when you must {open}

rumour has it... _____________________________ After rolling up a few perfect bundles, the she-cat carefully moved them into her jaws, making sure not to crush the precious Night-seeds. She had hit the jackpot. Who knew how long these berries would last and grow throughout the year? She could have found her permanent supply. That is if she could keep herself hidden. Her arrowhead necklace was a dead giveaway, but a needed item to her survival. All her training days was usually focusing how to use it to fight with the poison remedies. She could still fight with the mind of a fox, but this giveaway was always her suprise attack. The rogue was always sneaky with this final blow. She was certain that cats didn't use the night-shade berries here, which was a terrible mistake. Why wouldn't they use their resources to their advantage? Stupid cats... Raising her head to the sky, Rumour takes a deep sniff, searching for any unwanted scents. Only stale, she reminded herself as she slowly slipped out of the bush. Her paws were light, keeping as silent as she could. If she was caught, she was sure these cats could ambush her in a small group. Her belly was empty from travel, her mind set on getting these herbs before continuing on her little self-tour of these territories. The only issue tonight would be getting home. The brisk night air pushed at her pelt. The striped she-cat had forgotten about the wind as she emerged from the sheltering bush. Shivering a bit, her eyes adjusted to the light, her pupils growing as they absorbed the moonlight. Now all she had to do was retrace her steps in this confusing territory. This marshy dump was the last thing she could hope to wind up in. But what choices did she have? This was her last item to pick up before moving her nest. The wet earth made her hiss in discust, but she held her tougne, afraid of cats that could pop out of the shadows. She hoped quietly that they had plans elsewhere. Her den was deep into the marsh, hidden behind a large gap of undergrowth. Nothing special, but it was covered in dry pine neettles. She couldn't stand sleeping on damp ground every night. It would be hard to find without her scent carrying with the wind. She really didn't care about her scent, certain that it'd blend with the trees. She smelt of oak, more like a ThunderClan cat than anything else. The pines didn't really blend with her fur either--it was as if she couldn't get rid of where she had come from. The valley of oaks and forest just wouldn't go away. I live here now, she thought in disgust, as if she was spitting at the cats who had banished her in the past. What fools...I was almost a lead hunter and poisonist, she almost growled, making sure to think of the Night-seeds first. She didn't want to lose these precious berries. Not now. Her paws were moving slower now, almost dragging. She was exhausted and starving, her stomache aching with a low grumble. It was hard to catch a clean meal and keep quiet when she was tired from her little journey. Maybe she could land a mouse or two to snack on. No no. She had to take the berries back. Shaking her head a bit, she stopped thinking with her gut and began to move again, closing up on her den. The hidden, twisted undergrowth became more inviting than usual. She felt as if she could sleep in the marsh if she had to tonight. Her paws kicked in again, and she almost tumbled into her small den. Carefully uncovering the berries, she stuffed them into the side of her den next to her other herbs. "Finally I found you, you deadly little berries~," she sang, moving them into a little pile. It wasn't much, but she'd go for them as much as she could. For now, she needed to hunt. Her insides could really be eating theirselves now. Rumour rose to her paws, stretching her already tired limbs. The relief of sitting down had now vanished, replaced with a burning sensation in her paws. Her muscles were sore. No big deal, she pressured, telling her body to push on anyway. Sleep could come later. She pressed out of the undergrowth, getting a few nettles stuck in her thick fur. She stood tall, tasting the air, searching for anything. Not to far away was a fat squirrel--what a rare prize! Her mouth began to water, almost tasting the tender meat. Dropping into a crouch, she kept her body in a perfect position with her tail flicking over the damp ground. Even though this was exciting, she knew she had to keep her mouth shut and keep her body from trembling. She prowled slowly until the brown bundle was found. She leaned back on her haunches, letting her weight release, her forepaws relax before leaping into the air.The squirrel was dead at her paws with a quick snap of it's neck. The clean kill made her purr like an amused kitten. She almost considered batting it around for awhile, but she had to get back to her den. It was her only safe haven in this unforgiving land. Rising to her paws once more, she used the rest of her strength to move home, her tail dragging on the earth to make a snake-like track in the wet ground. The moon was hiding behind a few clouds now, but she ignored it. Soon she slipped into her den, curling up in her dry nest and devowering the helpless peice of prey. It tasted like nothing she has had before, mostly because she had not eaten for a few strait days on her journey. Squirrel was rare in the mountains, usually a sign of skill when you brought one home. But they also gave her unforgiving memories. She had moved up to Lead Hunter after catching four squirrels by their tails and bringing them back with little to no mess. She had proven herself to them. She had woken up and worked to death for them. She loved them dearly. Why did they toss her out into the cold world? She couldn't be so sure. She didn't murder those kits. Rumour was framed. "Exile!" a raspy tone echoed, cats of many coats and colors circled around the small tabby she-cat. Eyes pressed into her coat, their growls cutting deaper than any killing blow. She was ragged, her fur on end covered in crimson. "Pelt of Flaming Sky, your name was giving to you for a purpose. You were ment to move greatly in our tribe," he continued, his peircing blue eyes stabbing through her emotions. "...yet you continue to use your true powers for evil. You murdered three of our youngest kittens today. These three were fighters, surviving the season. They didn't pass away when the disease rid our tribe," murmurs of agreement flowed through the breeze, "they were very strong. They would've been great leaders." Growls erupted from toms while tears rained down from the she-cats. "Kill her, Skyteller! She does not deserve to live as a killer!" a cat cried. "Let us sacrifice her evil soul to our ansestors!" another shouted. Claws inched out, daring to tear the she-cat to shreads. "ENOUGH!" Skyteller rasped, narrowing his eyes. Everything fell quiet. He moved down, landing on a lower rock as he inched toward the she-cat. She wanted to move back, but her body didn't even move and inch. "There is no punishment greater than living with your mistakes," he grumbled, his claws tapping on the stone. "Get out, before I change my mind, child," he spat, turning his back on the she-cat. That put scars on her heart. He was her former mentor when she learned herbs...how could he? Rage built up inside her, her claws gripping fiercely at the stone. "Get out of my sight," he hissed. Slash! The she-cat had jumped over and cut him right over his right eye. He was horrified, moaning in pain. She gasped, backing up. What did I just-, she thought, interupted as cats swarm toward her body, screeching for her blood. Running for her life, her paws squirmed on the gravel and grass, as if it was unfamiliar. This was not her home. She'd never be able to come back. The she-cat jumped in her sleep, waking up with a start. "That squirrel must've eaten a few bad acorns," she murmured, shaking her pelt quietly. Skyteller was right--living with her past was a very horrifying punishment. She didn't know what it had ment when she had been told her new fate, but the nightmares seemed to come every night. She rubbed a paw against her forehead, blinking the nightmares away. Morning light filtered through the undergrowth, most of the dappled beams just barely touching the grass. Only a few spots were bright enough to wake her. The day smelt peacefully. To bad she'd just be moving more berries today. What a bummer. It would take forever to get enough now. She should probably just move into that poisonous bush. _____________________________ "it spreads"; it hears; it moves word count: 1540 comments: i loveddd writing this. c: tags: open [bg=000000][atrb=border,0,true]

rumour has it... _____________________________ "A few seeds of Foxglove," the rogue hums, wrapping the dry flowers into a leaf as she did quick herb counts. "Some water hemlock," she adds, pushing them aside. She just needed some more night-seeds now to complete her paralys remedy. That and a little touch of tormentil and rosemary to keep her scent hidden. She'd found rosemary earlier, but she still smelt of the valley she came from. Unlike the scent-hidding rosemary, tormentil was very sweet and welcoming, like a warm batch of sunlight in the coldest winter. It would keep her scent from smelling to foreign as she traveled for a while. Rising to her paws, she shook her pelt, freeing peices of moss from her thick tabby pelt. She wondered what her tribemates would think of her now, using her training for her own purposes instead of serving a group of cats. They'd definately look down on her now. But who were they to judge? Those fleabags couldn't tell the difference between a young fox bite and my own bite, she thought, her ears pressing against her skull. I was framed by a few piles of orange and black mangepelts. How could they not tell our scents apart?, she shook her head, making the questions leave. She didn't have time to mope around now. She found the last part of her remedy and she was going to get it. She was going to carry as many night-seeds as she could, even if she had to store some in her mouth. Once you swollowed a night-seed, you would become brain-dead in a matter of seconds. Those poisonous little red devils were killing machines, as well as great fighting wepons, if you knew how to use them. She just hoped those clan cats wouldn't miss those little balls of death--she was prepared for taking half of the bush. She picked up a pile of leaves, heading toward the exit of her makeshift den. Rumour froze, watching the entrance move just a little. The undergrowth was strong enough to not shake during a windy night, so it couldn't be nature. I was followed!, she almost gasped, dropping the leaves quickly as she franticly looked around. How could she hide all of her herbs to make it look as if no cat was here? She couldn't just scatter them all. It would be strange to find a bunch of herbs lying around in the same place, all dry and ready to use. But most importantly, could she escape? Maybe she could pretend to eat the nightseeds and offer the cat some? Roll over and die? She was shaking a little. It had been a while since she picked a fight with an intruder, and she always had some form of poison on her claws. Now, she only had her bare paws. Please, don't discover the tunnel, she prayed as she pressed against a wall, hiding in the shadows. She waited for any sort of sign that the cat had left, still making some noise with her scared, thin body. Rumour was in no shape to fight now. _____________________________ "it spreads"; it hears; it thinks; it remembers; it moves word count: 516 comments: It's alright. I was trying for a 1k post anyway. c: how in the world do you pronounce Czagy? tags: Vesser de Czagy, open [bg=000000][atrb=border,0,true]

rumour has it... _____________________________ Rumour held her breath, the silence killing her with curious questions of her own. Who would follow her here anyway? Maybe these cats had found her scent and came to dispose of her. She should've sucked it up last night, taken a chance by carrying more Night-seeds, even if she had to swollow them and cough them back up. Now, that's a thought of nonsense, she shook her head, almost rolling her eyes at her own thoughts. A few more pawsteps were heard, making her pelt raise up in fright before they stopped, only a few quiet movements continuing for another silence. She could hear a little bit of sniffing as well. I should've went right for the tormentil... she almost growled. Wait, what am I doing down here, shaking like a mouse? She gazed around, moving slowly toward the entrance. Maybe she could get a peek of this intruder before she caused any action. She could spot a bit of white, her mind now confirming it as another cat. What a relief. She could maybe even win this fight! I should be defending my little home, claimed territory or not! she pumped in her mind, a little confidence ringing in her ears. ”Hello?”

Vesser hid a small smile as this strange fellow intruder finally showed herself. Well, there's the mouse out of her hole, then. Partially, at least. His keen eyes began taking in as much as they could, accustomed to documenting whatever he saw. The she-cat was a tabby, and even if her half-concealed figure spoke of shyness or fright, there was something about her that spoke of a tougher personality than her current attitude implied. He couldn’t place what it was, not quite. It might have been how easily she spoke upon showing herself- a truly scared cat would have often hesitated, or kept silent. Luckily, though, she didn’t look as though she were about to attack. More like she was preparing to go on the defensive, if need be, what with how she was remaining in a sheltered position. She clearly wasn’t stupid, then, either, as she hadn’t immediately believed, or by all appearances retained a healthy amount of skepticism for, his little speech. The she-cat’s amber eyes glinted for a moment, perhaps catching some of the light to achieve such an effect, before she spoke. "ShadowClan? What's that?" Surprise registered briefly on the white tom’s face. He subdued it quickly. Why wouldn’t she know about the Clans? She was practically living at their front door, she must know something about them. Maybe she hadn’t been here long. That was one explanation. The more sinister, of course, was that she was playing for time so she could attack. Vesser’s gaze flicked away from her for a short moment, scanning his surroundings to take stock of what he might have as an advantage in a fight. The wet ground would be good for kicking into an opponent’s eyes to blind them, but other than that there didn’t seem to be anything significant that would benefit the loner. He twitched his ears, far warier of scents and sounds now than he had been earlier. All his observation took only a few seconds, and then he was focusing back on Rumour with all the politeness and the genial attitude he’d had when he first arrived. Answering her question would take a bit of thought. He himself didn’t have a vast extent of knowledge about any of the Clans, so how would one accurately describe specifics to another who had even less of an idea what they were talking about? A shade of concentration passed briefly across his face, though he made sure not to let his eyes wander from the she-cat, lest she take that as an opportunity and make a move. It was in his best interest to pretend as though he suspected nothing whatsoever, to gain time and hopefully take the upper paw. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, another voice cut through the air. With it came the heady scent he’d found at the border of the territory. ShadowClan, he thought grimly. If the she-cat wanted an explanation, she’d certainly be getting one soon. Possibly accompanied by a matter-of-fact set of claws across her inquisitive muzzle. "The Clan that lives here. Who I just happen to lead." A sense of foreboding wound its way through Vesser’s spine. From what he’d heard, if this cat decided to pick an argument, there was next to no chance he’d be able to hold his ground and survive. Even if this she-cat joined forces with him in an attempt to save her own hide, there was, according to those who lived around Clan territory, something that set Clan leaders apart from their subordinates. They seemed stronger, able to last longer in a battle. Whether it was due to some unique training method or sheer unnatural circumstances, by all accounts it was best to be on a leader’s good side. Sneaking into their territory quite without permission was not likely their ‘good side’. Still, despite how the odds seemed stacked very high against him today, Vesser put on his customary smile- called by some, and not without reason, to be completely infuriating-, stood, and turned to meet this new acquaintance. He had no idea how he hadn’t smelled her sooner, but there was no undoing that folly now. The tom’s claws dug themselves into the wet ground beneath him, ready to launch himself in attack or flight, or hold on to defend. The ShadowClan leader radiated confidence, her stance cool and unafraid. She had no reason to be, anyways. Her line of sight was fixed on the she-cat beside Vesser, which the tom took as a bit of an insult, considering he was obviously the more impressive view here, and much easier on the eyes, if he did say so himself (he did). He tilted his head to one side as though silently asking why he wasn’t being paid the fullest attention, and amusement tinged his words. All in all, he appeared totally nonchalant, even casual, as though this were something that happened every day and he’d long since become accustomed to it. Inside, however, he was preparing for a fight, mind racing, and his muscles were tensed and ready under his thick pelt. “Why, hello there, lovely. Splendid day for a walk, don’t you agree? Me and this wonderful lady here were just having a chat, care to join?” _____________________ - - acting // "speaking" // thinking ; "hearing" - - Word Count: 880 Tags: Rumour, Miststar, open Comments: --- [bg=3c282d][atrb=border,0,true]