The Colony One step closer to the edge || Panicking/Dissent

[Frostbite]

Another failed hunt. Was he losing his touch? He had been lucky a few days ago, even if the mouse wasn't much. He'd given it to his family, opting to go without food. To his detriment, obviously, but the thought of waking up one day to see Snowfern or Littleblue not moving because they had starved to death haunts him. He already lost his other kits to a fire, he couldn't bear to lose her. And Snowfern, his dear sister who was soft as a dove, he didn't want to see her suffer either. His family was one in pieces, some of which were either lost or remained to be found.... He couldn't lose the pieces he had.

Fatigue gnawed at him as he dragged his paws back to the clearing, slumping to the ground with a quiet huff. Hunger gnawed at him as if to punish him for his failure. He recalls the conversation he had been part of days ago, of the discontent the others felt at the inaction of Hawthorne and their situation. Was the answer really to just leave? Where would he go? The colony offered protection, it was safer here than out in unfamiliar territory.

But did it matter if there was no food?

"What am I supposed to do....?" He wondered out loud, his claws lightly digging into his head as stress ate away at him like a caterpillar on a leaf. "How can I feed my family like this? Leafbare is right around the corner and at this rate....." He pauses to take a breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. Frost, who was usually stone faced and composed, was shivering and staring at the ground with an expression wrought with worry and doom. He felt so close to losing what he had.

"Maybe leaving really is the answer, if things don't change here....."

But where would he and his family GO?

 

[KARST.]

Sable's public display of disobedience had spread as a flicker of flame on a droughted meadow. From that incendiary burst some days ago were ash and smoke—a wake of bad omens. But Karst, whose inkspill head never lolls low (save to peer into a nook or crevice) hadn't let the worsening conditions drive him to take hasty measures. Something would change. They did not have a choice. What that would entail, however, the black tom could not say. And such is why he keeps his tongue still on the subject, preferring to listen rather than to offer his own input.

All he is certain of is that he won't resist the approaching tide. Whatever shape it takes, Karst will allow it to wash over him. There cannot be neutrality. Neutrality, after all, is a side in itself, and in this situation, it carries an implicit favouring of a status quo that is failing the entire colony.

He hears Frost's mutterings from afar and pivots around, ears splayed out. The two aren't particularly well-acquainted, but Karst understands the toll hunger levies on one who must provide for those in his charge. Approaching the tom, Karst dips his muzzle in a brief nod. "That's the question on every cat's tongue," the shadowy feline notes, his eyes a dark and molten gold in the chilly shade. "Whether to stay and starve, or venture out, and starve in the cold."

A mild chuckle rattles through his throat, his whiskers twitching to the hint of a smile, fangs peeking from his lips as they curl upward. "I know you as a survivor, Frost. Collect yourself, and don't panic. The next step will come." An enigmatic statement, certainly, but one which he appears to put his trust into. Not a lone soul here shall accept suffering with open paws, and although the means of escape differ from one cat to the next, there will undoubtedly be a path to liberation.

 

[shasta !]

○ ○ ○​

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Shasta

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The further the colonists around her dove into despair, the harder it was for Shasta to... (sympathize? pity?) understand their place. The rosetted she-cat had no qualms finding food where she could, holding little standard for what even counted as such. She wondered if it was pride that held them back, or maybe they didn't know it was an option.

"What's wrong with leaving, just for a little bit?" Why hadn't he done it sooner, she would ask, but she's not dumb enough to think it wouldn't provoke claws over her face. No, Shasta tried her best to still hold out some empathy for the hungry bellies surrounding this place. There would come a moment, though, where they would be overcome with their desperation. Maybe they would follow her steps. "I can show you some spots where the kittypets are nice and offer some of their kibble. Or where the tasty twoleg scraps can be found." It wouldn't be enough to feed the toms family, sadly, but if Frost worried so much for his people maybe he would be comfortable sharing it with them all. Or... pick his favorites.

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"Speak" // "Thoughts"​

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[Leopard]

SO LET GO, YEAH LET GO, JUST GET IN

OH, IT'S SO AMAZING HERE

It was not often that Leopard made her presence known to her colonymates, but Frost's lamenting caught her attention all the same and she found her paws moving of their own accord until she stood, then sat, before the tom. It was a story all too familiar to her- though she had only Seal to feed compared to Frost's two. There was a sympathetic hum from the tabby as she curled her tail around herself in a vain effort to hide just how thin she was now.

"You will find a way, Frost. We all will," She gave a nod of acknowledgement to Karst and Shasta. Two cats she hadn't spoken to much, if at all- but wanted to let know she knew and understood both their sentiments. "Hope isn't lost so long as you keep moving. Whatever that may be for you."

She wished that Fray had not fallen ill when he did- were it any other time of year it may not have caused so much chaos. There was a pang of…sympathy? Sadness?- As she recalled being welcomed into the colony, with a Seal barely having opened her young eyes dangling from her maw. Leopard shook the thought away. Lamenting the past served no purpose other than to sour an already bleak atmosphere.

"...Shasta is right. There is food outside of this part of the forest, if one knows where to look." There was a pause, a faint huff of disagreement with the other's suggestion of twolegplace before she canted her head to the side in a point outside their camp. "I've seen rabbits on the moors just outside that twoleg farm, it's a bit far from camp, but..."

Chasing a rabbit down when they were all practically starving like they were was a tall order, but such a catch could possibly feed more than one cat with just one as opposed to several mice.

IT'S ALRIGHT

❀─ ─────'CAUSE THERE'S BEAUTY IN THE BREAKDOWN───── ─❀

•  
• 
  
  
  Leopard
  — Colony Cat
  — She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — A dark grey rosetted tabby with yellow eyes
  #3a7b8e
  
• 
  

 

[Wolf]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN​

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"So many of you colony cats act like there's nothing beyond this place." Wolf acknowledged coolly as he made his way over, his own hunt having left him empty pawed as well. At this point it was sheer curiosity that kept him here observing the turmoil of the group, content in the knowledge that if he ever grew too hungry, that he could simply leave and solve the problem.

Why so many of these cats didn't just do the same was as baffling as it was fascinatingly annoying.

"But the shecats are right. There are moors and forests and twoleg settlements all over the place that have prey to be found-- some of them quite close."

As a nomad himself he was well aware of what the world had to offer, it'd pro's and it's cons, and one constant truth that had never failed him was that there was always somewhere else to go-- even if it wasn't a permanent change.

"Hawthornes followers would prefer you and your family to wait around for him to grieve though, content to hunt the same strip of land to nothing and then bitch about how you're not doing anything to fix the place."

The issue wasn't a lack of prey, the issue was that nobody wanted to leave in order to find it. Cowards, the bunch of them-- either that, or they were too stupid to understand that a short walk out of this place could lead to a whole world of new opportunities.

"To be honest, I'm not sure why none of you have gone to check them out. If it's fear of running into something that might end you, you've already got that here." Because there were definitely dangers out there in what would be unfamiliar territory, but they weren't guaranteed dangers. Not like the growing family that was here, the looming threat of starvation that would break out once the prey was gone entirely.

He wondered if that would be enough to drive them out of this place, or if they'd stubbornly cling to this patch of land until they were all gone.

Wolf would not be joining them for the latter.
​

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

​

 

[KARST.]

Shasta's suggestion is practical. Leopard's is also. There are many ways for a cat to obtain food - many paths, some within the reach of the colony, others beyond. But Karst cannot help but wonder if there is a better way to do things. A method that isn't so... mad. The black tom's mind drifts to an inner dialogue as the other cats converse, and it is only the sound of Wolf's voice that draws him out of it.

His gaze climbs to the meet the chimera, shadowed by his uncertainty. A slow nod is his only response at first, his whiskers twitching thoughtfully at the Wolf's words. "Perhaps," he admits. "A rather... broad way of wording it, but yes, perhaps it's true. We have relied on what's familiar to us for our safety, but it isn't looking so safe right now." Although his stomach growls for sustenance, it's far from a debilitating problem. Not yet. And that's the sting in the tail. That things will spiral worse.

"...There are many paths we can choose to feed, many ideas and proposals, too. All of them should be considered." His amber eyes latch to Frost as his head swerves. "I'm sorry that you're not getting the support you need. You and your family, I mean." Karst shifts his weight as his haunches lower somewhat, allowing him to stretch out on the chilly, brittle grass. "It doesn't have to be this way."

 

[Swaying Willow]

𖧧 "Damn right, it doesn't have to be this way," Swaying Willow enters the conversation with twitched ears and an icicle sharpness to her demeanor. Talking circles about all the options everyone had did little to actually improve their station in any way that mattered. It wasn't that the toms were wrong about their assessments of their (obviously) shitty situation, but the cold and the ever-present bite of hunger gnawing at her gut worn Swaying Willow's patience thin, "Wanderin' off wherever the wind blows you's real easy when ya don't got loved ones depending on you every step of the way. Some of us have to have more consideration for this kinda shit."

She huffs, and the microcrystals that bloom from her breath brings a small face to the forefront of her mind. It had to have been less than a moon ago, that Tussle had discovered that he could breathe fog into the air if it was chilly enough. He'd been real excited, she remembered, but got shy when he realized she'd been watching him. The kid got that bashfulness from his father, she knew. As much as she longed to run off and chase the wind like she had for so much of her youth, she knew that a group provided the kind of safety net for Tussle that she couldn't provide for him on her own.

It ... made sense at the time. But now, seeing how things had shaken out, she couldn't bear the thought that she'd sealed their family's fate to starve here with a bunch of tail-twiddlers. Even as heartbeats passed, the tune Sable sung to his inner circle was starting to sound better to her wind-bitten ears. "Something will have to be done," She decides, more to herself than anyone in specific, "But my family will come out of this alright, and I know yours will too, Frost."

𖧧 NOTHING WRONG WHEN... A SONG ENDS... IN A MINOR KEY...

• ooc:
• 𖧧 swaying willow - founding colony member - fourty four moons - (amab) she/her - mated with towering oak, mother of tussle- a longhaired black and white cat with hazel eyes. athletic and hardy, but dwindling prey has taken a visible toll on her physicality.
  
  - brisk and bold as the first winds of leaf-fall, willow cares not for humming and hawing. a woman of action who doesn't mind getting her paws dirty, and respects anyone with a good head on their shoulders + the willingness to act accordingly.
• penned by eezy

 

[Manzanita]

*+:｡.｡

Manzanita had no true place in this conversation. At the ripe age of six whole moons, she stood far removed from those weathered by lifetimes of knowing - and fearing - hunger. Of death. Although the girl had become somewhat familiar with the dry taste of struggle, finding even the most powerful cat alive, her mother, to be mortal during this strife, she still refused to accept the truth. Manzanita refused to accept that this might just be the new status quo. That this might be the beginning of the end - if not for herself then surely for someone.

Anyone of these cats speaking before her now, struggling to raise their value above the growls of their empty stomachs, could one day...never speak again. It's a concept Manzanita has yet to truly grasp. But she feels it, tickling at the ends of her whiskers, breathing cold fog into the back of her neck. There's a pressure in the air, one that a fantastical tale meant to scare kits into staying in their nests at night couldn't possibly conjure up on it's own.

So she lingers in the outskirts, watching the adults and listening to what they have to say.

Frostbite was the first. Although Manzanita didn't know the man well enough to be properly moved by his shift in demeanor, the palpable fear he exhibited is what ultimately froze her in her steps and made her ears twitch with a wary interest. He speaks chilled fears into the cold air, the steam of his shaky breath doing nothing to alleviate the frost. She feels it in her bones, suddenly - that cold.
It's too cold to be outside, she reflects. She wants to curl up in her nest with Gecko. She doesn't want to be here.

She doesn't want to listen.

Karst speaks wise words into trembling hearts. Although the levity is meant for Frost's ears, Manzanita strains to catch every calming intonation. Collect yourself, don't panic. The next step will come, she clings to the warmth of hope with a shudder in her shoulders. As if there's a world out there where the only two options aren't stay and starve and [/i]leave and starve[/i]. But is 'waiting for the next step' truly something worth putting her faith in? After all, is this hope for something to change not the same as staying and starving?

Shasta answers that question with a pragmatic solution...at the cost of Manzanita's pride. Nose wrinkling, she weighs the red rosette's offer - directed towards her or not - and finds she can't accept an option where she eats out of a two-leg's paw. That's a whole new kind of shiver, and she'd rather not experience it twice. Still...that's quite the volume of pride she has for someone who's yet to properly experience real hunger - true death. Is there any room for pride when one is gasping for scraps?

The existentialism leaves the young girl blinking, her knees weak. Death had always been a distant fairy tale monster, one to pinch her cheeks when she got too imaginative at night...never was it meant to actually push her. Again, she shivers against the cold - how many new ways to tremble will she discover in one afternoon? One conversation? Suddenly, the girl longs for her mother, looking over her shoulder for a chance to escape - a chance to bury her head in her mother's soft touch and forget the brief glimpse into suffering she's forced to bear witness to today.

Leopard speaks of hope, but Wolf rebukes with more pragmatism. Manzanita blinks, nor realizing her eyes had gone misty until she finds them now suddenly clear. Once more, the option is presented before her - stay and starve...or leave and starve. But would leaving truly end in starvation if the chances of finding prey outside Hawthorns' "same strip of land hunted to nothing". She directs her attention, finally, away from the conversation - towards the trees and what could possibly lie behind them.

Even if she squints, she can't see the horizon. There are only shadows between the trunks of her home's familiar flora, creeping and crawling...pinching and pushing...But her tummy growls and her pride whines. Hope, it feels like, is a patch of grass set to die should she sit forever atop it. But outside the bounds of all she's known and grown up with...could she even trust the possibility of change if she's never to fully realize the strength she holds within her uncalloused paws?

The strength she may not have?

Stay and hope...or leave with only trust to guide her?

Fear grips her heart, unsure of the answer.
She'll have to talk to Gecko, surely her mother knows best.

"

SPEECH

"