Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
Take you to the grave, I'll ghost
——————————Gravel rested outside of the warrior's den, clear eye shifting over the camp. She hadn't asked, and she hadn't been very hungry either—but that didn't stop an apprentice, some overly eager scrap with floppy ears and sharp teeth, from dropping a limp thing beside her paws.
"Here, try it!" They smiled with all her crooked teeth, nudging the frog toward her more. "It's reaallly good and chewy! You oughtta have your first frog now that you're one of us." One of them? Gravel didn't think she was one of anything. The only reason she'd come to ShadowClan was because her father was there, and even then, she felt he might've wished otherwise. Not to say that she blamed him, a bastard child crawling out of the woodwork like a termite.
Gravelthroat stared at the limp creature—green limbs covered in a tacky film of mucus. It looked like something fished out of a stagnant pond, and smelled no better. She gave the apprentice a nod. That was all they would get. Those beady eyes were still on her even as she dismissed them, waiting expectantly for her to eat. She sighed. Again, she tilted her head down to look at the frog. "Fine." She rasped. "I will try it."
There had been times she and her mother had to make do during scarce leafbares. Gravel supposed that eating any prey was better than starving. If she was going to live in the swamp, she might as well get used to their prey.
She leaned in, teeth grazing the frog's soft underbelly as she dared to take a bite. The molly tore a strip of stringy flesh, and as she chewed, her throat locked. The morsel was cold and rubbery, gnashing between her teeth with resistance. The taste itself was somewhere between mud and swamp water. It surely did not help that her paws were so filthy from treading through the swamp.
Gravel chewed slowly, the foulness lingering in her mouth far more palpable than the thought of swallowing it. After an eternity of chewing, she forced it down—mush sliding down her scarred throat, neck bobbing as she fought to keep it there. They actually enjoyed eating these?
"Here, try it!" They smiled with all her crooked teeth, nudging the frog toward her more. "It's reaallly good and chewy! You oughtta have your first frog now that you're one of us." One of them? Gravel didn't think she was one of anything. The only reason she'd come to ShadowClan was because her father was there, and even then, she felt he might've wished otherwise. Not to say that she blamed him, a bastard child crawling out of the woodwork like a termite.
Gravelthroat stared at the limp creature—green limbs covered in a tacky film of mucus. It looked like something fished out of a stagnant pond, and smelled no better. She gave the apprentice a nod. That was all they would get. Those beady eyes were still on her even as she dismissed them, waiting expectantly for her to eat. She sighed. Again, she tilted her head down to look at the frog. "Fine." She rasped. "I will try it."
There had been times she and her mother had to make do during scarce leafbares. Gravel supposed that eating any prey was better than starving. If she was going to live in the swamp, she might as well get used to their prey.
She leaned in, teeth grazing the frog's soft underbelly as she dared to take a bite. The molly tore a strip of stringy flesh, and as she chewed, her throat locked. The morsel was cold and rubbery, gnashing between her teeth with resistance. The taste itself was somewhere between mud and swamp water. It surely did not help that her paws were so filthy from treading through the swamp.
Gravel chewed slowly, the foulness lingering in her mouth far more palpable than the thought of swallowing it. After an eternity of chewing, she forced it down—mush sliding down her scarred throat, neck bobbing as she fought to keep it there. They actually enjoyed eating these?
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I know I can be so cold
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