The Colony Nothing's ever built to last - open

[Frostbite]

The afternoon was pleasant enough, the autumn chill in the air was nothing to one with such a thick coat. Leaf-fall would be his favorite season, if only for the beauty it brings in the trees. The air was crisp and cool, but he could not say he enjoyed the scents. So many scents intermingled, each belonging to a cat in the clearing beneath the grand oak that towered over them all. Too many cats, if you asked him. Frost was never one for socialization, and he still has not adjusted completely to living amongst so many cats. But he was part of this colony now. Its problems were his problems. They were supposed to care for each other. Frost often found he had difficulty opening his heart to anyone other than his family. Many cats were starving and Fray was deathly ill in his den.... And he had to wonder what would become of this colony. Yet...Not once was he able to bring himself to genuinely care for a majority of cats here. Often he wondered if he was broken.

Frost wasn't one for politics. Nor did he entirely know how colonies conducted themselves. With Fray in such poor condition, who was supposed to be in charge? Who would lead after him? Frost has never lived in a colony before, and up until now, he has learned how cats live amongst themselves through observation. Often times he regrets coming down from the mountain. It was hard living there, but it was familiar. Down here in this forest, surrounded by so many cats suddenly... Was overwhelming. It made him realize just how little he knows about how his own species lives amongst each other.

And the tension brewing didn't ease his worries.

It was all such a huge pain in the ass. The season is getting colder, do they really have time for this? At this rate, many cats will starve. He worries for his family, mostly. Developing a connection to another cat was difficult enough, but for his family, he cared deeply. And with the way things were going.... Well, he'll do what he has to so they make it through the cold season.

"It's going to be a long season." He spoke to himself as he watched cats mill about. "I do have to wonder.... How our leadership situation will affect it."

Who's here now that will be gone before leafbare ends? It's a morbid thought, but with the state of things....He has to wonder.​

 

[Quell]

Fray's position is compromised in his current state, and that is putting it lightly. Their leader - the core of the colony's foundation - is now a liability. Locked in a miserable and sickly struggle against a wasting illness, he has been rendered all but immobile, trapped inside the confining walls of his den. He is useless now. Fear grips the colony's cats. Scepticism, too. Neither are budging under Hawthorne's clumsy handling. A rapid shift in the colony's command is the only way they'll keep ahead of the mounting distension. Dissent feels to be a mere heartbeat away, and the stench of rot in the air grows stronger.

Their collective is brittle. The bones of it are too thin to support the full weight of their current predicament—nevermind how thin they'll all become when the nights start to stretch longer than the days. Winter's breath has already descended upon the forest. Every morning sees grass blades tipped with frost, and every day passes in a chilly breeze that strips leaves from the trees. Their warmth won't hold out forever. There's little of it to be spared, anyway.

Quell's eyes were narrow. Hard and assessing, their stare fixed on the snow-white tom who'd taken to loitering nearby. Idle paws and an idle mind is the reason behind the colony's demise. Frost's prattling only proves how bad the decay has gotten. "It's shaping up to be a short season for most of us," the feline replied. Their tail-tip flickered, and their voice dropped in pitch. "There's much to do, and little time left to see to it." They gestured their chin towards the mouth of Fray's den.

A sour twist of their mouth warped their otherwise plain expression, laying bare the ire that had coiled itself around their thoughts. "At least we find the time to gather, gossip, and bicker instead of pooling our efforts to make sure we survive." Though dry and critical, the tone lacked any indication of Quell's feelings towards their current situation. Frustrated? No. Dismayed? Hardly.

Their survival hinges on the competence of the rest of the colony. Quell will not allow their peers to drag them down, and will take no responsibility for the failures of others. So, it's with a certain, strange detachment that they speak, neither cynical nor hopeful about their situation. In their eyes, it's simple cause and effect.

 

[Hum]

"Oh, I'm sure a little prattle now and again won't hurt us beyond help," Hum murmured as he sidled into the conversation, glancing between Quell and Frost. He wasn't taking a side one way or the other, but Quell was doing an awful lot of talking himself for someone who seemed so stoutly against the idle nature of it. "If we all get out into that forest and start marching about, it'll scare everything away. Best that we let the prey get a false sense of security, wouldn't you say?" It was a half-hearted attempt at placating both parties.

Hum knew that there was tension a-rising within the Colony, with sickness sure to take Fray's life before the end of the season - and then it was all a matter of who would lead in his place; his son proper or... perhaps someone else.

"Tell me, Quell, you're not the least bit curious or speculative of who might fill Fray's pawsteps?" He mused, teasing the older tom. Hum himself, he wasn't sure he was all onboard with the idea of Fray's son taking over the colony - not for lack of attributes and ability, but rather for the precedent it might set for future generations. Were they all to be ruled over by a single family for as long as they lived?

despiertan hermanos! ᓚ₍ ^. ̫ .^₎ que la mensajera ha llegado.

• OOC .ᐟ
• HUM .ᐟ HE/SHE, SHADOWCLAN
  .ᐟ peaceful + healing powerplay permitted.
  .ᐟ penned by Archivist - .archivist Discord.

​

 

[NYX]

fray will recover… she hopes, as hunger digs into her ribs. the colony has survived generations before, how could this be any different? tensions are a-rising, as hum mindlessly points out, as quell, frost, and everyone. emotions curl around blades of grass, the beginnings of frost sharpening them into fine points.

conflict doesn't sit well for the older molly. this song and dance happens every leafbare, and frankly, she's dreading it. she doesn't like how frost is clearly itching for a debate, and quell helping scratch that itch— or making it worse. nyx's face presses into a thin line, and her tail-tip twitches uncomfortably. "i think it's inappropriate to speculate… he's still breathing." barley. she bites the inside of her cheek.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

 

[Quell]

Hum puts forward the proposition as though the idea were scandalous, and in his tone of voice, a dash of mockery is evident. There was no secret or conspiracy in discussing the inevitable—but the question itself hinges on the feline's interest in the matter. Does Quell have any? To which, the silver-pelted feline can hurl a solitary answer in swift reply. "No."

Not even a little, they want to say, if only to drive the point home. Quell has no personal stake in the outcome of the clan's power dynamic. What looms largest in their mind is surviving this Leaf-bare, which has a tangible value and purpose. Who leads the colony is of lesser import, and Quell's trust is thin enough that the choice matters little to them in the long-run. A leader will not decide their fate. Their own four paws are the deciding factor.

A slight crease formed in their brow at Nyx's admonishing. There is something that resembles pity in their eyes. "Breathing, but useless," Quell responds. "Our lives shouldn't be left hanging on the hope that he will make a miraculous recovery. We should've moved on by now. The longer we let his son linger in a state of inaction, the worse we will all suffer for it."

They leave the implications unsaid, but their thoughts turn to Fray's son: Hawthorne is no doubt aware of how precarious his position is, and how readily he could be ousted from his place of power. What a dilemma he faced. Either usurp his father, stake his claim early on, and cement his hold over the colony... or do nothing, risk dissent from his peers, have someone else step up, and lose everything in one fell swoop. Such a tough spot to be in, truly. That he seems so content letting the latter happen is a bit baffling, but hey, if that's what he wants to do...