever-present sting of salt, and watched as, when he exhaled, a little cloud puffed out from his nose. All this he took in over the space of about two seconds, because after an exceedingly brief pause that Beetlewing had tried to create, the other tom’s voice started up, ripping apart the heartbeat of satisfying quietude.

Though Beetlewing firmly believed that the tortoiseshell tom was addressing the she-cat, the blue-gray cat couldn’t help but hear the words that were spoken, couldn’t help but wonder over what they meant. “Friends”? It wasn’t only Twigtail who went without friends; the cowardly gray warrior didn’t have many to speak of, either, aside from the one loner, Ashes. And he couldn’t exactly pop in for visits with that particular friend; their relationship had been a brief alliance, nothing more, but it was the closest Beetlewing had come to friendship, in any case. So he couldn’t help but ponder over Mothflight’s peculiar words. Twigtail didn’t seem interested in the friendship concept, so naturally Beetlewing thought the tortoiseshell was talking about him.

Before he could stop himself, the big gray tom blurted out his question. “Who’s your brother?” And then, knowing that he’d spoken (once again) out of turn, he mumbled, “Sorry, sorry!” and dropped very intentionally back a few paces. But even as he clamped his teeth together, narrowing his eyes in concentration and telling himself he wouldn’t dare speak out of line again or he’d be hauling himself right off into the forest where he’d hunt alone, he wanted to know the answer to his question. [ooc: Now Swiftflame, there’s a run-on sentence for you!] He was very ignorant; he knew this much of himself. But, normally, being talkative wasn’t a trait of his. The lack of interesting things to get into on his own must be getting to him, driving him to do irrational things. [ooc: Actually, he's doing irrational things because his roleplayer was bored and decided to mess with him a bit.]

[☆§wìftflame☆]

As Swiftflame's supple limbs traversed their way across the ground towards Twolegplace, she felt with gratitude the steady flow of heat her working muscles generated. Pads still numb with cold but her body finally warm, the flame-colored she-cat listened and observed with interest the three of them. “Oh, you mean Twigtail. No, he’s not my friend. He wouldn’t ever do that. He’s not very nice, not at all.” Oh. n-n-no! I didn’t mean it like that. Oh—” Swiftflame sighed tiredly. She could already tell it would be a very long day. This Beetlewing seemed so insecure that he could hold up an entire conversation with himself, apologizing and stuttering out things he felt he shouldn't say. Swiftflame once again picked up the pace a bit to wake up both her limbs and her mind before intoning kindly, "Beetlewing, it's okay, you don't have to apologize so much. No one here is judging you."

[/b] Despite her kind tone, Swiftflame doubted that her words would actually have any affect on the strange demeanor of this cat. Sensing it would be a lot of work to help Beetlewing keep his cool, Swiftflame was glad when Mothwing inserted himself into the conversation. "I'm Mothflight." And then, "Perhaps he and my brother should be friends." Swiftflame looked up in surprise, momentarily forgetting to be on the look out for prey. She was surprised that Mothflight would want to bring up his relationship with his ominous older brother. She'd been, ahem, hibernating when Darksong had been a bad kitty, but was under the impression that he'd left the clan already and started his own dark clan, Ebonyclan. [OOC: ] Swiftflame was surprised that Mothflight would mention it in passing like that. Still she was unable to suppress a chuckle of her own. Twigtail and Darksong did seem like they'd get along perfectly. And maybe Rainclaw with them as well. However, Swiftflame froze once again when Beetlewing blurted out, "Whose your brother?" Of course, followed by a horrified, "Sorry, sorry." Swiftflame sighed. She would have to take Beetlewing so some cat to talk to about his crazy nervousness. Maybe Dawnflight, or Jaywing. However, the ginger she-cat was also anxious to here what Mothflight had to say about his older brother. Would they be words of fear? Or disgust? Or even pity? Her attention completely torn away from the hunt, Swiftflame paused to gaze avidly at Mothflight, eager for his answer.[/blockquote][/size]

[Đarκsong]

((ooc: It will still be awhile before the whole EbonyClan thing. As of right now, I'm waiting for Snoweh to reply in a very important thread (Snowdrift and Secret's deaths). After that whole thing is done, things should start moving fast. ))

Mothflight was a bit sickened about how no matter who he was talking to, the conversation would go to Darksong. The tortie tom was coming to the realization that his life was rather boring. The only interesting thing about him was his dark brother.

"My brother is Darksong. You've probably seen him hanging around camp making rude comments." Mothflight explained, "He doesn't really have any friends, except for his mate Rainclaw. He complains at me about stuff all the time and it's rather annoying." What 'stuff' Darksong complained about Mothflight didn't say. He'd rather not rat out on his brother for making fun of Patchstar.

[Twigtail]

Beetlewing was painfully conscious of a sigh that came from the general direction of Swiftflame. He bowed his large head, pretending to look back at his paws, but they seemed fuzzy in his vision. His jaws were champed together, teeth clenched so hard that his gums ached. Clearly, he was making a nuisance of himself all over the place. Also aggravatingly clear to him was how he wasn’t getting anything right: not the speaking in turn, not the obsessive apology, not anything. His thoughts churned slowly inside his brain, and he closed his eyes, though his ears pricked to listen to Mothflight’s reply. He sounded impassive, his voice the same as the look on his face when Beetlewing had tried to join the hunting group. Impassive, in any case, to the blue warrior’s internal upset.

Still, the feelings of upset cracked in a moment of confusion, even though they cracked just to let more unhappiness spill through the split seam. Darksong was a name that actually struck memory in Beetlewing’s mind. The cat had a reputation. Even before Mothflight explained his brother further, the big warrior’s mind was combing through gossip and his own sightings of, yes, the black tom “hanging around and making rude comments.” Though he personally doubted he could be as unpleasant as Twigtail, who took the cake of unpleasantries, Darksong still wasn’t a nice cat. The tortoiseshell’s words, because they were spoken about his own brother, only emphasized this.

And the sorrowful confusion was leaking through that crevice that had been created by the mottled tom’s words. Why on earth would Mothflight think I should be friends with that Darksong character? Of all cats! Then again, Beetlewing wouldn’t mind any of those bad things: the complaints, the rudeness, the anti-social-ness. Not from a friend. But what were the chances of the nasty black warrior wanting to be friends with the Clan coward? Any reason would be a mystery. And why Mothflight mention it at all was a mystery as well.

Wrapped in his mysteries, Beetlewing fell further and further behind the other cats, forgetting to pay attention to his surroundings as his big paws scraped the sandy soil and his thick tail drooped in the dirt. But there was a point, even for the gloomy gray warrior, that even he couldn’t wallow around in self-pity any longer, and he paused, looking skyward. A cold but relatively clear day was promised, and he breathed deeply, letting his great big eyes sink shut. His cold-aching muscles relaxed beneath his thick pelt of fur as he began to breathe easier. But no sooner had he relaxed than a soft taptaptaptaptaptap pause… taptaptaptaptap was heard. His ear nearest the sound flicked towards it, and the rumble of water that nearly masked the noise. Slowly, he twisted his broad head to look towards it, and his kittenish eyes lighted on a sandpiper, pitter-pattering along the wet sand near the water’s edge.

Efficiently forgetting the other cats, Beetlewing changed direction and stalked towards the bird, walking quieter than he had when he’d tried. The hunting instinct took over, as his whiskers twitched, feeling the movements in the air, his jaws tasting the flavor of the wind. The bird was back in the direction they’d come from, and seemed to boldly think all the cats were gone. It hadn’t sensed the quietly moping blue-gray warrior that lingered behind, who watched it now with wide, suddenly intense eyes.

But the bird was a good distance away from where Beetlewing now stood. He was a proficient hunter, but an honest evaluation of himself and he knew he had a low chance of actually making this catch. But it mattered little. Not all hunting excursions were successes: a fact. The big blue-gray tom crawled along as swiftly as his large body would go, eyes locked on the brown-gray winter plumage of his prey. His ears and nose and every other sense was trained on this little sandpiper, which suddenly seemed to hear the whisper of belly fur against sand. It’s head twitched around, and its dark eyes locked with Beetlewing’s pallid ones. Hunter and prey, both saw each other and knew what the other was.

A sudden ripple of action from the muscles in his hindquarters, and Beetlewing propelled himself forward, sprinting across the damp sand and towards the bird. The sandpiper, though, was swift, and had the advantage of time. Its wings snapped open with a flick of small and undoubtedly delicious muscle. Another flick, and the bird was airborne, but Beetlewing hadn’t fully closed the distance yet. Still, the large tom sprang with a heave of his own muscle, his long legs outstretched towards the sandpiper. But the big warrior fell short, landing heavily on his forepaws. His legs bent to absorb the shock that rippled up his bones, but his eyes stayed on his lost prey as it disappeared with those flickering wings of its. The tom felt no anger; only disappointment. He’d lost a good piece of prey. But that was to be expected. It was not a mystery for pondering.

[☆§wìftflame☆]

OOC: SOoo sorry I forgot that I didn't finish this and I'm sitting here wondering why no one else is replying xD.

Swiftflame's ears and tail had begun to droop. They were nearly upon Twolegplace and she hadn't scented a tail or whisker of anything remotely similar to prey. Was IvoryClan destined to starve? She looked around to her companions, wondering if they should try somewhere else. All of the animals hadn't just disappeared - they were here somewhere! However, as she glanced about, she caught sight of two things; first, Beetlewing had fallen drastically behind. Big surprise there. And second, a flash of movement at the far left corner of her vision. Swiftflame wasted no time. Bunching up her muscles, and sprang, practically launching herself in the direction of her target. The trees on either side of her flashed by, her whole form a blur. Mid-leap, an outlying branch tore into her pelt and through skin, but her momentum carried her forward, landing inches from the skinny and terrified rabbit. It bolted, but another frantic and hunger-inspired leap from Swiftflame extinguished it's life. She looked disappointedly at her pathetically skinny catch. Tail dragging slightly behind, Swiftflame trotted after Beetlewing's scent, meaning yo find where the troublesome whiner had gone.

[Đarκsong]

Mothflight was a bit disappointed when he began scenting out prey. There was virtually nothing around. He still continued searching, straying away from the others. He ended up near one of the twoleg nests. A mouse was defiantly close by. Mothflight crouched down and focused on the foundation of the house.

A small mouse scurried out onto the snow. It stood up on its hind legs, scenting the air. Mothflight froze, worried it would smell him. The tiny creature stepped back down onto all fours. Apparently, it had not noticed the cat waiting in ambush.

Mothflight launched himself at the mouse in a flash. He swiftly killed it with a bite to the neck. The mouse was barely a mouth full, but the tortie tom was happy to have caught something. Satisfied, he back tracked to find his companions.

[Twigtail]

As Beetlewing watched the tiny speck that was the sandpiper fade out over the water, melting into the morning sunlight, the big warrior’s calm acceptance of his failure turned to dejection. He was finally remembering that he had other cats to catch up with, who would probably be expecting, with his falling behind and all that, to have at least caught something worth bringing back to the camp and leaving next to the single mouse that made up the fresh kill pile. But since wanting things he didn’t have wasn’t getting him anywhere, or making him feel any better, he swung his mass around and loped quickly in the direction he’d seen the rest of the hunting party go.

He soon saw Swiftflame’s lean figure bobbing, almost gloomily, towards him. Why she looked so disappointed, Beetlewing couldn’t tell. She’d had the luck, not to mention the skill, to take down a rabbit. The big tom flattened his ears, apologizing for not having anything of his own in this nonverbal way, and quickened his pace towards the she-cat. Over her shoulder, not very far back from her, he saw the mottled Mothflight approaching as well, apparently also carrying something. The blue-gray warrior kept his head and tail lowered, a show of his acknowledgement of his own failure, but this time he was at least attempting to be mindful of his verbal apology.

“Fine catch you have there, Swiftflame,” Beetlewing complimented, feeling he ought to say something. To better examine the skinny leafbare rabbit, he stretched his long neck forward, nose twitching as he sniffed the carcass. Fresh, warm smells of meat entered his nose, making the big warrior salivate; unlike Twigtail, he hadn’t dared taken breakfast for himself. And yet another scent was bothering the tom, quite unlike the hunger-triggering smells of new-caught prey. This smell was sharp and metallic, with a salty tinge like the sea air. The blue-gray tom withdrew a bit, as Mothflight was (probably) approaching. He knew that smell. It was…

“Blood?” The tom’s naturally deep, quiet voice hitched up an octave with his question, startled as he was. The smell of cat blood was very different from prey blood, and it made his hackles rise and the fur on his tail bush out. How could this be? Was Swiftflame injured? Beetlewing slowly, a little tentatively, padded towards her, nose twitching again. There! A long, but apparently shallow, slash wound cut through the reddish-gold she-cat’s flank. Asking permission with a question in his big amber eyes, and if the injured cat would allow, he stretched his neck a bit to nose the gash.

“You’ll want some dock for that,” Beetlewing murmured. While his pose was habitually submissive, his voice had the authority of knowledge. Still, he thought aloud, “But now’s not the time of year for dock, now, is it?” Leafbare was always the worst time for any cat to fall ill or get hurt, because there were so few options for treatment! Besides, the blue-gray warrior was no expert; he knew only what he had picked up from medicine cats past, and his memory was a bit hazy. “Still, we could always check along the stream if you’re interested. A chance there’s some come early.” Finally, he straightened and looked at Swiftflame, then swung his gaze to Mothflight, wondering suddenly if the other tom might know something he didn’t. “Have you seen any dock at all?”

[ooc; Ew-post. Ugh, couldn’t find anything on healing herbs, other than leafy stuff. No berries good for cuts.]

[☆§wìftflame☆]

[Hmm..since out medicine cat seems to be MIA and Rainkit wants to be a meddy cat apprentice, what if Beetlewing like helped out w/ stuff? just an idea, with no authorization to it mind you, but it might work to our medicine cat resurfaces]

As Beetlewing shyly complimented her scrawny catch, Swiftflame shrugged and muttered, "S'not much." Then she saw the hungry look in his eye and heard the growl of his stomach. All at once, Swiftflame realized that the dark tom would have been too timid to snatch a piece of prey from the rapidly shrinking pile before they'd left. He must be starving... Acting on sudden impulse, Swiftflame dropped the meager catch at Beetlewing's feet, gesturing for him to eat. Speaking in a strong and sensible tone of voice, Swiftflame intoned, "You should really eat before hunting, it's hard to hunt on an empty stomach." Moments later, however, she looked up in surprise when he pointed out the deep scratch on her back, which was barely visible under her thick pelt. How did you know I was bleeding?" When Beetlewing suggested dock, however, she broke out into a wide smile. "Oooh, that's what you put on it. I couldn't figure it out, and this is really starting to sting. Some dock would be wonderful. You're pretty good with herbs, you know. And seeing my cut." Swiftflame smiled at him, her mind working. Swiftflame had always though that Beetlewing was strangely timid,. What if he could help out in the medicine den?

[ooc:IGNORE me if my suggestions her are obnoxious.

[Đarκsong]

((ooc: don't mind Mothflight's retarded thoughts XD He's just wicked stubborn and a goody-goody.))

Mothflight reached his companions and set down his catch, a meager little mouse. He was surprised to see Swiftflame insist that Beetlewing eat her catch. The tortie tom knew that his fellow tom would have been far to passive to have taken any fresh-kill this morning. Yet, being the stubborn 'good warrior' that he was, it bothered him. The warrior code did say you weren't suppose to eat on a hunting patrol. Mothflight kept his mouth shut about it, but made no promise to himself not to mention it at a later date.

"I suppose we should head towards the stream and see if we can't find any dock." Mothflight chimed in. It was rather curious to him that Beetlewing knew his herbs, but perhaps the awkward warrior had injured himself more than his share of times. "We can still catch more prey on the way, if there is any..."

[Twigtail]

[ooc: Doesn’t this thread take place in the leafbare/newleaf split? Around the thaw-like?]

The large blue-gray warrior’s maw broke out in a smile. It was very, very kind of Swiftflame to say so about him! “Thank you,” Beetlewing mewed, looking very grateful, indeed. A tiny glow, like a little ember that might waken a fire, lit inside the warrior’s chest. He was quite sure it was shining out through his big kitten eyes, so he dropped his head, feeling like he should be embarrassed of that little bright spot. But when the tortoiseshell tom piped up, the big warrior flicked his tail and raised his head again. Now was no time for fuzzy happy feelings, not when a she-cat was in need of his service.

“Yes, yes,” the big warrior agreed, still a little absently. He gave his ears a sharp flick, his own way of telling himself, “That’s enough!” “The stream. Of course. Yes, this time of year, that’s probably our only bet,” he rambled. And prey! All thoughts of prey-gathering had flown out of his head with his lost sandpiper. He was a warrior, not a medicine cat! That sun had set, and he knew his place was not in the den with the smell of herbs in his nose twenty four-seven. Then again, his niche didn’t seem to be the warrior’s den, either. But perhaps he’d find that niche by the stream. StarClan only knew!

Beetlewing found himself standing there, waiting for the other cats to take the lead again. He’d shown his—well, not expertise, since he was far from the expert on plants, but at least he’d offered something to his hunting companions. And now his job was done.

[ooc: Another ew-post. xP Anyway, I don’t think I can put Beetlewing up as a meddie cat, or even a replacement/helper. I foresee ever-more-possible inactivity looming on the horizon (aka hugely massive reports and essays, as well as clubs), and I’m afraid I wouldn’t give the site the attention it deserves.]