No Angels. [Ratfur/Sootmask/OPEN] Dec 29, 2015 0:10:27 GMT -5
Post by Insidious on Dec 29, 2015 0:10:27 GMT -5
He was the embodiment of nothingness, and yet he patrolled the border with a strictness, a firmness, that conveyed he was not without concern. He felt strongly about his clan and, sometimes, it was convincing that he cared about his clanmates, too. On some level he did. The number of bodies, after all, was directly related to the clan's success. He would keep them safe as he was able, of that he was certain. Ratfur - he didn't need to turn to know that the tom was behind him - wouldn't need to experience so much as an inflation in heartbeat while in Dimgaze's presence; if they happened upon a TreeClan patrol, he would take care of everything.
He could smell them, which was the only reason he was taking the likelihood of an encounter into consideration. He wanted to be prepared for the worst but would, of course, maintain peace if their neighbours didn't opt instead for fury. Wishing not to disturb the silence, Dimgaze acknowledged the thick TreeClan scent with the slice of his tail through the air, intending to reprimand any sounds from his clanmates without so much as a glance.
Dimgaze paused, then, examining the border with careful precision. He could've sworn that he saw signs of movement behind the concealment of shrubbery. It would be a waste of his time, as well as his clanmates' time, to wait for the TreeClan patrol to reveal themselves by their own doing. He would address them first, make them aware of his closeness, of Ratfur's, and would move forward from there in dependence on how they responded. "Greetings, TreeClan warriors." He spoke dryly, unenthusiastically, apathetically, as though he was discussing the weather and not balancing the delicate, unpleasant relationship between NightClan and TreeClan on the words off his tongue. He was uncannily still, the snowfall casting the undertones of his fur into that of an appealing silver; his eyes, unblinking, soulless and colourless, accounted for the number of bodies that approached from the other side of the border. "I assume all is well?" NightClan was in something of a dire situation, but he wouldn't make light of their temporary weakness.
Neither would his clanmates. He assured himself of this by looking at them. Ratfur's eyes were something he intended to hold, a silent warning, a hasty affirmation; in time for the Gathering all would be well, all would be as it was meant to be again, and their clan affairs were of no business of TreeClan's.