Recent content by MARROWPAW

Marrowpaw moves through the tunnels with slow, deliberate steps, his claws scraping against the packed earth as he tests the walls for weakness. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil, stale and cold, and the tunnel walls feel too close, the weight of the moor pressing down from above. He...

Marrowpaw lies sprawled on the sun-warmed grass, his eye fixed on the clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The open moor stretches endlessly around him, the wind tugging at his thin pelt, but for once, he allows himself to be still. His chest rises and falls in slow, measured breaths, the...

Marrowpaw moves through the moorland with quiet precision, each step deliberate despite the uneven terrain. The chill of the wind tugs at his thin fur, but he pays it no mind, ears flicking as he scans the landscape for any sign of prey. His single eye narrows against the sunlight as he keeps...

Marrowpaw watches from the other side of camp, his single eye tracking the small group gathering near the sagging camp wall. Laurelpaw's frustration is evident in the sharpness of her movements, the way she yanks flowers free and flings them to the ground. Doekit and the other kit—what's her...

Marrowpaw does not startle at the sound of pawsteps, nor does he turn his head as Scorchstar settles nearby. He knows her stride by now, the deliberate weight of it, the way it carries something heavier than just her body. He has never envied the role she bears, not even before he became what he...

Marrowpaw stiffens at the sudden intrusion, his fur bristling despite the rain weighing it down. He hadn't heard them coming—not over the wind, not over the rain hammering against the moor. His single eye narrows, sharp and wary as Sedgepounce and Rimepaw stumble under the rocky overhang...

Marrowpaw's ear twitches at the sound of pawsteps, and his single eye flicks toward the approaching form of Silkpaw. He tenses instinctively, caught between irritation and wariness. He doesn't dislike her, exactly, but he's never been particularly fond of cats who speak in flowery tones and...

Marrowpaw emerges from the tunnels with a heavy breath, blinking against the brightness of the open moor. The cool, earthy scent of underground fades, replaced by the sun-warmed heather and the crisp breeze rolling over the grass. He drags a forepaw over his muzzle, brushing away the dirt...

Marrowpaw scowls as the first droplets of rain splatter against his pelt. The sky, which had only been streaked with distant gray when he left camp, now churns with thick, angry clouds. Wind whips across the moorland, sending ripples through the grass as the storm moves in faster than he...

Marrowpaw moves through the moor with slow, deliberate steps, his single eye narrowed against the bright afternoon light. The air carries the scent of new grass and damp earth, the ground beneath his paws soft rather than frozen. It isn't quite greenleaf warmth yet, but the lingering bite of...

Marrowpaw watches Brackenscar with an unreadable expression, his single remaining eye flickering over her as she grumbles about the heat. He's still standing at the edge of the tunnel entrance, half-shielded in its shadow, reluctant to step fully into the glaring light of newleaf. The warmth...

Marrowpaw watches the sheep—no, the lamb—through narrowed eye, his single remaining ear twitching at Whispersong's strange, lilting speech. She talks in riddles, in loops that coil back on themselves like wind curling through the tunnels. It grates on him. He doesn't respond right away, instead...

Marrowpaw emerges from the tunnels, his thin frame silhouetted against the dim light of the entrance. His pelt, dusted with soil, clings to his bony form, and his breath comes in short, rasping huffs as he drops a small, feeble vole between his paws. Hardly worth the effort, but it's food. He...

The thaw comes slowly, seeping into the earth in sluggish, creeping tendrils, softening the brittle frost that has clutched the moors for moons. Marrowpaw feels it in the damp chill beneath his paws, in the way the tunnels breathe with the shifting of soil, exhaling the musty scent of wet earth...

The first warm rain of the season falls lightly, soaking into the earth and scenting the air with the freshness of newleaf. Marrowpaw sits at the edge of the WindClan camp, the moisture sticking to his fur as the droplets land on him, leaving tiny glistening marks. He doesn't move, doesn't react...