The Farm something in the wind // open

[harefoot]

Harefoot is sitting right outside the barn, his tail wrapped neatly around himself and covering his paws. He's staring into a shallow puddle which had formed after last nights rain, and has yet to sink back into the earth. His own face stares back at him, then distorts as a wind makes gentle ripples in the waters surface. The sight makes him shiver, and he looks away, out over the moorland that stretches out seemingly endlessly in front of them. But he knows that just beyond the last hill, the land slopes down into a valley where a large tree grows. Strange noises have been travelling on the wind, and even stranger smells. Strange cats have long been gathering at the root of the tree, growing in number season by season. Harefoot himself had never gone close, but some of the other's who lived in the barn had seen them in the plains, searching for prey or perhaps something more undefinable– like a home. The big tree was no place for a cat to live, let alone so many of them.

The wind picks up again, coming in from the south and bearing with it an uneasy chill that settles in Harefoot's bones. He shivers, ears flicking off something that isn't there, then looks up at the sky. The clouds are hanging low, growing heavy with rain once more. They should hunt soon, before it comes back and drives all the prey underground.

 

[MUSTARDFLIGHT]

the winds don't lie. when they begin to pick up something, you have to listen. they've noticed the cats in the distance, lingering closer and closer, for reasons unknown. were they here to pluck them off, one by one? mustard doesn't see a reason why, the barncats are a lazy bunch who live off the kindness of mice. the feline notices harefoot pondering intensely by a shallow puddle, and bounds over.

"do you think they're a kind bunch?" they muse outloud, flashing a mouth full of teeth. "it gets quite boring around here."

✸

 

[harefoot]

Harefoot blinks, trying to hide the surprise on his face as someone speaks to him. He'd been too focused on everything else to notice that somebody had joined him at the puddle, and he looks over his shoulder to see Mustard looking at him curiously. He looks back for a few moments, then looks back over the moor in the direction of the big tree. He was never quick to speak, but the other barncats had grown used to this by now.

He considers the question– what sort of cats are they? He's not sure. He knows only what the wind carries, and that is trouble.

"I think," he starts slowly, "that their definition of kindness is probably quite different from ours, and that that would make it hard to judge whether or not they are kind. What one cat finds cruel, another cat may find merciful."

 

[HoneyflowerHoneyflower's icon]

HONEY OF THE HORSEPLACE

She can't help but listen in on the two's conversation from her perch on a hay bale just inside the barn. Honey had seen them too, in the far distance. Some seeming more like walking skeletons than actual cats. Wherever they were from had clearly fallen on hard times and were struggling. More than a few times compassion- or perhaps just gold old fashioned curiosity- tempted her to make her way out to the moors to speak with them. But who knew how friendly the forest cats were or if they would even accept help from anyone. Besides, she was needed here. There was kitsitting to do and mice to catch for those who couldn't.

With a stretch she jumped from the hay bale to pad to the barn door to join the conversation proper. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see what they're like if they ever make it this far out," Honey purred, tucking her fluffy tail around her paws. "I'm sure they're not much different from us, just living a different lifestyle from us."

Even as she said this, she couldn't quite keep her gaze from drifting out to the direction of the moorlands and the forest beyond. She was perfectly happy in the barn, surrounded by friends and family alike. Still- what was it like out there?

SLOW DOWN, JUST BREATHE ——･ﾟ✿​

･ﾟ✿ —— ALL WE HAVE IS ALL WE NEED

 

[harefoot]

Harefoot nods, thoughtful. "I am not so sure that I want to find out, but I suspect at some point we'll have no choice. When the snow starts to fall, hunger will drive the further and further away on the hunt for prey. Once they realise the barn is full of fat mice just waiting to be caught..." his voice drifts off as he stares out over the moor. "On the other hand, they do seem to be caught up in their own world, don't they? Perhaps too caught up to notice what's just a fox-length away. And if the wind continues to blow in from the south, they might never catch the scent of the mice or of other cats. The wind..." his voice drifts off again, and his ears twitch. "Strange things it has been whispering. Strange things indeed."

 

[BUCK]

Dark chocolate ears prick, listening in on the musings down below the tom's cozy spot atop a wooden barrel. There's been a bit of chatter about the strange cats and their presence encroaching upon the nearby woodland. Some felines express concern and worry about the sightings; Buck is intrigued, certainly, but worried? Not in the slightest.

"If they try anything then 'm sure we can give 'em a tussle to remember us by." Buck drawls from above, his tabby striped form splayed openly across the surface of the twoleg structure. He does not bother to move from his position like Honey had. "And if not, then... Maybe we'll have some new friends." The orange-eyed male meows. Either way, it would be nice to have something new happen around here. It wouldn't be long before Buck decided to move on if not. He has never done well in a stagnant environment.

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒

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  — buck / 25 moons / he/him pronouns
  — loner / barncat
  — sh chocolate tabby w/ orange eyes, bite marks on left foreleg, nick in left ear & scratch on right side of lip
  — click for tags

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[LARK]

It was hard to get away from talk in the barn. It howled in the night, cold as wind, sometimes mild gossip, other times cuttingly worried. She found it hard to root her opinions. There was not enough to make them grow, not enough sunlight in the day to shift her focus. All she could fret on was her family, here. That didn't mean her chest didn't ache at the chance to converse with one of the strangers.

"I want to talk to them," she breathed, half-aware she'd voiced it. Lark had questions. Where did they come from? What was their cause for being there? How were they to prepare for the leafbare? She could sense the air prickling static, copper and ozone in her mouth. The skies promised rain, to shake and wobble the figures they watched at the tree in the distance.

 

[harefoot]

Harefoot starts to feel a little anxious, surrounded by all these cats. Thought he knows them well enough, it's... too many cats. He usually kept to himself, hiding in his corner of the barn until somebody stirred him from his thoughts or hunger gnawed at him too loudly for him to hear them. Now, suddenly, four cats were sitting around him. He shakes his body, looking over at the last cat to speak– a pale calico she-cat with ears almost as large as his own. He racks his brain for her name before nodding again.

"Talking... yes. To be sure, talking would be ideal. I do not wish to fight," he licks his chest. True enough, he doesn't want to fight– he also isn't a very good fighter. And the scrappier the cat, the scrappier the fight. "What would you ask them, Lark?"