Post by Jos on Dec 4, 2021 22:39:45 GMT -5
Burr from Tall Grass was generally a shy cat, especially when his brother Buzz of Swarming Locusts, wasn’t around. Since becoming fully fledged Prey Hunters the two brothers had more time to spend together, but Buzz was more of a social butterfly and Burr preferred more quiet situations. A sort of one-on-one time with the cats he chose to be around. That was with the Tribe only. Now that the other clans were sheltering with them in their cave, it was even harder to get some quality quiet time. Burr had to learn to be a little more social.
The clans were interesting. Different from the Tribe of course, but although differences weren’t always bad, they weren’t always good either. Clan cats were prone to making cliques. When they first arrived, the clan cats would only hang out in their own groups, sheltering in four distinct corners of the cave. There were a few times where it seemed as though cats from the clans were going to start a fight over some trivial matter or another. Burr didn’t quite understand it because, to him, they were all the same. He had wrongly identified a clan cat more times than he’d cared to admit, and apparently being mistaken for the wrong clan was very insulting. Now he didn’t even try. The clans did seem to be working together a bit better now though, which was good, because it was a pain in the tail getting all of them to cooperate for hunts.
Burr from Tall Grass was chatting with a group of clan cats. A tabby she-cat named Stoatclaw, a black she-cat named Ravenfrost, and a tuxedo tom named Whitethorn. “…and the tom said ‘that’s not a badger, that’s my mate!’” The clan cats all chuckled. Burr had learned that no one really told jokes in the clans. Maybe that was why they were always so angry with each other? “Oh, I was supposed to ask: does anyone want to go for a hunt?”
The two she-cats shook their heads, “We've just gotten back from one.” Said Ravenfrost, “But Whitethorn, you haven’t been out yet have you?”
“Starclan, no! It is much too cold up here for the dawn patrol. I was waiting for the sun to come out.” Whitethorn scoffed.
Burr purred, “Perfect! I’ll see if another cat wants to join.” He looked around the cave for a cave-guard. You always needed one when you went for a hunt. He caught sight of the stocky brown tabby tom, Strut of Ring Necked Rooster, and trotted over to him with his tail held high.
“Greetings, Rooster! Would you like to go on a hunt with Whitethorn and I? I was thinking we could hunt around Boulder Slope.”
Fawn
The clans were interesting. Different from the Tribe of course, but although differences weren’t always bad, they weren’t always good either. Clan cats were prone to making cliques. When they first arrived, the clan cats would only hang out in their own groups, sheltering in four distinct corners of the cave. There were a few times where it seemed as though cats from the clans were going to start a fight over some trivial matter or another. Burr didn’t quite understand it because, to him, they were all the same. He had wrongly identified a clan cat more times than he’d cared to admit, and apparently being mistaken for the wrong clan was very insulting. Now he didn’t even try. The clans did seem to be working together a bit better now though, which was good, because it was a pain in the tail getting all of them to cooperate for hunts.
Burr from Tall Grass was chatting with a group of clan cats. A tabby she-cat named Stoatclaw, a black she-cat named Ravenfrost, and a tuxedo tom named Whitethorn. “…and the tom said ‘that’s not a badger, that’s my mate!’” The clan cats all chuckled. Burr had learned that no one really told jokes in the clans. Maybe that was why they were always so angry with each other? “Oh, I was supposed to ask: does anyone want to go for a hunt?”
The two she-cats shook their heads, “We've just gotten back from one.” Said Ravenfrost, “But Whitethorn, you haven’t been out yet have you?”
“Starclan, no! It is much too cold up here for the dawn patrol. I was waiting for the sun to come out.” Whitethorn scoffed.
Burr purred, “Perfect! I’ll see if another cat wants to join.” He looked around the cave for a cave-guard. You always needed one when you went for a hunt. He caught sight of the stocky brown tabby tom, Strut of Ring Necked Rooster, and trotted over to him with his tail held high.
“Greetings, Rooster! Would you like to go on a hunt with Whitethorn and I? I was thinking we could hunt around Boulder Slope.”
Fawn
