border 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐘 ╱ 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒

[SUNNVAR]

The cat that stands just beyond ShadowClan's dark, treacherous border, is little more than a wraith. It had nearly two long moon's cycles since Sunstride had been seen at any of WindClan's borders. And now he stands there alone, distant, tired-eyed and still swathed in cobwebs. The glow of his auburn pelt stands in stark contrast to the cooling near-night sky, and the muddied, ruined snow that borders the thunderpath. Would the kittens he had tried so terribly hard to protect remember him? Would they have earned their names now, explored their territory? Do they miss the moors as much as Sunstride had, in his long time within the barn's secluded walls?

They had hid from everything. They had fought for their lives, for their homes, for the strength to do what was right and good. Now he is here to promise their success. Even if it was not a clean victory — there were some things the other clans simply could not know. Not now. His conversation at the Moonstone had enlightened him, brightly and terribly. The path before him was frightening. Stranger than even his journey to the clans or his flight from Sootstar's clutches could ever been. And in being this, it was his greatest achievement to pursue.

He stands in silent wait, shying away from the passing monsters yet quick to retake his place until the first clan on this long journey of new beginnings would find him.

𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  ╱╱ 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 〚 11.22.2023 〛 —————«

• OOC. bit of time twisting so this can make sense for the mc gathering! this is set before that <3
• 

  SUNSTRIDE. WINDCLAN DEPUTY & MOOR RUNNER.
  ——– HE – HIM – HIS ╱╱ 48+ MOONS OLD, ADULT.

  NPC x NPC, LONERS. MATE TO WOLFSONG; FATHER TO BEARPAW, SINGEDPAW, RIVEPAW, SUNLITPAW AND FEATHERPAW. MENTORING SCORCHPAW.
  
  TH ╱╱ LARGE CHOCOLATE ROSETTE TABBY, ICY EYES.

• "speech"

​

 

[FORESTSHADE]

The reek of WindClan is different as Forestshade approaches the border. The scent of heather and rabbits is there, of course, but so is….dust, and…hay? She pauses at the edge of the thunderpath and wrinkles her snout in distaste, knowing well enough by the lack of paw-steps but the presence of a fresh scent that cats - or a cat - are there. “What do you want, hare-herders?” The young warrior goads, her tail flicking to keep @orchidpaw and @Sweetpaw from getting any closer.

Her paws itch as she suddenly feels very uneasy that she can’t be totally aware of what lingers on the other side of the acrid-smelling path. She silently prays the rest of her patrol would catch up soon, because she doesn’t want to be here right now.​

 

[ASHENFALL]

˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 Ashenpaw was swept with a feeling of deja vu at the sight of that big rosetted yuck-bunny standing tall and proud across the Thunderpath, the same as he had how many moons ago..? Two..? Windclan was in the habit of skipping gatherings lately, the snooty lot of losers they were. Ashenpaw had floated the idea that Shadowclan start skipping a few themselves, if only to conjure up an aura of mystery. 'Course, his brilliance was met with only a casual cuff to the ear and some rolled eyes. But hey, they couldn't say he didn't care about building up Shadowclan's shoddy reputation.

Pale, mismatched eyes glittered as he stared nosily at the cobwebs littering his auburn pelt. He wracked his brain idly... Had they been missing any more kits lately..? Nah. But the apprentice had enough sense to pick up on the vibe that the Windclan deputy-or-whatever was here on important-ish business.

"@smogmaw , that guy's back again," Ashenpaw glances over his shoulder to where his mentor would be approaching shortly enough. He didn't holler this time, they should all be grateful for that.

While they waited for another moment or so, Ashenpaw turned back to face the big spotted tabby with a half-lidded smirk, "I hope you're here to tell us you all got tired of Granitepelt smothering all your babies and poisoning your queens and you came to drop off his pelt as a trophy."

Wouldn't that be nice. It was still funny to him that the beast had scurried off to find shelter on the moors of all places. Stupid, idiotic bunny-rabbits, they were.

YOU&#039;LL ASK, &#039;WHAT CAN I DO?&#039; ˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 AND THERE WILL BE NO ANSWER

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 10mo apprentice of shadowclan. mentored by smogmaw
  — muted blue torbie w/ pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells of rainsoaked fern and swamp milkweed
  — all ic opinions!
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — sig by nya, fullbody by antiigone, sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  

​

 

[Sweetpaw]

————————————————————⊰ʚ･ɞ⊱————————————————————

'Hare-herders.' His mother says and Sweetpaw's nose wrinkles as he tilts his head up to verify what he assumed the insult meant, "WindClan...why is WindClan here?" The moorland scent was blatant and laid bare before them but there was something else lingering in it that he could not quite place. There was an odd musk that was like other animals, a hint of twoleg and the lingering remnants of something stale to indicate this scent was not exactly fresh - a few days maybe? This cat had not just been on the moors recently, but he had no idea how to go about asking Forestshade what these other smells were.
He leaned into his mentor's side for support, to know she was close in case this turned into something dangerous like most of WindClan's prior visits had been apparently, this clan wasn't exactly known for being kind and considerate but there was only one cat from what he could tell. If there were others they hid their scent well and had not made their presence apparent.

ʚɞ ･ﾟ･ sweet like honey - little yellow bees ʚɞ ｡･sweet honey nights & golden honey days

•  
• 
  
  
  Sweetpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ They/Them
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ LH Solid black w/golden eyes (Is Blind)
  

​

 

[smogstar]

Pause settles upon the deputy's dusk-etched shoulders, the assessment made by his apprentice orbiting inward, plunging closer and closer, nearer and nearer...

"Yeah, he is." An aberrant glimpse of genuine amazement snags on Smogmaw's muzzle. Eyes agape, jaws slackened by a minuscule margin. "Talk about the living dead, eh?" he adds vacantly, gaze not so much as wavering from Sunstride thereafter. In him lies a thin sense of disillusionment that the rosette tabby yet draws breath, as though it were a twist in the narrative and not supposed to happen. Is he disappointed? Perhaps a little, just here and there, so faint he hardly perceives it.

Paws stray outwards and onwards to bridge the gap between him and the thunderpath. He walks with a cold shoulder kept towards his clanmates' jeers—the WindClan deputy's valiant endeavours remained largely concealed from their understanding, and as such, their derision continues unchallenged.

Were it the case they'd seen and witnessed the single-pawed determination that went into Halfpaw and Laurelpaw's rescue, he would nevertheless condone the mockery. Pulling one's head from the sand after the flood-waters arrive will not earn his commendation, even with the noblest motives.

The whole sequence of events put a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and had Smogmaw leaning towards a more forceful resolution than a conciliatory approach. But it would seem circumstances were poised to unfold in the very opposite. Amidst Chilledstar's reluctance to take action against this clan which has wronged them so and the Moor Queen's apparent inability to remove belligerents, Smogmaw can only look at the result. He does so with an eye-twitching, jaw-clenching, tail-lashing aversion.

He draws to a halt a fair breadth away from Forestshade, clearing his throat to make his presence known. Once again, his focus remained instrinsically devoted to the WindClan deputy, and now that he sat at close proximity, he is given cause for concern. "Figured it'd be between you and Sootstar," he meows softly, tail flicking impatiently. "What of her? What of Granitepelt? What in the world has gone on during these last two moons, Sunstride?"

WindClan hadn't gone and wiped themselves off the map. Somewhat of a letdown, howbeit a severely weakened and demoralised WindClan may prove a welcome alternative in time. "Y'look a little under the weather, there," he grumbles, attention pivoting from conceptuals to the concrete. Stress ages you, he supposes, and civil unrest does quite a number on the soul.​

 

[SUNNVAR]

That he is met with derision bothers him little. Forestshade draws an unseen smile to the burnished tom's maw — "Just the one," he corrects. He does not know the molly as he does their leader or deputy, or the kits that he had desperately wished were not what they were. (Was that not the way of their life? To hope against hope, fight against the ocean's tide?) Yet their shared trials had bound him closer to ShadowClan at least in his heart. He does not look down upon the marsh dwellers as he once had. Even if their land smelled terribly and their prey felt gross upon his tongue, they were the closest he had to allies outside of those that had fled alongside him to the barn.

Smogmaw's presence is enough to bring the truth swimming past his tongue. His promise to the pair remains, blazing iron. "I cannot give you Granitepelt, but Sootstar no longer leads WindClan. Those that support her were driven out or killed. Granitepelt's body is not among those that remain– he called a retreat, and was named deputy by Sootstar in her final moments." None but WindClan need to know that she lives still within her den, her final moments withering away. He will tell none until his decision was made. Yet standing before them now certainly informs all that he might think. They call for her deputy's demise; it was her terrible paws that had swept up Smogmaw's children.

"After that night —" Smogmaw should know it well. "— I was driven from WindClan's camp. Many of our clan followed. We hid from her, gathered our strength. And returned to end her reign, once and for all." Finding himself more fired up than he had been at the beginning of his speech, Sunstride stands tall, with his tail lashing behind him and his ears pinned backwards in rage. His heart beats fast against his chest. With a slow, tripping breath, he soothes himself back down. "I am here first to warn you of this. That Granitepelt lives, and I do not know his intentions. But you will not find trouble from WindClan any longer."

Should they believe him in this? Is it a promise that he can make? He knows only that he will try. "I would tell Chilledstar of this, if you would allow it. Highstones is free to all once more. WindClan will not keep you from it."

𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  ╱╱ 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 〚 11.22.2023 〛 —————«

• OOC. —
• 

  SUNSTRIDE. WINDCLAN DEPUTY & MOOR RUNNER.
  ——– HE – HIM – HIS ╱╱ 48+ MOONS OLD, ADULT.

  NPC x NPC, LONERS. MATE TO WOLFSONG; FATHER TO BEARPAW, SINGEDPAW, RIVEPAW, SUNLITPAW AND FEATHERPAW. MENTORING SCORCHPAW.
  
  TH ╱╱ LARGE CHOCOLATE ROSETTE TABBY, ICY EYES.

• "speech"

​

 

[THORNPAW]

Windclan. Like a constant tick in her side she physically stiffens as the wretched stench of moors filters through her nostrils. Bi-colored eyes turn to thin picks and she whips around to trudge behind her father. Her siblings were well and accounted for but that did not wipe the trauma of losing them away. Crossing paths with Gooseberry hadn't added any pleasantries to that list either. Her Barbary pelt fluffed a touch as blonde paws halted near the scent markers. Jeers and harsh words wrap around her but again she does not entertain it but certainly doesn't disagree. There sits the awfully depleted form of Sunstride the tom who had unearthed the mystery and returned Laurelpaw and Halfpaw.

The anger simmers to confusion as she glances at the back of the ashen tom. Listening intently to what Smogmaw may have to say over this. The statements begin casually and then to a whisper she strains to overhear. It seemed her father was just as lost on the matter for such a surprise visit. Thornpaw's nose crinkles with dismay and her lengthy tail swishes low to the earth. She did not trust much less like any Windclanner but the short molly would behave for the time being.

Mention of Granitepelt causes her stomach to flip and her tail ceases its movement. Gaze boring holes into the taller warrior. He called a retreat and was named the new deputy... Of what? Blood began thrumming in her tufted ears as a her face contorted with anger. Knowing Sootstar had been defeated was the only tidbit holding the tabby back from snapping. Still, knowing that scum was allowed to breathe, to even live infuriated the she-cat. News of the few Windclanner's with sense being pushed out of their territory sates Thornpaw's boiling nerves.

She can't find it in herself to faux understanding but the youth can concede it's not Sunstride's doing. He was only the messenger and had given them fair warning. Lowly she growls a remark, stepping in beside Sweetpaw and out from Smogmaw 's shadow. "If we see that mange ridden fool. He will wish we hadn't." Thornpaw cannot muster the emotional strength to say more. For now she would bite her barbed tongue in fear of what else might be said. ​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

they didn't need the confirmation that he had been amongst traitors. the fool ran with his tail tucked to his precious sootstar, and it didn't matter in the end. she's dead, now. they hope she never finds rest, wherever she goes. that she's aching in pain and agony, just as she's caused others. and those that willing fought along side her? there would be no remorse. their tongue draws over their muzzle to clean their whiskers, and they stand near forestshade, clearing their throat at sunstrides words. they will not have to worry about windclan, he says. they will believe it when they see it. they have very little trust in him, but that's more trust than they have in any other windclanner so it's certainly something.

"no need to tell me. i am here. sunstride, you've kept your word thus far. i do so hope this continues to be the pattern, otherwise I cannot guarantee i will not gut you personally."

their voice doesn't show any tone. it's flat, to say the least, but they're more serious than a injury to the neck. he kept his word so far, but chilledstar hates traitors and liars more than anything.

"glad you're alive. here's to hoping you can undo some of the damage that she's caused your home. but do know this is not a friendship. maybe one day, but not today. and if you capture that cat, I want him in my paws personally. "

they have stepped forward and lowered their voice so only sunstride can hear, before pulling back with a flick of their ear.

"enjoy your new den."

and with that, they leave.

//out !!
​

 

[Halfsun]

Six moons old. She was now once again, finally, old enough to leave the confines of the thorn barrier (no thanks to her toad brained mentor, she might add). She follows along with the rest of the patrol, white tipped paws stepping carefully over twigs, over puddles of mud and other debris. Some may not care about getting dirty, but she did. In WindClan I bet they don't worry about mud she thinks with a faint hint of disgust playing at her features. In WindClan she bets they could run for miles and miles and never have to worry about any trees, about being snuck up on. It sounds like freedom she thinks.

Traitorous thoughts. A small voice in her head whispers caution as her gaze finds her sibling next to her. Thornpaw had been distraught while her and Laurelpaw were gone. She would never dare speak what was in her head out loud. Out of fear or a strange desperate need to feel like she belongs she is uncertain.

It is when the border patrol stops short that Halfpaw notices. A WindClan scent wafts through the air, but it mingles with something else, the unfamiliar smell of horseplace. She looks but she cannot see over the body of her father, who stands just in front of her, blocking her view. But when she strains she catches a glance of golden and red fur and she knows instantly who it is.

She has to keep herself from crying out - from- from- from what? Begging him to take her back to WindClan with him? No. Her place now was in ShadowClan, no matter how often she dreamt of running across open fields, a calico pelt at her side and the air running through her fur like cool fingers. Instead, she steps around Smogmaw, her footsteps muffled by snow and she just listens with a quiet sort of horror.

Of course he had been found out. After he had returned her and her kin to their rightful home it had only been a matter of time before Granitepelt had gone running to Sootstar. I did this she thinks, guilt practically choking her as her throat constricts. your fault, your fault, it's all your fault the mocking voice in her head is Ashenpaw's but it also belongs to Sunstride. Does he blame her for his clan falling apart? For sending poison upon their lands in the form of gray fur and venomous green eyes?

The adults speak but she does not hear them. All she can think about is the cats in WindClan that she cares about. Cottonpaw, Pinkpaw, even mean old Featherpaw. Were they okay? What side had they chosen in this? Finally, she cannot take it any more, she stumbles forward. "Sun-Sunstride!" she calls out, not caring what her clan may think, what Thornpaw may think, her voice is hoarse, raw from the strain of holding back tears. "What- Is Pinkpaw okay?" she has to know, she cannot bare to think of her friend, of her small body laying crumpled and lifeless and covered in dirt.
[/i][/i]
​

 

[smogstar]

Ambiguity finds no foothold in Sunstride's words. WindClan's leader-to-be recounts the defining events with rehearsed lucidity, drawing a poignant illustration of moons marred by strife and discord, culminating in Sootstar's deposition at long last. The moors' seat of power, usurped by righteous rebellion, will soon have its place filled by the tom heralding a new age for inter-clan relations.

Ears tuned to the unfolding revelations, fervent interest forms a glossy sheen over Smogmaw's eyes. Implicit within Sunstride's monologue is a call to understanding. This is as much an appeal for a fresh start for fractured bonds as it is to cement his claim to power. The harbinger of change hopes to uproot fissures driven deep into the two clans' history—anchored firmly by Sootstar's refusal to respect the autonomy and neutrality that Chilledstar wished to instill upon assuming leadership, and the ample transgressions committed by WindClan as a whole, large and small.

Thus, with the emergence of his leader and their reiterated dedication to ShadowClan's neutrality, Smogmaw is obliged to nod along. No allies or confidants will be found for Sunstride and his cause in the marshlands. The current moment is still too early to allow for uninhibited trust, too volatile for earnest empathy. Chilledstar asserts that mutual understanding may yet exist with time, and it is a notion in which the deputy is more than willing to indulge, but not place his faith in.

He hadn't quite anticipated them leaving as quickly as they came. His leader melds into the shadows and relinquishes their role of authority along the border. At once, the dark-smirched tom's shoulders feel twice as heavy. He lifts them regardless, and regards Sunstride's silhouette at the thunderpath's crest with a steep incline to his chin—respectful, obligatory. "I don't believe Chilledstar's remarks about gutting you to be empty rhetoric," he declares with a bemused puff of breath. "Their 'defensive animosity'—I suppose you could call it—is a product of your clan's repeated antagonism. Their frustrations are liable to cool, should you give us what we want most: undisturbed peace, and nothing less."

Smogmaw hopes Sunstride's pragmatism has grown sufficient enough for him to realise that the deputy's warning was of the utmost sincerity. In the past, when they had convened along this same border, the rosette tabby sought to ascribe WindClan's malefactions onto a singular representative, being Sootstar herself, rather than accept culpability upon the clan's collective account. Smogmaw would hope that this skewed lens of perception had since shattered, for he holds the path towards mutual trust necessitates a fundamental self-reflection upon their conflictive history.

"You ought to make like a frog and leap, Sunstride," he mews flatly, casting a sidelong glance in Thornpaw and Halfpaw's direction. "You've got a clan to save, y'know." ​