Prompt Territory 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 ☞ [ 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒔... ]

[GROTTOWATCHER.]

{$title} PROMPT: the wind may be awfully loud, but your character swears they can hear the cries of another cat in the distance. do they try to listen?

ShadowClan has learned quickly the ferocity with which Leaf-bare strikes at the pocosin. A quiet breath of snowfall will twist into a shriek of rainfall in a day's span, then snap into sleet not long thereafter. What rainwater pools will swell around the knolls that litter their new land, only to freeze over should temperatures plummet anew. The territory is changing day in and day out, as if to protest their intrusion upon it, and keep them forever scrambling for comfortable living. Hunting is laborious. Sight-lines are dreadfully impeded, and on the windiest days, any sound less than a yowl is drowned by a swirling, howling gale.

Or, at least, such is the truth Grottowatcher holds onto. That it's the wind he is hearing. Shrill and jarring, torn and gnawing at his eardrums. A shudder elicits from him in its wake, which jitters his pelt about his flanks—the very same reflex he would have on receiving a scolding hiss, or hearing another cat's plea for help. What direction was that from, exactly? Wiry fur prickles to attention, and the tom warily eyes his surroundings, hoping to glimpse a patrolmate somewhere nearby.

Alas, none.

For the briefest of seconds, panic shatters through his gentle countenance. What he'd taken as the wind initially has gained all-too-familiar qualities; tonal anguish that peaks in frequency, a mournful quaver and an achingly rapid pitch. The undeniable feeling of another presence lost out here in the swamp accompanies it, prompting Grottowatcher to speak aloud. "H-hello—?" he offers, staring hard against the wintry fog. "Is anybody out here? Are you hurt?"

His teeth clench shut, nibbling fretfully upon his tongue. When his breath flutters to a halt, not even a crinkle of branches answers him in return.

 

[Nettlefrost]

┍

"Just me." His voice cuts out over the shrieking wind that threatens to steal his breath away. Nettlefrost steps clear of the shadows, sightless eyes glowing in the undergrowth which had previously shrouded him. The warrior had been separated from his patrol during a hunt, and was taking the time to learn more of the territory as a result. After all, why not turn an accident into an opportunity to further his own knowledge? But the moment he had scented another cat nearby, the warrior had shifted course, much like the gales which howled through the marsh pines. He had stalked after Grottowatcher for some time, using the wind to hide his presence as best he could. He had no intentions of harming or scaring his clan-mate, though. It had simply been a spot of opportunistic practice for the blind tom.

"What's got you so on edge?" The tension in the other's voice was evident enough. I must not have been as stealthy as I thought I was, the warrior sighs to himself in bitter thought. The fog swirls around his large frame as Nettlefrost steps closer, ears pricked and alert.

‎┙

 

[SABLESTAR]

The harsh winds had picked up in quick succession, biting at the sensitive leather of his nose and ears. Sablestar had taken to finding whatever salvageable coverage he could to shield himself from it's nasty nipping, the time useless to hunt in as the directions flowed which way and that. It was unsatisfying, being sent to simply wait for the weather to pass in order to continue his intent to hunt again and he struggled to keep still when paws itched to sink back into the wind-hardened mud.

Grottowatcher's voice carried on the breeze, but the leader was ignorant to any other noise that caused the tom to speak out at all. His curiosity drew him closer, looking between him and Nettlefrost in his approach. "You two alright?" The bridge of his nose knitted in confusion for what looked like a typical, unharmed duo, and waited for the darker tom to answer Nettlefrost's question. Had the wind brought some sort of predator scent with it?

this heart beats cold like the devil his own

• "mew"
• 

  SABLESTAR— he/him ･fifty-four moons ･leader; shadowclan ･penned by gonkpilled

  a black and white tuxedo with dark amber eyes

 

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 27 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ orange eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz is here not for patrol, nor for idle curiosity, but because the land itself demands observation. Leaf-bare does not simply arrive in the pocosin—it thrashes, it writhes, it changes form like a creature unsettled in its own skin. Snow turns to rain turns to sleet, and the healer watches it all with steady, unblinking eyes, as though willing the shifting world to reveal its secrets.The wind screams, slicing through the pines and carrying with it the uncertain voices of others. Cicadabuzz does not rush—panic is a wasted effort—but their course redirects toward the sound, paws sinking into the half-frozen muck without hesitation. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and old ice, but beneath it, they catch something else: the sharp tang of unease.

Grottowatcher stands stiff in the fog, his fur bristled, his breath uneven. Nettlefrost's form is half-lost in the shifting mist, his blind gaze eerily calm, while Sablestar's presence looms, sharp with unspoken questions. The tension here is not yet danger, but it is something—an undercurrent of apprehension Cicadabuzz can taste like iron on their tongue. They step forward with their usual measured pace, letting the brittle reeds crack beneath them to make their presence known. No need for dramatics. The wind provides enough of that. "Have you seen a ghost?" they remark, their voice low and flat despite the hint of a joke, unaffected by the howling gale that seeks to steal away sound. Their eyes settle on Grottowatcher first, unreadable, then flick briefly to Nettlefrost before settling at last on Sablestar. "What happened?" There is no coddling in their tone, nor any indulgence in unnecessary pleasantries. If there is something lurking in this storm, whether predator or specter of the mind, Cicadabuzz will help to uncover it.