loner at heart [moli]

[gray]

The meadows, with their long grasses and solid dry land, were the most grounded place in all of RiverClan territory; the meadows, although very different from the forest home where he grew up, most closely reminded Cedarclaw of his younger moons. Cedarclaw was a rather solitary cat, a reformed loner, one could say; his mother, Cypress, was a loner and he and his siblings had been born to a RiverClan cat by the name of Shallowstripe. Cedarclaw would have greatly preferred to drop the suffix to his name, but Clan custom—and more adamantly, Leopardstar –demanded a Clan name of him. He had stayed for the sake of his father, as Shallowstripe wanted to repair the seasons-long damage and mistakes to their relationship. Still not close with his father, their relationship was still better than before, and it was certainly better than his relationship with his sister. Smokefur—Larch—refused to speak to him, still. Poplarleaf—Poplar—was still dead. Her kits were, as well. Most of the time, it seemed that Patchfur was the only other cat in the Clan who ever tried to remember Poplar.

Cedar, with his muscular build, brown tabby coat, and mellow green eyes gave off an impression of strength. He moved with a certain heavy grace that only served to prove his bulk, yet his agility. His large paws made impressions in the long grasses, but the grasses slowly moved back to stand up straight, aided by the light breeze that sighed softly through the air, ruffling the tabby tom’s fur. It was leaf bare, and it was cold, but Cedar ignored the chill, used to being cold after his many moons alone. He actually found he had difficulty sleeping in the almost suffocating warmth of the warriors’ den back at camp. Quite frankly, he didn’t enjoy being around that many other cats in general. He tended to sleep on the fringes and keep to the edges of the den as much as possible.

Cedar’s ears pricked as he heard the faint rustling of prey; he scented the air carefully, noting the tang of starling. Birds, with their many feathers, bothered most of the fish-loving Clan, but Cedar had always had a liking for bird. He remembered with a pang how much Poplar loved starling. Shaking away his gloomy thoughts, he slid into an easy hunters’ crouch and crept forward, his paws making barely a sound compared to the starling’s rustles and the stirrings of the wind. He had his mouth slightly open; soon, the starling was within his range of sight. It was a proud—if somewhat thin –looking bird, pecking resolutely at the hard, frozen ground with its dark beak. Cedar could easily admire the bird’s determination and stubbornness; it was a quality he had, as well. One more paw step forward… Cedar’s muscles bunched and he propelled himself forward in one swift leap, landing squarely on the starling and killing it with a quick blow to the neck. He, if no one else, would enjoy the starling.

Unlike most every Clan cat, Cedar did not bless StarClan for his prey. Although he had been forced to take on a Clan name, and would introduce himself by his Clan name, he still felt like ‘Cedar’ on the inside. He had no belief in StarClan; raised by a loner mother, the only of his littermates who ever had faith in StarClan was Smokefur—Larch. Cedar found it hard to believe that a supposedly kind, just group would allow the tragedies he had seen to happen. He never prayed, he never looked to the sky at night and saw the stars as Silverpelt. To him, the sky was just the sky, the stars were just pinpricks of ice too far away to reach; the weather was just the weather of the season and the clouds, and natural disaster was… well, purely natural.

Tasting the air once more for another piece of prey, Cedar concealed his catch and returned his attention to the meadow. The sea of grasses swayed and danced, much like the leaping of the fish and the twisting of the waters of the river. Briefly, he wondered if he might speak with Shallowstripe later, or greet his half-siblings. Then, Cedar targeted another black-feathered starling and dropped once more into his fluid hunters’ crouch.

word count // 721
ooc comments // none
tags // anyone!(:

[Moli]

Another cold night, with cold thoughts, lay in store for Graystripe.

The thick-furred gray tom had decided to go out and night-hunt. It was better than being alone in camp. He wasn't physically alone in camp, of course, but he might as well have been, for all the cats who wanted to talk to him. The kits were going to sleep, and he didn't want to wake them. So, with little to do and no cat to talk to, he had made his exit from camp. Now he was going through RiverClan's small stretch of forest, nothing like ThunderClan's. Everything he saw in this territory reminded him of ThunderClan, or rather, how much it wasn't like ThunderClan. Sometimes, it bothered him, and he wanted to go home, if only to hunt in the dense forest one last time.

But then he would remember that this had been Silverstream's home. She had loved it here. They had talked about leaving their Clans to be with each other, but it had enver happened. They were both still loyal to their Clans, and loved their homes. But they loved each other, and it simply couldn't be helped. The feelings he had for Silverstream still hadn't gone away. There were many nights he wondered if they ever would.

Forever in love with a dead cat. He sighed sadly before he opened his mouth to taste the air around him. He could smell a RiverClan cat - but which one? He was still having difficulty with identifying some of his Clan mates. He knew it would take time before they would be like his ThunderClan scents - second nature - but it was still frustrating. As he drew closer to the scent, he also could smell starling. He dropped into his hunting crouch, and, remembering to be light with his bulk, he began padding forward. When he found himself in the meadow, he saw the starling. There was another flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and he saw the gray form of Cedarclaw. He was an interesting cat, born outside the Clans, but with a Clan father.

He didn't want to be alone, he decided. He raised up and backed away, letting Cedarclaw lunge toward the starling before he addressed him.


((So basically, however you want his hunt to go, go for it. Graystripe will take action after.))

[gray]

Some other sense alerted the broad tabby tom to another’s presence, which he ignored. No one bothered RiverClan, and no RiverClan cat bothered him when he didn’t want to be bothered—which was always. He was a loner both in rank and personality, which the others either knew or sensed. He was left to his own devices… usually… and he carried out his duties to the best of his ability, so really, no one had any room to complain. Cedarclaw focused instead on the starling, which was oblivious to his presence despite him having just killed one of its kind nearby. Stupid creatures, he thought in exasperation. Something so foolish couldn’t possibly hope to survive. It certainly wouldn’t be surviving any longer. He crept a little closer, imagining himself back in his piece of forest from when he had left RiverClan during his so-called ‘apprenticeship’. He bunched his muscles to prepare for the monstrous leap, and propelled himself forward with a small grunt of exertion—it was a far more ambitious leap than usual, but he snagged the stupid bird squarely and killed it swiftly. He was so glad he didn’t have the taste of fish in his mouth. The one time he had caught a fish during his brief training before he left the Clan in his twelfth moon had been awful. The scales were slippery and the foul river flavor had stuck in his mouth for ages afterwards. Why hadn’t Poplarleaf just come with him? She couldn’t have been too fond of fish, either.

Cedarclaw stashed the newest starling with his previous catch and turned his attention to whoever had intruded on his solitude. “Alright,” he growled, “who was dumb enough to bother me?” It was so rude of them to stay downwind. It was common knowledge, really, that he liked to be alone and so everyone left him alone. Everyone, that was, but Patchfur. Maybe the amiable black-and-white tom had come to talk to him. Raising his tail in a friendlier manner, he called out, “Patchfur, is that you?” His voice was still a little hostile, but that was to be expected. Cedar always sounded like that. Besides, he hadn’t expected the interruption on his little hunt.

He sat back on his haunches to wait for Patchfur to show himself. He groomed the little tufts of fur between his toes on one large paw, tugging at a stray clod of grass that stuck between his claws. He rasped his tongue over his paw and swiped at his face. Huh, he thought grouchily. Patchfur better show himself soon or I’m leaving. He didn’t want company anyway, especially not if Patchfur was going to play games like that. He liked the black-and-white tom, but he had no patience for pranks or games or silliness. But Patchfur knows that, Cedar realized. So who…?

It better not even be that stupid little apprentice Minnowpaw.

word count // 483
ooc comments // I had a struggle writing this post and I don’t even know why xD
tags // moli

[Moli]

Graystripe noted his catch with approval. He had learned Clan ways well, at least as far as hunting went. When he spoke up gruffly, the gray cat half considered just leaving the grumpy tom to his own devices. But he didn't like the idea of going out on his own again, and he was willing to take a little chuff. He was used to worse interactions, thanks to his "mistakes" that he had made.

"No, it's Graystripe." He announced, padding forward so he was visible to the other cat. "And I like to think I'm not that mouse-brained." He added with faint amusement displayed in the twitch of his whiskers.

He could only hope that he wouldn't get a clawful, but he somehow doubted that Cedarclaw was as violent as he seemed. Being standoffish was not the same as being aggressive, he had found.

[gray]

Cedar wasn’t the sort to appreciate surprises of any kind, whether they were good or bad surprises. He had been surprised often enough in his life and he had discovered a distinct dislike of and disdain for unexpected occurrences. In his experience at least, anything unforeseen was bad news. He hadn’t expected anyone to bring him to the Clans when the strange warrior—his father –had appeared, yet that had happened. He hadn’t expected news of his sister’s death when her black-and-white patched mate had come to him begging him to return. And yet, that had happened as well. Although this wasn’t a particularly momentous surprise, it was still a surprise, and therefore Cedarclaw didn’t appreciate it. “No, it’s Graystripe.”

[/I] The thickset gray tom padded forward. Out of everyone in the Clan, he had hardly given any spare thought to Graystripe—not that he really ever gave any thought to anyone in the Clan, really. However, for one reason or another, Graystripe seemed to be the least prominent cat on his mind. “And I like to think I'm not that mouse-brained.”[/I] The amusement was evident in his voice. Well, at least the damned cat had had the decency to wait until after Cedar made his catch to bother him.

Not that he was enjoying the interruption. Far from it.

At the same time, though, Cedar was unable to deny the similarities between himself and the gray-furred tom before him. Graystripe was not of RiverClan, just as he himself was not. Graystripe was treated worse than Cedarclaw was—Graystripe had broken their precious warrior code and he had been born to ThunderClan, while Cedarclaw was just a former loner. Things could hardly be easy for him as a traitor to the Clans’ principals, just as others were highly suspicious of Cedar’s intentions and how devoted he truly was to the Clan. He and the gray tom rather matched each other in physique—neither of them possessed the sleek, streamlined contours as the rest of the Clan. They both had broad shoulders and large paws, not to mention thick fur coats that weren’t very water-friendly at all.

Sighing, he resigned himself to spend the next bit of time in the company of the ever-cheerful gray tomcat. Cedarclaw had dismal conversational skills and hated small talk, so he abruptly said, “Here. We’ll share this one and take the other one back to camp.” He nudged the starling he had just dispatched slightly forward and added, “Probably feels more like home than some foul scaly fish.” The brown tabby’s abhorrence of fish was no secret—in fact, the whole forest was probably aware of the fact by now. Well, it never helped to make sure.

Cedar vowed to inform anyone who ever spoke to him of how much he hated fish.

word count // 460+(ish)
ooc comments // late-night post writing isn’t the best method. I should listen to more music while doing it
tags // moli

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[Moli]

At first, Graystripe was sure that Cedarclaw was going to either leave or send him back to camp so he wouldn't "bother him." He wouldn't have been surprised. Being friendly wasn't exactly his strong suit. It used to be Graystripe's, and he was still pretty friendly, but it was easier to be on his own than with other cats as of late. Mistakes were rarely forgiven, especially ones that he had made.

When he offered the prey, Graystripe looked at it critically. "That would be breaking the warrior code. You're on a hunting patrol." He said. Although Cedarclaw was right - a starling would taste a lot better than fish. He couldn't get used to it. It was okay, but he preferred the forest prey over a slimy, slippery fish any day. At least they didn't make him sick anymore. He used to not be able to eat them or tolerate the smell, which was funny, considering that Silverstream had smelled fishy. But she had also smelled of good things, beautiful things. And the direct smell of fish wasn't the same.

[gray]

“That would be breaking the warrior code. You’re on a hunting patrol.”

[/I] Well, look at the high-and-mighty gray warrior, telling Cedarclaw what he could and could not do! That was a huge difference—a rather glaringly huge difference –between him and Graystripe, despite all their many similarities. Unable to rein in his bad temper, Cedarclaw found himself snapping out an insult that he had no business saying. “It’s not as though you haven’t done it before.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the big tabby tom found himself wondering at the complex mix of emotions he felt. He regretted the words a little bit, since Graystripe never treated him as though he carried some awful disease like the rest of the Clan did. At the same time, he was thoroughly satisfied, knowing he had definitely successfully one-upped the gray tomcat. There was a little bit of a feeling of honesty, having spoken the truth and the facts. Then, he felt flat-out irritated. Graystripe hadn’t even asked what he was doing. Then he accused him of being wrong and not following the precious code.

Taking a bite of the starling, chewing, and swallowing before speaking again, Cedar finally said, “Besides, I wasn’t on patrol. I just didn’t want to be in camp, so I decided to make myself useful. This is what I’d have taken if I brought it back anyways. Only you and I would want it anyhow,” he added at the end with a huff. He flicked the tip of his tabby-ringed tail in disdain for the Clan’s food preference. If he had been assigned to a formal hunting patrol, he wouldn’t have taken any for himself despite what anyone would think. He knew the difference between wrong and right—he was no rogue looking after number one and only number one. Just because he didn’t particularly care for Clan life didn’t mean he wouldn’t support the Clan fully while he was here.

It was like, geez, the one time he tried to be friendly (or at least slightly less than aloof, at any rate) he was immediately accused of being dishonorable. The sheer nerve of Clan cats.

word count // 361
ooc comments // out of Cedar muse for the day; casual post here(: and good lord does he ever sound like a crotchety old man in this post!
tags // moli

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[Moli]

The moment the words left the other cat's mouth, Graystripe's ears flattened against his head. A rush of emotions surged through him. First, anger. How dare he bring up Silverstream like that? He had broken the warrior code, yes, but he had done it for reasons that were about more than just hunger. And that brought on the next emotion, sorrow. And with it, guilt. His ears straightened again, and he let out a long sigh.

"I know." He finally mewed softly. Oh StarClan, he knew. He felt back about breaking the warrior code, but he felt worse about losing Silverstream. He wished it hadn't come to that. But it had. And there was nothing he could really do about it. His only chance at a better life was to convince his new Clanmates he could be trusted. If he couldn't do that for himself, at least his kits would be raised like RiverClan cats. No cat would let them forget their half-Clan origins, of course. But they would be RiverClan cats, more than he ever would.

"Thank you. I'm sorry. That was pretty thoughtless of me to say." He bent down and took a bite of the starling, reveling in just how much better it tasted in comparison to the fish back at camp. Even when he had carried them back to camp after hunting today, he couldn't get over the fishy taste.

[gray]

Cedar immediately knew that he had hit a major nerve with the gray tom, but he still didn’t regret the words all that much—maybe just a little. He was no heartless rogue, after all, despite the appearance that the only emotion he ever felt was irritation and impatience. Graystripe sighed a defeated-sounding answer that pricked at him, but he decided to just ignore it. The Clan cat would just have to get over it. At last, the gray tom took a bite of the bird, saying, “Thank you. I’m sorry. That was pretty thoughtless of me to say.”

[/I] Now he was apologizing, even though Cedarclaw had been quite a bit more offensive than Graystripe had—not to mention far more hostile. The tabby tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well,” he huffed, “it’s not like I thought much, either.” Admitting that was hard, saying it out loud was harder, but at least he hadn’t needed to utter the words ‘I’m sorry’. He had only said them once before, and that was to a dead cat. He had whispered the phrase into Poplar’s cold fur when he returned to the Clan. It was hard for the proud brown tabby to say that, and only the deeply devastating death of his beloved sister had ever moved him to say such a thing.

Then, he added, “Anyways, Leopardstar probably thinks it’s too much bother to assign me to patrols anyhow. Since I can’t stand everyone’s fishy smell,” h added as he pulled a face and licked his mouth, enjoying the flavor of more forest-y prey. “I bring in prey, so she lets me be. Usually.” There was still the matter of that patrol by the gorge a little while ago. He certainly had not appreciated that. Then, there was Minnowpaw. He could barely even think of her without his pelt prickling irritably.

So, he just wouldn’t think of her.

word count // 319
ooc comments // none
tags // moli

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[Moli]

Graystripe bent down near him, and took a bite of the bird. He felt a little guilty at first, but the taste of an actual bird, not a fish, was so good. And besides, Cedarclaw said they would bring back more food for the Clan. And he was technically right, since this wasn't an official patrol, they could eat. He took another bite. He would catch more later.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to it. The smell, I mean." Graystripe confessed once he had swallowed. He could never say this to another RiverClan cat, but he felt more comfortable saying it to Cedarclaw. Besides, they were already on the subject. "It's just... weird."

[gray]

Fish really were weird, once you stopped and thought about it. They breathed in water. They had no legs and they wriggled all about, not to mention the reek. How could something that spent all of its time in water smell so terrible? It was good to know someone else shared the same perspective on fish that he did. As he and the gray warrior finished off the bird, Cedarclaw couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of likeness between himself and Graystripe. They weren’t necessarily friends—Cedar hardly had any of those, after all –but there was a certain… camaraderie, a feeling of kindred spirits. The brown tabby felt more at ease with the gray tom now. Despite his obnoxious clinging to that silly warrior code, he was a decent cat and much easier to get along with than the rest of RiverClan—although that may have more to do with their shared outsider status.

Cedar snorted. “The weird smell is one thing—what sort of creature wants to breathe water?” he remarked, turning over that earlier thought in his head. Then, he paused and tilted his head quizzically. “Actually, why does RiverClan really want to be so much like fish? Cats were made for land.” That had always been a question Cedar wanted an answer to, even when he was just a kit with Cypress. Why would any cat want to risk drowning when there was perfectly good land around? He remembered that he had once asked Cypress if Clan cats were crazy. His mother had sighed and hadn’t replied immediately. Once she finally replied, she had told him, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were.”

[/I]

word count // 278
ooc comments // so sorry for the short post, I’m running short on Cedarclaw muse at the moment(:
tags // moli

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