--YouKnowI'dBLEEDMyselfDry__

[whitewhisker]

It's sometimes said that at the hour of midnight, all manner of ghostly spectres come to be. Perhaps a loved one living on through blood, perhaps the victim of some terrible injustice, or merely the imprints of souls unwilling to move on to the next world.
Translucent forms of young and old who roam the earth, forever trying to recreate the world which they have lost.
And it is also said, at these such haunting times, that the souls of demons are released from their unearthly prisons, hell bent on spreading twice the chaos that their former being achieved.
In essence;
'To walk palely where their living selves once trod.'

Midnight. And one dark demon was indeed prowling the barren landscape, the light of moon and stars was enough to guide his path. This creature was not one to stop and chat. Purpose, and a lust to fulfill it, consumed mind, body and soul.
So silent were his steps you'd think his paws did not touch the ground as he skimmed across the dusty, patched earth. His head was down, ears flat and tail trailing, bulky muscles tensed under a well groomed but battle scarred pelt. His yellow orbs were fixed on a landmark in the near vicinity, in fact, it was not a landmark, but a scent mark. The faint scent of many different cats and the stale reek of blood spilt several moons past.
The demon reached the boundary line, his pace not having changed the slightest in the approach. He promptly sat, exactly four foxlengths inside the death-smelling markers.
All four dark paws were aligned precisely, and his black tail curled lightly around him, coming to rest upon his toes. He sat straight up, alert, muscles still tensed to an unbelievable degree.
This tom-cat was rightfully wary, given whose territory this used to be, but he was not afraid.

Fear was a weakness to which he refused to succumb.


(OoC: 'To walk palely.. ' quote (c) JK Rowling - HP5)

[Bane]

It was a routine that he had yet to shake off. But perhaps it was a healthy one - Bane still found himself waking up earlier than the rest of the clan, to spend an hour of patrolling around the borders of the other clans, and the Rogue Meadow. Just by scent you can learn a lot, and today Bane learnt that TreeClan, MistClan and StoneClan had all been joined by another member. Oddly, DuskClan's border seemed very stale. This troubled the tom, who had first joined these parts as a DuskClan cat, under the rule of Sabrestar. Had he stayed, he would have become her Deputy. But he had better things planned, and so did she it seemed. What he would do to meet her again... chances were she were dead now, however.

Caught up in thoughts of the past, it had passed Bane's attention that there was a new scent in the air. The travel through his old territory was on that he would rather avoid, but it was the only way to pass to RisingClan's border. This was, after all, where he wished to scout the most. But ignorantly sat in Bane's way was a tom, looking as if he had some purpose.

sh*t.

Bane was usually successful in keeping himself out of the way of other prowling rogues. If he wanted, he could silently turn back and find another way to pass unseen. However, something made him stay. The aura of purpose this tom gave off was intriguing. And the fact he had managed to creep into Bane's vision without so much as a shuffle was surprising. The dark tom kept himself low, embracing the shadows of the long grass, at there best with the sun just stroking the horizon. As much a test as anything, Bane wished to see if this tom was any good. The wind changed direction just slightly - it would allow but the tiniest wiff of the BoneClan leader's scent to pass the cat.

Call it Bane's minor form of amusement. [/size]

[whitewhisker]

The sun had begun to creep over the horizon, her warm rays sweeping the cold earth, casting long, dark shadows upon the objects in her path. A light breeze had sprung from nowhere, it ruffled the fur of the tom-cat sitting alertly in what appeared to be a random destination. In fact it was not. The deep brown coloured cat twitched his whiskers patiently, appreciating the sun's rays on his side, and yet as he did so, he picked up the smallest of scents, undetectable to the untrained nose.
The tom opened his jaws taking several long breaths in, he lost the scent the second time, but the third was successful. Now he began to turn his head, sniffing delicately to determine where this odd smell was coming from, it smelt initially like cat.. but had an aftertaste of something completely different.

His left.

The tom slowly turned his head towards a patch of particularly long grass on his left side, the ground behind them cloaked in shadows. He said nothing and did not move an inch, continuing to stare at the patch of grass with such intensity you wouldn't have been surprised if it had started to smoke.

He flicked his tail-tip once and nodded at the grass silently, such a strange guesture, as though greeting it..