Recent content by Thriftfeather

Thriftfeather slows to a stop as he steps upon the crest just before the moorlands drop into the hollow of Fourtrees. It is just as Silkpaw had said — DuskClan, teeth and claws. Everything in Thriftfeather comes to a still, reminds him of the danger of this. There are faces he recognizes in the...

RiverClanners appear across the great breadth of the gorge, just as cautious as Thriftfeather. This isn't a place for idle chatter or gossip. One of them, an apprentice, Thriftfeather suspects, raises her voice to call an insult over. Thriftfeather bristles, opens his mouth to warn Babblepaw to...

There is always an uncertainty that comes to Thriftfeather when speaking with Juncoclaw. He is too aware of how it may be taken, how quickly the likes of Thistlesnap might use a simple conversation as proof that the former DuskClanners are colluding. Thriftfeather doesn't want to lose any of his...

The quietude of camp is broken by a single, shrill-howled word. Thriftfeather starts immediately from where he had laid, rabbit-heart already thudding against his chest. Blinding panic at first — his eyes flick in every direction, expecting the ambush to be here, as it so often seems to be...

Of all of the faces to appear. The fur along Thriftfeather's spine bristles and his ears fold flat to his lowered head. He's always has known Privetfrost to be an insubordinate and zealous tom. This, Thriftfeather knows, will end in claws before one of them flees. He understands DuskClan...

What Bluefrost explains lines up so neatly with what Rimepaw had told Thriftfeather, minus a crucial detail. And yet Bluefrost prefaces her version of events with a dismissive: It is hardly what happened. Rimepaw had been upset by Bluefrost claiming she needed a firm paw as a mentor, Rimepaw had...

Babblepaw's questions come quick. Thriftfeather is already shaking his head, mouth thin. ˝We don't share a border with SkyClan,˝ A pause and then, fearing Babblepaw's disappointment, amends, ˝You'll meet them eventually. At the gathering, most likely.˝ There was very little reason for...

˝Rimepaw had told me something interesting,˝ It isn't what Thriftfeather had wanted to say as he had approached Bluefrost, but it's what leaves him. He knows caution would have been better, had already gone over the gentle, leading questions he planned to ask Bluefrost a dozen times. The...

Although the exact incident has long since left Thriftfeather's mind, he has never forgotten the sharp spike of distrust that accompanies him every time he nears the RiverClan border. There was so much about RiverClan that sparked as unnatural, even after all this time. ˝Don't go too near to...

The gorse and sphagnum gives way to oak and sycamore — Thriftfeather slows as he nears the border, open-mouth scents the air before he approaches it fully. He doesn't regard this border with the same level of wariness he had watched the Thunderpath with. After another lingering moment of...

With every step that Thriftfeather takes, he needs to fight the impulse to continuously check behind him to ensure that Babblepaw is still at his heels. He has an awareness of the length of his strides that he is normally without and a strange worry that he will somehow lose Babblepaw in the...

Anticipation has a way of stilling the heart in Thriftfeather's chest. He still feels wrong-footed when attending meetings, still feels phantom eyes upon his pelt — Thriftfeather doesn't belong. WindClan as a whole must know it; they must see the shapes he contorts himself into in order to...

thriftfeather .xThere is the start of a memory that shifts in the back of Thriftfeather's mind like a physical thing — the dawn chorus, the gentle relief that had come from it, a world only as wide as his mother's grass-made nest. His patrolmates seem annoyed by the noise. Thriftfeather casts...

thriftfeather .xIt worked for you, Rimepaw says as if such a statement isn't one with teeth. Thriftfeather's torn ear drops — countless wonderings take him. He could press, he could ask Rimepaw to specify what exactly she thinks he is pretending about, but the potential answers his mind...

thriftfeather .xAn ample portion of the early morning was wasted tailing a crow that Thriftfeather had only realized belatedly was feigning its injured wing. As caught up as Thriftfeather had been in the chase, he hadn’t made note of the sun’s slow crawl away from the horizon or the vanishing...