We're Going to be Friends [CLOSED]

Hobblekit lounged just inside the entrance to the medicine cat's den, his green eyes locked absently on the white snow in front of his paws. So far, he had barely recognized a single Clan member from his kithood. The entire Clan seemed just as distant, if not downright unfriendly to him, as he remembered. The only cat that had been kind to him so far was the medicine cat apprentice Featherpaw, but it was kind of part of her job description.

At least he was able to get food here, although he felt terrible about mooching off the Clan's food and not being able to give anything in return. Food was already scarce during Leafbare, they didn't need an extra cat. Especially one as useless as he was. With a sigh, the tortoiseshell tom rested his chin on his paws and gazed out into the clearing, waiting for something to happen to entertain him. He was so bored just lying around the medicine cat's den all day while he recovered.

Limping towards the medicine cat den, Ryecloud shivered under his pelt from the chilly Leaffall air that had invaded the camp's once protective walls. Unlike most cats his age, he was much more prone to being overly sensitive to things that were usually normal, which included the cold weather. Most cats in the clan still hadn't excepted the odd tom and his somewhat slow ways, even though he was a member just like any other cat. But after all the whispers and rumors that he'd heard over the years, he was pretty used to it by now. Well, and the fact that he wasn't very emotional to begin with helped him suppress his thoughts and feelings.

Reaching the den, the grey and white tom wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming stench of herbs as he entered, but his arrival wasn't as peaceful as he'd hoped.

Not paying attention to ground bellow his paws, he hadn't noticed the cat laying in the entrance and tripped over a lump, which sent him to fall face first on the dust earth.

Letting out a hiss of anger at his clumsiness, Ryecloud pushed himself up on his three legs and gave his pelt a shake. Inaudibly mumbling to himself with his ears laying flat on his head and a scowl on his face, he looked around, trying to spot what he'd tripped over. Turning around to the entrance, he spotted a white cat, Hobblekit was it? He was already in enough pain as it was and now he tripped over a cat that still had its kit name?

Not saying a word, he ignored the little tom and turned back to look into the dimly lit den, wondering where Featherpaw was. He needed to get his herbs from her, but the she-cat was nowhere in sight, so maybe she was on a patrol gathering some?

Hobblekit had begun to doze softly, half-hidden in the shadows of the den opening. He was still thin as a rail, his ribs still jutting out from his sides. He was feeling better, though, after returning to the Clan. Featherpaw took good care of him, feeding him often. It would take some time for him to fully recover from his moons of being lost out on the moors, but he was sure he'd get there.

Sometimes the tom would wander slowly around the camp when no one else was around, poking his head curiously into the other dens to see if he recognized anyone. He never did, but the scent of the other cats, his Clan members, was comforting.

He awoke with a startled yowl when something tripped over him, then groaned in pain. His body was still sore. Who in their right mind would trip over a cat, anyway? He wasn't that small. Perhaps his dark gray and orange pelt blended in with the shadows too much. Flattening his ears irritably, he cast a look towards the tom that had fallen over him and curled his tail up closer around himself. "Watch where you're going..." he grumbled, resting his chin on his paws. He continued to watch the cat from the corner of his eyes, though, realizing that he was looking for Featherpaw. "...She went out to look for more herbs, or something. I can pass along a message for you if you want."

It was then that he noticed that the tom was favoring his left hind leg, his paw twisted. His ears pricked forward with interest. That was just like him...Kind of. Hobblekit looked back at the stump that was his own left hind leg and wiggled it gently, looking thoughtful.

Listening to the tom, but not showing that he was paying attention, Ryecloud continued to look around. So, she was gone after all.

"No, M'yle just mait," the crooked jawed cat mumbled. Putting his ragged, limp leg under him, he slowly and awkwardly sat down at near the back of the den, not meeting the stranger's gaze. While his memory wasn't always the greatest, he was at least able to recognize his own clanmates and didn't understand why he wasn't able to remember this cat. Maybe he got brought in from another clan? No... he would've heard everyone talking about it if that was the case.

"Who you," he mewed, barely audible, looking at his paws. Ryecloud was never a very social cat and to anyone, he probably seemed extremely rude, when it was actually just his nature to act this way.

(OOC: So sorry for the wait!)

He watched the other tom sit down in the back, his tail tip flicking absently. Why was he sitting way back there? It wasn't like Hobblekit was going to bite him or anything. He knew all too well the feeling that others were judging you for your appearance, maybe that's why his Clanmate had hidden in the back. He hadn't said anything but he had definitely noticed the other's crooked jaw and lame leg. With a grunt, the tortoiseshell tom heaved himself into a sitting position, ignoring the ache in his muscles. He had to rotate his ears towards Ryecloud in order to hear him, he mumbled when he talked.

"Who am I?" he echoed, his green eyes shining in the semi-dark of the den. It was a little lonely in there without a medicine cat, now that he thought about it...But now he had company, and together they'd wait for Featherpaw to come back.

"You probably don't remember me, no one does...Uh, I'm Hobblekit. I...ran away from the Clan many moons ago, because I couldn't stand how they treated me because of my leg." He wiggled his stump. "I've been out on the moors all this time, and I just got back. So, who are you?"

OOC: you're good. And ak, sorry for the late reply. Guess we're even now ;D

IC: Listening to the so called Hobblekit, the crippled cat found himself confused. A tom who was still named as a kit? And he said that he'd been on the moors this whole time, but why in StarClan's name would a cat leave to wander around on his own? Questions running around his head, Ryecloud snapped back to the present and turned to look at the white cat when he asked who he was. 'Ryecloud, son of Smokepelt, the tom who got demoted from deputy-ship. Just the cat that everyone looks down to and thinks that he's a waste of space,' he wanted to say but kept quiet for a few moments.

"Ryemloud," the grey and white warrior started, trying to say his name to the best of his ability. "Just a mripple genning bin evebon's way," he added and looked down to his paws. There was no need to go into details of why he was lame, for it was pretty obvious. 'Great first impression,' he thought to himself silently.