Recent content by Chickbloom

A tired smile spreads across scarred features as Billiepaw tries her best to soothe him. The baby bird is reminded of Oakrumble, syntax similar (though lacking his late friend's tough love), and he briefly wonders if this was what the elder was like in her youth. He wished they could speak now...

Chickbloom hated this. Floating helplessly on a raft in the silence between swells of speech, waiting to see if the next sentence would sweep him overboard. It had all been polite so far; seafoam splashed harmlessly against scarred features, but the Scottish Fold shivered all the same. "I -...

Like Billiepaw, Chickbloom’s mind had also been on his strange confrontation by the fresh kill pile. Not for any productive reasons, no, but out of sheer embarrassment. It was a wonder the Scottish Fold’s wounds didn’t catch ablaze from the heat under his fur as each word said was reexamined...

Chickbloom had to laugh at Gravepaw's question, though it quickly turned into a grimace as quickly-contracting muscles stretched still-sensitive scar tissue. Still, he smiled with good humor through the pain. Never in a million moons would the milksop guess he'd be asked something so obvious -...

In those anxious days amongst medicine and melancholy, Chickbloom had had no shortage of visitors. Gravepaw brought respite and relief; an opportunity to reminisce on old days and look forward to future ones, lifted by the knowledge his pupil truly wanted his tutelage. Duskpool brought...

Billiepaw’s response - full of forgiveness - it made Chickbloom feel better in more ways than one. Fawnpaw was a good cat and did even better work, but the boy felt like he was walking on eggshells around her (no pun intended). Every question required so much thought to answer; rating pain...

The spineless whelp squirmed in his nest as Duskpool pinned his condition on Sorrelsong, wincing at the twilight cat’s intimidating tone. It felt strange wanting to speak up for the one that took his eye, but with all the time he’d had to think, the words wrapped around his head were dying to...

"I've been r-resting too much" Chickbloom answered as Gravepaw stepped inside, the sight of his apprentice further fueling the boy's desire to work. The scrap of black and white before him only reminded the whelp of how much he'd left undone, but how could he help his charge with only one eye...

Yolk-stained paws seemed to be attached to a vampire as Chickbloom hovered at the edge of the medicine den’s exit, eyeing the outside world the same way a skittish hare scanned the underbrush for hidden fangs. There was little difference between the two worlds now; adhesive chains had been...

Was it shameful to feel stupid? Chickbloom had fought for Duskpool, for Oakrumble, for every untimely victim of the forest's violence, living or dead. The whelp thought he was making a difference, but all that happened was more work for everyone. The milksop made himself martyr for nothing, but...

Chickbloom never thought he’d be the type to be a difficult patient, but the baby bird’s first long-term stay in the medicine day was met with far more misery than he’d expected. Fawnpaw was probably getting sick of the Scottish Fold’s constant questions - ranging from annoying to incessant. ‘Is...

A solitary sun shone amidst the mud and mildew, peering out from what was left of the medicine den like a damaged lighthouse guiding ships home after a hurricane. Right now, Chickbloom’s fur was drenched in more than just yolk. Feeling more like a fish than a bird, the boy had been trying all...

Like reality seeping into a dream before waking, the whelp becomes dimly aware of a presence on the periphery. Sound reaches folded ears that were still roaring with blood, while a familiar scent seeks to assert itself over the sea of copper. For an instant Chickbloom worries Sorrelsong has come...

// takes place directly after this thread! tw for general gore talk, Injury summary at the bottom of the post. // How would he be remembered? What was his legacy? The baby bird had fallen from his nest, and narrowly escaped the clutches of a fox. Attempting to fly with broken wings, the whelp...

// same TW as above, lots of gore. TL;DR at the end! Sorrowthroat's words were a familiar poison to folded ears. The sentiments she spoke were the same ones the whimpering coward had endured from his own mind for moons now. A real warrior would finsish the job quickly. A real warrior wouldn't...