Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
News & Updates
11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
Here on Classic we understand that sometimes life can get difficult and we struggle. We may need to receive advice, vent, know that we are not alone in our difficult times, or even just have someone listen to what's going on in our lives. In light of these times, we have created the support threads below that are open to all of our members at any time.
He glanced behind him with an almost saturated grimace, ears peeling back against his head as he watched for any signs of movement. When nothing disturbed his line of vision, he moved forward with annoyance. He'd been hoping to catch his daughter for a little one on one training, possibly; but she'd become more mysterious and withdrawn as of late. Though he could feel pretty proud of her behavior at most — like father, like daughter, obviously. But of course he was worried, even if it wasn't really any of his business. The wayward tom scowled and focused himself instead on the task at hand. Hunting.
Scuttling in the undergrowth was cause for him to brighten immensely; the feeling of flesh beneath his claws would definitely perk him up. A thrush skittered out into the open, a seed clutched between its paws — not extremely plump just just so enough to fill a stomach. Feynvul's eyes flashed with a hungry vigor as he crouched low, before leaping through the air in one powerful leap and killing it with a swift blow. It hardly had enough time to cry. He picked it up with the most careful of ease and went to bury it for preservation.
Think of the devil and she shall appear. Diesdrè was scanning the area, blue eyes squinting from the harshness of the sunlight. The dilute tortoiseshell female was tired. Tired of everything. She wanted nothing more than to close herself off and take a nap that lasts three moons; it sounded splendid right about now. With a sigh, the she-cat pushed through the undergrowth of the forest, her pawsteps leading her to none other than her own father. She watched him as he murdered the thrush with a powerful blow, not wasting any time. She was always impressed by his feats; he was a strong tom with an even stronger exterior. It was no secret that a part of her looked up to him, but another part of her wanted nothing to do with him. He had stolen away her childhood, having trained her ever since she was only two moons old. He didn't give her enough time to be a child, which is exactly why she turned out the way she did.
"Hello, father," Diesdrè sighed, coming out from the shadows.
He surveyed her with a cool look of amusement, straightening himself up and turning so that he was fully facing her now. "Diesdrè," he greeted formally. He'd never been too fond of ever calling her his Daughter; to him it was just another reminder of the weaker little kittens he had abandoned so long ago. "Taking a stroll? You should be making friends. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"
It seemed that the creamy furred tom never wasted any time to scold, or to direct his daughter on how to do things correctly. It might have been his way of looking out for her; if he didn't also relish in the misery of making cats feel lesser than he. His tail waved to and fro, bringing up a paw to examine the softly colored pads — or the way the light caught on his claws. Like some well practiced speech, he worked in his own compliment as well — push, and pull. "No mind, though, I suppose you'll do that in due time. You've always been good at what you do."
