North — tom, deceased, currently visible, energy high
Another day, another opportunity to stir up some poor, unfortunate soul. In life he wouldn't have been so active with his pranks, but here? He was untouchable. There was no disapproving scowl, no cuffing of his ears. He was able to make his own decisions without worrying what other people thought of what he had done. After all, ghosts were supposed to be scary, right?
North had been scouting the clans for a little while now, using the lake's shoreline to help him preserve his energy while his gaze swept over the various different territories. The borders weren't as opaque as he thought they would have been, as deciduous trees merged from one clan's home to another– with an exception with RiverClan's watery border to their east. But they weren't his focus today.
Tall, dark pines loomed over the pallid tom. His pawsteps made no sound or imprint, but just a glance at the earth told him the soil was almost constantly damp and cool to the touch, soon littered with pine needles that made his pelt feel itchy. When he had been alive, he had avoided these kinds of forests. The sunlight barely touched here from what he recollected– perfect for cats who deemed themselves ShadowClan, he supposed.
It took him a few moments to find the camp, slipping past the laurel shrubs without much thought too it and assessing the members currently out and about.
North hummed lowly, the sound mute to living ears as his gaze flicked to the honeysuckle bush between two mounds of earth. Some squeals from inside informed him of its purpose, and as he approached, the smell of warmth and milk reaffirmed his thoughts.
He poked his head in only to be greeted by the odd sensation of a mother and her kits striding through him at that exact moment.
The tom jumped back, shuddering, casting a glare at the unaware queen before letting his attention once more return to the nursery. Now it seemed like just one kit was left inside, either straggling or just simply relaxing for a bit. The perfect prey for his schemes.
A smirk formed on his frost-tipped maw, easily working his way into the small, insulated space. It was a lot easier to scare someone when they were alone, and unfortunately for him, he keeps forgetting that night is the best time to strike. The morning and evening only brings unwanted attention to his pranks: but a tired cat could easily hallucinate.
But, he digresses.
North stalked to a back corner, well aware that the lonely kit would have noticed if someone had walked in. It almost felt cruel as he leaned over the dilute tortoiseshell's shoulder, lifting a paw and focusing on his presence.
Once he was certain that his body was visible to the living, he would aim a small poke to her flank before offering a quick, "Boo!" — Cliché, but effective in most cases. Besides, he would rather save his other scare-tricks for someone breaking the rules or who needs to get a stick out of their tail-end.
[ooc; WOLFKIT ! — I hope this is okay!]
"Speaking." Attack in underline —