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.
"Alrigh' kittens," Fuzzypeach meowed, voice muffled by the squirrel he was carrying, "come on outta the den now." It had been nearly a half a moon since taking in his three kits, and in that time he'd turned into a severely attentive, incredibly worrisome, and uniquely annoying father figure for them. He'd taken to hunting for them himself, even asking for lessons when he failed to catch the swifter prey, and would strip the fur off the catches before giving them to the kits. The rotund ginger cat would circle them subtly as they play fought, always worried they'd hurt one another, and tucked them in with a bedtime story every night. Fuzzypeach loved the orphaned litter and spoke of them as though he'd given birth to them himself. The thought of them growing up was a daunting one, and there was a waver in his voice as he spoke, "I figured you lot could try eatin' this prey by y'allselves." Fiestykit scampered out of Fuzzypeach's nest, her white tail waving erratically as Fuzzypeach called for them. The small kit absolutely idolized her father, thinking she must be the luckiest kit in the clan to have Fuzzypeach to look after her. She remembered, vaguely, cold and wet and fear, but her newer memories were only of warmth and love from the cat now tearily offering them a squirrel. After touching noses with him the small white cat turned to the prey uncertainly, "fur and all?"
Frostykit suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "It's just some fur, Fiestykit," she murmured, casting her gaze around camp to see how many of her new(ish) Clanmates were watching. Two? Three? Thirty? It felt like thirty. "We all have it. I figure if we couldn't eat it, we would've moved away ages ago." She paused. "Or died."
"Doom and gloom, are we today, sis?" chirped the tom as he followed his siblings eagerly. He then looked at his other sister. "Maybe the fur's an extra challenge! Our next step on the journey to being big like Dad!" He looked at the piece of prey, eying it suspiciously as if it was going to come back to life right before his eyes. He tapped it with his paw twice, just to make sure. Then, he looked at his sisters. "Ladies first," he then mewed, which seemed mostly contradictory to his whole statement just before.
Frostykit allowed herself a small roll of the eyes this time. "Down the hatch, whatever you say," she murmured, and took a big gulp of the prey. She chewed it cautiously, waiting for one of the strands of fur to get caught in her throat--but it never did. "Huh," she said, feigning nonchalance. "It's...yeah, it's alright." Privately, she thought it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.
