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    The sun hung low on the horizon, slivers of its light barely holding above the line. Night was upon them. Birds had hushed, and all that was left was the cool night breeze and the hum of the clan winding down for bed. The queens were tucking the kits into their moss nests, apprentices were finishing up late day chores, and the elders had finished their storytelling long ago. It was her favorite time of day.


    Sootbelly was laid out in the clearing, not too far away from the entrance of the warriors' den, with her paws crossed around a half-eaten fish. Little by little, the black and white warrior finished her fish, taking one bite after the other. Soon, all that was left were bones. Thin fish bones to be discarded in the dirt place before she headed to bed. But for now, she opted to continue lying there and reflect on the past few days. There had been one thing that really bothered her. Her clanmates.

    She couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone in her attitude. Well, she was alone. No one seemed mind finding strangers at their border. No one seemed to be concerned with what their intentions may be. Why did they let cats from other clans join? Kittypets? Loners and rogues? Sootbelly knew cats who'd proven themselves, and the younger they were, the less she minded. A kit or apprentice was no threat, just another mouth to feed, but they would grow up here and their loyalty would be cemented. But the older ones? The kittypets who had never known anything but a soft life? The cats from other clans? Did no one else see the danger in that?

    It was always the cats who had not been born here who disliked her for her suspicion. She'd been called cruel and mean, but her actions were in the Warrior Code. Challenge all trespassing cats, she reminded herself. She loved her clan mates, her real clan mates, and she loathed to see them hurt. The she-cat finally got up to throw away the fish bones. I just hope Gladestar knows what's he's doing.


    With a sigh, Sootbelly entered the warriors' den and made her way toward the back, stopping at her moss nest pushed against the wall just past where the oldest of the warriors slept. She began to fluff it up, thinking that she ought to replace the moss tomorrow.

    oaksand )


    Oaksand was one such cat on the list of those to be challenged. Moons ago he had left Windclan with his brother at the end of a gathering, following Riverclan across its stepping stones in hopes for a better life, open hearted and determined to help out the kind new clan mates. Sootbelly had seemed more lenient in her disapproval of them joining - given the chance to show he'd give it all for Riverclan, Oaksand and his brother had delved into clan life. Now an immovable loyal warrior, he can sense himself moving more and more to Sootbellys attitude. Who were they letting in? Would it be another murderer? Some cats had been injured, what's to say they wouldn't bring their perpetrators with them?


    "Evening Sootbelly!" The cream tabby calls cheerfully from his own nest, struggling to keep his muscles form in one comfortable position. His grin is genuine, cast out in the hopes to reel back some companionable nature from Sootbelly. "How did you find the apprentices training today? I thought Featherpaw did really well, even though she only joined recently." The NPC apprentice, he was using to try and find out if her position on new joiners had changed at all.



    I MAY BE DUMB, BUT IM NOT A DWEEB. I'M JUST A SUCKER WITH NO SELF-ESTEEM


    OJ always seemed like the one to make an appearance later than the next guy. The spotted cat began to pad up to where the other two were, offering a warm grin to those around him before settling down. He didn't know what Sootbelly was thinking about, and he sure enough didn't know who featherpaw was. All the tom could do was sit there with a silly smile on his face and wait for them to finish talking ebfore he threw his own two cent in. "Hey there guys!" he said, with a warm tone in his voice, "How are you all?"


    Duskfall

    ● If you want to be strong, learn how to fight alone ●

    Info — Duskfall | Male | Warrior | 68 moons | RiverClan | Interaction: — roleplayed by CaserDilla


    He had watched the younger onyx fae from afar in his position just outside of the warrior's den, his eerie golden optics in a relaxed narrowed expression. Sootbelly was a great warrior, really she was. But, one thing about her bothered Duskfall to no end. Her actions towards newcomers. Sure, the large tom was a little aloof when it came to strangers as well but, he would never treat them different after Gladestar had accepted them into the clan. Berrybounce for instance, was from another clan and he...well, he had a small infatuation with the speckled warrior.


    As Sootbelly would finish off her meal, the feathered warrior would make her way in his direction and emerge into the reeds of the warrior's den. He would stand and stretch his cramped limbs, taking his position behind her to his own nest. Oaksand had spoken with the fae, in his usual upbeat manner. Duskfall felt a small prick of irritation in his side like a thorn in his pelt. The younger tom was optimistic but, sometimes a little too cocky for the older warrior's liking. Maybe it's just my old age, he thought with a humorous grunt. The large tom's ears pricked at the sound of Featherpaw's progress in training, a kit who was not of RiverClan blood. He wanted to know Sootbelly's response as well, so he continued to listen as his golden gaze laid upon the dark fae.


    Another feline walked into the warrior's den, one that Duskfall hadn't had the pleasure of meeting yet. "Hello. I don't believe we've met." The Maine Coon looked to OJ, dipping his dark head to the speckled tom. "I'm Duskfall." He rumbled, his masculine voice a little intimidating on it's own. He managed to give OJ a small, crooked smile but his attention was still on the conversation between Oaksand and Sootbelly.

    THERE'S NOWHERE TO GO BUT DOWN ——— INFORMATION


    A few tentative steps outside the medicine den's entrance, and once again Sinatra is free. Perhaps this is yet another escape attempt, another one of his crude, hopeless plans to leave this place and right where he had been wronged. Sinatra is everything that this Clan's loyal members despise—he's someone who has willingly let blood stain his paws in the past, someone who walks with the darkened gleam of untruth shining clear in his mismatched eyes. He'd been attacked for his misdeeds just recently, disposed of... Surely one day those rogues will catch wind of his name and come after him again to finish the job, just as Oaksand fears. And if they don't... Well. He'll come to them himself.


    But Sinatra knows nothing of RiverClan's loyalty, or of their concerns about fake smiles and knives in the back. He knows nothing about this Clan other than the horrible smell of their herbs, the silver stare of their boss, the dangerous rush of their river; he knows that they give out little feathers, decorate their strange woven nests with shells and other trinkets; he knows that they are nothing but pacifists living in their cute little community, grooming and chatting and exchanging pleasant smiles. Sinatra looks something like a smudge of black ink, effortlessly ruining RiverClan's beautiful watercolor. He's sorely out of place as he takes a few more wobbly steps outside of his prison, poking his way over to the warrior's den where he doesn't belong, vision blurring and doubling together as he looks around himself; his amber gaze settles then upon Sootbelly, Oaksand, OJ and Duskfall, somewhere near the back and away from the cats going to bed. A grouping of these simple river-blood cats... Could he get information out of them, somehow? Maybe they know a way out.


    Sinatra shakily takes a step forward toward the small gathering, pauses for a brief moment, and then without thought he begins his awkward pace forward. It doesn't take long before his paws stumble over one another, and he veers abruptly to the right, tripping against gravity and falling hard onto his shoulder—but he doesn't react to his fall other than to wince, even despite the glares he receives from wary warriors. He deems himself close enough from here to join into their chatter, standing or not, and therefore he stares at them intently from his place on the ground, blowing a brief breath from his dotted nose. "Hello," then speaks the no-name, whiskers pressing forward on only the workable half of his face, before he falls into silence. A shady greeting for a shady face, no?