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Post by sil on May 13, 2012 17:42:21 GMT -5
[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Sore and travel-weary, Quinn had been steadily following the smell of fresh water for several hours. The Snowshoe she-cat had made her way through the thinnest section of the Creeping Woods in her pursuit of the small Twoleg Place beyond the territories of the Clan cats. Quinn knew the stories loners and Warriors alike said about the Creeping Woods; that the spirits of dead cats wandered through the thick undergrowth, and apparitions swam through the dense canopies of trees.
But Quinn didn’t believe in spirits or StarClan or the other mystic things that seemed to set other cats’ fur on end. So what did she have to worry about?
It was spring now—or newleaf, the Clans called it—and that meant rivers and streams were swelling and prey was running plentiful in the territories. Quinn couldn’t risk being caught stealing prey off their land, especially with how volatile the Clans were recently. Springtime also meant good food in human camps. Twolegs had a habit of tossing many good things out –spring cleaning, they called it—and it was all good picking for Quinn.
So the blue-eyed loner had set off to find the tiny Twoleg Place that was supposed to be nearby. By the stories, it was nowhere near the size of the city where she had come from, but humans were the same everywhere.
Quinn pushed her lithe frame through the thinning vegetation of the forest and was surprised when she came across a clearing. A pond of water sparkled a few fox-lengths away, reflecting the tender twilight sky. Quinn padded to the edge and dipped her shoulders to take a few laps. The water was clear and wonderfully icy. When she was satisfied, Quinn retreated back to the edge of the forest. She was distantly aware of the smell of other cats, long stale, but she didn’t want to concern herself with that now. She was in need of some sleep.
Quinn settled down amongst some ferns, pulling her dark tail around and over her nose, so just her eyes and ears poked above. Her tail covered most of her creamy-white underbelly and paws, hopefully enough to keep her hidden from any cat who also came across the night spring.
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 13, 2012 19:15:09 GMT -5
After leaving the twoleg camp, Ismo followed the directions given to him by the housepet Alaska in order to find Warriors and join them in quests of honor. In his haste however, he ran into a sections of woods that quickly became thick with undergrowth. His journey, one which likely would already take some time, now had half a day added to it as he finally broke free of the brush and vines. Ismo hissed in frustration as he began licking and scratching debris from his coat. Normally he only put in a mild effort to keep his fur clean; there's nothing wrong with a bit of dirt. But all of the twigs and burrs that managed to work their way into his thick coat had been driving him crazy!
It took some time to finally rid himself of all the bits and pieces but he sighed deeply as the last burr tugged loose. It was only then that he took in his new surrounding, something which he knew had been a mistake not to handle first. Frustration was no excuse for a laps in safety and his father would have boxed his ears for it. The first thing Ismo noticed was the crisp smell of water and faint scents of cats long departed. He also noticed he was in a clearing bordered by forest and ferns in varying densities. The center of the clearing held the water he had smelled initially and as his eyes fell upon it he realized just how thirsty fighting brush had made him.
The approach to the water's edge was slow and his eyes continuously scanned the edges of the clearing for movement. His paws left only the shallowest of impressions in the mud around the pool as he came to the edge. Once he felt satisfied he was alone, Ismo knelt and dipped his head to the water. He didn't even attempt to keep the tuffs under his chin dry since he had long ago realized it was impossible. But as the cool, refreshing water lapped into his mouth, drop by drop, he picked up a new scent. The smallest of breezes brought a wiff of another cat that he must have missed when he searched the clearing. He froze, his hairs rose ever-so-slightly, and his senses were kicked into high alert.
Water slowly dripped from his chin as Ismo slowly shifted his eyes and head to take another look around the clearing without making any immediately noticable movements in case he had yet to be seen. He barely noticed the odd shape resting at the base of one of the numerous ferns around the clearing. His gaze locked onto the shape, trying to discern its true nature and all his muscles readied for a fight.
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Post by sil on May 13, 2012 19:35:44 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]The sound of swishing and dripping water reached through Quinn’s half-slumber. Brow knitting, the she-cat shifted and tried to ignore the sound, accrediting it to a frog or some other equally annoying, unappetizing nuisance. The swishing stopped but the steady dripping continued. Instincts made the fur along her spine rise. One bright blue eye snapped open.
Directly across from her stood an immense tom cat staring right at her.
Long-trained impulse made her stay perfectly still –perhaps the tom didn’t see her.
That was a ridiculous thought; if he didn’t see or hear her, he had certainly smelled her. Quinn decided to make a move before the other huge cat decided whatever was disturbing him would make a better snack with his drink. Gracefully, Quinn got to her white paws and padded out of the shadows of the forest edge and into the moonlight. As she did so, she let the shiny Twoleg contraptions hanging from her collar tinkle against one another. Quinn played the “helpless kittypet” card rather often. While she hadn’t been in the home of a human in many moons, she found it better for potential opponents to think she wasn’t a danger. She tried to seem as unthreatening as possible, cocking her head to one side as she inspected the tom.
But she could not keep the guardedness out of her eyes.
“Evening, stranger,” she finally greeted, tone neutral.
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 13, 2012 20:38:30 GMT -5
As the she-cat emerged from the ferns he noticed the housepet tags dangling from her neck. How interesting he thought, to meet two housepets in the wild the same day. But this was far too deep into the wilderness for her to be a simple housepet. Ismo needed to be on his guard.
"Hello, my Lady. Do not be afraid, I will not harm you. I must apologize, I did not mean to distrurb your nap. But I must express my curiousity at seeing a housepet deep in the woods."
Ismo raised himself up and away from the water's edge. He kept an eye on the she-cat as he slowly walked around the pool, keeping a respectful distance but making sure here was no water between the two of them.
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Post by sil on May 13, 2012 21:54:30 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Quinn had to contain a mrrow of laughter from escaping at the tom’s reassuring greeting. There were very few things Quinn was afraid of. She was cautious, sure, but in her mind, caution and fear were very different things.
Still… she had never seen a cat quite his size. The Snowshoe noted his large paws, short tail, and tufted ears, and wondered what in his lineage made him look so… feral. The tom’s looks were certainly appealing given the circumstances, she’d give him that much. It was hard to tell his age with his size and his respectful manner of speaking. Most younger non-Clan cats she ran into wouldn’t know respect if it bit their tails.
His desire to close the distance between them unsettled her, but she hid it well. She circled slowly along the edge of the pool, putting some of the pond between the two of them.
“Your apology is accepted,” she meowed. “It was careless of me to be caught so unguarded.” Quinn gestured with her tail to the woods from where Ismo had entered. “I was actually planning on heading toward the TwolegPlace now.”
Quinn immediately cursed under her breath. It was stupid of her to say that. What actual house cat called a human town a “TwolegPlace?” Trying to cover her mistake, she smiled brightly at the tom. “What brings you so close to the Creeping Woods?”
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 13, 2012 22:40:35 GMT -5
Ismo noticed how the she-cat began to move and put distance back between them, so he stopped and sat. Unlike with his last encounter though, he did not allow himself to relax. Something about this stranger made him wary. She wore the mark of a housepet, but it was worn and dirty. Plus, what little he knew of twolegs indicated that the feathers she had in her collar would be dissapproved of. These clues implied she was most definitely no longer what those jingling tags indicated. Regardless, he decided that being honest couldn't hurt.
"Again I must apologize, I am not from these parts and am thus ignorant of the terms used to describe them. I do know that I did indeed come from the twoleg camp though what these woods are called I have no clue."
Ismo paused, thinking he caught a glint of something in the stranger's bright blue eyes. Of course, he then realized looking for signs there was a mistake for he found himself not wantign to look away from them. To make matters worse, those eyes seemed to know this, and refused to release him from their grip. But after a moment, Ismo took control back of his mind, even if his own silver eyes remained fixed on the she-cat's. He was at a disadvantage here, and he had to change that somehow.
"As for why I am wherever I seem to be, well that I can answer. I seek the Warrior clans, for I wish to see which of them it would be best to join. My father told me of their great deeds of honor and courage and it is my dream to add my part to those tales.
"Now, my questions for you if you would be so kind as to answer: Do you know where I can find these clans? What are you called if I may be so bold as to ask? And why, would a former housepet wish to return to them? You appear to have spent many moons away from their company, and I can see no reason you would trade the wilderness for a risk of capture, especially after having tasted the sweet freedom the woods bring you. What urges you back to them?"
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Post by sil on May 13, 2012 23:22:36 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Pleased that the tom stopped moving toward her, Quinn slowed and sat in a dry spot of thin grass. “You’re searching for the Warriors?” she asked incredulously. Her dark chocolate ears flickered in amusement and the she cat chuckled. “I’m not sure what stories you’ve been told about them, but most Warriors have seem to forgotten what honor is. They’re always squabbling, fighting, causing unnecessary bloodshed.” Her eyes narrowed. “It seems half of them don’t even remember the Code they were destined to uphold.”
Quinn stopped her ranting, feeling bad for possibly angering him or hurting his feelings. “But there are still many Clan cats that remember what’s important. Regardless, they’re not very welcoming of outsiders, especially ones that look so, uh…” The she-cat appraised him very slowly. She’d be lying to herself if she thought she wasn’t fascinated by his well-muscled frame and his silvery eyes. His eyes, which he didn’t take off of her for a moment. Quinn felt the skin flush under her fur. “…so different,” she finished.
The strange tom’s next questions didn’t surprise her. “I guess I can’t fool you,” she admitted with a noncommittal shrug. “Humans gave me the name Quinn. Yes, I haven’t lived with a human since I was very young. I’m not from the TwolegPlace in that direction—I’ve never been there—I am simply following the easiest supply of food. The Clan territories will soon be plentiful with prey, but also plentiful with Clan cats. I’d prefer not to get on the wrong side of their claws. They have a hard time distinguishing friend from foe right now. But I care little for freedom,” she lied. “I move to survive.”
Quinn got to her paws in a fluid motion and came a couple of tail-lengths closer. “I’ve shared enough. Now how about you, my strange friend?”
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 14, 2012 0:02:57 GMT -5
As Quinn described the current state of the Warriors, Ismo became confused, then utterly disheartened. Then as what she said digested, he realized a long time has passed since the tales told by his family began and much changes with time. But what could have caused something like what she was describing? His thoughts spun out of control for several moments, but Ismo came to with a start as he noticed Quinn move closer to him and remembered she had asked a question of him and he was being rude with his silence. Though he was unsure how to take her approach.
He cleared his throat, “Forgive me, this news comes as a shock to me but I suppose I should have anticipated something less than the grandeur depicted in my father’s tales. But I am called Ismo, my friend. And I know I look strange. My size is thanks to both my mother and father, but my appearance is solely due to my father who is a wildcat one-hundred percent.” Ismo thought for another moment about the other information Quinn had given about herself. An idea occurred to him that could work out to a great advantage for them both, but it was a bold one. Was it worth the risk? While he pondered this Ismo caught Quinn’s gaze once more, and his decision was made.
“If food and safety are your only worries, then I have proposition you may find intriguing. I am an accomplished hunter thanks to my father’s training and my mother’s intellect. Also, my size is often a deterrent for most wishing conflict but where that fails I promise I am no slouch in a fight. But I like knowledge of these lands and the turmoil that seems to be engulfing it.” Ismo paused to let Quinn digest this, then continued,” So I propose that we travel together, even if it is only for a brief time. I help you hunt and maybe teach you unknown tricks, our chances of running into trouble decrease since our numbers double, and you can tell me what I need to survive and find my way in these territories. I will take no offense if you decline, but I feel this works to our mutual benefit.” As Ismo finished he laid himself down to show he was comfortable in her company and made sure to once again find her blue eyes with his silver.
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Post by sil on May 14, 2012 1:13:10 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Quinn was surprised at how dismayed Ismo was at what she had to say about the Warriors. She felt an unexplainable desire to console him, but kept it to herself. Maybe he was younger than she thought and perhaps that’s why he was so visibly upset.
Then the tom mentioned his father, and it made more sense. “You are a long way from home, my wildcat friend,” she mewed.
Again Quinn was shocked at Ismo’s proposal. She couldn’t argue with his logic. She didn’t want to. Well she should want to… but she didn’t. Alarms should have been ringing in her head, however Quinn could not fathom why she could not bring herself to distrust this Ismo.
“Here’s the thing,” she began, licking a white paw clean as she watched him lay down, “I hunt just fine on my own. Always have. I never needed protection. Frankly, the very idea of it offends me, wildcat,” she meowed sarcastically. Quinn hoped the joke wasn’t lost on this outsider.
“However,” she continued, “I can’t let you go wandering into Clan territory by yourself. While I admit the Warriors aren’t quite as bad as I said they were, there are still a good many that would sooner claw your ears off than hear what you have to say. No matter how noble you are.” Her eyes glittered. “So, I will accompany you to the Clans. I’ll show you where to hunt and shelter in safety, and where you can watch the Warriors for yourself. You can decide what you really desire after that.”
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 14, 2012 1:46:53 GMT -5
Ismo smiled at her sarcasm,”Yes, I am very far indeed and I am honored that you have accepted my offer.” With that he rose and then dropped himself into a deep bow; his head falling low, his left foreleg forward and leaning back as his right pulled back and bent. “I give you my word that I will do all I can to make it so you do not regret this decision.” As he straightened himself, Ismo glanced around the clearing. “And unless you feel otherwise, I suggest we stay here for the night. I am a bit tired from my travels and the unforeseen battle with nature.”
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Post by sil on May 14, 2012 2:21:21 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Quinn held back a hiss at Ismo’s sudden movement; her eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than blue, flinty slits. Her instincts made her react—when fight-or-flight is triggered, Quinn has always been the type of cat to fight—but she was in control enough to settle down quickly.
Mostly, though, it was Ismo’s unexpected bow that calmed the she-cat. Quinn, flattered, emitted a soft, low purr of satisfaction. “Don’t thank me yet, wildcat,” she mewed. “Wait until you see the Clans yourself.”
At his next suggestion, the wariness returned. Her instinctual cautiousness had saved her more times than she could count. But how could she refuse? Ismo had caught her trying to sleep. “Alright,” she agreed after a long moment. “We’ll rest, but not so out in the open. You found me easily enough, let’s go a little farther into the undergrowth. Okay?”
Without waiting, Quinn arched her spine to take a few more laps from the crystalline spring, and then turned back toward the woods, beckoning with her tail. If he followed, she would lead him to a protected thicket of brambles where they could sleep. The Snowshoe knew that traversing through the Creeping Woods was not as productive for Ismo as it was for her, lithe and small as she was. She wanted to wear out the strange wildcat as much as she could, just incase he did decide to turn on her.
Quinn couldn’t make herself truly believe that he would ever do that.
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 14, 2012 3:13:43 GMT -5
Ismo dismissed the hiss as instinct, but made a note to be slower in the future. Quinn purr had him rather satisfied however, and it took quite an effort to keep from purring himself. As she turned from the pool towards the woods he had only recently emerged he withheld a growl of distaste. But they had made a deal, so he took one last drink from the pool himself before grudgingly following Quinn into the thick and clinging brush, noticing with annoyance how much easier a time she had than himself. The realization that this was likely part of her plan did little to soothe him since it either went towards satisfying her odd sense of humor or, a more basic reason that he didn’t want to consider, draining as much of his strength as she could. Nevertheless, Ismo followed as close behind Quinn as he could manage and was glad when they finally found a place to rest.
As sleep began to overtake him, his mind was still full with dreams of grand deeds to come. But this was interrupted by flashes of bloody battles and hordes of snarling foes. Regardless of which of these futures awaited him, Ismo knew he was finally closing in on his goal thanks to the help of the housepet Alaska, and this wildly intriguing she-cat that lay only a few of her tail lengths from him. And with that, he was content and fell asleep purring ever so softly.
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Post by sil on May 14, 2012 10:47:19 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]While the two of them picked their way through the woods, Quinn was watching her escort without making it obvious or turning around. She noted with satisfaction that he was still having difficulties traversing the undergrowth. If necessary, it would make her escape that much easier.
When they found the bramble thicket, Ismo wasted no time getting comfortable and falling asleep. Quinn wondered what made the tom so readily guileless. A part of the she-cat admired his ability to trust others so quickly. For a while, she just kept an eye on him and an ear on their surroundings. The thought of leaving continued to plague her—she could just pad away now, and the strange Warrior-seeker would never know the better. Sleep pulled her down eventually; a long day of travel had brought her here, and would face her again when she awoke.
The Snowshoe slept fitfully for several hours. The ghastly call of a grim bird of prey woke her long before the sun would rise over the treetops. Out of habit, Quinn arched her neck to take inventory of her collar’s collection of feathers. Ismo was still curled up and slumbering a few tail-lengths away. She prodded his flank with a front paw. “Hey, wildcat,” Quinn mewed. “We’re close to Clan territory, and we need to get moving now if we want to avoid running into one of their dawn patrols. Are you fit to hunt?”
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Post by ghostwoodwarrior on May 14, 2012 14:10:49 GMT -5
Nightmares and dreams had warred inside Ismo’s mind all night. When Quinn pawed him awake, it was from a blood soaked field filled demons the like he knew could only exist inside his deepest fears and imagination. He jumped up, hair bristled, pupils dilated and his claws unsheathed from his large paws. Then his situation came back to him and he immediately took control of himself, “I am so sorry, I was having a nightmare I hope I didn’t startle you.”
Ismo stretched and yawned, his large maw filled with white death. He sniffed the air and caught the scent of morning dew on the cool breeze, stifled though it was in these thick woods. “I believe we will be fine. If we encounter any clan members then I am sure we can keep things from getting out of hand. We mean no harm to them, and with your wit I’m sure we can talk ourselves out of any situation.” Ismo flashed Quinn a brief smirk, then stood to his full height, head high, ears set to the sides. ”And I am always ready to hunt, Little One.”
Ismo caught a new scent on the wind, and his smirk grew to a smile. After another sniff just to be sure of his target he bounded into the brush, ignoring the snags and pokes that greeted him, using his size and strength to make a path back towards the clearing. When he estimated he was half way there he stopped and shifted his direction, moving perpendicular to his original course towards thinner undergrowth. As the foliage changed to ferns and he could move without snagging his fur he changed course again back to his original destination, moving slowly and avoiding making a sound larger than a whisper in the wind.
As the clearing came into sight, Ismo slowed to a crawl and very nearly began to as his eyes hunted for what his nose had already detected. And in a spot opposite to where his conversation with Quinn had taken place a large rabbit crouched. Ismo smelled the air once more. The rabbit was a male and nothing smelled wrong about it, so it was likely in good health. This would be a good kill, its size alone made for a good meal since it was just smaller than Quinn. But Ismo was glad he had made his original course change for it had brought him no more than half a dozen strides from his target and nothing was in his way to block him. But his timing still needed to be perfect. The rabbit’s head dipped to the water and his sharp ears picked up the drip of water from its mouth. This was his chance, and he took it. As he launched himself from the ferns he avoided the leaves as much as possible to give his target less of a warning. His strides were wide and fast and his leap was directly on point, landing squarely on the rabbit’s back. His claws dug into its flesh as the bones cracked under his weight and his teeth found the base of its neck and sunk in deep. It was all over in just a few beats of his heart.
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Post by sil on May 14, 2012 14:34:07 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true] | [atrb=width,350,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/Qbg1.png]Quinn felt herself returning the tom’s half-smile before she could stop herself. “Ah… most Clans aren’t fond of talking things out before they pounce, unfortunately. Defending their territory and all.” But the she-cat couldn’t add anything more before Ismo appeared to have caught a scent and then took off into the vegetation.
Quinn’s blue eyes widened a fraction in amusement as the half-wildcat pounded through the undergrowth like one of the human’s machines. Whiskers twitching, Quinn gave chase, careful to keep a safe distance between them and making sure her tags made no noise. She scrabbled on a thick patch of grass when he changed direction abruptly, trying to keep up with him while not interfering.
Ismo moved silently then, pulling himself along as if he’d hunted in these woods his whole life. Quinn was content with watching the muscles ripple under his thick, unusually marked pelt. She turned her head toward the scent of rabbit, and stayed within the shadows as Ismo killed the prey swiftly and cleanly.
“Impressive, wildcat,” she meowed with a sardonic, but playful, tone. Truth was, she was impressed. “The Warriors will quiver in their soft little paws at your hunting prowess.” Quinn approached the tom, smiling lightly. “Let’s take this back into the woods before the scent of fresh kill drags in some unwanted guests, shall we? We’ll eat quickly and make our way toward the Clans.”
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