Warrior Cats: A RPG

NEWS: February's Gathering is up!

Weather: Leaf-bare is here, and all the Clans are feeling the chill! There are occasional snow showers throughout the forest.

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Last Seen: Feb 15 2018, 12:09 AM
Local Time: Feb 21 2018, 02:19 PM
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My Content
Dec 10 2017, 11:43 PM
Dusty was weird.

He existed in a strange not-quite-presence, drifting in and out of encounters with others. He looked wistfully at Jack sometimes, quietly existed on the fringes of social circles. He'd dance uncomfortably with a heavy limp, trying not to be obtrusive and still supportive of those he cared about. It was a difficult balance, but he genuinely wished to be more than some leeching shadow in the backs of his clanmate's minds. So he grabbed a plump rabbit (sending his apologies to Duke, wherever the guy was) and came to drop it off in the freshkill pile.

It was a normal day. It was fine. Contribute a little, then perhaps nap some more. He was just... so tired lately. Mellow, yes, but also just ... more tired than he felt he had been in his entire life. He had no appetite, no willpower right now. He just wanted to sleep a little bit (or a lot) and then he could deal with the rest later.

Of course, he didn't get that far away from the freshkill pile before he was suddenly... taken with the notion of having a nap. It didn't really matter where right? And he was... where was he? Something... somewhere with cats. He... didn't feel so well.

And that's when the three-legged coyote collapsed, fur damp from fever-sweats, breath shallow. He was sick with an infection, and his eyes rolled up as he went limp, collapsing from exhaustion and a progressing illness, not four steps from the center of camp.
Nov 18 2017, 08:02 PM
He was back. Despite what was thought of him, of his fear, of his cowardice, he was back. They were back. Southskies was with him, by his side, walking without support. He'd offered, but she turned him down, and he understood. This was her returning, her moment to show what she'd done, even if she didn't understand it just yet. He was pretty proud of her, even though it felt filtered, like he was really hiding the other stuff. The fears he held, the sadness that still echoed in the caverns of his heart. But he knew he did a good thing, bringing her back.

He was still dizzy. But he trodded in behind her, limp only slightly worse than usual. The infection was doing poorly, moreso after such a long trip. He felt the illness creeping up, awareness in the back of his mind and a sense of discomfort crawling through his form. But this was important. The mantra went on and on in his head. This was important. This was important.

Even he, with all his cowardice, wouldn't have said good-bye to Jack like that. Not without doing his damnedest to find South and help bring her home to him. Not without letting them have together what he just couldn't hold onto anymore, the love and dedication that slipped through his paws as he tried to grab onto it. He couldn't. Could not do it. He felt weak in that regard, as he did so many right now, but it was important. This was important.

"Well, lil hero?"

He murmured, looking towards South expectantly. She may not have believed it, but he did. And Jack would. And hell, that was all it really took. They'd have each other and he could see it now -- Southskies standing her ground, sticking up for Spiderfur or keeping him in line, and Spiderfur keeping her on her toes, the two of them together would have challenges... each having to reassure each other. But he believed it would work. He loved them both, each in their own ways, and he knew that they loved each other and it would work. First though, he had to follow in South, shyly limping after her into the camp.

"Go on."
Nov 15 2017, 11:47 PM
/this is while Southskies is missing, and after the rest of the patrol comes back. if you don't wanna read all this, basically Dusty's nowhere to be found, he's gone all stray dog again

He knew.

Never had he prided himself on his intelligence, and he wasn't going to start now, but he knew some things to be true. Without a doubt, he knew that the rain made him feel old. He knew that the sunset was one of his favourite times of the day. He knew that the city was full of an ever-present noise. Dusty knew also that kits would play games that needed no explanation. He knew that Cherrystar had sent him away. He knew the sting of tiny 'rocks' launched from the stick of a twoleg as they exploded on his skin and left him bruised and limping all those months ago. He knew Windclan territory, knew the shape and size of the tattoo on his ear, knew simple facts and held simple beliefs.

He knew that Jack had changed his name to Spiderfur. He knew that Spiderfur's nose crinkled when he was confused, that he had a little twitch above his eye when frustrated. He knew that when they were younger, they had been madly in love with a fire that burnt bright, so hot that they'd both been burnt.

He knew that Jack was changed. 'Dusty' was different too -- quieter, more submissive. He couldn't say he was worse, and he knew that he was supposed to be welcome here. He was a Thunderclanner. Simple truths. Oh sure, he didn't know everything -- he didn't know what he felt anymore, and he didn't know which of the Thunderclanners distrusted him, although he was certain that some did. He didn't know why the sun rose, or why the rain made him feel so old. He didn't know why he wished to weep and sleep in equal amounts, couldn't understand why his logic never dissuaded his feelings.

But one thing, one thing he was certain of, was that Spiderfur was in love with Southskies. Deep enough in love that Dusty's return still had his former mate calling out after another, with concern that matched (eclipsed, his heart told him, but his mind disagreed (and the heart always won)) that which Spiderfur had held for him. He knew that Southskies loved him because of the disgust in her eyes for Dusty, and the soft look admiration that replaced it when she looked at Spiderfur without realising others were looking at her. He knew they loved each other. Regardless of his own intentions, he'd come in between that. He'd stirred up old hurts and memories that should have been left to lie untouched. Like it or not, he felt that he was in the way more than anything else.

That's why he waited. He didn't always sleep next to Jack, too paranoid despite the facts. Too used to hateful eyes and mutterings about monsters to sleep next to cats anymore, he wandered and grabbed shut eye where he could, trying to hide away so that he didn't have to face the confusing, depressing feelings he had so often. But in his former mate's grief, he curled up beside him and let the other fall into fitful sleep. Only once Jack was deep enough asleep would the coyote shift and stand moving over the disturbed portions of nest to keep the love of his life warm as he slipped out in the night. Too cowardly to announce his intentions, too cowardly to face Jack and tell him that he wasn't sure how to love and be loved. So he grazed his lips over the other's head and blinked back tears, muttering an 'I'm sorry' that rang through hollow bones and the thorns that grew through the softest parts of himself.

Then he was gone. So, so talented at running away that he never made any sound. He told no one where he was going, and by the time the sun rose, the scent of Dusty was stale and the place he'd laid himself down for those soft, bittersweet moments, was cold.

Oct 30 2017, 12:40 AM
He was doing alright.

The paw wasn't doing so bad that he winced just from someone accidentally brushing up against it. Not that... people brushed up against him at all -- the most physical contact he'd had was from Jack when he'd showed up, and since then he'd been... jumpy. He tended to avoid the contact of other people, sheepish at those moments someone could come close and brush, even accidentally, against him.

But regardless of the fact that if someone touched him he might turn into a puddle of tail-wagging, smiling goo, he was doing fairly well. He was stretched out in the sunlight, in the late afternoon, the coyote stretched out in camp, his gangly limbs splayed awkwardly and his thin ribs moving with every breath. He was... actually kind of cute like this, with his remaining paws kicking and twitching here and there, incomprehensible murmuring and tiny stereotypical groups of noises that showed just how deeply the coyote was sleeping.
Oct 1 2017, 10:37 PM
He lived in Thunderclan now. He wasn't really a Thunderclanner per se. Or maybe he was. To be honest, the coyote never really felt like much of anything anymore, so maybe it wasn't super weird that he was rather detached to the whole 'moving clans' idea. It didn't help that everything felt... surreal. He found Jack again (now named Spiderfur), and left Windclan. The latter wasn't too difficult -- he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Smudge, but they could -- maybe they...

His eyes felt moist.

Dusty huffed and blinked away the sudden urge to sob. It was incredibly stupid to be worried over his decisions. Smudge would get over his absence: she had friends in the clan. The others would have an easier time without him, and really, being there was going to kill him. Now, the bigots would be satisfied, the impartial crew would remain as such, and Smudge --

-- it sucked. It sucked and it felt like he abandoned his only friend. At the rate he was going, he was gonna drop dead from infection in a year if he was unlucky, sooner if karma had mercy on him. For the time being, he figured it was time to find a place to sleep at night. If there was another thing he was thankful for (he liked to think of them, remind himself of the better parts of life), it was the tree cover. As bareleaf or whatever approached, he'd be safer out of the open moor, somewhere with cover from the wind.

Of course, he had to find somewhere to sleep first.

So the three-legged coyote was nosing around the territory, finally coming to a group of tree roots interlacing, which built into a little hill and created just enough of a dip to cover half of him if he squished against the dirt. Appraising the spot and finding it suitable, Dusty began the painstaking task of digging with his remaining front paw, wincing as he balanced on his stump.

It was a start.
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