The black feline gazes around the dwelling known as the Bloodhouse. A small sigh escapes it’s muzzle, ears flicking to pick up the sounds of pawsteps heading in and out, carrying their owners about their business.
New to return home Azazel had busied himself with tottering around and learning as much as he could. What use would he be to his mother if he couldn't even keep up with his siblings? Both older and the same, of course, he'd not fall behind when Waspwing took the stage of leadership.
But, oh my, another rule, indeed, was know who lived inside!
And a new face - only to he who'd been gone on sisters trail - was one to meet.
The young cat with his spindly limbs was quick to meet the similarly black cats eyes. And just as quick, of course, to bound to greet.
"Hello! WHo're you? Where'd you come from?"
Apparently asking question was good, that's what he knew.
Another black tom approaches, firing off questions. Hurricane. And I came from a boring place they call a farm.
//so very sorry i let this slip by!!
Wow, that sounded... like something he didn't know a dang thing about! And Azazel absolutely hated not knowing something that was apparently known enough to be considered boring of all things! How far behind had he slipped? No, no, how horrid!
"What's a farm? I've never heard of it! Is it like Bloodclan?"