Lost Creek Hollow [M] Drop-off

A family.


With crossed paws, a high chest and eyes that tried hand in forest fires, he gazed upon Silvertongue in dour.
A lost cause. Wastelife. Strapped. A trashy street kid; youngblood with no morals. A vagrant. A muddy-shoed scoundrel. Impoverish, dishonest, petty theft to condiments. Doomed blood. Day one struck with a low-blow fate, born to half-alive family with no food to feed a crying offspring. They said he carried like a bum. Empty cupboards and a roof hung on by a thread not to cave in by storm. Heat-deprived winters. Scrappy teeth and bruised knuckles, dirty skin.

Aint she something.

"Someone who can keep up with me," cut dry. "I cut through miles down passes and land feet up hilltops. Ain't settled, never have been." For her, he was soft. Heart on fire. He knew they would not lead anywhere. But he wanted them to. An enterained amusement with no chains for grounds. She'd go home and he'd never see her again. But he wanted to see her a million times and for every time to be even a sliver of peace as now was. 

"My sights are on the mountains one day. Somewhere secluded." Many must have tried to appease her. He had nothing. Nothing valuable. No man of authority or wealth. He tried with nothing to offer in his pockets but himself. "Is Riverclan forever your home? You feel safe here?" He questioned in strange earnest.