The brown tabby didn't normally come to the border. But, today, he was bored-- and thought he might as well. Why not? There was always someone around. Some cat from another Clan was always hanging around. The smallest of smirks spread over his maw. While it seemed Falconclaw was overly ambitious and not a good cat, he did have good in him! He did! It was their problem if they decided they didn't want to deal with it. An aggravated growl escaped him as he sat down, curling his tail around his paws. And, he had partly expected to see Spottedsong here. She was always sneaking away. So Falconclaw suspected her of being a traitor. If that was true, he would catch her now and get rid of her. The tom's hues narrowed-- in his mind there wasn't too much room for traitors. Though he, personally, had never had a reason to be one. After all, there were plenty of cats who would die to be his friend in his own Clan. Weren't there? If he were being honest with himself, Falconclaw was pretty vain. Very vain, as a matter of fact.
And, while that might not be good? He didn't mind it. As long as he was able to keep ahold of his loyalty he would be fine. After all, the Clans wanted loyal warriors. Not humble, kind, and gentle ones. No one would ever get to be leader if all the Clans had were humble, kind, gentle warriors. Falconclaw yawned, now rolling over onto his side. The lighter fur on his belly seemed to clash with the darker brown and black tabby stripes of the tom. He looked... bored. And perhaps that was because he actually was, or maybe it was because his expression was constantly bored. Falconclaw's eyes flashed for a moment before he got back to his paws. If a RiverClan cat came by at this second, or one of his own clanmates, he would probably get hurt; not all cats were as forgiving as he was. He would never kill a RiverClan cat for just laying along the border. Hurt them, sure... teach them a lesson if they were crossing the border. Not even the tip of a whisker was anywhere near the border.
So, Falconclaw decided that he was probably in a pretty good spot right now. A pleased purr began to emit from the tom's throat and chest as he closed his green hues. He looked pretty happy for the moment being. Perhaps it was just being out of camp, or maybe he liked the scent of the marshier, less pine-like scent of RiverClan. Though, for the rough warrior? That was doubtful. It was more then doubtful, it was... very, very strange. That was definitely out of the question for Falconclaw.