[L0S0V0]Boats against the current.[RainxOwl]

[Glowy]

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby Some days, if Rainpaw could have wished his old life back, he would have. He longed for the simplicity of his relationship with Analucia. He longed for his children. A part of his heart would always be with them, he realized, as he sat alone by the border with StreamClan. His tail swished back and forth in the dead leaves left over from last year's Autumn, and he wondered why he was even there in the first place. Gingerstar was being... difficult today. More difficult than was normal. Her usual walls had been strengthened a thousand times over since yesterday, it seemed, and she seemed frightened even to speak with him. So he'd done what his daddy had always done when something was bothering him- he'd up and walked away and taken a very long stroll by himself. Rainpaw hadn't been in camp since the morning, and it was well past sunhigh by now. With Ana, he'd never been challenged. She'd accepted everything just as he'd accepted everything. Neither of them had had to work for anything in the relationship. It had simply happened. With Gingerstar, Rainpaw had to fight tooth and claw for every single word he got out of her that meant anything, and he was just about sick of it. He was tired of battling against her wounds. It seemed that no matter how long he tried to bring down the walls, they were too durable. He heaved a heavy sigh. Today was such a beautiful day, too. It should not be sullied by thoughts about Gingerstar. He was sure that he only needed to wait it out and then everything would be fine. That was usually what happened. It was a slow process, chipping away at her walls, but he never went backwards. There was always a gain somewhere. He was foolish to despair. Yes, everything would be just fine. The rushes reminded him of the place that he used to live with Ana. It had been nicely situated next to a little slow-moving slough, with the forest coming practically all the way down the bank. There had been a stand of willow trees that always dipped their long branches into the water after a heavy rain weighed down their leaves. He'd named his daughter for those trees... Across the border, a twig or something snapped. He was no longer alone, so he rose to his paws. Might as well look like he was doing something constructive. "Good day, partner. How's the huntin' in your neck of the woods?" he called across good-naturedly, figuring that even if the StreamClanner had been hunting, the twig snap would have startled the prey away. speaking [bg=cac0aa][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

I'god. It'd been a little bit since he'd not had Everett at his side. Owlheart had to admit, it made him a bit uncomfortable not to have someone watching his back, especially when he was patrolling the border, but he knew that the feeling would pass. He'd been a loner long before he'd met Everett, and if there was one thing he could do it was take care of himself. Still...it was odd. Everett had been gone before Virgil had even gotten up. Now, it wasn't odd for the gentleman to arise before the lawman, but it was odd that the grey tom hadn't even waited for the tabby. A quick sniff told him that his friend had gone out of camp, but his reluctance to ask anyone where he'd gone meant Owlheart had no idea where Sootnose was at the moment. Hunting was a safe bet though. Sootnose could track a mosquito in a rainstorm; a real natural tracker. And with tracking, came hunting. Hell, tracking was half of it anyway. Point being, if he was doing anything out of camp it was hunting, and that meant Virgil really had no rhyme or reason for worrying. Everett could take care of himself. If he couldn't, he wouldn't have made it as far as he had. Virgil was...opposed to dead weight, as cruel as that was. Everett of course, was nothing of the sort. He learned quickly, and what was more, he was Virgil's best (if only) friend. And there's three things you don't turn your back on: the helpless, enemies, and friends. A carelessly snapped twig settled things. He had a job to do. He needed to focus. A quick shake of his head and the tom was back on task: scanning the border for any signs of trouble. To any onlooker he might have appeared to be doing the very opposite. His gait seemed very much without purpose as he ambled down Stream's side of the sc/pc border, and his golden eyes were, in a word, drooping. Hell, he could've been sleepwalking for all anyone knew. But of course, anyone who knew him would know better. The lawman was ever alert, even if he didn't look it, and he was sharp, even if he didn't take the care to sound it. Despite this though, he was a bit surprised to hear a cat from across the border calling out to him. Sure, he'd scented the pineclanner, but Virgil hadn't thought the tom would actually come over to speak with him. Nothing left but to reply, though. Why, he could almost hear Everett chiding him for bad manners if he didn't. Or were pineclanners below courtesy? Owlheart couldn't keep track of bs like that. "Good'ay yourself, hoss." a slight smile lifted the corners of his muzzle. It was hesitant, if only because the start of a conversation had caught him a bit off guard. "Huntin's fine. Same for Pine?" short. Normal for Virgil, but perhaps not for the general population of the conversationally inclined. He'd been called rude for it before and was prepared to be called so again. [bg=4d4d4d][atrb=width,500,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

Rainpaw was honestly surprised that the stranger responded to him. PineClanners did not have the best reputation in the eyes of the other clans, so it was very special to get a civil word from anybody at all. Most in other places thought that PineClan was a gang of good-for-nothing lowlifes with guns too big for their holsters. Or bullets too big for their guns. Or guns when they didn't know how to use one properly. Anything along those lines, he was sure. So, truly, he was shocked when the StreamClan tom didn't spit an obscenity at him or something equally unpleasant. Ah, and his voice. Oh, his voice reminded him of home. Well, PineClan was his home now, but his home beforehand. The ranch, the wild... the twolegs and even some of the barn cats had sounded like that. That accent, the way of speech... so like his own. It was eerie. Why had he decided to talk to the StreamClanner, again? What had motivated him? He had no idea what to say now that the other tom had responded. Might as well introduce himself, he supposed. "Much the same, stranger. Prey's runnin'. Sometimes I think it runs away from me, but that's just the nature of the game," he said with a laugh. "Name's Rainpaw, but you can call me Rain." He smiled. "You ain't originally from these parts, are ya? Whereabouts ya from?" speaking [bg=cac0aa][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

"Just how it is, I suppose." Hm, hm. He was actually engaging in a conversation. Someone out there was jumpin' for joy, or else surprised to the point of a heart attack. There was an easy manner about the tom before him though, something that made it easier for a cat to talk to him. Or maybe it was just the fact that both their voices had that certain...twinge to them. A certain...difference from the clan cats. A similar difference though. Everett would probably know the correct terminology for it. Knew a lot about that kind of book-y stuff. "M'own's Virgil, but the clancats took to callin' me Owlheart."Made him feel a mite like some kinda injun. Or else some cowpoke turned injun or vice-y versa. "Either'll do for gettin' me to answer." Now he was gettin' comfortable. Comfortable enough to sit for a spell and just remark upon the weather. All the two toms needed now was a fence to do the sittin' on and weather for the talkin'. Sunset might do for that...o'course Virgil wasn't quite sure a sunset would qualify for weather. Maybe they could just talk about Rain instead. Ha. Rain. Wait, no, hold up now, they were gunna talk about him. The tabby coughed a little to mask his surprise. His first instinct was to tell the pineclanner to mind his own business, if only because no one had ever asked him about where'd come from before-excusing Everett...Or...well...Had Everett even asked before? Probably. Seemed like something he'd do. "East-er and South-er from here, if I'm reversing my directions properly. Little ah- spot by a river." And that was about as far as he was willing to go. No half-stranger needed to hear about Morgan. "What about yourself?" [bg=4d4d4d][atrb=width,500,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

Rainpaw nodded. Virgil. It seemed to suit the StreamClanner- or loner-turned-StreamClanner- rather well. He mouthed the name. The shape of the word seemed right for the other tom, somehow. Rainpaw was all about words, you know. You couldn't have a story without words, and he tried his best to find words that felt... right. And he was off on a tangent again. Storytelling inside his own mind. He had a tendency to do that. Virgil. Partner's name was Virgil. "Virgil suits ya well, I think," he replied, unsure of what else to say, really. Back... well, he couldn't really call it home, he supposed... but back where he had come from, he hadn't really talked to much of anybody. While Virgil's accent and manner were soothing, Rainpaw felt like a child again in his presence. He felt awkward, like he was trying to sneak past Analucia's brothers to meet her beside the barn for the umpteenth time. Failure, of course, was imminent. He'd never quite mastered the art of being sneaky. Being a big lump of conspicuous gray fur made it difficult to hide. Sometimes he felt like a storm cloud, he swore. Big, fluffy cloud of... whatever he was. "What about yourself?" "Me?" What a dumb question. It was no wonder Gingerstar praised him for not being a threat to PineClan's deep thinkers. Who else would Virgil be talking to, gray matter? Heaven and earth. "Where'm I from? Place a way's off in," he spun around, honestly befuddled, "... um. A general... er... someway direction. I got here by wanderin' around aimlessly for a few turns of the moon. I grew up on a ranch, though. Nice place. Relatively speakin', anyway. Good folk there." Rainpaw nodded again. No particular reason. Just felt right. Was this what he did when he felt mildly awkward? Nod? Was this seriously what he was right now? Nodding and not able to put a sock in his gob. What must Virgil think of him? He dreaded to think... hah. Maybe thinking was something he should do more often. His Freckles certainly thought so. Then again, she was difficult to please, his fire princess. "Rivers are nice things. I appreciate them. Good to navigate by." Oh, heavens. Rainpaw had an overwhelming urge to run until he found a pile of hay to dive into and hide in. He was so embarrassed. His. Mouth. It just ran and ran and ran, like that rabbit with the big drum thing. Why could he not conjure up any useful thoughts right now? He was fine when telling stories and helping others with their problems! Somebody's skull, removed of useful brain matter, wouldn't quite make a birdbath for a hummingbird at the moment. speaking [bg=cac0aa][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]