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Birchfawn watched Twilightstar leap down beside him. He noticed some of the barn cats increasing hostility while some attempted to defuse the situation. He was ready however, at the slightest agreement of battle, to leap for a cat and bowl them over - however he kept his cool, eyes staying on all the barn cats. "Moorsong is right." He mewed to the barn cats. "I pity that you were taken from your home, but we have a much larger group of cats to care for - as well as young and old - to feed once the weather becomes cold and prey goes to ground." He really did pity them deeply, but he couldn't let that pity get in the way of what his clan needed. They always came first.
Birchfawn watched Twilightstar leap down beside him. He noticed some of the barn cats increasing hostility while some attempted to defuse the situation. He was ready however, at the slightest agreement of battle, to leap for a cat and bowl them over - however he kept his cool, eyes staying on all the barn cats. "Moorsong is right." He mewed to the barn cats. "I pity that you were taken from your home, but we have a much larger group of cats to care for - as well as young and old - to feed once the weather becomes cold and prey goes to ground." He really did pity them deeply, but he couldn't let that pity get in the way of what his clan needed. They always came first.
Wolf nodded thoughtfully at the tom's response.
"Perhaps we could come to an agreement. I would be willing to help you get rid of the no-furs, without severely injuring them, of course, and you would allow ourselves to prove we belong here. " He said, swishing his tail.
"Nnnnno, it's actually impossible to dog-hunt. In a very serious, fundamental way, even. Five cats, ten cats, plans or no plans, traps or no traps, wouldn't matter. It'd be like catching the sun, you know? Dogs are just different like that. So, I'm...essentially...here to keep you from wasting your time. Aren't I such a good helper?"
Really she just wants to do everything in her power to curb any thoughts of dog-catching, even in jest, in addition to staying where it's the safest. Whiterabbit's bravery has one hard limit and evidently it is roaming these hills someplace. All the more reason for that barn to go.
Stupid dog. Making it impossible to go see fun stuff. Ugh, they ruin everything.
Whiterabbit shakes herself, flinging the bad thoughts away like dust in her fur. She'll go crazy if she has to sit and think about what she's missing out on right now and why, so she grits her teeth and pours her focus into anything else that can hold it. Wind in the grass, light in the sky, soil between her toes, Lightningstorm hasn't eaten today—hey. Hey?
Whiterabbit makes a face, looking up from the ground that she's started picking at to see the medicine cat looking away and, she could swear, looking almost sheepish. What the heck. Whiterabbit's never considered herself the fussy, nurturing kind and—stars willing—that'll never change, but she'd like to think she's got some brains rattling around under her ears. Even if she doesn't, it doesn't take a genius to spot a problem so obvious as The Designated Herbsy-Healy Cat Doesn't(??) Eat(???). And she's still got to wonder: who fixes that?
Maybe she's making issues up in her head. Maybe she is. Maybe Lightningstorm is just a naturally-super-bony animal and not getting to eat today was a one-off fluke borne of these wildly unusual times. But. How embarrassing. Would it be. If their sole remaining medicine cat up and died one day. Because she hadn't been fed? The force of Whiterabbit's sudden cringe is bone-deep.
So, sure. Maybe this is all because the times are rough and everything's weird. Admittedly, and without any true remorse, Whiterabbit hadn't been paying attention to Lightningstorm back before all of The Obstacles. But she does, indeed, have just enough brains under those ears to know that drawing quiet conclusions and not doing anything means—well—nothing will be done.
"Yeeeeah, here's hoping it's all going over smoothly. If anything, those '''barn''' cats should really be paying up with a daily tribute to save us the trouble...but I don't mind getting in there and just taking what we're owed. You know, provided it's safe." And dogless. Stars, that'll be an issue. Whiterabbit stares off after where the patrol had gone before jumping directly into her next question so that she doesn't have time to catastrophize about any impending dog encounters: "Say! Should we be sending our apprentices to feed you?"
Re: Windy Hills
