Everyone I Know Is An Emotional Wreck (Closed)

After a day of successful hunting, everybody likes to treat themselves. Patchpaw, in particular, liked to treat himself by grabbing a fish and going for a walk. And he did just that. Patchpaw had his fish in his mouth and went for his daily stroll, happily walking through the snow. His shorter-length but still long fur made it very comfortable to do this, and he enjoyed it. He paused by the river to finish off the fish, which he'd been nibbling at. He tossed the bones off into the distance, and noticed someone behind him. He unsheathed his claws. "Hey! Who's there?!" He hissed, fur on end. The last time he fought, he had... Done something bad.

His back was arched now as he let out a hiss, and was a bit frightened as a cat approached him. He was strong and muscular, and had an odd resemblance to him in the body-build. "W-Who are you? Come any closer and I'll rip your pelt off!" He hissed.

~

"G-Good b-battle stance- Y-You're, u-uh, pretty t-threatening. C-Calm down, okay?" Said a deep voice from the figure in front of him. "A...Are you, uh, P-Patchpaw?" He asked, nervously looking around. "Yeah, but who's asking?" Patchpaw growled, swishing his tail from side to side angrily.

Troutstep followed Patchpaw to where ever the young tom was going, making sure his apprentice didn't get in trouble. Maybe this would be a good time to observe his skills, even though he's not supposed to go own alone. The tom hunkered down in a nearby bush and watched. His fur bristled when he saw a strange cat, but he kept silent. What is a rouge doing here? Troutstep started to feel nervous that Patchpaw would be told the truth. Should I intervene while I still have a chance?

"My name is Strike. D-Do you remember me?" He asked, deep voice startling Patchpaw. He thought deep and hard, and he refused to try to go any deeper. "Why should I?" He hissed, fur on end. "Well... If you're Patchpaw, you should remember me, because my mate birthed a Patch and the scent and appearance on you is the same." Patchpaw's eyes widened. "N-No, that's not true. Troutstep is my father. Leave me alone, you sickko!"

Troutstep couldn't help it anymore. He took a deep breath and trotted out of the bush. "Might I ask what you are doing here?" The tom said coolly but was scared the rouge would tell Patchpaw the truth. What if he leaves? One of my only source of happiness will be gone. He dreaded that day.

Patchpaw was surprised at Troutstep's sudden appearance. "Y-Yeah!" He shouted from behind his know known to be adoptive father. He was torn- he was so confused. It... Didn't fit.

~~~

Strike opened his mouth to react but was surprised as a tom came over. He lashed his tail and ran off. No more drama. Please. Come on. I found another but... What will happen now?

Oh no you don't. Troutstep gave a hiss and ran after the strange cat. He soon cought up and tackled him down. I probably just should've let him go. Troutstep stood on top of the tom's back, his claws unsheethed. "Tell me why you are here!" Troutstep visciously growled into his ear.

Strike growled. "T-Trying to find my kits!" He exclaimed, shoving the tom off of him with so much force he knocked him off completely.

This time, he disappeared over a hill, and was impossible to be found.

~~~

Patchpaw stared, unable to believe it. This... This is wrong.

Troutstep gave a loud, feirce, and visious growl as the tom ran away. "Well your kits arn't here!" He yelled though knew it was a lie. "Coward." He huffed turing back to Patchpaw. "Are you ok?" He said softly.

Patchpaw shook, thoughts racing through his mind. Is Troutstep or Strike lying? He was conflicted. "I-I... I'm going to go back to camp..." He said, walking fast towards home. He was extremely nervous and filled with anxiety. Who... What... Who do I believe?

"Patchpaw wait!" Troutstep trotted after him. "Do you know that cat?" He said seriously, standing in front of his son.

"[color:a19f=0099ff]I... I don't know!" He confessed. He remembered... Something. But it didn't quite fit.

OOC- Sorry for shortness