Cindercoat looked out across the vista that spanned out from his cliff-side home. His den was set only ten feet down from the top, 40 feet above the clan at the bottom of the quarry. The path between his home and either the top of the pit or the bottom was treacherous. Standing tall on strong, crimson legs Cindercoat’s ashen eyes watched the wispy clouds float across the azure sky. The wind, stronger than normal at Cindercoat’s high perch, ruffled through the black markings in his fur. Travelling down the length of his body, from his black hairless nose all the way down to the snow white tip of his tail, the wind entered his home. Leaves and pine needles, ones that fell outside his home, ruffled in the breeze’s wake. The fur on the large cat’s shoulders rose slightly as irritation began to sink into his bones. THose leaves had been painstakenly gathered for two reasons. To build a door and a nice, comfy bed. Alas, while Cindercoat would like to have a bed, the door would have to take priority. However, to make that a reality, the young cat would need more sticks, and for that he would have to go outside the Pit. At least he would be going away from the village.
Making his decision, Cindercoat padded back into his den. While the entrance was little more than a crevice, just big enough to get Cindercoat’s taller-than-normal body through, it quickly opened up into a larger space. The den was roughly three feet in height and five feet long. On the right side of the floor, a small stream trickled out from a crack in the back and through the opening. The now toppled pile of leaves sat, spread out across the left side of the den. A small pile of sticks sat underneath a thin layer of leaves. In the back of the room hung several pieces of hide, presumably from squirrels and other rodents. Using his paws, Cindercoat unhooked the first object from the wall. Putting his front right paw into a hole, the long white scar on his paw showing brazenly through the black fur, Cindercoat used his teeth and other paw to fling the object over his broad shoulders. Contorting his left front leg, the cat managed to get his paw through the correspondent hole. Muscles flexed underneath his coarse fur as the bags settled on Cindercoat’s shoulders. Reaching to his chest, Cindercoat pushed the fastener through, then pulling it tight, the cat hooked the strap up against his right shoulder. The second object would be easier to get on. It was a large expanse of hide. Two straps on the bottom with multiple loops on either side of the top. Wiggling the strange contraption onto his back, Cindercoat secured the straps that went around his stomach. Seemingly satisfied, the crimson shadow padded back out to his perch.
Once again, the wind ruffled through his fur, though some of its chill was now blocked by Cindercoat’s apparel. Two paths led from his home, one that lead to the clan, the other to the edge of the Pit. Scanning his chosen path, Cindercoat’s ash-grey eyes followed the zig-zags all the way up. WHile the path had yet to change, the cat knew that he didn’t have the gifts of Boulderclan. As such, it never hurt to be careful. Stepping up cautiously, Cindercoat felt his way around the stones. He watched them diligently, making sure that none of his usual footholds shifted underneath him. The hide bound bags rode against his moving shoulders. THe hide on his back moved smoothly as well, having been broken in weeks ago. Alighting upon the soft grass, interspersed with rough pebbles, grey eyes and a stoic face scanned the trees in front of Cindercoat. It didn’t look like any other cats were around, which was fine by him. They usually gave him weird looks, especially when he would prepare his food. Images flooded Cindercoat’s mind as he walked through the green tinged paths of the forest. It had been several moons ago, the last time he had eaten with the clan. His habits were considered eccentric at the best, but they were hateful at the worst. Cindercoat, much to the curiosity of his fellow cats, will skin, gut, and debone his meals. WHen asked for the reasons, the crimson cat would always reply with one word, “Materials.”
Cindercoat’s strange apparel was the result of working with these materials. It was the mark of his prodigious ingenuity.
The snap of a twig brought Cindercoat’s rambling mind back into the present. Stopping in his tracks, the cat’s black-rimmed ears swiveled around. It took almost no time at all for him to locate the origin of the sound. Looking up, Cindercoat could see the swaying form of a squirrel. It hung from a noose, its neck bent in an unnatural way. The cat’s emotionless eyes scanned the trees nearby. Sure enough, one of them bore his mark upon its base. Placing his paws against the trunk of the oak, Cindercoat chose a path up the tree. Walking a few feet away, the cat spun around on his heels, then, like a blood-colored bullet, Cindercoat charged up the tree. The white tip of his tail sliced through the air as his powerful legs pushed him up the tree’s trunk. Cindercoat had never been adept at truly climbing, as such he developed his own method of running up the nearly vertical surfaces. With his black paws moving like streaks of lightning up the side of the tree, Cindercoat quickly alighted upon the lowest branch. Merely a few feet in front of him hung the limp corpse of a relatively plump squirrel. Its tail was thick and soft in preparation of the coming winter. Padding his way towards the squirrel, the razor sharp claws in his paws sprung forth. With a swipe, the squirrel’s body fell to the ground with a thud. Jumping down after it, Cindercoat’s large body alighted upon the forest’s floor with surprising deftness. Chewing the noose off from the squirrel’s throat, Cindercoat picked it up by the scruff. Then, flinging the corpse over his back, the crimson cat secured his bounty among the hide straps. Sighing once again, Cindercoat began his trek towards the clan proper.
