Warrior Cats: A RPG

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Joined: 5-June 17
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Last Seen: Oct 17 2017, 09:34 PM
Local Time: Oct 20 2017, 06:06 PM
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My Content
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.
Aug 21 2017, 09:02 PM
The coyote was doing his thing again. The thing where he was staying out of camp, keeping to himself because of some misguided sense of guilt or... something. He didn't want to make a big deal out of things, but he felt more at ease out of camp, out of the eyeshot of anyone who could potentially turn their noses up because... because what? He was tall, had a long nose, and could chomp down a bit harder than cats. Yeah, he was a goddamned monster.

A yawn pulled apart his jaws, and he hesitated in his path. Heck. He found his tongue hanging out of mouth then, and the coyote plopped down in the grassy spot, rasping over the stump where his paw used to be. It was getting worse -- he was sure of it. Where once it was simply scabbed over and healing, it was now beginning to fester and burn. Hurt to touch, but he was doing his best to keep it clean.

"Aw, hell."

He grumbled, wincing at at the pain of it.
Aug 12 2017, 03:00 PM
Well, despite obvious changes to his appearance (eg: his now-missing paw), there wasn't too much that had changed with Dusty. He remained somewhat scruffy, somewhat reclusive, and still rocking a more or less passive attitude, keeping cool in the face of all the colossal shit hitting the fan. He didn't talk about it, didn't consider things public knowledge, and more than anything he didn't want to be vulnerable. Not here. Despite the fact that he had lost his paw trying to help Windclan, he didn't expect for a moment that they'd return the favour.

Sucks. It's normal. He'd live.

But for right now, he was doing what he did best -- running. There was no way for him to be silent, not on three paws with a twoleg collar on his neck and a mark on his ear that claimed him and labelled him as a goddamn pet at best. So he relied on speed, and fun fact, even three legged coyotes could reach speeds of over 60 km/h, although, in Dusty's case, he was a little rusty. The turns were where he was having difficulty, the quickness and sharpness of it thrown off by the loss of his fourth tie to the ground. It was becoming an issue, difficult to use because of the infection that he was now sure in his future. But he wasn't going to stop. Never. It was life or death. So despite the pain, he was quickly getting used to in the severed limb, Dusty was slinking along the territory, following his nose when he found it. A plumper rabbit, one that didn't seem to notice him until he was close enough. And then... then it was on.

The rabbit and the coyote sprung at the same moment, statues coming to life. The rabbit was quicker on the start, but the coyote was fast to catch up. There -- Dusty spotted the hole the rabbit was going for before it started zigzagging, so he didn't need to match it. Instead, he just ran forth, and ... one more bound...

The coyote dove and caught the scruff of the rabbit in his jaws, killing it with a twist of the head and the quick, celery-snap of the prey's broken neck. Not bad. Except for the part where he barely caught it. It looked alright, but he could feel the difference, and he was still worn out when he stopped, prey hanging from his jaws and a generally slack look to his being. He needed to fix this.
Aug 5 2017, 07:00 PM
Ugh. Humans.

He hated them so much, fear and anger and despair mixing into a shitshow of rabid emotions that left him feeling hollowed out. He'd been gone from Windclan for so long now that it felt weird walking back, the stale scent of the clan still woven into his pelt, subtle under the scent of loner lands. Yeah, the humans hadn't had him long -- after they'd found the traps, he'd gone around trying to make sure that all the traps were gone. He'd been trying to help when he'd found himself stuck, just far enough that he couldn't be heard. And yeah, the humans came to get him, but no. No way. He'd been a pet already, trapped in a cage, left to pace and grow in concrete walls.He had the barcode tattoo on his ear, the metal around his neck, choke chain still intact. No. He wasn't going back.

So he did what he had to do to survive. He chewed off his leg in a process too graphic to think about, and he ran. Oh yeah, he'd wanted to run back to Windclan, but not with humans nearby. He darted off, lost them, and lost himself and...

Yeah. It'd taken a while to get back. He wasn't sure he would come back, but he was... he didn't have anywhere else to go. The city would eat him alive, and he felt despair pressing in on his existence and he -- he --

He was a coward. He had no gods to turn to, frightened and believing that there was nothing for him in the world. He had no whispered voices of spirits past or the guiding morals of a doctrine to give him a piece of mind. How could you believe in a higher power when you had nothing but that for which you fought tooth and nail? How could he believe in anything more than what he could see when he was screaming for help with his paw trapped in a piece of metal? There was no better fuel for faithlessness than despair. But now with the paw gone and an elongated stump left in its place (foreign, odd, it made his stomach twist), he found himself coming back. Infection laid just quietly under the surface, the beginning of it starting to be detectable but only just barely.

Exhausted, Dusty couldn't even speak as he crossed the border, messed up and dirtied and looking worse for wear.
Jun 24 2017, 10:56 PM
Well, his last conversation with another being was certainly annoying, and he'd be surprised if the argument between Onesky and him wasn't all over by now. The yelling match had started out bad and ended up worse and now he was just... vaguely angry. Stewing in his own distaste. Trying not to think about how mad he was that he'd practically taken it like a dog, the coyote would stretch out his legs just outside camp, grumbling in another dialect, his words far more canine than anything else. The only vaguely recognisable words were 'stupid' and 'cat'. Ill-tempered, the coyote huffed and dragged his paw along the ground foul tempered as hell.

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