pafp 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 ╱ 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋

[SUNNVAR]

Still within the confines of Wolfsong's den, they have made a blockade of the back nests. The injured rest some mere tail lengths away, but tonight Sunstar cannot restrain himself to low tones. Tired eyes surround him. His own answer back. Around them all, the stench of herbs and recovery, blood and disease, wreath into a shield. He knows now why Sootstar had claimed her hole in the rock. Though it was a terrible place to sleep, isolated from all that made up WindClan's foundations — the stars, the cool morning air, the puddle of nests that fill the hollow of their camp as the whole of their clan sleeps side by side — it allowed some measure of privacy. To suffer or to rage. With many more ears that might hear this, Sunstar wrangles himself away from his misery and worry. To his warriors, he must seem more certain of what is to come.

"We must strengthen our patrols at every border." If none other in this forest, he knows that Howlingstar will not descend upon this madness. The older she-cat was not among the flock of vultures. But it is the one place of safe hunting that remains, and they must take advantage while they can– without making another enemy in the meantime. "And speak to the barn cats that came to our clan– see if they know any places near Horseplace not infested with their complacent beasts." Horses and sheep, though intent on their grass-feed and twoleg hands, made dangerous obstacles once spooked. He restrains a sigh, instead only closing his eyes for a brief moment. Cottonpaw's words sing within his head: We can't even consider hunting in the outlands. They've little left to consider now.

"How do our herbs fare? The tunnels?" An expectant (desperate) gaze flickers between both their healers and tunnelers, searching for any good news there may be.

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) 〚 06.17 〛 🟒ᨒ

• ooc: figured a semi-open council thread would be interesting! this takes place in the medicine den, and will be open to cats in there after three hps / leads have posted. :)
• ↟ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. ╱ AMAB HE - HIM - HIS. LEADER OF WINDCLAN. ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀
  ———— a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has a lot to prove.
  
  
  
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or un-windclan build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.

• "speech"

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluefrost shifts uncomfortably beside the senior lead warriors. The entirety of Sunstar's council crowds in the den Wolfsong shares with his patients and with Cottonpaw. She feels out of place, and her pelt prickles uncomfortably. The gray warrior does her best to keep the stench of sickness and blood from her nostrils as she listens to Sunstar speak.

"We must strengthen our patrols at every border," he meows gravely. Bluefrost gives a solemn nod. "ShadowClan is especially unstable. They are quick to attack us no matter the circumstances." She exhales, knowing Scorchstreak's ire still burns beneath her calico pelt. She does not blame the deputy for her misgivings about her ill-fated ShadowClan excursion, but she does not regret it. Her mouth hungers for the taste of her enemies' blood even now, especially after they'd attacked Sunstar and Wolfsong at a peaceful meeting of the Clans. "We should expect more from them. The only thing we can predict from them is violence."

She lifts her green gaze to Sunstar's teal, her frown becoming thoughtful. "Brackenpaw and I shored a few up recently, but we could always use more paws. Hopefully a few of the kits in the nursery will become tunnelers." Like their parents were once.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.

​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── To his warriors, yes, but Wolfsong is much more than that— and for longer. Despite Sunstar's efforts, Wolfsong is not fooled: he fears and aches and rages, and Wolfsong sees it all like a skilled hunter. There is much to be afraid of, and equally as much to despise, and he remains aware that it could, in part, have been prevented with prompt honesty. What is there for him to do now but tend their warriors' wounds and pray StarClan does not see them in Sootstar's shadow? He knows better than to hope there will not be battle— and he would not hope such a thing regardless, despite his children's wounds from past conflict.

"Indeed," he murmurs in agreement with Bluefrost. ShadowClan has never had a particularly bright reputation, but during the rogue incursions, they had allowed the clans to shelter there. But it was a display short-lived. She is right, too, that they cannot expect ShadowClan to change.

"We have many herbs still," he is quick to reassure Sunstar. "In the past, I have often stored great amounts of herbs for battle wounds. That foresight has served us well."
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 42 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  — ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[DIMMINGSUN]

Dimmingsun's very first council meeting is unlike any other. Too close are the still-recovering cats under the care of Wolfsong and Cottonpaw, and the entire Clan lingers just a tail-length or two back from them... they all might as well be watching and listening; he does have to wonder if he would be doing so, too, if Sunstar hadn't appointed him before this. All hope of privacy has been stripped from them.

And yet, even if his fur is ruffled with how uncomfortable it feels like this, Dimmingsun can't exactly call it a bad idea. Him and Bluepool had made decisions that ended in bloodshed and loss. It seems lead warriors — or at least himself for certain — are not always right. Perhaps WindClan could benefit from other warriors' input, whether their leader expects for them to chime in or not.

At least he has Bluefrost and Slateheart: the equally as new lead warriors in a sense. It lessens the pressure of feeling too out of place amongst giants.

Borders. Patrols. Right. Dimmingsun has to swallow before speaking; his throat feels dry as a desert, hesitant to bring his own ideas to the table. But what kind of lead stays quiet when he, who stands at WindClan's helm, inquires about plans? Sunstar needs them; and they need him. It's only a fair exchange. "Perhaps we can station guards by each border for the time being, so they're watched even outside of our regular patrols. If ShadowClan — or anyone else for that matter — wants to invade, we would know in advance." They do not need another visit from Granitepelt's goons.

Bluefrost's comment about ShadowClan's instability makes his head (it swims with the lingering pain of one less eye) turn towards Wolfsong, even if he does not command it to do so. Gatherings seldom get this out of hand... to think both leader and medicine cat were scolded at nearly the same time is atrocious. Such childish manners by Chilledstar and Lilacfur alike.

"I'll ask Celandinepaw," he adds, ears twitching at the mention of barn cats. Already it feels like he's asked too much of her; such a brave spirit whose fire was almost extinguished, too overwhelmed by the onslaught of fear. And yet, they all have to carry on. What an injustice such sturdiness can be.

Dimmingsun falls silent when the conversation delves into topics he is not so well-versed in. Tunnels and healing herbs; both important aspects, but both he rarely has to wonder about himself. Tunnelers have always been lower in number, and he can only hope that won't grow into a larger problem now with this many dangers on the horizon.
​

 

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw reclines beside her sister, finding a new comfort in the other's accepted appearance amongst the council. They may not always see eye to eye, but in moments like this - surrounded by injured, speaking to a tom who definitely lost yet another life amidst the chaos, mourning those who didn't have extra souls to depend on... there isn't much space for disagreement. Her wrists ache from rushing between patients, a few of them a part of the council, and she takes the moments of the conversation to groom her chest. Wolfsong speaks for them - he's done well to store herbs in spite of the fires. She can't help but speak up, "I can keep up my scouting patrols for new plant life," though she need not permission to do so. Cottonpaw has been rather lucky with her patrols, but who is to say when that runs out?

Discussions of the tunnels occur and she shuffles her paws almost uncomfortably. Her own skills had only been harnessed up until she was a few months into training - the basics are still easy for her to recall, but anything properly important? Nonexistent. Even the discussion of posting guards near the borders ruffles her fur some as it is another way she cannot help her Clan. "The fastest of us, even," she says in reference to Dimmingsun's suggestion. "WindClanners who can traverse the moors - or the tunnels - to warn those at camp as quickly as possible." Is it paranoia that plagues them, to think a raid is underway to their camp once more? Or are the worries justified?​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

When the Tunneler was not invited to speak, instead, he listened. The whispers from the medicine cat's den were music to affronted ears and, as he hovered at the entrance, he spotted several notable figures inside. His belly was low to the earth, and his breath hitched against the strong words of those within, as if one loud inhale or exhale would prevent him from hearing any vital piece of information. There was talk of strengthening the borders, of barn cats, of herbs, and, briefly, there was quiet. It was in that silence that Sootspot stood, standing before the entrance to the medicine cat's den and walking in as if it were his own. The smile on his face was confident, but as natural as the vertical scar parting his fur from trachea to heart. Sometimes, when the Tunneler was not invited to speak, he would do so anyways. "If they invade?" He turned his head towards Dimmingsun, casting the new Lead Warrior a passively pointed look. "It was not the wind that marred my cheek, it was a ShadowClanner who crossed the Thunderpath with a patrol in tow. It matters not whose blood the leech drains so long as its affront is answered when that blood is WindClan's."

'Or do you not see me as WindClan?' The silent accusation was universal as he looked around, from rogue to sibling. 'Did you know? Is that why mother loved you more than me?' He decided he didn't want Cottonpaw to answer, he didn't want any of them to answer, lest he succumb to the pain of knowing he was not as Star-blessed as he thought. "I have heard ShadowClanners only feel bold in the dark, that once the light hits their cold, dead eyes, they cower. It would explain why they attacked Sunstar and Wolfsong at a gathering, and why they did not finish the job once StarClan's grace blinded them. Granitepelt is no different, fitting for his kind, really." Except, a lightless sun had prompted his brother's retreat, all of the brightness without any of the warmth of the real thing. "We Tunnelers are not so timid, but we are used to the dark with which our enemy emboldens themselves. If anyone should be tasked with sentry duty, it should be us." If not by day, then by night, where they would retain confidence while the Moor Runners' faltered.
​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

AS HE RAISED HIS FIST BEFORE HE SPOKE — He was out of the nursery for a while - his children left behind under the warm and loving care of Venomstrike - yet not relocated into the usual dimness and safety of Sunstar's den. Instead they were limited by the scarce privacy of the medicine den, a fact which left the lead warrior's pelt prickling even as he focused intently on listening to the rest of the council. There was no small amount of guilt churning still in his gut, remorse for his inability to assist more with council-related matters as of late. Perhaps, if he had been able to speak up, he would've been able to prevent the losses that they had suffered recently. All the blood that had been spilled, even before Granitepelt and his goons had descended upon their camp.

Though if Scorchstreak hadn't been able to get through to her mate, what hope did he have?

His dark ears finally flicked up when he, Scorchstreak, and Bluefrost were addressed, pale gaze growing a little distant as he thought back to the state the tunnels had been in the last time he had ventured down into them. That had been a time before his stomach had grown too big to navigate them safely, so he could only hope that they had become more stable since then. "I haven't gone down into the tunnels myself in some time for... obvious reasons, but last time I was working on repairing those that had been destroyed by the fires. From what I've heard, work on that has continued. I'm sure they must be in better shapes than the moors..." Hopefully free of the ash that had descended into them not all that long ago, constricting lungs and making them even more dangerous than usual. He looked towards Bluefrost then, offering one of their newest council members a weary smile. "They're not ready yet, but I'm certain a couple of mine will end up as tunnelers. I've noticed a few other promising faces in the nursery as well." Although, the problem was figuring out who would train them. They were running out of qualified faces, and it would still be a while until she could take on apprentices of her own.

His muzzle cracked open again, ready to give his opinion on the guard suggestion from Dimmingsun - only to be interrupted by an unfortunately familiar voice. Immediately Rattleheart winced, turning his unamused attention to Sootspot with a curl of his lip. "I must have missed your promotion to the council, Sootspot. Because surely you aren't interrupting." That was all that the lead warrior offered in response to his suggestion, long tail lashing with displeasure before he turned back towards the rest of Sunstar's actual council. "I agree with Cottonpaw. If we want guards, we should use a balance of tunnelers and moor runners. Particularly for during the daytime. I know I'm not alone in how all the time down in the tunnels has affected my vision..." He had hardly been rendered blind during the day, but he couldn't deny the way that the sun had the tendency to sting and lash out at him. It was hardly ideal for a sentry.

THE RIGHTEOUS HAND OF GOD 𓆩♡𓆪 THE DEVIL THAT YOU FORGOT

• 

• 
  ❥ longhaired black and white tom with pale green eyes
  ❥ 52 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ❥ afab; uses he/she/they pronouns
  ❥ homosexual homoromantic; mated to venomstrike
  ❥ sibling to scorchstreak, lizardbounce, and rabbitclaw
  ❥ currently mentoring downypaw
  ❥ somewhat difficult to befriend; wary but kind
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ❥ all opinions are ic

​

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchstorm has always been curious about the workings of WindClan's council. Her parents both served it in the deputy position; her mentors, too. More and more of her kin and peers join Sunstar's board. She does not mind being left out. She prefers the doing, not the thinking and strategizing that must come beforehand, but she will not deny herself the discrete pleasure of eavesdropping into WindClan's medicine den tonight.

Well, pleasure might be a strong word. They discuss war — a potential for war, at least. Scorchstorm sees it as more than potential. ShadowClan, bunch of cowards and ungratefuls that they were, would certainly have the gall to attack WindClan, if they'd had the gall to attack WindClan's leader and medicine cat beneath the eyes of StarClan. They'd severed a promise of peace where peace was most important. If they were to meet on the battlefield, Scorchstorm would not hesitate to punish them for that.

Blind violence does not a victory make, though. She eavesdrops on the planning, content to keep silently to her place outside the mouth of the medicine den. More patrols at the ShadowClan border, enough herb stores to last them at least one great battle, corresponding with the barn cats. Guards. Tunnelers or not. Scorchstorm's neck prickles as the possibility of war becomes more tangible with each word. And then — an interruption.

Sootspot waltzes into the den like he owns it. He'd always had a talent for arrogance, and Scorchstorm is often quick to dismiss him, as her uncle does — but as she allows herself to listen, she finds that he makes sense. It's not a bad suggestion, and his intrusion has made her almost bold enough to join him, but Rattleheart's quick dismissal tempers that flame. Her mind races. I can talk to the barn cats, she thinks, seeing Luckypaw in her mind. I can race the moors quickest. I can, I can, I can —

For now, she can sit and wait for an invitation to speak.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 ✧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌

• 

• 
  
  — scorchkit . scorchpaw . scorchstorm
  — she/they ; warrior of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — signature by dreamydoggo, template art by sixbane
  — penned by meghan

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

LIKE A PICTURE IN A FRAME
WISH WE COULD'VE STAYED THE SAME ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

periwinklebreeze ❀ 23 moons ❀ demi-boy ❀ windclan queen ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Periwinklebreeze is a quiet presence within the group - tired eyes wearier than usual, as he sits in near silence. He does not want to be here - not today, not now. But he is a lead warrior, assigned to queen duties though he might be right now, and so he leaves himself sitting upon the sidelines - a tails length away from the rest of the group. He doesn't particularity feel like participating more then necissary.

'Hopefully a few of the kits in the nursery will become tunnelers.' Bluefrost says, and he can't contain his snort. " Th-theres... at least a few, i'm s-sure we'll have so sh-shortage of future tunneler apprentices, " he says, with no small amount of bitterness - because his own daughter numbers amongst them. She is small - smaller then many, smaller then he'd been at their age. And with Dustkit's blindness, he can hardly picture another path for her. And thinking of her, only makes him think of Vulturekit, and that hurts.

He goes silent again after that, head turned away from the others even as he keeps an ear on the conversation. Sootspot's interruption is... surprising. Or maybe not? Peri can't actually seem to figure out if he should be surprised at his former friend, but still Rattleheart is quick to cut him off, to point out he is not one of them and he is once more saved from participating.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I ' V E - A L W A Y S - B E E N - R E A L - B A D - W I T H - C H A N G E

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
// im so sorry! he is a debbie downer in this ;-;

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ Dulled golden eyes shift around the den, drifting across the pelts of clanmates both council and not. It is only thanks to Sunstar's sacrifice that she is not lying amongst them—or worse yet, buried beneath a plot of freshly-turned soil. Granitepelt and his rogues had done a number on WindClan, and especially on Sunstar. The tom looks exhausted as he speaks, though his words are spoken for the entire clan to hear. This, the calico can understand. Sunstar does not sit on a pedestal above them all; he should wish to include every WindClanner in talks of their future. Of… whatever future there is left, at least. Scorchstreak nods her approval as he begins to explain what the clan should be doing next. Strengthening their borders—that was the goal of the tunnel to RiverClan territory. "The tunnels beneath ShadowClan. We should send more frequent patrols, if we are to keep an eye on Chilledstar's ilk." That is all the deputy has to say on the matter; her fellow council members put forth their own suggestions, but there is nothing more to add.

The horseplace is no more familiar a place to Scorchstreak than it is to any other WindClanner, but she agrees with the leader's proposal to turn their focus to the area. She nods as Dimmingsun offers to speak with his apprentice, and turns to glance at Scorchstorm as the dappled moor runner lingers about the den. Does her daughter, too, think of Luckypaw in times like this? Her attention falls to Sunstar once again as he asks after herbs, prompting responses from Wolfsong and Cottonpaw. The healers' answers are a comfort, but do not quite soothe her nerves. No amount of herbs can fix a killing blow, or a freefall into the gorge. No amount of healing can bring back the dead. There is nothing… nothing that can bring back what she has lost.

The subject of the tunnels snaps the deputy back to attention, brows furrowing—yet still her mind drifts. "The tunnels fare well," she says, tired gaze shifting to Bluefrost and Rattleheart. Better than aboveground, at least. These past few months, she has deeply felt the loss of her sister's presence at her side in the tunnels. They have lost many good tunnelers recently, whether to the nursery or to the cold touch of death. She blinks, and in the split second of darkness she sees a flash of haunting pink eyes, a bloodied white pelt. Her stomach turns. "Some of the kits look as though they would make promising tunnelers. Yours especially, Rattleheart," she adds, quickly. Perhaps she will get to mentor one of her sibling's kits, once Pinkpaw had become a warrior—she attempts to think positively of such an experience, but her heart isn't in it.

Suddenly, Scorchstreak is all too aware of the eyes on each of them. They are all watching, aren't they—privy to a council meeting for the first time. All in the clan deserve to have their voices heard; they are loyal warriors, trusted to have WindClan first in mind… except for him. The loathsome tom speaks, and golden eyes flicker to Rattleheart as the black and white queen voices his annoyance. Scorchstreak agrees, but the tom cannot be swatted away as a fly would be. Unfortunately, Sunstar has seen to it that he remains in the clan. "And you, Sootspot… should you be trusted with such a duty? To face an invading force alone, to warn your clan of danger?" A scarred brow quirks, challenging the tom to respond. You cannot even be trusted to be near our kits.

Moving on from the vermin that's invaded Wolfsong's den, the calico tilts her head thoughtfully. Rattleheart is right—her own eyes are not the best when the sun shines, so much better suited for the darkness belowground. "A mix of tunnelers and moor runners would be best. Two to each post could provide for good surveillance while allowing for regular patrols to continue." As Periwinklebreeze speaks, the calico flickers her tail in his direction, a subdued attempt to comfort the tom. He must be devastated, speaking of kits becoming tunnelers while one of his own is missing. Stolen. The blind kit, Dustkit, will most certainly have a future in the tunnels, and for a moment Scorchstreak pictures a fully-grown Pinkpaw giggling as she guides a smaller scrap of black and white fur around the tunnels. Ugh, Pinkpaw. By the time a battle actually arrives on their doorstep, her apprentice will likely be a warrior. Scorchstreak isn't ready, that much is certain.

☽♰☾ IT WAS WAR, IT WASN’T FAIR

• ooc: —
• 
  SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to pinkpaw
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ༄ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

He looked towards Rattleheart, silent, smiling, tilting his head as if expecting the other to say more. When she didn't, he mewed, "I have come to make sure my wound is healing." The cut upon his cheek, deep enough to, like wind-licked flames, dance between disappearing and scarring. His cranium craned slowly, taking in the sights of the medicine den, a deliberate act of 'checking' to make sure he had stumbled into the right place. "Should the input of your warriors be of little relevance, may I suggest meeting someplace more private next time?" They were critiques that could be aimed toward a leader, instead, the chimera's gaze did not leave the Queen's, tone absent of malice. Sootspot moved deeper into the lion's den, past the talking council, and atop an unclaimed nest. Charred forepaws kneaded into the moss and hay before his haunches reclined on the new seat, his expectant gaze falling upon Wolfsong and Cottonpaw, the injured side of his face laid bare for them to assess. Movement in the corner of his gaze proved distracting, and snakelike pupils soon settled on Scorchstorm. He opened his mouth to speak to the Deputy's daughter, but found himself interrupted by the Deputy herself.

His head whipped towards her, his barbed tongue running across his teeth. "Your scars only trail down one eye, how could they have blinded you so?" He exhaled, remnants of exhasperation passing the mask. The muscles around his jaw were pulled taut by frustration, the skin upon his scab peeling from an expression contorted beyond its usual grace. "Since escaping my mother, I have only ever acted in WindClan's best interests. Do you think I would have warned you of Sootstar's attack and Granitepelt's presence had I wished my home to be ruinous? And, what risking my life in ShadowClan to provide food for the Nursery? Or the time I led the ambush on the badger, you were there to witness my loyalty to my clanmates, were you not?" He doesn't bother to find Sunstar's gaze amidst the discussion, knowing it would be full of the same ice that lined Scorchstreak's. The Deputy sought to dismiss him, but he placed a paw more firmly upon the ground below, letting dry pieces of bedding contort and crack beneath it. 'What have you done for the clan other than leave two leaders to die and mope about hoping the dead'll come back to life?' The accusation did not reach his eyes, but it was close, the tom squinting at the light creeping in behind Scorchstreak.

"I cannot do it alone, StarClan has not yet crafted a being capable of sleepless watch. But... I have faced an invading force alone, I have warned my clan of danger. I will do it again and again, whether you trust me or not."

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

Within the confines of his nest, Sunstar can do little but shift. The beginnings of a great avalanche, perhaps, but as he pulls himself into a somewhat more regal position the rumbling of stone settles back to silence. He does not do more to quell the arguing — his eyes (cold as Sootspot expected them to be) are distant. What information they share spills through and into him. Behind the confines of his skull he moves his warriors about their territory. Seaglass eyes flick about as if he could truly see them, from one corner of the ceiling to the floor of another. The bark of arguing voices is what draws him from it, and Sunstar sighs deeply, the sound following down into a faint snap of teeth. "Enough. You will not speak to my council as if you've a part in it, Sootspot." Am I your warrior? Challenging, glacial, he echoes it back: Are you?

The first among his comments was nearly enough to draw a quirk to Sunstar's mouth, but instead all that he earned was a flick of the leader's tail. "If you are to speak as a warrior, do not presume to be among my most trusted." He does not think anything the warrior does could cleanse that answering doubt from his mind. Should Sootspot die for him, he will still see his mother in the fading cleverness of his eyes. Bluefrost had inherited her regal bearings and practical mind. Sootspot had taken her venom, and her bite. Both of them had carried her suspicion, but only one clung to it now. Shrikethorn had gifted him conviction– she was not alone in that, it would seem. Yet there are more important things to think of– should he wish to tie his tongue in knots raging against their mistrust, he will have to do so from his own corner.

"Perhaps we assign a tunneler pair each to our ShadowClan tunnels," he suggests, glancing between Scorchstreak and Rattleheart. "And increased border patrols above them. That is our greatest concern." RiverClan had not dared to strike out against him. Even they knew where the line was drawn. "A guard stationed some space from RiverClan's bridge, as well." It will draw from their other borders. From ThunderClan. From Horseplace. Granitepelt– DuskClan– he sucks in a tired breath. The moonlight catches on the fiery pelt of Scorchstreak's daughter, his own apprentice, and he calls out to her in the dark, "Scorchstreak. Are you well enough for a fight?" His whiskers twitch. "We know now where DuskClan has run off to. Will you follow their path, and ask if the barn cats have seen them pass?"

In a body still mending, he feels weak. Small. And all the more angry for this. "I will speak to our captured warrior, when I've a moment," he sighs.

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) 〚 06.17 〛 🟒ᨒ

• ooc: —
• ↟ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. ╱ AMAB HE - HIM - HIS. LEADER OF WINDCLAN. ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀
  ———— a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has a lot to prove.
  
  
  
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or un-windclan build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.

• "speech"

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[cottonsprig]

Her brother's appearance earns a wince from the reclined she-cat. While she detests him, she lacks favor for him because of their relation more than his aptitude to be a stick up everyone's behind. She can see how he's bothersome to others, especially now as he pushes himself into a conversation that does not concern him. Yet, all the same, Sunstar did conduct this meeting without requesting privacy - and as Sootspot soon explains, he is here for injury, not to simply laze about.

Cottonpaw stands to her paws, shaking out her fur as her fellow councilmen bicker with her sibling. She doesn't feed into it like they do, ears folding as she finds some spare cobweb and watered moss to clean his cheek. She intends to give it a once over to see if he even needs wound care (though, a ShadowClanner's claws are usually mucked, so she wouldn't be surprised.) But his arguing keeps her from getting to close without it being awkward, so she stands to the side and waits out the collective tantrum. A peacekeeper, she is not - but neither does she seem to be one to continue and stir the pot.

"Sit still, Sootspot," she finally utters, hoping that Sunstar's words towards him will tame his temper long enough for her to work. Their leader takes in stride the advice and input of each of the cats around, before ending with a tidbit that recaptures her interest. ... our captured warrior... She holds her breath. Junco.

"She -" Cottonpaw does not spin on her paws, does not whirl to face the council with fearful eyes. Static crackles in her paws but she remains facing her brother, dabbing at the slice in his cheek just as long as he lets her. "- is no longer a DuskClanner, if it matters. I've noticed her at the Horseplace for over a moon now..." She frequents there, after all. The fire had not burned the land and thus if she is to have any successful herb hunts, she has to near the sheep and cows. Her ear twists, "And if it's worth anything, she did help me." Would Sunstar or the rest turn on her, next, for having pity for a long time friend? Does Junco even consider her a friend now? Cottonpaw is unsure.​

 

[DIMMINGSUN]

When Sootspot first speaks — something he should've avoided if he wants this council to take him seriously —, Dimmingsun merely lashes his tail in frustration. He bites back the remark that even with the loss of one eye, he can still see- that it is entirely unnecessary to interrupt such an important discussion just to play the smart one, just to argue over a choice of wording. Wasting time. Rattleheart calls Sootspot out for it, and that should be that.

Except he does not relent. Dimmingsun's attention wavers even when he tries to cling to Cottonpaw's words right up until his patience ends- "For StarClan's sake."

The fur along his spine bristles. Perhaps it's unsightly to let emotions get the better of him, to let Sootspot rile him up (whether intentional or not), especially with a larger audience teetering by the entrance. It's uncharacteristic, too, but recent events leaves Dimmingsun easily irritable.

And of course, there's renewed ego at play. He is part of Sunstar's council... unlike Sootspot.

"Must we debate your commitment to WindClan when we should be preparing for the worst from our neighbors?" His voice is rough when he finally speaks. There's so much more he wishes to say, but this is quite enough already. The lack of easy smile on his face should at least get the point across. This is not the time.

The quiet that follows might be short-lived, but Dimmingsun intends on making the most of it. He thinks of Rattleheart's kits and how others, namely Periwinklebreeze, have already noticed there's potential for more tunnelers there. He imagines their warriors placed at the borders, just like Sunstar says, and it definitely aids the Clan with some comfort... pairs of alert eyes and claws ready to unsheathe should make it easier to sleep at night. The moment Wolfsong deems him fit enough for proper duty, not the pitiful tasks that any apprentice could do, Dimmingsun will be ready to join them.

But then, he worries for any patrol that ventures too close to the last DuskClan sighting. The Horseplace might as well shelter every single one of them in its shadows.

Dimmingsun clears his throat to address Sunstar, "Should we be focusing on DuskClan so soon?" Pause. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to teach them a lesson sooner rather than later, but... there's enough trouble with the other Clans right now. What if a too-curious patrol gets caught and ambushed?" No doubt they're wanting a better taste of revenge than what they managed, even when they had the element of surprise. They know WindClan will be busy licking their wounds- better strike when the iron is still hot.
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