make the most of it [open]

Eveningmoon paced as best he could, limping as usual with a bitter scowl on his face. How could he let himself get taken by Twolegs? He was supposed to be a strong ThunderClan warrior. What would Mottlestar think? Growling to himself, he turned to see a group of gathered cats talking quietly. Two smelled definitely of Clan cats, although with all the jumbled scents in the room, he couldn't quite tell from which. He knew they weren't ThunderClan, though. The other...an outsider. Instinctively he bristled, but once he thought about it logically... They were all in this dump together. In-fighting between them would do them no good.

The tuxedo tom limped over to join the conversation. "Hey, couldn't help but hear talk of Clans. Eveningmoon, from ThunderClan." He nodded towards the other cats, his gaze lingering on Poppy just for a moment. Piercing blue eyes trailed down ot the bandage on the apprentice's leg. With a wistful smile, he lifted his own scarred, lame leg. "Hey, we're twins!"

ooc: notes go here

Rowanpaw

The trip from Fourtrees was a blur, as was... however much time had passed. Rowanpaw wasn't sure if it had even been a day yet, or if it had been multiple, or if seasons and seasons of his life had slipped by. He'd been conscious for much of it, he thought so, at least, but whatever he had been awake for fled his memory as soon as the experience was over. From one cold cage to another, blurry faces of twolegs swimming before him, lots of pain and fear and talking himself out of throwing up.

And now he was here. It was a horrible place. If it were not for the fact that his stomach growled and his body ached, Rowanpaw would have been convinced he was dead. Or maybe he was, and his terrible temperament had gotten him banished to the Dark Forest, and the cats that wandered there were doomed to starve and ache for all eternity. What a miserable afterlife. He lamented quietly as he shoved himself to his paws. He did not want to explore this place. It reeked with the smell of a thousand cats, with sweet and stale twoleg food, with dust and dirt. But the mix of scents was not the worst part– no, the worst part was the noise. There was always noise. Whether it was that stupid twoleg bumbling about, or trilling at the cats that milled here in that weird tone, or trilling after him in particular, or, oh, the other cats were the worst part. Mewing, meowing, hissing, yowling, spitting, coughing, growling. Whatever noise a cat could make, someone made it.

He was about to wedge himself into one of the wooden boxes with their swinging entrances in hopes of escaping it when near chatter caught his attention. It wasn't just the idle drabble he'd gotten used to hearing; it was Clan names, warrior names, something he knew. Rowanpaw hadn't spoken with another Clan cat since he'd been pulled from Fourtrees. And one name in particular caught his attention and made him spin towards the chatter immediately: Poppy. He'd feared for a moment that in all the chaos his mother had been grabbed too. It was hard to tell whether he felt relief or misery when he saw no familiar faces in the gathered group.

Familiarity had never been a barrier for him before, even though it felt like an insurmountable barrier now. He wanted to speak with these cats as much as he wanted to be thrown into the river to learn to swim right before it froze. But even though he did not want to, and he could feel his agitation already mounting (even if it was not at that group directly), he knew he would need them. He did not know where he was; that older molly that announced herself from WindClan probably knew everything. He would need companions if he were to get out of here and return to the forest alive. He could recognize that, as much as it left a sour taste in his mouth. Clearing his throat, Rowanpaw gathered himself and puffed out his chest as he swaggered over to the growing party, hoping he seemed larger and not so fearful as he felt. "Now we are just missing SkyClan," he announced as he drew closer. His voice was drier than he'd hoped, lacking in the proud sheen he'd intended. Oh, well. "I am Rowanpaw, of RiverClan. It is nice, I suppose, to know there are other Clan cats here, even if none of us fare particularly well." His attention flickered to the odd-one-out among them, the loner. Poppy. His expression was narrow and unrecognizable as he studied her, but after a long moment, he turned his attention back to the broader group of cats, forcing a tight-lipped smile.