camp ˙ ˖ ✶ chronometer ┊ tangled fur.

[downyfur]

Normally Downypaw would run to their family for this—Brightshine or Heavy Snow, of course; their sisters would just make it worse—but they're not here. And that's okay, they suppose. They're getting used to this new standard of life, listening to it pass them by as they spend the days lying on the sandy floor of the medicine cat den. They have a sprained paw. That's what they and Cottonpaw—when she was still Cottonpaw, anyway—have been saying. How bad (or real) it is is anyone's guess, but Downypaw silently chants a mantra of "right front paw, right front paw," whenever they limp out of the medicine burrow back into camp.

In the broad, unhindered sunlight, it's evident how much their "injury" has affected their abilities. Downypaw's wispy fur seems to have been blown every which way, then knotted and whorled into small storms in the places they sleep. Truthfully though, Downypaw just isn't the neatest cat, unlike their mentor. The state of their own coat has always paled in comparison to the state of the world around them. "Could—could someone help me with my fur?" they ask, pitifully cradling their paw to their chest.​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Her own vanity had ensured her pelt is never in such a state—and when she speaks, it’s with mild and blunt-edged disdain, initially. “Even a tunneler must take care of her pelt,” comes a clipped, judgmental murmur. Bluefrost’s narrow green gaze settles on Downypaw, still so small, their attempts to untangle whorls from their soot-sotted fur ineffectual. The tunneler pads closer, her teeth bared—just before she sets them to work, gently untangling the snarls from Downypaw’s coat.

“It is hard to get used to, I know,” she murmurs as she works. Her tail flicks out behind her like a blue-gray flame. “The tunnels, I mean.” She pauses, a bit of gray-frosted fur in her maw—her gaze pinpoints the awkwardly-held right paw. “It is hard to get used to seeing in the dark.”

, ”​

​

 

[downyfur]

Downypaw can't help but shrink a little into herself at Bluefrost's appearance, regality embodied compared to her dishelved state. Her efforts at her pelt are efficient, colder than Brightshine's cheery tongue and harsher than Heavy Snow's wide one. Nonetheless, Downypaw is grateful for the help. Internally, they marvel at how much Bluefrost and Sootspot are alike in their poise, if only for the arguably friendlier expressions their mentor wears. "Thank you," they politely murmur, taking her judgement in silence.

For awhile they sit in the quiet, letting the rhythmic strokes and pulls fade their mind. Bluefrost's voice surprises them out of their brief daze. One brow dips questioningly at her statement, letting her clarify. The tunnels. Everything comes back to her purpose in the clan. Tunneling is all she's good for right now; she's lousy at hunting and even worse at fighting. Green eyes slip towards their "injured" paw, and they only then realize she assumes their "injury" is due to inexperience.

Still, her sympathy, if they're not mistaken in taking it for sympathy, soothes them. "Yes," they softly agree. "I...was trying to chase after a mouse. I tripped on a root." They pause for the effect of thought, as Sootspot occassionally does. "I didn't know roots could reach that deep."​