Foxpelt

Foxpelt is a battle-scarred ginger tabby tom with amber eyes.

## Personality

Like his sister, Foxpelt is fiercely loyal to his Clan. He puts his Clanmates before himself, doing his utmost to protect and defend them in everyday life, and would willingly sacrifice himself to save any one of them, making him quite brave, and unflinchingly resilient in the face of adversity. Also like his sister, he can be extraordinarily stubborn, refusing to back down in a fight even if he would be better off surrendering. He doesn't like being reminded of his flaws, even though he is aware of them, on some level, and prefers to do things his own way, though he will follow orders from the leader, deputy, and senior warriors. He tends to be on the quiet side for the most part, and can act sort of gruff to cats he doesn't know very well, though he acts mostly polite to everyone, even if they are from other Clans. Once he gets to know cats a little better, though, he'll open up and be more friendly, supporting them and encouraging them through hardships and talking more casually with them. He isn't much one for jokes, but he will occasionally engage in some light teasing of other cats, though he's always careful to make sure they know he's joking. Beneath his somewhat gruff and aloof exterior, he is quite kind and caring, like his sister, and can actually provide verbal comfort, though he is more comfortable and capable of simply being there for others, sharing space quietly with them and providing physical comfort. He cares for all of his Clanmates and will go out of his way to help each of them individually, but he doesn't form deep attachments easily, and has never been in love before, as he's never had enough really close friends to consider it.

## Long Posts

### Foxpelt gets schooled on Feelings™️ like the dumb old man he is

Foxpelt lifted his head from where he was carefully plucking feathers off of a rail when he heard pawsteps approaching, twitching one ear when his eyes landed on Tawnyfang, the pale tortoiseshell staring down at him with raised brows.

"Morning," he greeted his former apprentice gruffly.

"Expecting someone?" she questioned instead of responding in kind, her tail-tip twitching behind her.

The ginger tom blinked at her. "Besides you, you mean?" he questioned dryly.

"You weren't expecting me, we just happen to be near the fresh-kill pile at the same time," she asserted with a shake of her head.

"I learned your patterns seasons ago, Tawnyfang," he told her flatly. "I figured you would be over to eat around this time, unless you were pulled away for a patrol. You tend to be consistent in that regard."

She shot him a green-eyed glare - a familiar expression on her face, and one that only made him twitch his whiskers slightly - and huffed, tail flicking with annoyance. "Shut up," she grumbled reflexively, stalking past him to the fresh-kill pile to aggressively grab something for herself to eat.

Foxpelt snorted in response, whiskers twitching again as he returned to removing the rest of the rail's feathers, tugging each one out individually, careful not to sink his teeth into them too hard and accidentally damage any of them. It was a slow morning; he had no patrols to attend to first thing - nothing until just before sunhigh, an unusual allowance of free time compared to his more typical daily schedule - and no unruly apprentice to corral into training, leaving him plenty of time to have a more leisurely breakfast than he usually did.

It was terribly dull, if he was being honest with himself. Rushed, utilitarian meals were never particularly interesting, either, but at least they were always a precursor to activity to follow as soon as the meal was done. Having the time pluck every feather off of a rail, one by one, with enough care not to damage the feathers, almost bordered on a frivolous or lazy waste, in his mind. The fact that he was still still doing it, he thought, was enough of a testament to that.

Tawnyfang reappeared in his peripherals, a sculpin held in her jaws and her eyes narrowed as she continued to glare at him. She set the prey down and sat after a moment, flicking one ear as she accused, "You are expecting someone."

The tabby raised his brows as he set down another feather. "Besides - "

"I don't count!" Tawnyfang cut him off with a huff, tail-tip twitching against the ground. "Even if you were sure I would be here, I know you know I don't like rails all that much, so you wouldn't have picked that to share."

"Share?" Foxpelt echoed, giving her an unimpressed squint. "You're perfectly capable of getting your own prey."

She rolled her eyes at him with a snort. "Well, that is clearly to share with someone," she mewed pointedly, jerking her chin at the bird trapped between his paws.

"What makes you think that?" he challenged.

Tawnyfang scoffed, as though offended by the question. "You never eat birds," she answered, a very strong, unspoken 'duh' hanging in the pause that followed.

The scarred tom blinked slowly at her. "Everyone eats whatever is available to them," he reminded her blankly.

She lashed her tail once with irritation, her expression turning scowling. "Yeah, and there's plenty of other things available right now," she pointed out, lifting one paw to wave it vaguely at the fresh-kill pile. "You would usually go for something smaller, even if there was something bigger available."

"I'm usually in a rush when I eat."

"You aren't in a rush now."

Foxpelt supposed he couldn't really argue against that.

"Besides, if you were just intending to eat by yourself, you would've picked up a grunion," Tawnyfang concluded with a sniff, staring at him as if daring him to contradict her conclusion. "You only ever pick birds when you're intending to share."

Foxpelt looked back down at the bird, half-defeathered, and at the pile of feathers beside him. It was strange - he wasn't sure if he had ever quite been conscious of the fact before, but upon internal reflection, he found that he couldn't disprove Tawnyfang's statement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a bird by himself. Had it been before he'd become a senior warrior? In his days as a young warrior, with his sister and Reedstar? Back when he was an apprentice?

"So," Tawnyfang went on expectantly, "Who are you expecting? Scarletflower's busy, so it can't be her." She nodded pointedly towards where his sister was currently laying with her mate beneath the Marshtree, then turned back towards the ginger tabby with a wrinkle of her nose. "Do you even talk to anyone else in the Clan besides her and me?"

He huffed, pushing himself upright and swiping out a paw to cuff her harmlessly over her ears quickly enough that she didn't have time to dodge the strike. "Watch it," he warned sternly as she reeled backwards with a light hiss.

"You're just sore that I'm right," she retorted, straightening up again and meeting his gaze defiantly. "If not me or Scarletflower, who were you waiting for?"

The answer didn't come to him immediately, blindsided as he was by this entire conversation, but a few moments of reflection told him that there was only one answer.

He had been waiting for Emberstorm.

Tawnyfang's callous (and, frankly, hypocritical) insinuations on his unsociable behavior aside, there weren't many cats in the Clan that he was familiar enough with that he would even consider sharing prey with them. Scarletflower and Reedstar qualified, of course, as did Tawnyfang (when she wasn't intentionally rankling him) and his other former apprentices, but the only other cat he could think of that he was close with - close enough with to want to share prey - was Emberstorm. The answer was obvious enough, purely from that perspective.

But it was more than simply logic that led him to the conclusion. Even when sharing prey, a sufficiently-sized fish could be enough to feed two cats - the choice of a bird was more significant than that. He remembered, now, that he had had a conversation with Emberstorm only a few days ago about how nice it was to have prey that had become scarce in leafbare, and even in newleaf, amidst the periodic flooding of the territory, back. Birds had featured quite heavily in that discussion. Rails hadn't been central to the conversation, but Foxpelt was certain they had come up more than once. It was at least enough to subconsciously influence decision-making, apparently.

He had had a conversation with Emberstorm about rails, and he was now spending his free time meticulously picking every feather off of one of the birds, waiting for her - expecting her, like Tawnyfang had said, not because his sister was busy or because his former apprentice was being a pest, but simply because he wanted to see her. He wanted to share a rail with her.

"What's wrong with you?" Tawnyfang's voice broke into his internal musing. She was staring at him dubiously, nose slightly wrinkled. "You look like a crab pinched your tail."

Foxpelt huffed, sitting up straighter and lifting his chin. "What about you, then?"

She blinked, taken aback. "What about me?" she parroted bewilderedly.

"You usually prefer grunion or goby," the ginger tom pointed out, nodding at the sculpin at her paws. "And that's rather a large fish to eat by yourself."

Tawnyfang flattened her ears, rising to her paws. "I am sharing with someone," she mewed pointedly. "And she's waiting for me."

With that, she picked up the sculpin and marched off with her shoulders straight and her head held high, though her ears were still folded slightly back with what might have been embarrassment, if Foxpelt chose to examine it more closely. He watched her go for a moment before turning back to the rail, his sigh scattering a few of the feathers on the pile when he realized he wasn't even sure if Emberstorm was still in camp this morning or if she had been sent out on an early patrol.

The fact that that had somehow escaped his notice in all his internal musings probably didn't mean anything good, he decided.