i sing songs until the break of dawn // arrival

[downyfeather]

"No, Tide - It's fine, I'm fine."

They had awoken measures from the shore - far beyond it, even, and Downy had tears in her eyes. She felt foolish, standing before all those cats of the Clans. They were bruised and bloodied, fresh from battle, and Dove looked at her as if she was already a picked over meal. The words traded between them are a lost memory already, but the heartache and pain still resonates. Why she didn't return to the twoleg residence was beyond her - and why her sibling still insisted to her side was beyond that. She was idiotic, following her heart after a molly who couldn't care less about her, regardless of how much she gave. She woke with tears, jostled from upsetting dreams of despair. Tide's low toned voice nudged her to her paws and her own, usually airy and sweet, bites back with agitation.

They begin walking again. For how long they wandered, Downy couldn't tell. The sun has fallen and risen at least once, maybe twice or more. Her stomach rumbles and her claws, only sharpened on the walls of that twoleg den, ache with the mere idea of catching something alive and killing it. It's what she would've done for Dove, isn't it? She would've forgone her cushy life for that she-cat. She did.

The air becomes salty and Downy looks up to the horizon line. She sees massive behemoths on the water, tall and wide, frightening even by her monster-know-how standards. Blue eyes flick to Tide, a morsel of worry breaking through the haze of despondence. She hears the shout of a twoleg, balancing out by one of those water-monsters. Her ears rotate as she prowls closer, almost eager to hop into the strangers arms and be taken away. She watches as they pull back, back, on this thin twig with a string attached to it. One firm yank and something slaps onto the planks. She doesn't recognize it - but her stomach responds. Downy swallows as they unhook the fish from its line and drop it into a bucket. She looks to her sister again, and before the other can stop its sister's wanderlust - she darts away.

She steps onto the dock with a tense jaw, the water underneath unruly. The waves lap at the wooden legs holding the platform upright, though she fears any one of them may cut through the bulk of it. Seaspray drowns her own scent, misting her too-fluffy coat. The twolegs look away and she stalks closer. Downy swallows as she launches towards the bucket, her paws balancing on its edge for only a moment before it tips over, splashing her ocean water and the few fish that've been caught. She scores her teeth into the first scaled beast she can gather and rushes off, listening as the twolegs stand and shout in her direction. One attempts to chase her but slips on a lingering fish-corpse. Downy, with her theft secured, finds Tide back on the shore, far away from the mess she's caused.

The fish is dropped before it. She stares down at its gaping maw, its wide eye, and grimaces. "Do... you think it's safe to eat?" Where does she even start?

 

[willowburn]

(☾) she likes to watch the twolegs sometimes. they come less often now, their pink paws too heavy to snatch fish with the precision willow's fellow felines have. still, sometimes they come crashing down to the docks, sticks in paw, and saunter out onto the icy docks. it's easier to get prey when they're around, that's certain at least. she perches on a fallen log not far from the nearest boardwalk, tail curled neatly around slender paws, waiting an opportunity to strike when the twolegs turn away. it comes sooner than she expects - the yellow furred creatures turn their backs, looking out to the shoreline, and willow darts in, practiced movements allowing her to move unheard and unseen. unseen, that is, until a blue-gray blur shoots in front of her, stopping the smoke in her tracks for fear of crashing into this stranger. "hey!" she yelps in surprise, ears pinning back. a small plush looking molly flashes a paw into the fish-container, tipping it. water splashes out onto the dock, and willow leaps up, a hiss exhaling from her teeth as she feels icy liquid drench her paws. the stranger sinks ivory teeth into a wriggling and flopping fish, and dashes off.

the twolegs turn around quickly, and they begin to yowl, gesturing wildly to the bucket, to the disappearing cat, and then to willow. she hisses, arching her back, and ignores how her stomach rumbles as she flees from the scene. the stranger, whoever she is, has ruined willow's chance at that food. grumbling to herself, the smoke tabby trots down the shore, pausing to flick water from her paws every few steps. the stranger sticks out in the feline's mind as they wander further, and they vaguely go over their personal list of ship-yard dwellers. none that she knows of have such soft, clean looking fur, nor those river-blue eyes, and that thing around the girl's neck - a collar - none of the shipcats wear theirs anymore, if they ever had. a newcomer, willow ponders, or a colony cat back to steal our prey. haven't seen one in a while. vaguely, she hopes it's the former.

pawprints in the snow ahead of her tell her she is on the right track to finding this stranger. a dusting of sweet scent fills the air, and the scarred she-cat stumbles upon the two former kittypets, crouched by the shore. a few fox lengths away, willow halts, watching. the cat with the fish, her fur fluffed against the cold, eyes her prey nervously. a snort exhales from willow's nose, eyebrows raising. "you two never eat a fish before?" she calls, and with this, makes her presence known. "'course it's safe to eat. how'dya think anycat survives out here?" not unfriendly in her speech, she is still guarded, inching closer to the duo as she talks. "though, if you kitties can't handle it, i'd be glad to take it off of your paws." it's bigger than she's seen in a while - she's sure the kits would appreciate such a catch, even if it's been tainted by twoleg, and another cat's jaws. "you two aren't from around her, ay? you lost?"

WITH THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // " #979c88"
• 
• WILLOW ☾ SHE / THEY, SHIP-YARD CAT. 30 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a lithe black smoke feline with ghost striping and leaf green eyes. long smoky fur dashed through with grey and white adorns her frame, sliced across by darker stripes that frame her face and legs. eyes like sage, brilliantly green, gaze with an intelligent look. she is scarred across the bridge of her angular nose.

 

[HAUNTEDTIDE]

Tide watches Downy go with the same steady gaze it always wears, though something sharpens in its expression as she makes her reckless dash toward the twolegs. It does not move to stop her—there is little use in restraint when Downy is already running—but its paws shift, claws pressing into the damp sand as it watches the scene unfold. The twolegs shout, their strange gestures frantic, and one falls, the muffled sound of flesh hitting wet wood. Tide does not flinch. It waits. Downy returns, the prize clutched in her jaws, and Tide flicks an ear as she drops the fish before it. Its gaping mouth and dull eye stare upward, as if still surprised by the cruel hand of fate. The stench of salt and scale drifts between them.

Tide does not answer right away. It studies Downy instead—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fur is still damp from the dock's mist, the uncertainty flickering in her gaze. Even now, even after all she has abandoned, she hesitates at the threshold of survival. It lowers its head and inspects the fish with a sniff, the scent as familiar as the tide itself. "It's food," it states simply. "That is what matters." Before Downy can find another excuse to delay, Tide unsheathes a single claw and drags it through the fish's belly, splitting soft flesh with ease. It hooks out the guts, flicking them aside, then sinks its teeth into the exposed meat. The taste of salt and raw flesh fills its mouth, and it chews methodically, swallowing without a word.

There. Safe enough.

Tide steps back, gesturing with a flick of its tail for Downy to eat. It has no patience for delicacy—not when hunger gnaws at their bellies, not when Downy has already risked herself to bring back this kill. The wild does not wait for hesitation. Either she eats, or she starves. But before Downy can make her choice, another voice cuts through the cold air. Tide's head turns, its eyes landing on the approaching stranger. A lean, smokey feline, sharp in both presence and tone. Tide does not bristle, does not shift, does not move beyond the slow blink of its red-pink eyes as it considers the intruder. "We have eaten fish," it says, voice as even as the sea before a storm. "But not this fish." A distinction. A quiet admission. There is much it does not yet know about this way of life—what is safe, what is poison, what the water here will provide and what it will take. But it will learn. That is what it does.

Its gaze does not waver as the stranger moves closer, a cautious but assessing approach. She is not hostile, not yet, but Tide understands the way her words probe at weakness. The way her eyes flick to the fish with something like hunger, the way she sizes them up. "We are not lost," it answers, because that is also the truth. They may not know the land, may not know the rules of these docks or the names of its hunters, but Tide has never been lost. Not while it is beside Downy. Its tail flicks once, dismissive but not unwelcoming. If the stranger wants something, she will say it. If she means harm, she will act on it. Either way, Tide will be ready.