The cinnamon tom trudged behind Cheddarspark, always unable to take the high and mighty speech of the prissy little feline seriously. But there was a reason Gingerbread begrudgingly agreed to the Warriorclan, to protect these softie cats who thought themselves strong enough to face real strays.
He rolled his eyes a little, trundling along slower than he liked; the uneven terrain was still a pain in his ass to handle, but he managed as well as he could. It was unlikely anything awry would happen today; nothing ever seemed to.
But, like the tom manifested it to existence, the bitter scent of strangers hit Gingerbread, and he narrowed mismatched eyes as scraggly, thin-looking cats came to view. His fur stood on end, looking back at Cheddar with a teasing sneer, narrowing tired eyes.
"Aye now feller, ain't no need ta' get prickly with 's, ya' hear?" He took a step closer, voice low and gravelly as it often was, but lacked his usual relaxed charm. He had known the feral life, one day so long ago, weary claws hadn't seen bloodshed in a long time.
And, honestly, he didn't want to change that.
"We ain't here fer trouble, right?" He looked to the patrol, ear flicking, he'd signed up for this to protect them, but he
really wasn't prepared for a fight.
"Who even 're y'all, knew there's strays out here, but ya'll seem... Organised."
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Gingerbread
✦—Warriorclan Tussler | 44 moons
✦—He/Him
✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
✦—A large, cinnamon tortie with mismatched blue and green eyes, missing a back leg and wearing a green kittypet collar.
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