Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on May 30, 2024 19:38:55 GMT -5
Buckpaw »
Getting on Oakstreak’s bad side was not in the agenda for the day. The last thing Buckpaw wanted was to get caught up in the storm that was his mentor’s anger, but that could be avoided. All he had to do was report to his mentor should something go wrong, and honestly, what could go wrong in the middle of camp?
… Okay, so he probably shouldn’t jinx himself like that, but the thought had occurred before he could even squash it.
Seriously though, what could go wrong in the middle of camp?
Puffing his chest out Buckpaw beamed down at his mentor, eyes sparkling, tail waving, and whiskers quivering. ”You got it!” He chirped. If anything at all went wrong while he was checking up on his fellow Clanmates, then Oakstreak would be the first cat he went to. That was a promise, and Buckpaw never broke a promise.
With quick paws the young apprentice gathered a large enough dock leaf to bundle up a mix-match of herbs within. He made sure to add plenty of daisy, juniper berries, and ragwort to give to Sorrelsnap later. Come sun-high it would be time to apply the poultice to the old tom’s joints. Remedying the elder’s pain any later than that and Buckpaw was sure he’d have shredded ears. In a way, Sorrelsnap was a lot like Oakstreak - cranky, old, rarely satisfied… He liked the ginger and white elder. Maybe Buckpaw would be able to weasel a story out of him today. It wasn’t often that Sorrelsnap would allow Buckpaw to hang around for a while, but every now and then the old tom would cave in and spin a tale of the days when Sorrelsnap had been a youthful warrior full of vigor. Buckpaw would have to be on his best behavior if he was to get a story for today.
With all his herbs gathered, Buckpaw set one last look toward his mentor. ”I’m off, Oakstreak! I’ll be back later. I still have to get those pine cones and give them to Snowpaw later!” Without another word the cream tabby grabbed his leaf wrap of herbs and headed out of the medicine cat den. Just as he slipped out a familiar form made its way over, a long-limbed warrior with mostly white fur. Buckpaw smiled warmly, mustering a quick, ”Hello!”, to Paintedmask as the white and black warrior brushed by him.
”Oakstreak, are you alone?”
That was all Buckpaw heard before he pranced off, copper eyes glancing around camp, scanning and watching for a lonely cat stuck in camp that needed the company of a cheerful medicine cat apprentice.
[ painted enters the chat! hopefully it's okay for him to pester oak now owo; ]
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on May 30, 2024 19:49:42 GMT -5
(It is always ok to pester Oak lol) OakstreakMedicine Cat * 95 moons * He/Him * tagged; Feathertalon --------------------------------------------------------------------- Upon hearing a familiar, youthful voice, Oakstreak rose from his nest. He made quick work of shaking any lingering moss off of his pelt before he saw his visitor. Flashes of a she-cat from long ago, when she was still healthy and happy, invaded the old cat's mind. His previously thought to be frozen heart melted, erupting into a purr at the sight of his nephew. "Yes. I am alone. Even if I wasn't, you know I can always make time for you, Paintedmask. Are you alright?" Warmth and affection weren't terribly foreign to the prickly tabby, just reserved for the select few he decided to give it to. He ignored the aching in his legs from having to carry his own weight so soon, stepping out of the nest and taking a seat in a more secluded section of the den for the two of them to speak.
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Post by Dew on May 30, 2024 20:24:20 GMT -5
 Auburnpaw Auburnpaw nodded at the sound of a game! Way to make a day of hunting fun! Well, it was almost always fun, but more fun. "Yes! Greyhawk did teach me how to fish only..." She trailed off, but cleared her throat. Everycat had something that they weren't good at, right? "I'm not the best at it" Auburnpaw ducked her head slightly, but then snapped it back up. She wasn't going to cower and have her clanmates think of her as just another apprentice! "If you two had any tips that would be great. Greyhawk is a great mentor, but we just don't go here that often" She explained, trying to word it in a way that didn't sound like she was saying that Greyhawk was a bad mentor. He was a great mentor, if not a little hollow.
Her mind brought her to the first time that Greyhawk had brought her here, and they had tried fishing. It was fun, but it seemed that she couldn't manage to get her paw in fast enough. That was still the case sometimes, but her success rate for catching fish was going up. Just, it still wasn't very high. "I have a little trouble getting my paw in fast enough to hook the fish," Auburnpaw explained, hoping that would help them help her. If they want to obviously. I'm not their apprentice.
She/Her - Apprentice
𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 , Sand |
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on May 30, 2024 20:31:39 GMT -5
BurntearsWarrior * 36 moons * She/Her * tagged; Dew --------------------------------------------------------------------- Hearing Auburnpaw's explanation caused Burntears's motherly side to come out. "Here, crouch down like me," She whispered gently. Guiding the young she cat along the way, she got to the water's edge and swiped her paw through a set of ripples. The fish came out of the water, but slipped out of her paws before she could land the killing blow. "Mostly like that...except you want to be a little faster, heh." Being a cat who didn't have much of an ego, she wasn't too embarrassed at her failure. After all, fish were quite difficult to keep a hold on. "They are fast and slippery, so don't get too discouraged. You'll get there as long as you stay out of the reflection. The quicker you move, the less time they have to swim away."
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Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on May 30, 2024 20:32:51 GMT -5
Paintedmask »
The medicine cat den was all too familiar to Paintedmask. He was neither sickly nor accident prone, but his uncle resided in the den for most of the day, sorting through herbs and creating healing remedies with expert handling. The acrid tang of herbs that most warriors curled their noses up at had no effect on Paintedmask. If anything, the scents were soothing, a calm reminder of his family, of his uncle. Most of the Clan tended to stay away from Oakstreak, but Paintedmask had a soft spot for the old brown tabby. He was all that the white and black warrior had - sure, Beaverpelt was kin as well, but that bond wasn’t as strong. Wasn’t as connected.
The young warrior spat at his uncle’s question. Was he alright? Physically, yes. Not a scratch riddled his thick pelt coated in inky black and snowy white. He was as fine as a patch of dandelions in newleaf. There was no ailment that had sent Paintedmask in search of his uncle. Rather, he was here for something different. Something ominous. Something dangerous.
Throughout his life his father Cedarstar had whispered promises of greatness into his ears. Grand tales of how one day Paintedmask would succeed him and become a leader of ConiferClan that would go down in history. He would follow in the pawsteps of his father and of his mother’s father. No longer would he be a simple warrior that had to follow the orders of those above him, but rather he’d be at the top of the pecking order, the one cat calling all the shots. How delightful his father made it sound, how fascinating it would be to have the control of the Clan in his very paws. He had been promised to receive that power, had been promised that he would be the next -star after his father.
When Flinthawk had died Paintedmask had stood tall and proud, awaiting the voice of his father to call forth the name of his son. Paintedmask had already prepared his speech, had already known what he was going to say.
But when his father called upon StarClan and honored the new deputy, it had not been his son’s name that slipped from his tongue.
Briarwhistle.
His claws had unsheathed and his hackles had bristled at the announcement of the Clan’s new deputy.
Paintedmask had looked at his father with cold anger, shocked disbelief. It had been no secret that Cedarstar was quickly on his way to StarClan, that this deputy would be his last. Had the old tom been so sick, so addled in the brain, that he had accidentally spoken the wrong name?
He wanted to believe that to be the answer. His suspicions had almost been confirmed when he had gone to confront Cedarstar and found the former leader so out of it that he kept referring to Paintedmask as Nightmask. ”Nightmask is dead, Cedarstar,” he had coolly told his father.
Cedarstar had looked at his son with feverish eyes. ”Why do you say such things when you’re right here with me, Nightmask?”
Paintedmask had not responded. The urge to claw his father had been strong, but before his claws could unsheathe he had turned and stormed out of the leader’s den. His anger had been taken out on a young squirrel that had never seen it coming.
Just a few moons ago Paintedmask thought all he had to do was get rid of Flinthawk and ConiferClan’s leadership would be his. He had thought it would be so easy to take Flinthawk’s spot and claim what had been promised to him his entire life. But now he had a leader with a full roster of nine lives and a new deputy to take care of. All because his father had made a mistake. Or had lied to his son. Either option made sense, both options filled him with rage.
Paintedmask followed his uncle into the seclusion deeper within the medicine cat den. This was where he unraveled himself, allowed his true nature to show. The bitterness, the anger, the impatience. Oakstreak saw it all. ”I’m sure you know why I’m here. For as much as I’d like to share pleasantries with you, there’s no time for it.” Paintedmask truly loved his uncle, adored him even, but when jealousy had him twisted at the neck and impatience tearing his stomach wide open, the warrior could care less for loving conversation. ”I’m tired of waiting. What can we do so that I can finally take my rightful leadership?”
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on May 30, 2024 21:44:36 GMT -5
OakstreakMedicine Cat * 95 moons * He/Him * tagged; Feathertalon  --------------------------------------------------------------------- If Oakstreak had been a better cat, one with less darkness in his path, he would find his nephew's verbage concerning. Being the cat he was however, the words only simply brought forward that old, familiar longing. He remembered trying to warn Paintedmask that his father was a man of making promises he could not keep. Cedarstar's deliriousness only furthered this, making his brain incapable of keeping a promise even if he had genuinely meant to. A small side effect of killing him so inconspicuously. "Your best chances now are to get on Briarstar's good side." Oakstreak gave a soft purr as he continued,"Of course, Gingerflame would also have to be removed. We could take advantage of how paranoid she has been. She paces back and forth in the mornings, from her den to the dirtplace. A weakness we could use to make you look good and him look a fool." He hadn't exactly planned on taking back up his plotting ways, but he couldn't resist Paintedmask's plea. Too much like his mother for his own good. It was why Paintedmask had gotten this far with his entitlement...the ghost of his mother haunted his face, and it made both his uncle and father unable to tell him no.
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Post by ladylantsov on May 31, 2024 11:21:01 GMT -5
GREYHAWK
Greyhawk watches, amber eyes blazing, as the gears turn in the younger tom's head. Even in one not yet four seasons old, the senior warrior could see something at work behind the apprentice's eyes. It was part cleverness, part instinct picking apart the scents of the rocky terrain alongside the brook, picking apart those that were familiar and those that were new. The smoke grey tom's senses knew the smell well - but then he'd been travelling these territories nearly seven times as long as the apprentice before him had been alive. That and - thank the Stars - Hawks weren't such a typical threat that the Clan's apprentices were all but born knowing the scent, the threat of it.
But they ought not grow complacent with it.
The senior warrior remembered the day so well it might have been yesterday. The Camp had swarmed like mosquitoes with word that a hawk had been spotted some days prior, nothing more than curiosity. No one had been overly concerned, birds of prey rarely bothered with the Clan. The majority of them were far to large for even a very grand raptor to stand much of a chance at getting away with. A cursory warning to keep an eye on the skies had been offered at a Clan meeting - it had been Hailstar back then, and they had carried on with their live.
Greyhawk - back then Greypaw, had received a scolding, what for he could hardly remember all these moons later. Had been left behind as patrols left camp, sat miserably, tail lashing to clean out the nursery while his littermates all went out and had there fun. Camp had been empty bar a dozing queen, two elders and a pawul of the most recent kits.
The apprentice had barely even been paying attention, when something like adrenaline suddenly sparked alive in his chest as a shadow swooped down through the last layer of clouds. He'd barely clocked it, his reaction based on nothing more than instinct.
Could remember the very second he'd realised that the hawk was making a beeline for a small kit. His muscles coiled and lunging all at once. Claws reaching, reaching, reaching, until something feathered like a sparrow but truly massive, met his claws instead of the open air.
Then he remembered the falling - so hard and so fast that the then Apprentice had half convinced himself the world had been stolen from beneath his feet, and it was his fate to all evermore.
Then hitting earth, so hard he was half convinced he'd still find bruises if he was shaved down to the skin. The hawk dead at his claws, the kit safe but screaming.
Then the large set of eyes, as grey as the clouds hiding the blue skies above them, peel away from the forests and back toward the two elder warriors. Wide, maybe with awe, maybe with fear - it would be the latter if the apprentice had even a third of his mentor's wits. And the correct conclusion spills from Snowpaw's lips, Greyhawk nods.
"Yes it is."
Praise doesn't exactly spill from the smokey tom's lips as a general rule of thumb, but it wasn't admonishment either.
Greyhawk's nostrils flare again, drawing in air so deep it puffs out his chest. Testing the feel of it on his tongue, eyes narrowing with a degree of intense concentration. "Its no fresher than when I was here a few hours ago, though." He explains, tail twitching. Whether with gratitude that it wouldn't cause any problems, or disappointment that he wouldn't get to sink his claws into it, watch it bleed out.
A deserving fate for anything that might pose even a hint of threat to Clan-kits.
"So at least its not returned here since the time I left," he adds, calm as a summer breeze. His eyes squint towards the treeline, searching for the tell-tale signs of a very large nest. "Chances are it was just moving on, but Silverfern will thank us anyway for being that little more careful, I'm sure. Lets be certain there isn't a nesting sight around here." |
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Post by whispering on May 31, 2024 14:33:46 GMT -5
Leading the way, Silentshadow didn't speak much. Painfully aware of how paranoid she made her sister. Again. Though she felt guilty for lashing out at the apprentice, the fire still rumbled in her belly. Didn't Rattlepaw know by now that she'd never hurt her? She'd never lifted a claw against her. So why was she acting as if she were a kidnapping fox and not her clanmate? Her sister? Her protector? Breathe. Be reasonable. The black she-cat reminded herself, her tail flicking. Rattlepaw went through more than the three of them combined, especially since she was still a 'paw,
Silentshadow remembered those awful days after the ceremony when the pale-furred molly went missing. She felt awful. She just knew her sister ran away because of what she said, what she'd done. It's my fault! I called her names, and I scared her. But Wisteriasnow had been icily calm. Rattlepaw is resilient. Good riddance if she runs away for good. Her mother knew what happened to her sister. Sure, her mother was cruel, but she would care if one of her kits went missing so soon after their father's brutal murder, wouldn't she? Her blood ran icy. What did you do to her? She'd asked quietly, frozen as she imagined all the horrid possibilities. Her sister's body mutilated and battered like Flinthawk's, except done by a different monster. One they were familiar with.
Rattlepaw returned, fortunately, crying and begging at Silentshadow's paws for forgiveness. Her pelt had been smeared with blood, debris, and twigs tangled in knots within the cream fur. She sighed, touching her nose to her sister's ear. Let's get you cleaned and fed. She murmured, relieved at her return. But they could not return to camp this way. Cats would ask too many questions, and if Wisteriasnow was caught, it was more than a beating that awaited them. Silentshadow was just happy her sister returned.
She paused and drew in the scents around them, her ears pricked for any rustles—a shrew. It was a meager little thing, but in this season, all prey was worthy prey. "I dream of him every night since then." The molly answered quietly, flicking her tail for silence before she dropped low. Her nose guided her toward the scent, her paws daintily following suit. She slunk forward until she heard the creatures scuffling. A few tail-lengths ahead of her, the fronds shook rapidly before the little brown body emerged. Silentshadow paused, unbreathing. Unblinking. She'd learned very quickly hunting was a game of efficiency. And just her luck, Silentshadow excelled in it. Quick as a flash, she darted forward, killing the shrew in one swift blow. A delighted purr vibrated in her chest. She always excelled.
"I'd offer you this catch, but times are desperate. Everyone will be hungrier in the upcoming moons," She mewed, scraping dirt over her catch. "Are you unwell? You look like you've lost more weight." It was as if it was rapidly declining since Silentshadow found her and brought her back to camp. Keeping her senses alert, she moved on, briefly glancing over her shoulder to meet Rattlepaw's eye.
"When is the last time you've seen her?" Yes, Silentshadow was more than aware that she was changing the subject. But it was clear, Rattlepaw was not receiving their father's visits. Silentshadow was only raising her hopes, and that would be mean, letting her sister go down the pathway of thinking Flinthawk would come to her as well. Or would he? She couldn't be sure. No matter. They would carry out hunting as usual, and she would single out her next cat to question; her dearest brother.
Owlpaw
with gingerflame @dewbranch
Owlpaw's jaws widened into an obnoxious yawn. The young tom had had a peaceful night. Who was he kidding; all his nights were restful and full of peace! As much hard work and training he put in, the apprentice was always welcomed to a full night's rest. And he'd wake up feeling restored, and, well, happy. What was the point in waking up moody or wishing to sleep longer? There was the whole day to look forward to!
Lazily, Owlpaw stretched out his limbs into a great stretch, purring at the release of tension from his muscles. Muscles he had been working hard to build. You're turning into a fine warrior. His mother would praise him, and he lit up at the thought of her. He would go and visit her before Gingerflame called to him. But first, there is something else I must do. He thought, rolling his shoulders one last time before he began to groom the moss out of his thick coat.
As he groomed, the apprentice realized how quiet the den was. Suspiciously quiet. There wasn't even the snuffly breathing or snoring of any of his denmates. How strange, it was still before dawn. Wasn't it? "Hey, Cariboupaw-" He began, turning his head to his sister's nest beside him. But he fell silent when he saw it empty. Blue eyes searched the other nests to find the same outcome. They were all empty. Everyone had left him behind!
"Great!" The pointed cat mewed, forgetting about his previous annoyance at being left behind by all his denmates. And the fact he'd overslept. Hunting would be far more exciting than holding a grudge. "Where are we headed?"
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Post by [X] . VeniVidiVici . [X] on May 31, 2024 18:12:19 GMT -5
BeaverpeltBeaverpelt was looking forward to the little bundles of fur. The best time of his life had been when his kits were young, when Oakkit and Cedarkit would curl up against their mother - Primerosesplash - and Beaverpelt would wrap himself around all three of them, peacefulness surrounding the little family. Beaverpelt had relished being a fresh warrior when his kits were born. All the more time to spend with them, he had thought at the time. And plenty of time to give them younger sisters and brothers. He and his mate had never had another litter - not for lack of trying, but StarClan never blessed them in that way again. He had watched as his peers had kits, and multiple litters, and had joyful moments as younger and older children played. As a young cat, he held resentment against StarClan for this. Why should he be punished in this way? And what punishment had Primrosesplash, of all cats, deserved? The grief crushed her, leaving her withdrawn from the family. When Cedarstar became a warrior and Oakstreak a medicine cat, they each became wrapped up in distractions. He and Primrosesplash slept in the same nest, but were as far apart as the camp and Scout’s Point. For him, he trained as many apprentices as he could. As close to more children as he could get.
“Yes,” he managed to croak out, pushing the thoughts of Primrosesplash out of his head. “It’s true, kits are my favorite members of the clan. Better than the rest of us,” he snorted. “And they’re sturdy. I swear I’ve seen grown warriors whine more about a thorn in their pads than most kits do about - well, almost anything. Tough little furballs.”
His breathing grew heavy and shallow as they made it further up the slope. I haven’t walked this part of the forest in moons, he thought. It was made evident by his struggle. His aging bones and moons off warrior duties had made this much more difficult than he ever remembered. He was grateful to be with a cat who traveled at his pace. Many others would have sped along, causing him to trudge and lag far behind.
(Beaverpelt did, however, fail to notice she had her own reason for traveling slower than usual.)
When they finally arrived, Beaverpelt was tempted to plop right down and take a nap. His paws ached, and his joints screamed from the sudden high usage. He shook out his legs, knowing they’d stop in a few hours. Such was being old. “Happy hunting.” He wished Briarstar curtly. Even Beaverpelt knew to be quiet when out looking for prey.
He didn’t expect to catch anything. He knew he was mainly there for safety; cats should not travel far by themselves. He chose to walk a short distance away from his leader and breathe in deep. The musky smell of pine filled his nostrils, and he felt comforted by the scent. This was his home and would be until he joined StarClan.
“Hello from home, Primerosesplash.” He said, barely audible. He sat on his haunches and gazed up at the tops of the trees, curling his tail over his paws. “How is Cedarstar? I hope you’re keeping a close eye on him.” He closed his eyes, imagining his mate and son hunting together in StarClan. |
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Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on May 31, 2024 20:38:19 GMT -5
Paintedmask »
Paintedmask’s claws flexed deep into the moss. His amber eyes blazed toward Oakstreak, black tail lashing to and fro, this way and that. He dug his claws deep, deep, deeper. The moss crackled underneath. Get on Briarstar’s good side, Oakstreak suggested. Take advantage of weaknesses. Play the long game.
Paintedmask had no time for the long game. He was overdue on his leadership and he wanted it now.
Golden eyes, a raging fire, bore down Oakstreak. ”I need him gone. Gingerflame needs to die.” What did Briarstar see in that tom anyway? Loyalty, duty, honor… Gingerflame had all of that and more, even Paintedmask couldn’t deny that, but what had put him above all the rest? What qualities did he have that went above and beyond, qualities that Briarstar was looking for and wanted to have at her side during her leadership? He was just an average warrior. Nothing about him stood out. There was nothing that placed him above and beyond any other warrior. If Briarstar had been looking for stereotypical she could have gone with any other warrior, so why Gingerflame? Why Gingerflame when she had another warrior who had qualities that put him above all else.
Lightning quick Paintedmask pulled his claws from the moss and recoiled back, fur spiking along his spine as he began to pace in front of his uncle. Tension was building, anger rising. It wasn’t uncommon for this to occur, especially in front of his uncle’s gaze. ”She should have picked me as her deputy! I’m the son of a leader and the grandson of another. Cedarstar even mentored me! I’ve had an apprentice before as well, I’m not missing that petty requirement.” Okay, sure, his apprentice had never reached warriorhood but it had been no fault of his own. Cloverpaw had been a mouse-brained fool jumping after that raven on the rock ledge, flinging herself far too out, unable to catch herself. So close she had been to becoming a warrior, a mere half a moon away. Yet rash stupidity had taken her, tumbling her down, down, down the mountainside. Down onto stony ground below. By the time he had run down to grab her she had already joined StarClan. Broken, bloody, twisted. The young gray tabby had been a mess by the time he had brought her corpse back to the Clan.
Badgered as he was about what had happened, Paintedmask merely shrugged all the sorrowful glances and whispers away. Cloverpaw had made her own decision. She had caused her own demise.
Another apprentice he had yet to receive, but all he needed was one to qualify for deputyship. And Cloverpaw had been the one. Paintedmask checked off all the requirements.
Back and forth he paced, tearing at moss, crushing scattered leaves. ”We need to get rid of Gingerflame, make sure I’m picked deputy, and then get rid of Briarstar.” Easier said than done, even the ambitious warrior knew that much.
Nine lives. They had nine lives to get through.
Paintedmask paused in his pacing. He drew in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself.
Nine lives.
Ten lives. Briarstar and Gingerflame.
If he and Oakstreak could just plan it right then ten lives could be taken in the blink of an eye.
Rattlepaw »
In the quiet of the woods, in the shadows of the pines, in the stillness of leaf-bare, would any cat realized Rattlepaw was gone? Would any cat notice her absence in the camp?
Good riddance, they would say. Pleased would they be to never see her again. The Clan would rejoice. Wisteriasnow would purr with delight. Slatestorm would puff out with relief. Silentshadow would find her voice and cheer to the skies. They would want her gone. Would be thrilled to never see her again. Why would a Clan want a useless cat among their midsts? Why would a Clan want a cat that should have been a warrior by now but was still stuck in the apprentices’ den. … Did Rattlepaw even want to be a warrior? Did she even want to be a Clan cat? Was it even all worth it?
Rattlepaw looked over her sister, how precise her steps were, how natural it was for her to walk through the shadows and hunt for the scents of prey. Not once had Rattlepaw even thought to part her jaws and check for creatures that might frequent the area. Not once had she thought to check the tree branches and hollowed roots for any signs of prey. Stay a few pawsteps away, remain silent, and don’t do anything stupid. It was the rules she lived by. It was the only thing she could do.
Perhaps Silentshadow would miss her. The black molly showed love and affection toward Rattlepaw. She would comfort her and be there for her at times, would tell her that everything was going to be okay and that nothing would hurt her. But then Silentshadow would turn on her, would become a hungry wolf with gnashing jaws and brutal claws. She’d spit fury and curse rage. Anger would burn in her eyes, a mirror of the disgust she would see when peering into the blue gaze of her mother. Their mother.
Rattlepaw shivered. Wisteriasnow was a monster, and her blood ran through all of her kits.
It was then that an odd thought trickled into her mind. A cheerful memory. A delightful moment. Her mind’s eye caught the flash of snow white with a sprinkle of orange. A bright smile with glittering gray eyes. There were times when he would actually talk to her, where he would come up to her while the rest of the camp was asleep, tucked away in their warm nests, and offer her a chance to get away, a chance to run around and play. A chance to laugh and smile and just be herself. A chance to be a real cat. A chance to not be afraid.
She had taken him up on the offer a few times now. Every time she would come out of her shell a little bit further, but something about Snowpaw still made the pointed molly nervous. Wary. What game was he trying to play with her? Why was he so adamant about spending time with her? Was he spying for Wisteriasnow? Was her mother somehow involved in all of that? Her throat went dry.
Would Snowpaw miss her? Or was he just as eager to get rid of her as the rest of the Clan?
Not even the temptation of a freshly killed shrew eased these worries out of the molly’s mind. Her stomach twisted and turned with emptiness as she watched her sister kill the creature with ease. Flinthawk had always praised Rattlepaw for how clean a kill she made, yet her paws had not taken a life in moons now. Even when her mentor - both old and new - had tried to teach her how to hunt she would let every creature they ran into pass by. The day before her father’s death had been the last time she had taken a life. The last time she had offered fresh-kill for her Clanmates. Rattlepaw’s stomach growled low and wanting. Yearning. Desperate. Her mouth watered. Yet she made no move for the shrew. Bony flanks heaved in air, nose curling at the scent of warm blood. Rattlepaw’s instinct was to grab the food and scarf it down, but she stayed where she was. Perhaps one day she wouldn’t feel the hunger any longer, but she was scared of that day. If she didn’t feel the hunger then would she ever feel anything again?
Her sister’s question momentarily caught Rattlepaw off guard. Her tail flicked as she shifted her paws upon the ground. ”I’m fine,” she mumbled, yet her body longed for the taste of prey. Her guts cried for fulfillment. She had gone so long without food that it was a surprise she was even still standing.
Another question was thrown her way. Rattlepaw’s ear twitched. Was she asking Rattlepaw when she had last seen their mother? Ants rustled through her pelt, itchy and hot. Was this a trap? Silentshadow had brought her out here to discuss their father, not their mother. The young molly fidgeted, muscles prepared to take flight should she need to run. ”Have you told any other cat about father?” Rattlepaw didn’t answer her sister’s question and instead responded with her own. Did Slatestorm know about their father speaking to Silentshadow? Did Wisteriasnow know? Or was this something only Rattlepaw knew about, and if so, why had Silentshadow picked her to tell out of every other cat she could have gone to?
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on May 31, 2024 21:54:39 GMT -5
SnowpawApprentice * 11 moons * He/Him * tagged; whispering ladylantsov--------------------------------------------------------------------- The apprentice had listened to the senior warrior intently, nodding along at his words. He was always so happy when he got to go out with other warriors as well as his mentor. It made him feel good to be included. "I can climb up a tree to get a better view for any nests nearby." The apprentice offered. By no means would he call either of the warriors old, but he was sure they would appreciate a young, lithe cat to take up the task of climbing up a tree trunk. It was a difficult task even for some of the lithest cats in the clan. Snowpaw of course, still wanted to prove himself, especially if there was no hawk to take down.
--------------------------------------------------------------------- OakstreakMedicine Cat * 95 moons * He/Him * tagged; Feathertalon--------------------------------------------------------------------- Oakstreak calmly listened to his nephew's tirade. He had never felt his age so intensely before today. Aching bones, desire to finally lay down and escape clan politics. Every fiber of his being wanted to tell him no, but before he could even consider it, he saw the shadow of the woman he loved looming over them. He hoped she could see from Starclan just how devoted to her he always remained, even after all these moons. "Now now, keep your voice down. If we're going to do this we don't need anyone in the clan getting a whiff of it." He padded to his hidden cubby of Deathberries, very carefully transferring them to a leaf and wrapping it. He brought it to Paintedmask with a whisper,"What I have here are the last deathberries of the season. These should be enough to take care of that soft hearted Ginger tom. As for Briarstar...we're going to have to get more creative. Besides, some cats are going to suspect something if we don't drag this out at least a little. I know, you want your destiny, and I will help you. We just aren't going to succeed if we're not careful. I don't want you to be banished from the mountains if you get caught."
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Post by ladylantsov on Jun 3, 2024 4:24:17 GMT -5
BRIARSTAR
More than a little grateful she wouldn't have to continue her hunt with an elder badgering her ear off, panting breaths scaring off any prey within a 1/4 mile radius of them. The shecat dips her head neatly once, then stalks as silently as a shadow into the undergrowth, her colourings shifting from a deep brown to near black as she steps further from the dim morning sunlight. Pawsteps near inaudible on cold, hard earth.
Though she moves away from Beaverpelt, she keeps one ear cropped in the older tom's direction. Though old ancient, she didn't doubt her companion still had at least some of his warrior wits about him. And certainly the lungs to shriek for her if some predator was idiotic enough to come out of the woodwork in the heart of their territory.
Still she was cautious, observant.
This molly knew well that threats tended to come from the least likely of places.
Her first kill is a mouse she practically only needs to scoop from its resting place on the roots of a large pine tree. The acorn it had been nibbling on the only sound as it drops from a now limp body. She buries it, scooping free earth over the scrawny little mammal - it would hardly feed a young apprentice.
There would be more work to do before she could retreat back to her nest, let sleep claim her.
Grey fur, little more than a flash of it, makes her jump, hackles rising and lips drawn back to reveal fangs that shone even in the dim light of the forest-depths. But it wasn't the massive, steel-pelted warrior that she'd spent moons observing so closely, that she found herself instinctually looking for him still.
Even moons after she'd watched his life-essence spill into the greenery.
Which explains why its not Flinthawk she turns to find stalking her, but a young and season-uncharacteristically fat squirrel, scurrying along the low hanging branches of a sapling. But even as she watches the young creature's merriment, the flash of grey had been enough to trigger a memory.
The confrontation, the demand for the truth. The swiping blow Flinthawk had hurtled at her, with every intentions of aiming to kill. Wits alone had allowed her to dodge out of its way, claws that had aimed for throat tearing through her chest instead.
Stamina and courage alone had kept her upright much longer. For the hours they'd spent, circling constantly each other like two starving wolves, sweeping close every so often to tear claws through fur, bite into whatever flesh came closest. Two of ConiferClan's strongest warriors, fighting until they were bloodied with it, tearing one another to shreds. By the end of it, her body had been shrieking at her for rest. Each desperately trying to claw the upper paw from the other. Briarstar had been convinced this was a battle she was only ever going to lose.
Would have met her end with one regret - that she would leave her Clan to this monster's wrath.
Then she'd lunged, and Flinthawk had slipped, paws scrambling on earth slick with their own blood.
She hadn't meant for her fangs to find his neck, but suddenly she found grey fur in her maw. And she'd clamped down until canines had found bone.
StarClan hadn't given ConiferClan's deputy the mercy of a quick death. He'd lay there, spluttering and coughing up crimson. Snarling at her, threats and curses she wouold carry with her until her own grave.
My children will spend the rest of their days seeking vengeance.
When Briarstar looks down her paws are bloodied, as is the earth beneath them.
My mate won't sleep until her claws are buried in your throat.
The snarl of it, echoing threw her bones, might have knocked the wind out of another cat. But her lunge goes undeterred.
You, your mate, and anything you love will never know safety again.
Her body collides with the squirrel, pulling it from its perch with a ruthless efficiency. Her fangs digging into its neck before it even has the chance to clock the change in gravity. They fall together, landing quietly on the forest floor once more.
Metallic blood spilling into her mouth, dripping down her broad chest.
Dead in a matter of seconds.
Flinthawk is nothing more than a ghost, he can't hurt you. Yet his voice follows her every footstep, and not just within these woods.
Squirrel and mouse in paw, the shecat turns back for the companion she'd left to gossip with the Whisper Woods spirits. Pleased with the offerings she would return to camp with, her pace a steady jog as she weaves back through the treeline and toward the cinnamon-coloured elder. "I won't keep you much longer, Beaverpelt," she reassures him, tone taking a forcefully playful note to it. "I'd think this squirrel should earn me some favours."
The mollies eyes narrow as a scent, acrid, foul yet familiar, dances over her tongue. That gives her reason to pause, muscles coiling beneath her like a viper preparing its strike. She waves her tail to Beaverpelt, the plumed digit a flag, a warning to keep quiet a moment more. Her own breaths barely dare to leave her throat as she pirouettes, eyes narrow as she searches for the source of the scent.
There.
A hawk, golden-grey feathers slightly bloodied, as is the beak that extends, dagger-sharp from its face. Currently dipped, buried in the body of a smaller bird. The long-grasses are covered in viscera, as it eats, devours, its poor victim.
And suddenly all Briarstar can imagine is the hawk eating not a bird, but one of the Clan's kits. And the fur rises along her spine at the very thought. |
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Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on Jun 3, 2024 11:52:34 GMT -5
Paintedmask »
Paintedmask wanted to be mad. He wanted to snap. He wanted to break. He wanted to sink his claws deep into something more than just moss. He yearned for the leadership, the leadership that should have been his moons ago. The rank had been promised to him over and over again, yet here he was, still a lowly warrior. He wouldn’t be able to rest until leadership was his.
The white and black warrior knew the importance of keeping quiet. With words as blasphemous as his no cat should be allowed to hear what he was speaking, but anger pulsed through him as wild as a wolf, as dangerous as a storm. How could he be quiet when his destiny was on the line? Staring at Oakstreak, his uncle, his father’s brother, he so badly wanted to say something about Oakstreak’s own yearn to be a warrior. He wanted to say something about how Oakstreak wouldn’t want to be quiet if his destined role was just out of reach - surely his uncle knew exactly how he felt, yet the difference between Paintedmask and Oakstreak was that Paintedmask could still hope for this dream position. Oakstreak had had his hopes shattered seasons and seasons ago.
His tongue was held. For all the impatient fury that sweltered within him, he was not going to attack his uncle like that.
Paintedmask drew in a deep breath. Eyes followed Oakstreak as the old tom padded toward a hidden crevice far away from peering eyes, far away from the knowledge of that bubbling with joy apprentice Oakstreak had.
Deathberries.
It was no surprise some remained. When Flinthawk had been alive and slowly poisoning Cedarstar, Paintedmask had been waiting for the moment in which he could trick Flinthawk himself into eating a meal doused with the poison. Clearly that had never happened, clearly the plan had never been executed. Flinthawk had been found dead out in the territory. A mystery it had been, the entire Clan stirred and shocked. Cedarstar had been so weak by then that he didn’t even think to investigate anything about Flinthawk’s sudden passing. It had been odd, sudden. Paintedmask knew something fishy had happened. Yet he himself didn’t challenge it at first, expecting his father to name him deputy.
Claws unsheathed once more. It had not been his name that his father had called out that fateful evening.
While Oakstreak had put away the deathberries after Cedarstar’s last breath, satisfied with his deed, Paintedmask continued to plot and plan, and now he was ready. He had been ready, but he had been patient, or as patient as Paintedmask could be. Now he couldn’t wait any longer. Now he needed to strike.
He rolled his eyes, impatience causing him to grow agitated even with Oakstreak. Paintedmask was aware that what his uncle spoke of was true - they needed to drag this out as to not draw attention to themselves, but the white and black tom didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to. ”We can just blame it all on StarClan. You’re the medicine cat, tell the Clan that our ancestors wish for the rightful leader to take his spot. Your apprentice would follow your lead, and the Clan may believe him more.” Not that Oakstreak was a terrible medicine cat, but the snappy tom’s reputation wasn’t the greatest. But Buckpaw…the Clan had no reason to be wary of him, no reason to be afraid.
Paintedmask turned back to the deathberries, focusing on them with such an intensity that even a bear would quiver. ”Gingerflame needs to go first. Perhaps he’d enjoy a squirrel tonight…” Malice dripped from every syllable he spoke. The quicker he took care of Gingerflame, the quicker he could rise to the top.
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 3, 2024 12:43:52 GMT -5
OakstreakMedicine Cat * 95 moons * He/Him * tagged; Feathertalon --------------------------------------------------------------------- Suddenly, the tom never felt older in his life. His desires to settle down and ignore his dark past were dashed. He didn't want to object, too fond of his nephew to be able to tell him no to anything. A long, pained sigh escaped Oakstreak as he closed his eyes for a few brief moments. "It will be done." He felt sick at the prospect of bringing his apprentice down with him. Buckpaw had no reason to be involved. He did nothing wrong to anycat. The same could be said for Gingerflame and Briarstar as well. It was easy enough to do this to his brother, and Flinthawk was an arrogant fool who deserved what came to him. He couldn't believe he was doing this again. These were not the cats that doomed him. These were not the cats that robbed Paintedmask either, they were innocent bystanders only dragged in by an ill old cat's confusion. He had accepted his fate in the dark forest when he perished...but refused to let anyone else take the fall if it all came crumbling down. He was the eldest, the wisest, he was the one allowing this to happen. No other would serve eternal damnation for his actions if he truly had any part in it. "Please be careful. I want you to actually get to live to see your leadership. I would like to see it as well."
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Post by whispering on Jun 3, 2024 13:17:08 GMT -5
The long-furred tom was brimming with pride at how far Snowpaw had come. From a nervous but happy little cat to a skilled and confident young tom. All thanks to Eagleswoop's teachings.
And he was even more proud to, seemingly, have Greyhawk's approval at the apprentice's answer. A weak-minded cat might have been offended at having another warrior testing their apprentice. But Greyhawk was more than worthy and was owed the respect of many. Who was Eagleswoop to tell him not to question his apprentice? To put the senior warrior in his place? If anything, the tom was willing to show Snowpaw's cleverness to any cat that would pay attention.
Before Greyhawk approached them, Eagleswoop planned to take his apprentice to Scout's point to test his sight and sense of smell. So, in a way, they were killing two birds with one stone.
But, since Snowpaw was right, the hawk was no longer in this area. A claw of disappointment nagged at him. He had come here expecting a fight. To chase the pesky bird away from their lands. But a hawk so close meant it was still around. Eagleswoop began to investigate, opening his jaws to welcome the scents around them. The wind buffeted his fur as he neared closer to the brook. He imagined how majestic he must look, how handsome. How Briarstar would tease him if she were here or pretend she hadn't noticed. He purred, such a tease his mate was. The thought of her made his need to be with her return, longing tugging on him harder than the chilling wind. That longing suddenly turned into a burning determination. He, they, had to find this hawk. A hawk so close to their camp meant it was hungry. Desperate.
He paused as he came across a trail of rabbit droppings. It was stale, but the scent told him they had been left throughout the morning. "Something caught its attention." He rumbled to his patrolmates, signaling them to take a look. But there was no smell of blood nearby. No traces of torn fur or fear scent a rabbit left behind while making a mad dash. It had caught the hawk's attention only temporarily.
Which meant it was on the search for something bigger. Eagleswoop's expression darkened. Cats were out and about on patrols, they were more than capable of fighting off a hawk if they were in a group. But he had a terrible feeling something would go wrong.
"We have to find it. Before it finds one of us."
A grin tugged at her lips. Sometimes, she forgot Rattlepaw was just as much like her kin as Slatestorm and her. She could just as easily change the subject, a skill Silentshadow herself mastered dealing with a cat like Wisteriasnow. Or her clanmates prying questions. "Fair." She purred, flicking her sister on her shoulder before continuing their hunt.
"No. Only you." She answered finally, "Because you listen to me. You hear me. And sometimes you give surprisingly good advice." On a good day, her sister could be very inspiteful. Knowing. Those were rare occurrences as of late, Rattlepaw's good days. At least, that's what Silentshadow thought. It seemed Rattlepaw was always closed off and timid. Paranoid. And for what? Silentshadow hadn't scared her or lost her temper lately... not before today. Not since the night before her warrior ceremony. She had been patient with her sister. But why? The thought frustrated her. Silentshadow had always been a support to Rattlepaw, she acted as her rock. When mother was too harsh, she was there to comfort her. She was there from dawn to dusk trying to push her sister to train harder, to impress the senior warriors so she could get her name. But to no avail. Her sister didn't reciprocate her efforts anymore. Her father's death had taken her drive with him. What a waste.
She knows a monster sleeps within you. You have more in common with your mother than you think.
Her breath caught, and she stopped dead. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked around wildly. The fur along her spine stood on end, and her ears strained to hear the voice again. But the wind of the whispering woods only brought the familiar hushed voices.
She shook her head; Silentshadow was more paranoid than she thought. Flinthawk was not here. He was dead. Besides, why would Rattlepaw ever be afraid of her? There was nothing to be afraid of. They were sisters.
And she was nothing like Wisteriasnow. Her anxiety was just getting to her.
A rustling nearby stopped her again, and she signaled to Rattlepaw to do the same. Scenting the air, she mewed quietly, "A mouse. You go around and get it." If her sister wouldn't take initiative, then Silentshadow would coax it out of her. Somewhere in there, maybe deep down, was a warrior's spirit. Her sister had once been an excellent hunter, they were hunters together. Slatestorm was the fighter.
"Go on, I'll wait here." She urged with a reassuring nod. The molly dropped into a crouch between the gnarled roots of a tree, positioning herself in case the mouse ran away. But Rattlepaw didn't need to know that; she secretly doubted her succession. That a part of her thought the pointed she-cat would half-ass the hunt and miss the mouse. But the other had faith that her sister was still in there, somewhere. Beneath all the misery and pain. She just needed a gentle push forward.
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 3, 2024 14:17:43 GMT -5
SnowpawApprentice * 11 moons * He/Him * tagged; whispering ladylantsov --------------------------------------------------------------------- Snowpaw made sure to keep all of his senses sharpened incase they were in for a surprise from the large bird. He suddenly felt a lot of pressure when Eagleswoop said that, not wanting this dangerous creature to hurt anyone. He tried to follow a scent trail, but it was obvious that the winged creature didn't stay on the ground for long. Birds were especially tricky just because of their speed and ability to get higher than anycat could even attempt to go. He scanned the ground for any feathers that might have came off of the winged beast, or any other indicator of which direction it had gone.
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Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on Jun 3, 2024 20:23:04 GMT -5
Paintedmask »
As Oakstreak conceded and gave into the malicious plans that had been festering in Paintedmask’s mind like the plague, the young warrior released some of the pressure that had been rolling through him like tidal waves. Shoulders sank back, his lips loosened, his tail flicked in smoother motions. The moss under paw shivered in delight as Paintedmask’s claws eased back into their sheathes. His plans were coming to fruition. Deathberries had been secured. All he had to do now was plant them in such a way that Gingerflame wouldn’t know what was coming. All he had to do was find a way to subtly get them into Briarstar’a system. With Oakstreak at his side, Paintedmask was sure he could achieve all of this. After all, his uncle had whittled down the lives of Cedarstar, so why couldn’t he do it again to another leader? Oakstreak was older now and Briarstar a new leader, but history could be repeated. History always had a way of doing as much, Paintedmask was just speeding up the process.
Anger subsiding and relief pushing the tension out of his body, Paintedmask eased the fur along his spine and nape, smoothing his mostly white pelt. Stepping away from the shredded moss and the hidden crack of deathberries, Paintedmask stood in front of his uncle. His neck lowered and craned forward, pink nose pressing into the thick pelt of the medicine cat. ”Thank you,” he murmured, voice no longer dark and harsh, but rather soft, tender even. Those two words made it clear how Paintedmask felt about his brother’s father. Oakstreak was the one cat who had never let him down. The one cat that truly understood him and wanted Paintedmask to achieve his goals. Oakstreak had always been by his side and had always given the warrior exactly what he had always wanted. It was comforting to know that his kin remained loyal to him even in his elderly age.
Still standing before his uncle yet craning his head upward, a gentle smile - a rare feature upon his maw - pulled his lips upward. A purr even trilled against his vocal cords, a subtle dance of pleasure within his throat. ”You’ve nothing to worry about,” he promised warmly. This plan would see itself through. All would go without a hitch, and before long, Paintedmask would finally make his debut as Paintedstar.
Taking a few pawsteps away, Paintedmask dipped his head. He would return to the medicine cat den later to retrieve a deathberry and trickle juice onto some prey for Gingerflame later, but for now he knew he needed to tend to his warrior duties. If he were to look as if he had done nothing wrong then he knew the importance of providing for his Clan. ”I’ll come back later, Oakstreak. Rest now, uncle.” Age had dragged the medicine cat down, that much any cat could see. The weariness in his bones was palpable, the strain obvious.
Before leaving the den entirely Paintedmask hovered at the exit. Amber eyes lay upon the form of Oakstreak, ears pricked and ready for any response that may come his way before taking his leave.
Rattlepaw »
Only her. Silentshadow had only spoken to her about this.
Blue eyes blinked, a sparkle lighting their depths, a light that hadn’t kindled in moons. Silentshadow believed that Rattlepaw listened to her. That she heard her. Heaviness that had lingered within her chest slowly resided. From stone to feather Rattlepaw felt lighter. Felt at ease.
On silent paws she inched closer to her black-furred sister, relaxing in her presence. Silentshadow still loved her, still valued her. The anger from earlier had just been a fluke, that’s all it had been. Why would her sister want to hurt her in the first place? Perhaps Silentshadow had raised her hackles and her voice towards Rattlepaw before, perhaps she had cursed Rattlepaw for her actions and looked down on her as if she were a bedraggled rat, but Silentshadow had never scored her claws across Rattlepaw’s flesh. None of the scars along her body came from her littermate. Only her mother had marred her, only her mother had drawn blood.
Maybe Silentshadow wasn’t as similar to Wisteriasnow as one might think.
Confidence swelling back into her thin body, Rattlepaw noiselessly closed the distance she had created between herself and Silentshadow moments ago. Misty gray and night black fur intermingled as the apprentice brushed against her littermate, the semblance of a purr croaking within her throat. An odd noise it was coming from the pointed molly, a hum that was rarely made.
Yet just as quick as Rattlepaw had eased into the presence of her sister she just as quickly pulled away. As quick as a snake and as rigid as stone the pale furred molly flinched away from her littermate, spooked by the sudden change in demeanor her sister portrayed. Fur bristling, ears alert, something had alerted Silentshadow. Something had tipped her over the edge just a bit.
Rattlepaw glanced down. Had she acted too quickly? Should she have given her littermate some space?
The wound across her face burned. The memory of Wisteriasnow’s claws whistling through her fur creating a shiver down her spine. Rattlepaw’s ears flattened. She didn’t want Silentshadow to hate her like Wisteriasnow did.
It was a terrible coincidence that Silentshadow eased herself back into stability once Rattlepaw had stepped away, the apprentice painfully unaware of the struggle her sister had just experienced. To the broken gaze and splintered mind of Rattlepaw it was all too easy to assume that her touching Silentshadow had set her off, and removing herself had fixed the problem.
Why did everything she do end up going so wrong?
All was well with Silentshadow again. Rattlepaw was tail-lengths away from her sister and now the warrior was relaxed with the location of prey on her tongue. Now the black warrior wanted Rattlepaw to catch the prey, to end the mouse’s life.
Her father’s words rang in her ears, a breeze tickling the fur against them. ”You’re a clean killer, Rattlepaw.”
Earlier she might have tried, but now she had no ambition, no will to even attempt it.
Bracing herself for anger she shook her head. ”No,” she murmured, voice hushed, a whisper, a ghost. Rattlepaw wouldn’t catch a mouse today.
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 3, 2024 20:45:48 GMT -5
OakstreakMedicine Cat * 95 moons * He/Him * tagged; Feathertalon --------------------------------------------------------------------- Warmth filled him as he began to purr loudly as well. His nephew, smiling, purring. He realized that the sight of such a thing was worth all of the eons the Dark Forest had in store for him. Paintedmask was his one motivator. He remembered when Nightmask had announced her pregnancy to the clan. Flashes of jealousy and deep depression rippled through the once much younger tom's body then. All of his lingering hopes dashed forever. He remembered the first night he had collected deathberries and placed them in that cubby. Originally, they were meant for himself. He remembered contemplating them the same day Cedarstar came roaring like thunder to the Medicine cat den. Brother, the kits. He remembered the deep and panicked voice of his brother crying. As her life slipped away in his paws, all of that sadness had been replaced by anger. All of his self pity turned to hatred. You did this. You're the reason she's dead! He remembered spitting like venom at his brother. All of those vision faded away as he looked at his nephew once again. "Make me proud, as you always do." He warmly mewed before settling the deathberries back into their hidden spot. Once he was sure Paintedmask was gone, he settled into his nest. He was exhausted, and managed to fitfully fall into a slumber. Visions of that dreaded dream were expected, but Oakstreak found himself surprised at the sight of a Starclan cat, rather than a grey pelted wolf.
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Post by Dew on Jun 3, 2024 21:53:56 GMT -5
 Gingerflame Gingerflame almost chuckled at his apprentice, remembering his own apprentice days. Something like this happened to many a cat in their lifetime, even as a warrior. He could admit to sleeping in a few times himself. But not since he became deputy. Not since Silverfern told him she was pregant. The stress of organizing every patrol everyday was a little bit mind boggling. He still didn't think he was the right cat for the job, and he knew some of his clanmates would call him soft. I can be anything but soft.
Gingerflame thought for a moment, thinking about where all the patrols were going so they wouldn't run into each other. "Let's go around Clouded Peaks. Prey is usually hanging around where they can see the land," as far as he knew, no cat had gone that way today. Sure, somecat might have left camp early but that wasn't much his problem. If they hadn't told him, (which they should have) then they were all but responsible for what happened to them. He remembered when his mentor had said the same thing to him during his apprentice days, when he and a few others snuck out early and got into trouble. Appprentices can be fairly stupid. But, some can be just as smart.
Gingerflame flicked his tail towards Owlpaw and led the way out of camp, to where the mountain starting going up, up, up! It was a good lesson for apprentices to learn how to hunt with not just sight and scent, but also touch and taste, as well as using their ears. Sometimes, it was just as easy as hunting in the Whispering Woods. "You ready?"
Him/Him - Warrior
whispering
Auburnpaw Auburnpaw crouched down next to Burntears, so close their fur was touching slightly. She watched, eagerly as Burntears demonstrated the moves. I wish Greyhawk was here. It wasn't that she didn't like the young she-cat. In fact, Burntears was one of her favorite cats in the clan! But Greyhawk, although not very talkative, or friendly, would have caught that fish. Auburnpaw was sure of it, and for some reason it mattered loads to her.
"So, just like this?" She demonstrated the move after backing away from the brook, pretending the air below her was the water as well as the fish. It was a lot like how she had done it before, but this time she was trying to do it faster. It took some practice, and balance, but finally Auburnpaw thought she got the hang of it. "Can I try with a real fish now?"
She/Her - Apprentice
𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 , Sand |
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 3, 2024 23:51:54 GMT -5
BurntearsWarrior * 36 moons * She/Her * tagged; Dew --------------------------------------------------------------------- The pale she-cat watched with sparkling eyes as the apprentice started to get faster and faster with each swing. Maybe she could have been a good mentor after all! Burntears backed away from the waters edge and gave a quick nod to Auburnpaw,"Yes, go for it. I know if we work together we can catch more than Oriolehop." She hoped the prospect of it being a game excited the young she-cat as much as it excited her. She seemed not to know why Auburnpaw was sad, but she definitely wanted to help. The former queen pondered if the apprentice would be more successful than she was. She hoped her paws had a better grip to them than hers did.
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Post by whispering on Jun 4, 2024 14:37:53 GMT -5
Leading The black she-cat crouched watching her sister, waiting patiently for her sister to inch her way to the other side and begin the hunt. But Rattlepaw never did. What's she doing? She thought impatiently, kneading her claws into the soft ground beneath the roots. The longer they waited, the further the mouse scurried deeper into the undergrowth. The familiar feeling of irritation began to brew a fire in her belly.
No.
Her sister finally spoke. Silentshadow stayed in her position a moment longer, her face blank and expressionless. But the fire within her was raging, lapping hungrily at her, making her skin hot. Blinking, the molly arose, shaking debris from her fur. "No?" She asked in confusion, glaring at her sister as if she'd suddenly grown wings.
For many heartbeats, she just stood, her golden eyes staring unblinking. She almost felt like she didn't know Rattlepaw at all; this was a strange traveler who crawled their way up the mountain and stole her sister's place. This was an impostor. Running off what little sleep she had, Silentshadow was almost certain there was a possibility the stranger swapped places with Rattlepaw when she'd run away. Her sister was somewhere far away down the mountain exploring a new life; away from her pitying clanmates, her family, and her mother.
The Rattlepaw she'd trained beside would never blatantly disregard a mouse. Warriors hunted for their clan, they made sure all the weak were fed. Did she forget that? Did she not care? The Rattlepaw she built a nest with wasn't always so skittish. So jumpy. Her blue eyes were once full of light, timid yes, but lively. Eager to please. Now she stood looking down at her paws in such a way that made Silentshadow's tail bristle and her claws sink into the ground.
Monster. Her father was taunting her. His scent wreathed all around her. Show her what you're capable of. A low growl began deep in her chest. Show her what a cold killer you are.
"Shut up!" She hissed, whipping her head over her shoulder where the ghostly presence once was. But the only thing she saw were the towering trees. The only sound the muted birdsong that would soon die away as the cold season came. Flinthawk's scent vanished as if he was never there. I'm losing my mind.
Closing her eyes, the molly sighed, sucking in deep breaths to calm herself. She swallowed her anger down, a hot lump that burned in her throat. Her fur lay flat, and she reopened her gaze back to her sister. Her poor, pitiful sister. She forced a small smile. Forced herself to stand beside herself, forced her to lay her tail reassuringly across her pale shoulders. Forced herself to rasp her tongue atop Rattlepaw's head. Forced herself to say, "It's okay. I'll hunt. You just retrieve my catches, okay?"
Only Wisteriasnow would be angered by her sister's refusal to do, well, anything. Silentshadow would not allow herself to follow suit in the gray and white molly's footsteps. Rattlepaw needed patience. Love. And she would continue to give that to her sister. She would continue to keep her patience. Even if it had all dwindled.
You sure know how to ruin the fun, Silentshadow.
Owlpaw
with gingerflame Dew
Clouded peaks. Owlpaw wanted to groan, but he kept it to himself. Like his mother, the tom was an exceptional fisher. Burntear's taught him herself. And, yes, ConiferClan cats were known for their expert climbing. They lived in the mountains, after all! But, Owlpaw was terrified of heights. He'd only been a kit back when Cloverpaw was an apprentice, and he'd heard the hushed whispers of the event of her tragic death. How she'd plummeted down, down, down to the unknown. The young cat had had nightmares imagining his own battered body after falling down the dark abyss. But Burntear's had been there to comfort him. He didn't have the nightmares anymore. But that didn't stop his fears.
But he must. Gingerflame would not give up until Owlpaw overcame his fears. How could he be a warrior if he couldn't climb? Well, I suppose I could just stick to the brook and the whisper woods... No! He had to overcome his fear of falling.
Putting on a brave face, he nodded to his mentor. "Ready, as I'll ever be." Owlpaw mewed, though his pelt prickled with unease as he followed after the deputy.
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Post by ladylantsov on Jun 4, 2024 17:18:52 GMT -5
SLATESTORM
A dark grey ear had twitched in his mother’s direction, but otherwise he reacts no way to the revelation his mother has noticed the - fleeting - glance he had sent the freshkill pile’s way. Reacting would give him no benefit. Nor does he respond to her suggesting that any prey they stumbled across would be his own to eat. Devour before anyone in camp would even know about it.
It would be a breach of the warrior code - the youngest and the eldest were to take their pick of the fresh kill pile first, the idiots who’d spent hours of sweat, blood and broken bones to catch it for them left to pick through any sorry remnants.
Of course his mother wouldn’t mind him breaching the code they were meant to live by - they were out of camp, out of sight. The facades of perfection could be dropped, even if for a short time. Yet he won’t hunt, not for himself in the least - though he won’t go lumbering about all badger-like in order to avoid a catch today.
He wouldn’t eat until it was his turn.
The code was one of the few things in his life that wasn’t a facade.
Even if his interpretation of it was muddied by his parents voices.
The warrior’s whiskers twitch, but Slatestorm doesn’t smile with delight at the sound of his mitger’s tight-lipped praise. Icy eyes - near perfect replicas of his mother’s own, bare into Wisteriasnow’s smaller form, tracking each pawstep with an intensity most would have balked under.
Of course his mother doesn’t - she’s the one who taught it too him.
He nods a response to his mother’s assertion that they’d do what they’d come here for right now, then follow the badger scent to its completion afterward. That doesn’t mean the tension goes flooding from his bones, not in the slightest. “Okay,” he adds his own voice only a heartbeat after Palestream’s voice had cut through the tense quiet.
“StarClan seems to be testing us,” Slatestorm thinks aloud, going through the motions of freshening their border markings in no particular rush. Thorough and careful. “I heard mention of a hawk circling the skies recently.”
Is father sending every threat he can think of, hoping to test us even from beyond the grave? It wouldn’t have surprised Slatestorm in the least to learn that his father had conquered even death to continue tormenting the he had brought into this world. Frankly the grey-furred Tom was something akin to impressed that StarClan had dared to even come to claim what pitiful excuse for a soul his father had, to take back to the Stars.
Or maybe these tests were his father’s punishment - for his children’s failures to prevent whatever monster it was that slaughtered him. |
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Post by ladylantsov on Jun 4, 2024 17:44:26 GMT -5
GREYHAWK
“No,” Greyhawk interrupts the - frankly startlingly eager apprentice, as though not convinced young Snowpaw wouldn’t hurtle himself for the nearest tree and begin dragging himself bodily up its bark face. Knowing Oriolehop well - for clearly it was the father this younger cat took after rather than the notoriously shy Honeyskip - Greyhawk would have hardly been surprised to learn that was all the encouragement this youngster would have needed. A skeptical look at this young, bright furred apprentice speaks volumes more than his calm tone would ever give hint to.
The warrior could practically imagine a hawk’s delight at learning its dinner has quite happily presented itself into the nest. An outright delivery service.
Pointedly gentling his tone, in an effort not to break Snowpaw’s hopes and dreams in a single, foul swoop, Greyhawk adds. “If there was a nest in these parts the smell would be stronger,” the senior Tom explains patiently, a dark, amber eye flitting over to the mentor periodically, ever cautious of not pushing a boundary unwelcome.
Greyhawk nods his agreement - it did seem something had distracted the bird of prey. What, the Tom couldn’t be sure, but chances were they would quickly find out. His dark eyes flash, imagining a swooping creature lunging for an apprentice no larger than Snowpaw. “Something must have distracted it,” he echoes Eagleswoop’a thoughts, chewing on them himself, trying to consider what the bird’s likely next steps would be.
The lands by the Brook was the most open parts of the territory this way, only small handfuls of trees scattered across open fields, this would be the most likely hunting ground for a hawk that did chose to take up residence. Especially compared to the very heavily wooded parts of the woodland elsewhere, better suited to smaller prey that wouldn’t be of too much interest to a hawk.
Something interesting ought to have caught its attention, hopefully not one of their clanmates.
Wind wraps around them, and his nostrils flare. Drawing in as much of the smell as he can, the breeze comes from further down the territory, toward the thickly wooded part of their home they knew as the Whisper Woods. On it he catches a more recent smell of hawk, acrid and bloody.
Then the familiar scent of Briarstar, and one of the clan’s elders. Distant - but definitely there, definitely coming from the same, if vague direction. A coincidence? It didn’t seem likely.
A risk a starved animal might take when presented with no alternatives. “Your mate feeling well enough to tackle a hawk, friend?” Another cat might have sound pointed, even cruel. It would be a mad, hurtling dash to make the distance in time, warning yowls on their lips and even then it might prove too late. Yet his muscles coil beneath him, ready to spring at the first sign Eagleswoop agreed it might be necessary. Eyes careful and watchful as they pierce the younger Tom. |
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Post by rainshimmer on Jun 4, 2024 17:51:08 GMT -5
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Post by [X] . VeniVidiVici . [X] on Jun 4, 2024 20:13:54 GMT -5
BeaverpeltPrimrosesplash didn’t answer her mate - well, not in a way that made sense. But Beaverpelt believed she answered him in the calm stillness he felt, the peace that settled around him. It was nice to get out of camp sometimes, and be out in a quiet place. He could retreat internally here in a way he could not when surrounded by his clanmates. He blinked his eyes open, taking in his surroundings.
His ears perked towards a sound. He turned his head to see Briarstar approaching him, prey in paw. He purred at Briarstar’s statement about the squirrel. “Yes, it looks quite nice. That’ll feed some hungry warriors.” He was content to go on talking, telling stories of his own plump prey caught, when Briarstar’s tail shot up. Beaverpelt narrowed his eyes. That was not good. He opened his mouth, beginning to crouch. The scent hit Beaverpelt a moment later. Hawk.
Beaverpelt swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed. It wasn’t that he was scared to death - he had been a proud ConfierClan warrior - but that he knew the odds were stacked against them. Yes, Briarstar was formidable, but Beaverpelt was…old. And he was out of practice.
“What will we do?” He hissed to Briarstar, his voice barely above the breeze that whipped around them. “It will scent the prey soon, no doubt. And us.” |
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Post by ladylantsov on Jun 5, 2024 4:20:52 GMT -5
BRIARSTAR
Even when Beaverpelt speaks, voice barely edging above a whisper, the dark-pelted molly does not peel her eyes away from the massive bird before them. But her eyes are unseeing in that moment, not for reality in the least. All Briarstar can see in that heartbeat is the possibility of that creature tearing one of her clanmates to shreds, talons bloodied with the entrails of Beaverpelt or Gingerflame or Snowpaw.
The blood thunders through her ears, but her pawsteps are steady as she rounds carefully toward the eating bird of prey. Allowing the thick foliage and dim lighting to hide her large frame from sight, for now. Briarstar pauses only where the last of the hedgerow ceases, where only open plain stands between her and the Hawk.
All she can see is a shadow swooping down, lightning fast and before she has the chance to even think about reacting, its too late, its snatching little Tigerkit from her mossy nest and carrying him away, never to be seen again.
She could sooner command her own heart to stop beating than she could pull her eyes away from the threat to her Clan, the threat to her kits.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to deal with the threat - destroy any risk.
She was the Leader - what worth did she have if not to protect what was hers?
The fur down her hackles stands on end, making the intimidating molly look even larger than she actually was. Muscles ripple, toned and strong beneath a thick pelt as she lifts herself to her paws, plumed tail lashing this way and that. "We can't get reinforcements," the words are so matter of fact, betraying no sense of concern least of all fear. "By the time we get back StarClan only knows where it might have gone."
StarClan forbid they accidentally lead it back to camp entirely.
The hawk, massive as it was, would hardly be able to carry herself or Beaverpelt off. Its talons could deal deadly enough blows, but the warriors could retaliate with claws of their own. But ConiferClan territory would be rife with its younger cats at this time of day, a young apprentice would be little more than an easy meal for a bird of this size.
Here they had the element of surprise on their side. Could catch the hawk unawares, snap its neck before it even realised that a threat was watching it from the hedgerow. But the longer they sat and nattered about it, the greater the chances were they'd be caught. All it would take was the changing of the winds, or a snapping twig under-foot.
If they were going to act, they needed to act now.
"Get low and stay quiet," she warns Beaverpelt, voice authoritive, eyes still never leaving the medley of brown and golden feathers foxlengths ahead of them. "I'm going to see if I can snatch it."
In her belly, the kits are a storm of squirming, her flanks shaking ever so slightly with the movements. |
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 5, 2024 10:55:05 GMT -5
SnowpawApprentice * 11 moons * He/Him * tagged; whispering ladylantsov --------------------------------------------------------------------- Normally, the young white cat would never dream of doubting his leader or her abilities. She was the pinacle of a strong, capable she-cat. Guilt clawed at his insides this time, unable to forget his mentor's words about her needed to 'feel better'. "Should we go help her?" He mewed toward his mentor, trying to make eye contact with the much larger tom. Had he been a warrior, he would insist they help her, unwaveringly loyal to his leader and wanting to ensure the safety of their clanmates. Alas, he was still an apprentice, and knew that he didn't have the authority to just demand they do as he say. Worry was clawing at him at every silent beat between them.
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Post by whispering on Jun 5, 2024 12:01:41 GMT -5
His nose to the ground, Eagleswoop continued to investigate the area. There were no signs that the hawk had caught the rabbit. Or anything else in this area. Everything around the area seemed normal. Hawks weren't always a threat, it could have just been passing through. Had it been spring, the tom would have even considered a mother scoping the area for her chicks. But it was not spring, and, really, there was no putting past how far a starved animal would go.
At least it isn't an eagle. He mused to himself, straightening his posture to drink in the air.
Though it was rare for eagles to venture so far down the mountain. Now that would have been a real problem. The giant, majestic creatures could easily scoop up a full-grown cat if they wanted to. Eagleswoop had heard stories of a cat long ago who had been snatched up and away, never to be seen again. He had never dealt with one. But he'd seen them from a distance, fishing upriver. If it came down to a battle, could he win? Jumpingjay told him once he'd watched an eagle carry off a young doe. A kits tale, the tabby had assumed then but he couldn't be sure. Eagles were a force to be reckoned with, they were huge. But, then again, so was he. It was his name, after all.
There were no scents in this area, and just as he was about to give up, the wind changed. Hmmm. Border patrol. Deer. Squirrel. Blood. He paused, Blood? He was aware that Greyhawk too caught the scent. The blood carried with it the more acrid scent of the hawk. And cats. His blood ran cold. Briarstar.
A part of him wanted to believe she was just passing by. The hawk had caught its prey, and his mate was just out taking a stroll. But the claw of doubt dug deep in his heart. Anxiety making his stomach turn into knots. And beyond that; anger.
Despite how he attempted to reassure himself that his mate was fine, she was nowhere near the area, the wind was only blowing her scent along. He knew it wasn't true. The mouse-brain! Always trying to prove herself.
Long claws unfurled into the dirt, his vision blurring into a red haze. Greyhawk and Snowpaw were speaking, giving him looks of concern and uncertainty. Any other time, Eagleswoop would have brushed them off. Briarstat was a capable and skilled warrior. She didn't need their savior. But they didn't know their secret. They didn't know that she held the lives of their children within her belly. That his paternal instincts overtook his rational mind as he pictured Briarstar creeping low toward the hawk, and the feathered creature turning on her.
That vision alone was enough to send him hurdling through the undergrowth. No longer aware that he'd left his patrolmates. Or the twigs and greenery that snagged at his fur and slapped into his face as he blundered toward the scent. The only thing that mattered was Briarstar and their kits. They needed his protection.
Wait! The burly cat skidded to a halt, hissing in pain as he snagged a paw in a gnarled root. He'd lost the scent. Eagleswoop turned in frantic circles, drinking in the air, ignoring the pain that pierced through his foreleg. Damn it! He growled in frustration, retracing his steps a few paces before he picked up the hawk's scent again. And continued hurtling to save his mate.
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Lesbian
#ACEBF6
Name Colour
Feathertalon
Bird Overlord
unofficial chicken whisperer
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Post by Feathertalon on Jun 5, 2024 13:20:45 GMT -5
Rattlepaw »
Moons ago the prospect of killing a mouse to feed her Clan would have excited her. It would have sparked a deep ambition within her. She would have bared her fangs and unsheathed her claws, raring for her natural weapons to sink deep into the warm flesh of prey. Coming back home with her head high and fresh-kill dangling from her jaws while her Clan praised her for her catch would be a dream come true, but that was all in the past. That had been the Rattlepaw of before, the Rattlepaw before her father died, before she had failed her warrior assessment again and again and again…
No.
She would not hunt today. She would not hunt ever. The joy of it, the thrill of providing…it wasn’t there anymore. It was all gone. There was no reason behind it.
Rattlepaw would never kill an innocent creature ever again.
Anger was what she expected from that mindset. Annoyance was the second option.
The wounds upon her face stung once more. The sensation of her own mother’s claws burned against her visage.
Rattlepaw slunk back, lowering herself ever so slightly against the ground. Eyes of blue met eyes of amber. Eyes of her mother met the eyes of her father.
Wisteriasnow and Flinthawk. Rattlepaw and Silentshadow were more like their parents than they’d ever admit.
An outburst from her sister pushed Rattlepaw even further away. Slowly, steady, subtly she took a few more paw steps away, eyes never once leaving the dark form of her littermate. Once upon a time they had been so close. Rattlepaw hoped that they were still just as close, but the anger she had witnessed flaring just underneath her sister’s surface, the displeasure that had ruffled her sister’s black pelt and rippled through her sinewy muscles. It was clear that Silentshadow’s quiet hiss had not been toward Rattlepaw, but instead a haunting figure, a ghost, a long dead warrior.
Flinthawk.
Was he talking to her again?
The selfish worm from earlier wriggled nearby.
Had he said anything about Rattlepaw this time?
The young molly took in a deep breath of the chilled air around her. She needed to focus. Needed to not get carried away by her selfish yearnings. Her sister had come to her with a problem. Rattlepaw shouldn’t be so caught up with her own self.
A nod was all she gave her warrior sister when the black molly calmed down, loosened the tension within her lithe frame. Retrieving her sister’s catches…she could do that. That wasn’t hard. It didn’t require much effort, either. Retrieving catches while her sister killed sounded easy enough.
Settling into the shadows of the pines, Rattlepaw couldn’t help but let her mind travel down its own path. What would Cedarstar say to her if she had denied a chance to kill prey? What would Flinthawk say? Wisteriasnow?
Her face ached once more. She knew exactly what her mother would say and do.
Would Briarstar have said anything? Rattlepaw’s tail twitched, paws shuffling against the ground. Truth be told she didn’t know enough about her current mentor to even take a guess on how the dark tabby would react. Briarstar didn’t have much to do with Rattlepaw, but what did the pointed molly expect? No cat wanted much to do with her, and who could blame them?
Slinking further into the shadows and further into her thoughts, Rattlepaw waited, hushed, breath stuck in her chest, for Silentshadow to make the kill.
Wisteriasnow »
An ear angled in Palestream’s direction was the only indication that Wisteriasnow was even conscious of the third member of the patrol. Right now she was more focused on her son and the scent of badger than anything else. She saw no reason to watch out for Palestream - the other molly could very well take care of herself, and should something go awry, Wisteriasnow was fully confident in her ability to take action and save or protect her Clanmate. There was a lot wrong in the twisted mind of the molly, but she wouldn’t let a badger take a Clanmate on her watch.
Paws fluidly and silently took her to a nearby boulder, the stone hardened by wind and draped by soft moss curtains. A tall chunk of granite, the boulder represented the end of ConiferClan territory; beyond this point the land was too harsh, too inhospitable, too prey-poor for any cat to consider it viable land for living. Wisteriasnow glanced upward, gaze cast upon the mountain crest above. It was beyond Clan boundaries, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to sit upon that peak, to perch like a bird on the stone and look out at all the land below. She had to wonder what it would feel like to have the breeze tickling at her fur unbridled, the free scents of mountain air and earthy plants from below.
Perched high above the territory, sitting atop the land…
Wisteriasnow shook her head. She had no time for fanciful imaginations.
Pressing her cheek against the stone the senior warrior began leaving her scent, leaving ConiferClan scent, against the boulder. She dug her paws deeper into the ground as well, allowing the scent glands from her pawpads to press further into the land. If ConiferClan couldn’t afford to bring warriors this far out anytime soon then they needed to be confident that their border held strong. Even if no other cat occupied this land, the last thing they needed was an unwanted trespasser.
Like that badger.
Once she had finished her portion of the border the warrior made her way back to Palestream and Slatestorm. Neither of the two looked as if they had had any trouble marking their part of the border. All was well.
Her son spoke up, his words unrestricted, a sentiment that he perhaps wanted to keep to himself in the confines of his own mind. Wisteriasnow flicked her tail, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She had taught her kits to think before speaking, had she not? To analyze their words thoroughly before ever allowing them to escape from their lips. Yet she would not punish him for this slip. She would allow him to have this one, but only just this one. Perhaps it was due to how she could see some logic in his commentary, some truth behind it all. A badger, a hawk… Two predators who rarely lumbered within the pines and soared high in the skies was quite the omen to witness. The chilled breeze was a cruel reminder of what season lurked just around the mountainside. Threats during leaf-bare needed to be handled as swiftly as possible. They couldn’t allow dangerous creatures in the shadows when prey was scarce and herbs rare.
The senior warrior headed upward, paws inching on the line between ConiferClan land and unclaimed territory. What lay beyond the border? What sort of creatures had lay their claim on such barren ground? ”StarClan can test us all they want,” the molly replied coolly. Her faith in StarClan was like that of any other warrior, but she had no reason to fear them, no reason to believe they were out to harm the Clan. ”They’ll realize that we’re ready for whatever comes our way.” Wisteriasnow’s claws were sharp and prepared. She was skilled in battle and quick on her paws. A strike from this warrior would have anything running for mercy.
She turned her head, looking behind her shoulder. Slatestorm stood there, stoic as ever. Muscles rippled underneath his thick pelt. A pelt that resembled Flinthawk’s almost exactly.
Wisteriasnow’s chest clenched. Even monsters felt emotion.
Yet, she reminded herself, if Flinthawk had been better, if he had fought harder, it would be he who had come out of that battle victorious rather than…
Focus.
Her son was an impeccable fighter despite his flaws. Should the badger be near then it would certainly cower in the presence of such a powerful warrior. And Palestream… She was nimble and lithe, quick on her paws, able to zig and zag her way through any obstacle that might try to hinder her escape. A quick runner, a powerful fighter, and then there was Wisteriasnow. She was strategic, a thinker. Any plan they needed and she could come up with it on the spot. A good idea, a brilliant idea. Wisteriasnow wouldn’t fail them should the badger make an appearance.
With a nod toward her patrolmates, the molly took the lead once more, walking toward the bitter stench of the badger. ”Let’s follow this trail for a bit. We won’t track it far outside our border, but we need to make sure it’s not circling back into our boundaries.” If the badger had crossed over into their territory only momentarily to lumber right back out, then there would be no issue here; should it seem that the creature had circled back inside their land… Wisteriasnow rolled her shoulders underneath her pelt; the badger would have a rude awakening should they come across it.
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Post by 𝓡𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 on Jun 5, 2024 13:54:26 GMT -5
SnowpawApprentice * 11 moons * He/Him * tagged; whispering ladylantsov --------------------------------------------------------------------- His paws pounded against the grass after his mentor, not questioning Eagleswoop for even a second. He felt his heart begin to race, knowing that if the leader's own mate was so distressed as to run off without a word, then all paws were needed. Snowpaw narrowed his eyes in concentration on where the smell was coming from. He swore to himself he would take this bird down, for the safety of all cats in Coniferclan. Nothing would harm their camp if he had a say, sure that he would fight to his dying breath to protect them all.
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