January Gathering 2023 [The Cutters]

Moonlily's gaze was fixed through the little window, staring at the full moon. Her heart ached, horrendously. All she wanted to do was leave, and yet, the twolegs that had captured her prevented that. The dream of being able to return home to her dear Yewfrost was growing smaller with each day she was stuck, and to say she was happy was... perhaps the biggest exaggeration she had ever made. She wanted out. Freedom to be back in the forest struck her heart like crazy.

The fluffy she-cat had been fawned over by every single two-leg that came by her. It wasn't every day that they got to see such a massive feline, well groomed as she was, who seemed to be completely feral. It was some of the other cats who existed here - the kittypets - who were able to translate some for her. They call you a 'Maine Coon.' It was words that would stick with her for life. She was a maned raccoon? It sounded almost like an insult. It took several sunrises of the other cats convincing her it was a good thing to finally not have her hackles raise each time it was mentioned.

Her lower belly hurt, and she knew what they had done to her. They'd shaved her precious fur down around her weakest part, and taken something from her. It didn't take Starclan's prophecy to know she'd been sent to the Cutters. At least for now, she would simply bide her time and recover. As much as everything around her disgusted her... there was some comfort in knowing that the pellets they gave her were edible. That she wouldn't have to hunt or find water while she recovered.

But what hurt the most was knowing tonight was the gathering. Tonight, it was when she was supposed to gather with the Clans, to discuss all that had happened. Oh, she had a story alright. But anxiety and loneliness panged in her chest as she kept staring outside. Finally, the molly had the idea to at least try and see if any other Clan cats were actually with her and listening. "I hope everyone has been able to make it to the Gathering safely tonight..."

The full moon stared at Owlshade like some great, unblinking eye. Through the small hole in the wall of this Twoleg den, he'd watched as the sky grew dark, and the the glowing body of StarClan rose into view. Now, as he lay here on his side, back pressed against the cold, stiff wall of whatever tiny den they'd stuffed him into, he wondered if he would ever see the moon without some sort of barrier between him, and it, again.

The pale striped tom had taken his capture, and subsequent treatment by Twolegs, with relative grace. He'd never been the violent sort, and that hadn't changed here, so though his heart thrummed in his chest like a trapped bird every time one of them approached, he remained calm. He didn't hiss, or spit, or claw, like some others he'd heard or seen, but nor did he purr and lean out, seeking affection in some unnatural bond between feline and Twoleg. Owlshade longed for freedom, to feel the moor beneath his paws once again, to taste freshly killed hare and not the barely palatable pebbles they tossed into a dish twice a day, but he bore that want silently, refusing to yowl and complain. He wouldn't be noisy, and he wouldn't be friendly, and eventually, they would grow bored of him and let him return home. He hoped.

A she-cat's voice broke the gloomy silence, and Owlshade flicked an ear in the direction. He didn't recognize the voice, and there were too many overlapping scents here to bother trying to discover which clan she was from. Part of him wanted to stay quiet, as he had thus far, but there were rarely any Twolegs around after dark, so it seemed safe.

"I imagine they've been a bit more successful than us," it was the first time he'd made a noise since waking up in this den, his lower body aching and sore, and it felt weird to hear his own voice. But he continued, curiosity and desperation to break the monotony disregarding his caution. "I'm Owlshade... WindClan. Where are you from?"

Bloodstrike was perfectly quiet in his cage... seething. He'd had enough of twolegs capturing him. He'd had enough of them trying to turn him into a kittypet. He'd escaped before and he would escape again. He was curled tight into a C shape, listening to the conversation going on around him. Owlshade didn't ring a bell. He almost didn't want to speak at all, but maybe it was better than seething in place. He noticed a fluttering in his chest that had began some time ago, but it had steadily gotten more annoying and intense.

"I'm sure everyone else is just peachy." He growled, a poor attempt at keeping a lid on his fury. If anyone recognized his voice, yay for them. He was far more interested in literally anyone who might be able to get them out. He wanted to return to the forest, and if he needed to open a jugular or two to get it, he'd be glad to do it.