[sleepyyjax]

 

Originally Posted by Daragca

Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Warrior | 40 moons
Killer Aptitude T3 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue T2
The Dancing Bird

The smile slipped through just as Darkleaf’s outburst did. He’d pushed a button that maybe he couldn’t undo? No that wasn’t right, he didn’t want to undo it he’d push it again. A senseless windup to sour both cats’ moods. Owlthroat let them regain composure a little before slipping his tongue once more at another poorly timed jest.

But then it bubbled up inside him, his ever too quick temper. Why couldn’t he be more like his brother? More calm, more reasoned. It wasn’t Darkleaf’s fault, but she had always been so distant. With better guidance maybe he could have been better. He’d made steps of improvement of course, taken on a mate, been a helping paw. But in his eyes the quality of the cats were poor, the new apprentices snivelling and lacklustre. Exactly why he’d split Willowpaw’s nose open the other day, left her bleeding and cowering in fear. She wasn’t simply fit to be a warrior.

Was Darkleaf fit to be a warrior, he didn’t quite know. But she’d failed him, he couldn’t entirely believe or trust in her to not hide behind the rest in a fight. His blackened lips pursed and trembled before he spoke. ”There’s always a reason. It’s in OUR blood.” The words spat from his lips with poison, he knew he was only half Shadowclan but that infuriated him all the more.

”You sulk around this camp like a lost kit, it’s shameful. No pride in who you are, or even who you train.” The last part got personal, white seething rage. Taking him from zero to a hundred instantly. The more he thought about it the angrier he got, they’d always been tense. The tom didn’t know why he’d bothered with the pleasantries tonight when this had been his real objective. Berate the old mentor, tear them apart shred by shred.

His tail lashed behind him, he hadn’t yet risen from the floor but his spine had spiked upwards with prickling fur. He chewed around his next choice of words in his mind. The clouds seemed to drift over the stars blurring them from view, perhaps Starclan was displeased. Owlthroat didn’t blame them, he was as displeased as they came. ”Maybe I would’ve been a better cat, one that lived up to your standards. If you’d have bothered to give me the time of day.” Claws pricked at the dirt underpaw as he sarcastically drawled. ”I learnt to survive or die, the art of beautiful bloodshed. Not mousing around picking herbs or chasing tails. No surprise you can’t see that, the reason isn’t Shadowclan or protecting the ones we love. It's the simple art of the fight itself, the claws and teeth we inherited.” Owlthroat’s voice rang deep, yellow eyes slitted painfully.

Claws and teeth.

Loss, loss, and more loss.

[​​ @sleepyyjax ]

Darkleaf
they/she - 58 moons

header: ferretfever

Cold, uncaring, murder machines, in the name of blood? It wasn't as though Dawnstar led them that way, so why did his distorted soul believe such a thing? "Our blood?" They sneered, Owlthroat's comments unearthing a deeply coated anger within them. "You know full well we're the same blood as the other three clans." Preaching of harmony and coexistence proved a reliable cover for an avoidance of conflict, a blanket against any sceptical comments: to insult her disposition was to insult the way of the clans - a lie even she believed, buried deep into her subconscious. "Focus on war and war alone, and you'll find yourself beaten and starving," they hissed. It was true - if ShadowClan angered the other three the same way River had, they'd be ganged up on, pushed out of their territory, and certainly not given a helping paw. But, had that even been what Owlthroat meant? They believed so. It'd taken but one stern comment, one angered tone, and the tom had snapped out at her. Was that it? Dare she finally raise her voice to him for the first time? A lost kit, it burned hard through her, unsettling every joint. No. She was quite the opposite. She knew that. They had purpose, and they knew it, in fact, everything they did was with purpose. What that purpose was, they wouldn't pause to ponder, but they knew the tom's words were incorrect, they had to be, what did a cat like him even know about purpose? About pride? Owlthroat's anger was eating him up, and she could see it, he was simply piecing together thoughtless insults. They pressed against it, but they couldn't ignore the nerve it was touching - it's that their own apprentice turned out this way. That was the problem, it's that he would say these things to her, not even accurate observations, mere sour tongued comments, with not a thought behind them

Not only that, but apparently it was her fault now? Their fur bristled, taking in the accusations, all this time spent away from each other, all this time to think, and after all these moons, she was convinced it wasn't her fault. Had they been the perfect mentor? Absolutely not. But Owlthroat chose his own path, and it certainly wasn't the one they'd guided him towards. "You're your own cat Owlthroat!" She hissed, "StarClan forbid I don't have pride, look at you!" Striped tail batted the ground in anger - she'd tried. She knew she'd tried with all her might. But if Owlthroat never opened up, how was she to blame? "You're a stone wall. If any cat gave you the time of day, you wouldn't even see it." They'd never heard themself speak like this before, but maybe it was time. Owlthroat had clearly given up on changing, and he rubbed it in her face like a fresh cats. Maybe it was time she gave up on him.

[thank u unreliable narrator Darkleaf,,, Owlthroat has her down LMAOO]