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!
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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
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woof for glaniur & cinder The sun had yet to break through the horizon, the air around him void of the usual chirping as Glaniur silently drifted around the camp. Like a phantom in the night, the speckled tom was eerily silent as he headed towards the exit of camp. Where he was going, he wasn't quite sure yet. Even at the odd hours in the gloomy morning, the tactician was wide awake, letting his habits of wandering take over. It was a mystery whether he actually slept, as he always seemed to be the last one to bed but the first one up, but that had been a survival tactic that was drilled into his head from a young age. Never let others see you sleep, don't allow your enemies to catch you at your most vulnerable. While those in Fallclan weren't exactly his enemies, Glaniur was never one to let his guard down anyway.
He paused, right at the camp exit, lifting his head to the sky. The sun would be rising soon, bringing with it what little warmth late leaf-fall could offer. Perhaps he could find a rock to lay on and relax, or maybe it was time for him to cause some mischief across a border. Despite the plague that was currently spreading throughout the clan, life was rather quiet for Glaniur, which meant he was getting bored.
Stealth was not something ingrained in the way Cinderstrike moved. It was not lacking grace but it was clear he did not premeditate his footfalls. Ferns bowed in his presence and anything dumb enough to stay in his path was carelessly moved, and today one such unfortunate thing came with an ebony-speckled face and listless eyes. A silvered shoulder shoved into Glaniur's chest, the offender glaring as he passed to move into camp, broad jaws lifting as if to say something but whatever it was was muffled by the prey swinging in his grasp.
