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AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN
"Moth, come do some scouting with me." called Wolf from where he was loitering near the path up and out of camp, Like his request for a spar with Bone, there was no reason in particular he'd chosen the scrawny looking tom to accompany him, had simply let his ocean and dusk eyes land on the first cat they saw and then called on them. Now that he'd done it though, he didn't regret his decision.
Moth was a cat that was easy to pass judgement on at a glance. He was small and skinny, with thin fur that was never groomed right. Even their pelt betrayed their weakness, sunbleached and speckled with the remnants of fevercoat.
A runt.
Moth was covered in bullseyes flashing arrows that screams 'easy target', the kind of cat that Wolf would have made quick work of on the streets. Their food, their territory, the air they breathed– it would have all belonged to the mottled feline or others like him, those with the means to take, and take, and take. That same part of him– a beastly predator in its own right– didn't regard the younger cat with much interest, but *Wolf* was curious enough to entertain them as a scouting partner.
Marbles fault, he was sure. Ever since he'd met the shecat he'd been engrossed with the idea of a 'middle ground', a space between 'the ideal shadowclan warrior' and 'a useless waste of air and resources'. Moth was far from what he'd consider 'ideal', but it was possible that like Marble, he had his uses elsewhere.
Time to find out.
@Mothbite

loner/future shadowclan - male - a large, monochrome chimera with mismatched eyes and several scars