Quote:
Originally Posted by Topaztaill
~Miststone~
The queen glanced up as Wolffang approached, and swallowed half her prey. Oh, it was him. She turned her head slightly and noticed Rosebriar.
Them.
She returned to her mysterious gaze and answered, looking back at Wolffang with an annoyed flick of her tail, “Hi, Wolffang...”
Her mind remembered that gathering, where she and Ashfeather a a few other cats had hurried off the find Twilightstar.
And Wolffang and Rosebriar were there... |
Wolffang watched as she ate half of the prey she had grabbed and paused beside her, instantly deciding to lay down near her, but still a respective distance away since he hadn't been invited. The tom surveyed her face for a moment. Something in those bluish-green eyes was a little... off to him. He hadn't interacted with Miststone very much before, but she gave off some sort of mysterious vibe that he wasn't sure about. He did notice the flick of her tail, though. Since she had been looking at his sister, was she addressing her? Or him? His yellow eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't mention it.
Instead, he meowed,
"Miststone." His tone was formal, yet he couldn't forget what she had done. She'd run off with a disloyal, pathetic, disabled, half-rogue abomination barely into ShadowClan territory, abandoning what actually mattered: WindClan. He didn't view her as a whole-hearted traitor, but she had definitely followed one. Rosebriar had told him everything. He'd seen Morningpaw run off. That also reminded him of his... unfinished business with the ShadowClan deputy. He hadn't realized that his sharp claws were digging into the ground until now. A lot of things had happened at that bloody Gathering.
Was it even a Gathering, without the other two Clans? They'd decided to stay out of it.
Fox-hearts. Although WindClan had dealt with it all by themselves. They were strong. They didn't need any help from the other inferior Clans. But why they hadn't come to that Gathering would remain a mystery to him.
Wolffang knew that staring at Miststone wouldn't get them anywhere, so he lifted his broad head. He would probably ask some basic questions. He'd been wanting to inquire her for some time, not just because something seemed off to him. Because of her involvement with the wretched Ashfeather, or Twistedface.
"How are your kits doing?" he asked, tipping his head inquiringly to one side.
"And how are you and your mate doing? Anything... interesting going on?" He might as well start with the simple questions. This felt more like an interrogation than anything. Although he wanted to learn a little more about Miststone, and if he could trust her.
***
Rosebriar didn't really like how her brother was approaching Miststone like that. She, for one, definitely didn't trust the short-furred tabby. Who in their right mind would follow
Twistedface? The ugly, awful, diseased she-cat who could barely take care of herself? Her thoughts were getting repetitive, but she had good reason for them. Huffing, she turned away for a moment, staring angrily at the ground in front of her. If only Featherwhisker had actually killed her, back when they had been apprentices... together. She shuddered at the word "together". They'd been forced to train together so many times... how many germs had she picked up from Twistedface?!
Not only that, but the whole scenario with Blackpaw - Blackhaze now - was Twistedface's fault. Good cats getting into trouble was also her fault, for her little escapade during the fight. That she-cat had to be stopped! She was destroying the Clan! Her eyes narrowed, she swung her head around back to Wolffang and Miststone. Nobody in the Clan listened to her. Saying that just lowered her reputation! Which was absolutely ridiculous!
I'm trying to save them from a threat! And I'm so pretty. Why don't they listen to me? Was it that dreaded belly scar that Blackpaw had given her?
Right now, her brother was asking Miststone some questions. Rosebriar could read him very easily. He was perfect, but sometimes a little too nice in her opinion. Right now, she could tell that he definitely disapproved of what Miststone and the others had done. Any sensible cat would. Yet he was being kind, at least for now.
Hopefully, the kits don't take after their mother, she thought, shooting one last glare at Miststone. Yet her ears remained perked. As she looked away and got up to get a piece of fresh-kill, her ears remained angled back to hear their conversation. She couldn't miss out on this juicy gossip. Settling down with a small mouse, Rosebriar tuned in, being as discrete as possible.