Welcome to Warriors of the Moon! We are a modern-day warrior cats roleplay! It's been 10 years, and all of the original Clans have disbanded. Even SkyClan means nothing. We have new ones called MarshClan, MistClan, PeakClan, and WolfClan. We're one account per person, like most warriors roleplays. Meaning, no character accounts!
Our roleplay rating is 3-0-2, and we have a simple application and a quick acceptance process! Your character will be approved in not even an hour, depends on our timezones, though! Welcome!
DATE HERE
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Admittedly, Mistclan territory wasn’t too different from Wolfclan, and so much different from the alleys of the Twolegplace. It was nice to have trees overhead once more, even if they were so much bigger and taller than the forestry of Wolfclan. The undergrowth was more pleasant, spotted with less thorns and rocks, and he had yet to decide if it was easier or harder to find prey here than in his birth clan. Either way, it was his home now, so what did it matter? At least it was better than being alone in those Starclan-forsaken stone alleys surrounded by malevolent rogues and having to fight for his life more often in a moon that he found prey to hunt.
Here was better, he decided. Yet why didn’t it feel right, either?
Shaking his head irritably, Rowanblaze allowed his claws to dig briefly into the earth below him - feeling nothing but icy snow - before releasing a scolding growl to himself. This was pathetic! This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? And even if it wasn’t, this was his life now, and he’d just have to deal with it. It hadn’t even been a moon since he joined Mistclan, and his pelt still itched over it. He felt almost treacherous. Perhaps he should have gone home to Wolfclan. ‘No,’ he hissed silently in his mind. ‘They’d kill me if I ever set paw there again, those that don’t already think I’m dead, that is.’
Shaking out his pelt, the tom scooped up the prey he’d caught - at least a rabbit, no matter how skinny with leafbare, would fill a few bellies - and set off trudging toward camp. He was lucky he’d caught it on his own, in truth, but he had, and that was better than anything he could have hoped. Sure, it was one peice of prey, but considering the pile in camp had consisted of a measly bird and a vole, when he’d left, it was better than nothing. Skirting silently around a few cats with nothing more than a mild sideglance, he padded forth and dropped his rabbit on the pile, pleased at least to see two mice and a thrush had been added to it whilst he was out.
He could still feel eyes on his pelt. Did anyone here trust him yet?