• Purrgatory is officially open and like many openings we expect to come across a little bit of scuff here and there, thanks for your patience with us and let us know if you find anything or have questions! Why not drop into the Arrival and Farewells channel to say hi!
Threads taking place in the abandoned shipyard.

Smoke

fire & fury ✦
3
1
Nickname
Smoke, Smoky
Pronouns
He/Him
all you have is your
FIRE
─〃
He had not seen a single ship in what felt like moons, since the kits were born he'd found himself lingering near the den he and Willow had made of the derelict fishing shack further up from the shore, still in view of the docks but far enough the wave could not lick their paws when they tread out the cracked opening in the side to leave day and night.
It was hard forcing himself to leave them unattended, often times he and Willow could take turns or leave one of the other kits with them but they needed to learn to hunt and fish as well and he couldn't constantly keep bothering his sister to keep an eye on them; eventually he had to grit his teeth and dart off when they were sleeping, nestled in an old tire with a dusty old blanket dragged across the top to keep them hidden and warm while he crept over crunching sand and dipped his paws in tidepools - searching for any kind of flickering silver fish, crab or clamshell he could get his teeth on.
The kits needed to be fed and as a result, he had to keep himself at the very least mostly sustained to be able to do so. Thank the sea that Duck and Goose were both weaned before Night died, he couldn't imagine having to feed five of them when three were already so much.

Smoke's dark paws carried him along swiftly to the edge of the water, his pelt blending into the shade cast by the dock piers above and he inhaled deeply the rich salty scent of the ocean as he continued to scavenge about. Sometimes crabs would linger beneath the rotted old boards down here, he could flip several and find just enough for his small family and extra for Willow and the older kits, but tonight there is nothing. Every crumbling old plank is crusted with barnacles and sand, nothing more and nothing less. He'd once tried to eat one of the scabby shell-like things, crunching through it from a rock he had found covered and found them to be bitter and inedible - barely any meat worth substance unless you got a particularly fat one. With a dejected snort he turned, tail lashing in irritation - that meant he would need to hop across the stones leading further out into the water to try and fish but it was always a risk with the tide and waves, all it took was one too big, too strong current and a cat was gone in an instant; he'd seen it happen before to an older tom named Gull who hadn't been fast enough to dash out from under the towering water. It had snatched him in the blink of an eye and if Smoke hadn't been watching intently he'd have missed it entirely.
─ & the place you need to reach.
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    Smoke

    — Future RiverClanner (Shipcat)
    — He/Him
    "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
    — Solid black tom w/vitiligo and one orange eye.
    #ff7d46



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