pafp a blessing rests upon our lands || return

[ashpaw!]

She's different again.

Twolegs have had her in their clutches more than once now. The first time made her smaller and scareder, made her a shell of herself: gleaming orange light, snuffed. But her clanmates tended the coals; she wasn't alone, and she grew up and grew back into herself.

This second time has changed her further. She was alone this time, and she fought her way back here all alone. This second time has scrubbed softness away, left in its place bared fangs and ready claws and eyes that dart from corner to corner. She's different.

But still Ashpaw, right?

That has to mean something.

She smells different, too, but she forgets that when she finally crosses the border, tiny charge in tow. She smells like twolegs and fear and monsters and strays, like city smoke and blood. Her pelt is grimier, browner, black twoleg dust settled into it, and blood leaks from half-sealed gashes across her back — the product of alley cat scuffles. "We're almost there," she whispers to @hellebore, voice low and trembling with shock. She made it. She actually made it.

They cross the water over stepping stones and a wayward branch — Ash is desperate to feel the river again but she can't risk losing little Hellebore. Not when they're so close. The kitten is barely two moons old, and she prays Cicadastar will have mercy on her. She couldn't just leave the girl to suffer and die, no mother to speak of; she couldn't leave her with twolegs after they'd thrown her out like trash ...

She lands in the shallows and hauls the child onto dry land. Pain shoots up her bad paw, but she doesn't let herself flinch. "Almost there," she repeats.

Home. She's almost home.

She's desperate to run, sprint so hard her legs burn, till she reaches camp and finds everyone she loves. She forces herself to wait by the border for a patrol. "We have to wait here," she murmurs to the kitten at her side. "It sh-shows respect for their borders. Our borders." Her voice cracks, betraying her fear. Still RiverClan, still Ashpaw, she's still RiverClan.

She sends a prayer up to StarClan — let this go well. Let them recognize her, let her feel loved again, please.

Her hackles don't fall. ​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• for anyone unaware, ashpaw disappeared from riverclan in early may when she was injured by a twoleg trap and captured by a twoleg! she's much less well-groomed and well-fed than when she vanished, in addition to her unfamiliar scent, so your character may or may not recognize her.
  
• - 12 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to riverclan warrior willowroot
  - crushing hard on iciclefang
  - got real fucked up as a kid so if she seems like she was fucked up as a kid, that's why
  - bitter, cagey, jumpy; responds violently when startled; perpetually exhausted; territorial, unfriendly to non-riverclanners
  - soft spot for kits
• - kidnapped from riverclan by twolegs! but she making her ESCAPE!!!
  - found an abandoned child. took the abandoned child.
  

​

 

[hellebore]

she said "it must've been the wind" — it'd been a terribly long walk, and it hadn't seemed to bother her in the slightest. she'd just chattered away, talked about how big the monsters were and how she'd almost been stepped on by one when she was really really really little ( "that's what my mommy said, anyways!" ), or how she wondered how long it would take for someone to climb the massive trees ( "i bet you could do it, you're REALLY big!" ). the only times she stopped speaking was when she was hushed, or when she was sleeping..

what a precious few silent hours those were.. except for when she looked dead — it happened every time, she was horribly deep sleeper. that's likely why she'd been thrown in the trash, a simple mistake.

she'd wriggled and kicked her legs as she was picked up and they'd jumped the river. it kind of made her feel like she was flying, which scared her a little, because what if she fell on her face? "that was scary!" she gasped, stomping in the mud of the riverbank a little before bounding a bit ahead. "where are we going again?" she asked, following along behind ashpaw like a little duckling. "can i talk to my mommy there?"

they finally stopped, and she sat next to ashpaw, eyes wide as she looks around at her surroundings. "it smells funny."
​

 

[Mosspool]

The scent Mosspaw was following was strange. It was like that of the kittypets she had met at the gathering, but it stung more. She had slipped away from her hunt to follow it, her curiosity too demanding to be ignored. It was rewarded when she caught sight of two figures pulling themselves from the river.

Trespassers.

No one that smelled like that could be a Riverclanner. It was a pair of them, one a bit bigger than herself, the other a mere kit. Not worth letting them out of her sight to go get help, she decided, they would be easy enough for her to handle until backup arrived.

"Halt!" Mosspaw's cry cut through the air as she burst from the reeds, speaking as loudly to attract the attention of the rest of her patrol. Pulling herself as tall as she could, she strode forward confidently. If these two caused trouble she was certain she could handle it. "You are trespassing on Riverclan territory! You..." Her voice trailed off and her steps slowed as she approached the pair. The closer she got, the more familiar that orange fur under all that grime seemed. The pelt was ragged and the frame thin, but those eyes were still the same. She knew those eyes. "Ashpaw...?"

"ASHPAW!" All of her usual formality fell aside as she rushed toward her sister, eyes wide with disbelief. Ashpaw seemed so different than when she had disappeared, older and less bright. Meanwhile all Mosspaw had to show for the time that had passed was the small scar across her nose she had earned in the battle. It looked like her sister had fought every twoleg in the world to get back to them. "I- You- You're okay. We thought-" Her voice cracked and she swallowed. There was a stinging in her eyes that threatened tears. "I missed you." She went to brush her tail along her sister's side.

The tiny kit at Ashpaw's side was completely forgotten to Mosspaw. Her sister was home, that was all that mattered.​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

જ➶ Out of the corner of her eye the molly saw Mosspaw shifting away from the hunt. In that moment the scent of twolegplace smacked her against her nostrils and she makes a small face before turning to follow after the apprenrice. It makes her wonder just what is out here. If it is a threat she will defend the lands of her home. Her tail snaps back and forth in anticipation as she pulls her hears forward. Mosspaw's words gove her pause as well and she narrows her eyes. "Yes, stop where you are!" Her words are an aggressive snap as she pushes through the tall grass only to blink her gaze as she sees Ashpaw. Her paws shift and her mind buzzes as Mosspaw calls to her sister. Ashpaw is alive. She is alive. She has made it back home all on her own. The strength in such a task and journey. There is pride to be offered but not at the moment because she is not alone either. There is a scrap of fur here as well and she softens her hardened stance just a bit.

"Who is this with you, Ashpaw? I suppose we can guide you back to camp. Cicadastar will be happy to see you home." Her tail flicks back and forth as she turns and looks to the child with calm molten colored orbs. She is unsure, will the child be accepted. There is no way that they will turn away a kit. So she dips her head a short moment before looking to Mosspaw. A small smile is upon her muzzle. Family. It's good when they can return.​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang is silent as she moves beside Boneripple and Mosspaw. She’s not pleased to have been put on a patrol with the former ShadowClan medicine cat, but she would not defy Smokethroat. She assumes he must have his reasons, after all. All of them seem to detect the same wayward scent at the same time—something adrift, foreign, but at its core, there is warmth and fire. Familiarity, aching.

She halts, her heart beginning to skip. Impossible. She tells herself she’s imagining it. Wishful thinking. But Mosspaw springs into action beside her, claws unsheathed, and Iciclefang is too stunned to stop her when a brilliant ginger pelt caught aflame fills her vision. Mosspaw gives an excited squeal when she realizes her mother’s former apprentice is at the border, and she rushes toward her with affection.

“Ashpaw?...” She swallows, padding closer, but her steps are hesitant. She does not do as Mosspaw has; she does not rush to the girl she’d loved, the girl she’d lost. She looks at her with longing disguised as wariness; guilt disguised as edge. “How?... I don’t…” Pale eyes reach for glass-green, searching their depths for clues, for stories. For recognition, for… for…

Boneripple begins to speak beside her, jostling her out of the thick, cloying thoughts sticking to her brain like honeyed cobweb. “We should do no such thing without Cicadastar’s approval,” she says, sharp. “Who is this kit with you? It smells like a kittypet. Where… where did you find it?” Iciclefang tears her gaze from Ashpaw to the scrap at her side. Surely… surely…? Her jaw tightens as she waits for some sort of answer.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[CICADASTAR]

the mottled phantom moves silent through the reed, limbs damp up to the elbow where strikes at fish had gone relatively unnoticed. he continues preyless, the lowering waters an agitating hurdle to bound. his head is low, his ears twitched back — hazepaw follows somewhere behind and he says nothing to them, only trudging through undergrowth to make way further upstream. the sound of nearby voices goes nearly in one ear and out the other, a cacophony of mutterings from beyond the swaying willow that he’s little interest in until — until a scent hits. acrid and bitter, something fleshy and disgusting. a lift of his tail towards his apprentice and claws are tearing him through the few foxlengths shrouding him from the small patrol. he bursts though the reed, claws drawn.

suddenly, he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

bristling fur over the jutting arches of his shoulder, the ridges of his spine. pale eyes fix them with something wide and paralyzed. ashpaw.. no longer a paw in anything but her name, ragged and tired. an ivory paw steps back, claws still hurting, tapping wildly against the ground as if it would force his mind to work faster, process quicker. boneripple had proposed bringing them to camp, and the fur along his thick tail puffs in agitation at the thought ; what was this? what was this, really?

ivory paws stumble forward just a bit — iciclefang is stuttering, something he’s never heard. a waver in strong, sure tones. was this real? how had she escaped? had she truly escaped? he swallows, feels his bones alight with a sudden, fiery suspicion, ” ashpaw.. “ pale eyes blink hard, squeezing tight enough to draw lines at the edges of his eyes. iciclefang said she’d been taken. she was just as stunned as he was, wasn’t she? how had she escaped? had it been a ruse? his jaw tightens, frozen eyes popping back open wider than before, the harsh stench of twoleg paws scorching his senses. salt blue darts down, zeros in on the child standing beside her, wild and unrelenting, " ..what is this. " it’s said less of a question, one that iciclefang had already asked — but his voice is still. almost accusatory in the way dark pupils flick down the curve of his arching muzzle to stare at.. it, reeking of twoleg and kibble dust, ” where is her kin? “

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i. ‘prentice tag @Hazepaw
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw was not anywhere near as close to Ashpaw as any of the other RiverClanners who had yet arrived on the border were. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he was not close with Ashpaw at all—not even remotely. They had been clanmates, fellow apprentices; but that was all. The news of her disappearance had been a heavy, uncomfortable development, but it had not utterly broken him in the way it must have done to Mosspaw.

However, the starting tone immediately fills him with a sense of unease. It feels all too familiar, all too much like something terrible he has witnessed before. His fur stands up on the back of his neck, and he eyes the kitten beneath Ashpaw in particular. Though his mouth opens for a moment, it quickly closes. Dovepaw keeps his eyes around the younger of the two, though, his stomach feeling wrong.

He bites his tongue and looks in Cicadastar's direction with a soft flash in the back of his eyes.

[⋆]​

​

 

[lichenstar]

Hurrying after the long, sweeping shape of a man dipped in shadow, it was with a mirth-filled sigh that Lichentail realized with such frustration that his damn legs were too long. Keeping up with the normally languid and passive gait that his rattling figure took was simple enough but when a raised voice from ahead found perked ears, he moved like a crow diving from the canopy to defend his nest.

His body became rigid and though those pale eyes normally swam with a reserved warmth for the way he so loved his clan, that gaze fell upon the missing with a hesitance and unfamiliarity that shook her. Did he really presume to treat the young girl a stranger...? After she had defied such great odds to return? Looking upon Ashpaw with a softened look of relief, it only served to agitate them that Iciclefang and Cicadastar both took an approach of harshness and suspicion.

It was Iciclefang's fault the child went missing in the first place- something like a warrior failing to protect an apprentice? The audacity was enough to make the fur on their spine bristle. Why was it only the former ShadowClanner that actively seemed to care and rejoice (outside of the bias of Mosspaw, who had immediately enveloped her sister in greeting)? What a freakish turn for the river dwellers...

Casting a small, pointed glare towards the dappled protégé, Lichentail quickly differed their gaze towards the kit. "It is a gift that StarClan saw you returned home Ashpaw. Nothing less than fate could assure that," their voice is light, but the words are sharp, a reminder to present company that this should not be a brutal interrogation for either of the two youth sitting at their border. "Here she sat like a perfectly honorable cat, waiting for us to find her. I don't suspect her or the small scrap with her means any harm..."

Swallowing past the nervousness that had fluttered around in their chest, the slate-hued adult wondered briefly if their insight was actually respected and worth heeding. Sometimes they weren't sure they had any meaningful influence over whatever rigid cynicism held him so tightly, claws wrapped around his throat and whispering venom into his ears.​

 

[CICADASTAR]

it’s a surprise to him. the way oft shifting, averted gaze finds him in a glare. he sees it upon a glance, double - takes visibly in bewilderment. the warrior casts him a glare — him, standing to protect his home from the russet adult and kittypet kit on his borders. blue flame erupts around slitted black pupils and eel - like, his lithe figure pivots to face them rather than the kit, than ashpaw, who had not a moment to speak in explanation, to snarl a harsh, teeth - bearing roar in their direction, " lichentail, you’ll do well to watch your mouth in my presence! " an eruption of spitting hiss, ears snapping back at the disrespect so bold and blatantly placed upon his ivory paws. buckgait had not gotten away with it, and he would be damned to fall privy to the judgement of a feline even lesser than that. a judgement found in moons separated from ashpaw, suspicion born in the wake of strangers traversing their well - scented borders.

hadnt they been attacked by lingering strangers, only sunrises prior? only a -paw in the name separates ashpaw from the claw - laden warriors that supply their ranks — missing, taken, with a kit not young enough to have been birthed by her in the moons gone. his lip curls ” do not mistake praise for permission. know your place as a lead or you will have not even that. “ a pity, to reprimand them in the wake of those around — to prying ears, to the kitten still unnamed at ashpaw’s feet. his shoulders bristle violent now, noticeable now, though less so towards the youth at their border. perhaps their words would have been met more fondly if not here, if not thrown in the midst of rekindling, writhing in the remnants of soot and ember that ashpaw had left in her tragic wake. he’d thought her dead, even now — blue eyes flit to her, wary. how did one survive a twoleg trap, being taken? a long tail lashes, shooting lichentail a final, bitter glare for silence ; a mental note to tend to the suspicion burning at the back of his skull now, to tend to them.. but he turns back to her, to them.

he’d had a paw in raising the molly. from a kit, he’d watched her grow from the size of the little one at her side — to be stepped over in her return, spoken over. how dare they, ” i want to hear what ashpaw has to say about her gifted return, though i do suppose it’s good she remembered where her borders lie. “ the end is tinged in sarcastic bite, curled whiskers trembling his anger around a marred, rubberblack maw. they’d taught her where the borders lie, taught to settle at the scent line in wait, just as every other apprentice did. surely they knew it was nothing to be cooed and cuddled over, surely — the nerve.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

જ➶ The woman becomes tense at the sudden reprimanding that she recieves from the young warrior. Her ears swivel back and her spine bristles but for only a momemt. What did it matter if Cicadastar saw their former clanmate here or at camp? She is returning through hell and high-water to her own home and this is how she is greeted? Her muzzle parts in a flash of teeth before her ears pull against her skull. Her eyes shift to the leader as he makes his appearance and she doesn't like what she is seeing. The way he looks so suspicious of someone that has been born in this clan. Someone with no outside blood having been snatched away by twolegs only to make it back alive in one piece. It's almost digusting to her and she thinks back to her own clan. The same. Her maw twists tight for a moment as she looks to the young kit, feeling a rise form in her throat. And she tries to take an even breath in, push it through her nose. Things will pass and she hopes that common sense will come back to those that seem to desperately need it

Lichentail's words hold in her mind and she looks to the lead, nodding her own agreement to their words. Nothing but Starclan's fortune could have brought the youth back to Riverclan. Especially as turbulent as things have been. Still they are met with biting words and even threated their position for even insisting that neither seem to be a current threat. Ashpaw even waited upon the border unlike much of those that have threatened Riverclan. Her tail is twitching with agitation now and she shakes her head roughly. She feels like this is a different form of Sootstar. Maw pressed thin her eyes narrow. "I hope that no one else who claws their way back home with hope in their eyes are met with this same warm welcome." She is positively livid, and her eyes flick to Cicada, a tom she thought she knew. But apparently things have changed.​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang acknowledges her leader’s approach with a flick of her tail. Dovepaw’s arrival earns nothing, nor does Lichentail’s; the tortoiseshell is waiting for Ashpaw’s response to their question. She wants to know so much—where the she-cat had been, what all she has gone through—but they cannot even begin to share those stories until the question is answered.

And then Lichentail, glaring in her direction, tells Iciclefang and Cicadastar that it is a gift that Ashpaw had returned, and that because she had waited patiently at the border, she means no harm. The tortoiseshell’s blue eyes are blown wide with surprise and outrage. Who was this cat to tell her about Ashpaw? The Ashpaw she’d known in the nursery? The Ashpaw she’d battled alongside, lay beneath the stars with? Her lip curls faintly. “I don’t need to be told Ashpaw means no harm. Thank you for your input, though.”

Cicadastar turns to his lead warrior with frost in his pale gaze, and Iciclefang listens with near-satisfaction as Lichentail is berated. She’s willing to let it go—but then Boneripple, that detested ShadowClan she-cat who has never once defended their home from other Clans, who has loyalties shallower than the puddles they drink from in camp—Boneripple opens her mouth to make a sarcastic remark in response to Cicadastar’s reprimand.

Her tail swishes. She fixes Boneripple with a glare sharper than the claws on each foot. “Mind your own business, ShadowClanner. You would bring a strange kit into camp without our leader knowing, and you have the audacity to question my feelings for Ashpaw?” She narrows her eyes, her whiskers trembling with her shaking rage. She had not realized asking Ashpaw where the kit had come from was paramount to giving her the cold shoulder—but she will defend herself and her relationship with the girl if she must, to say nothing of her leader.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

it was near to the last thing he’d expect — near only in that she’d done it before, a sarcastic mumble of judgement from someone both clan and star - disgraced. his head pivots and he gives her an open - faced stare ; maw falling open in an exaggerated gape only seconds before it morphs into a wild, astonished grin. there is no mirth behind it, no joy behind the titter of laughter that erupts from his throat, ” what.. did i just say? “ rhetoric. a bubbly breath of a thing, tipping his head to the side, ” what did i say? because i believe i said — i wanted to hear from ashpaw. “ the former medicine cat is just as angry as he, and he takes the momentum to arch his back, tail puffed and straight. to look at him with such disdain in her eyes, to tell him how to welcome ashpaw into the home he’d extended. he bristles, ducks his chin to glare down his nose at the long - legged woman — a friend, for his kithood. a friend who’d ducked away, not spoken to him but only in passing. he offered his home to her, kits born along the riverside.. and this?

“ but since we’re speaking anyway, let’s put that to the test, shall we? “ a flourish, a lash of his tail wide enough to hit those lingering closest towards him. shards of ice blue fixates on the dark molly — a friend, once. now only someone who’s taken advantage of his welcome. someone to take resources, someone to linger on the outskirts of his clan with her head down until — until now. and for what, asking questions? asking where the kitten that stares up at them now had come from, for not weeping and licking the russet she - cat over the head the second he’d burst from the reed. he stands tall, fixes her with a glare colder than the one lichentail had cast, toward iciclefang, frozen rivers and frost bitten deaths gleaming in the shardlike depths of viper eyes. he stands rigid, stands to intimidate with size, with teeth bared. he does not raise his paw — does not aim to strike in ways the moorland queen would. scars do not mar her black sheen pelt as they had hyacinthbreaths, and yet she stands with rage and trepidation in fiery eyes that froths fury at the corners of his maw.

” leave, should you find us so brutish — you can tell me how warm chilledstar’s welcome is when you come clawing to them, i assume they’d be the only clan willing to pity a disgraced shadowclanner other than me. “ vitriolic, teeth bared and sharp against mottled gums. she’d only ever offered him sass, offered him a former medicine cat spineless until it comes to him. just like hyacinthbreath, what a waste.

he fully turns, stands against the small patrol of warriors with eyes burning into his pelt, judgment fierce around the slit of their pupils. who were they to tell him how to address her — to complain that he did not, what? greet her more warmly? what a pathetic stance, a pathetic fight to start in front of a cat and kitten who’d suffered clearly at the paws of cruel twolegs, in front of her.. in front of iciclefang, who had looked at ashpaw with the same eyes he’d given smokethroat. with a voice he’d heard her give no one before, in the moons since her birth, through the sunrises in which his mate had trained her. he seen the pain in her return. whatever she’d been to iciclefang, he’d seen it. his words are snarl - shouted, pinned ears slick to his skull, ” and the next of you to say a word that isn’t ashpaw herself will be free to join her, perhaps the loner lands will find you a warmer welcome. “

ashpaw. she’d yet to get a word in, nor the kit at her side. the russet she - cat, so grown from the kitten he had known all those moons ago. the kitten that had darted to him from her mother’s silver paws, much to the mollys anger. the girl that had been so close to pumpkinpaw — his jaw visibly tightens at the thought, the name — the girl he’d fought alongside at the war of sunningrocks. and bone, lichentail, they tell them how to behave? his body ripples, curls spiked back, claws unsheathed ; not in threat but dominance, a warning to match the low, rumbling growl sounding hollow in his throat — but blue eyes flit down, expectant. irritated now, at the warriors milling at his heel. " let her speak. "

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

જ➶ The accusation from Iciclefang makes the older warrior clench her jaws. The woman can feel the fur along her spine lifting once more but she harbors a grim looking smirk upon her muzzle. In fact, she already knew how the other felt about her and where she had come from. It shouldn't anger her but she doesn't have the power not to be. In all her moons here she has been nothing but loyal to this river, has done nothing nut focused all her time and energy into it. But alas, nothing will change how any of them...no, how some of them feel about her. She is about to speak given the moment. Maw parted to fix her words given that she had said how happy Cicadastar would have been when she returned to camp. He would have known about the child in question once seeing Ashpaw, being told about her return. She wouldn't have brought the kitten there without letting the leader know of it just the same as with Ashpaw. The same. But she has little time to make this correction as the leader speaks up then. Her head swivels and she stands up slowly. His words dig into her and she feels something in her froth. Her muzzle keeps twitching. Her tongue working behind closed teeth.

Pity a disgraced Shadowclanner. Leave. The words turn in her mind, angry, a cacophony of bees. So he too only saw her as a disgraced Shadowclanner. Not even once has she done anything to harm the clan she chose to bring her family to. She patrolled their borders relentlessly, even when she was heavily pregnant. Fought to learn to swim, fish, to catch their prey so that she could fill the fresh kill pile. Changed herself and guided her family along side her to keep this place sacred. But it isn't enough. It never is enough. For all she has done, and will do she can never be one of them. Their illustrious leader who came from the same place she did, whose paws are stained by the very mud of those hollowed grounds would always been seen as better than her and for what. Because he abandoned her to come to the river and start a band of rave-

Her mind snapped back into focus. She realizes she has been breathing hard and she takes a step back. She is not one to let her feelings fly but she does feel betrayed. Turning she does leave but not in the direction of the loner lands. No. She heads back toward the sanctuary of the camp that has become her home. The warrior den where she can think and mull things over for herseld. Afterall if she leaves here she would never go back to Shadowclan. If she leaves here she knows she will abandon all the clans and their ways to find those cursed to live as thieves.

-- out ​

 

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

Where Cicadastar goes, Snakeblink follows. Today it is literally: he walks in the lanky tom’s pawsteps throughout the patrol, leaving no trace of his passage but his scent where his pelt brushed against the vegetation. It’s easy; comforting; a willing and deliberate relinquishing of the control of the patrol that he more than welcomes after moons as a lead warrior. It’s nice sometimes to be the one looking at someone else for leadership, for once.

He comes to regret some of his knee-jerk obedience when the monochromatic leader tears through the bushes and bring them face to face with—

A ghost. A friend. A regret. Ashpaw, her fur as vibrant as he remembers, burning in the corner of his eye: he cannot bear to look her in the eyes. Not when Cicadastar’s voice goes dangerously cold — questioning her return, Lichentail’s responsibilities, Boneripple’s loyalty. Working himself in a rage over threats against his authorities that Snakeblink struggles to see as such. He cringes, keeping — still — to the shadows cast by Cicadastar’s tall and thin figure, an afterthought to the tom’s presence. He should say something: soothe the anxious paranoia that clings to his friend and master’s frame or reassure Boneripple. He has no words for it. It’s a relief when Cicadastar demands their silence.

Silent, he leans slightly towards Boneripple as she brushes past him — for what little it does — and allows himself a single glance at Ashpaw, taking in the sight of her: how grown she is, how different yet familiar, how hesitant she looks. The kit at her side. He wonders whether she can read anything in his eyes, and hopes that if she can, it’s relief that she sees there, not reluctance or judgment.
​

——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 42 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

​

​

 

[Hazewish]

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s only the open threat in Cicadastar’s tone of voice that keeps Hazepaw in place; had it come a second later they would already be shoving themself between Mosspaw and Ashpaw, rubbing against the young molly’s side. A purr lodges itself in their throat, barely-noticeable in the mess of words and accusations. Oh, sister, the things you must have seen!

Eyes wide, crinkled by joy, she tries to catch Ashpaw’s eyes, mouthing her name. First the loners sent in peace, now this: their leader’s protege, their mother’s near-adopted kit, brought back from the maws of death. Cicadastar may hiss and question to his heart’s content: Hazepaw knows this can be nothing but a gift from Starclan itself. An apology for Beesong’s untimely death, perhaps, or recompense for moons of quiet suffering.

[⋆]​

​

 

[ashpaw!]

When Mosspaw is first to find her, Ashpaw's heart cracks with relief, and she wants more than anything to leap across the border and wrap her little sister up in a hug. But she stays put, only leaning into Mosspaw's offered affection. "We thought-" "I know... I know," she says, her own eyes brimming with tears. "But I'm home now. I missed you too. So much."

The rest of the patrol follows, and Ash's breath catches at the sight of Iciclefang: just as beautiful and terrifying as she remembered. Claws dig into the sand beneath her as she fights to keep her composure. She's missed them all so fucking much. "I..."

Her gaze flicks down to Hellebore, silently checking the kitten over... then back up to her clanmates, intending to explain, but there are more and more cats approaching and talking and Ash can only stare, expression carefully controlled, curling her toes to keep from flinching.

Let her speak, booms Cicadastar, and when her clanmates fall silent she realizes oh, right, okay, she has to talk now. Her pelt prickles with embarrassment.

"I don't know where the twolegs took me," she says, hesitating as she tries to figure out what to say. Her voice betrays her exhaustion even if her shaking muscles didn't. "A den — full of little dens, all with cats trapped in them. It was far. Really far. I had to fight my way out," she recounts, remembering the blessed chance StarClan had given her, one twoleg's moment of inattention. An open door, and sunlight streaming through, and nothing but a pair of furless paws holding her back. "And then I had to find my way back. I don't know how long I walked for. Twolegplace is — massive."

She doesn't explain that her paw never healed right after it was caught, that it still sends sharp pains racing up her leg when she lands too hard. She doesn't explain the conditions of the twoleg den, or the amount of times she nearly died getting back here, pinned beneath rogues twice her size or narrowly missed by monsters. She sticks as close as she can to the ... pressing information. Glass-green eyes slide back toward Hellebore, and with a deep breath, she continues, "This is Hellebore. I ... found her. The twolegs had — had thrown her out with their carrion." Her voice wavers. "She's so little, I just — couldn't leave her like that. She would have died."

"I was hoping that RiverClan would take her in," she says, her throat thick, her eyes fixed firmly on then ground. "I can take on extra hunting patrols, to feed her. If that would make a difference."

One of the bleeding wounds on her side gives a particularly harsh twinge, and she winces, unable to hide the pain. "I — I think I might need Beesong to look me over," she adds quietly, her heart warming at the thought of seeing him again. "If I'm — I mean, if you'll — "

How does she finish that sentence? If they'll what — allow her back? Still RiverClan, she tells herself as fiercely as she can, searching her leader's ice-blue eyes. She's known him all her life, known more gentleness from him than seems possible in moments like these. The same is true for Iciclefang, for Snakeblink. (She doesn't let herself look to either of them because she knows she'll just fall apart. She's missed her clan so much.)

Where Lichentail sees harsh coldness, Ashpaw sees the vigilance that's kept RiverClan safe and alive all these moons. And she thinks of a much tinier Ashpaw, hurt much worse than this, and she can't blame them at all for their caution.

She doesn't know what else to say, so she waits for a response.
​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• i did my best i hope this is coherent. ive missed my dramatic ashpaw posts so much
  
  
• - 12 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to riverclan warrior willowroot
  - crushing hard on iciclefang
  - got real fucked up as a kid so if she seems like she was fucked up as a kid, that's why
  - bitter, cagey, jumpy; responds violently when startled; perpetually exhausted; territorial, unfriendly to non-riverclanners
  - soft spot for kits
• - kidnapped from riverclan by twolegs! but she making her ESCAPE!!!
  

​

 

[lichenstar]

Though his fury whipped like cattails in a monsoon wind, Lichentail stared back at the beast with saliva dripping from the teeth of a man that saw traitors in every corner. They had not done or said anything that might disgrace him. He was addled by the veil of paranoia that held fast over his eyes, blinding him and distorting what could be friends into nothing but odious enemy. The blue made no point to try to argue, did not even suffer his childish tantrum enough to frown at him... just an idle stare, full of patience. Though the raised voice ran a chill down her spine, she would not be bothered to raise to his petty challenge... took no stock in his threats. Instead... she opted to curtly tuck her chin in a bow of acknowledgement before scanning the faces of those gathered.

Snakeblink. As true to his name as ever, wore a mask that hid the uncertainty he felt towards Cicadastar's outrage. A coward, lingering just behind and refusing to have any kind of spine when it meant helping others. They did not deserve such venom spat in their direction... She would remember that negligence of comradery later. And though she wished to thank Boneripple for the protested support she gave, Lichentail would not do so here, not now. The river king had said not to... so she would oblige. It did not void her right to opinion, nor the will to comfort the former ShadowClanner later. That molly would know she was welcomed and appreciated, even if it wasn't by those she had once considered friend.

At Iciclefang's harsh interjection the lead felt their jaw clench tightly... agitated more and more as she fed into the misplaced notion that others could not change, that their pasts defined them wholly. The insight of a fool, one who had no life experience outside of the clan to know any better. She was a child, even now, even when donning the name of a warrior.

Ashpaw's retelling of her adventure full of woe and misfortune only proves her point, makes her claws twitch with anticipation. She knew no apology would befall her mismatched ears; pride was a heavy crown that engrossed the squawking star, that much they were certain of. Uncertain if speaking would merit another berating (or public execution with the way this had devolved so quickly over nothing) despite the fact the requirement for Ashpaw to speak had been met, they opted for silence still.​

 

[Mosspool]

The rest of her patrol followed behind her, but Mosspaw barely spared them a glance. Ashpaw was alive, she was home. This was more than she could have ever hoped for. She sent a silent prayer of thanks up to Starclan for this miracle, because this had to be their work. Never in her life had she seen such a clear sign from above. She took a step forward, toward her sister. Then the voices behind her rung out louder.

Mosspaw froze, one paw in Riverclan, one on the other side of the border.

Glancing behind her, she saw none of the warmth she felt in her own heart reflected in the faces of her clanmates. Cicadastar and Iciclefang loomed coldly, and under their gaze she remembered her formality, standing suddenly at attention. It didn't make sense to her, Ashpaw was one of them, but they treated her with the suspicion of a stranger.

Lichentail spoke what was on her mind, and she felt relief, for a moment. Until Cicadastar snapped back sharply, and Mosspaw flinched under the force of his anger. It felt like it was directed at her. He was right though. They had spoken out of turn. It was a disrespect to his station as leader to criticize his demeanor so openly. Such concerns should be brought privately, as to not embarrass him. That was why his anger was not directed at her, she reassured herself, she had not spoken.

Boneripple too, spoke up, and this time she felt only dread at the sound. Even though she knew it was coming, she still couldn't help but flinch. Her reprimand was even sharper then Lichentail before her. Cicadastar told her she could leave, if she was so displeased with him. Mosspaw had to remind herself, in spite of all her fond memories with Boneripple, that she was not a true Riverclanner. That was why her speaking out had been met so sharply by their leader, it had been disloyalty as well as disrespect.

For the first time, Mosspaw could not bring herself to look at her beloved leader. She stared at the ground. Like a chastened kit, she stood straight and still and waited with bated breath for her sister's accound, and her leader's next words.

Every word of Ashpaw's account made her heart ache. Her sister had faced so much to return to them. It broke her even more to hear her speak as though her return to Riverclan was still in question, and it took all of her self-control to stay silent. The thought was too much to bear. She had to have faith. Cicadastar had all the wisdom of Starclan, he would make the right choice. Her sister had broke no rules, and had done all in her power to return to them. The kit she had brought with her she had brought out of the kindness of her heart, and even if Cicadastar decided to turn it away so there would not be another mouth to feed, he would not turn away one of their own.

This was a test of her faith, of her discipline, she decided, and she would not fail.

Mosspaw stood silently, waiting for her leader's decree.​

 

[RAVENSONG]

He is drawn forth by the screaming, as it always is. With marigold in his mouth, the young cat pulled himself through the reeds, observing the scene that he had walked in on. Ashpaw does not smell the same, but he recognizes her voice and appearance. The realization causes a heap of pressure to release from his lungs, though he cannot imagine why Cicadastar decided to yell and bare teeth—it was Ashpaw, in the flesh. The kit beneath her surely was not the cause of the leader's ire—it was a child. The rest of them seem on edge and wary... it appears to Ravenpaw unusual. Until he would find a body, he would not trust that a cat was entirely dead—as he had told Dovepaw in the wake of Hyacinthbreath's exile. Mourning for Ashpaw was simply an aching void, and now that closure was attained, there was relief.

He watched Boneripple stalk away—some things begin to make sense now and he guesses she was the leader's target—and then his ears prick up at the sound of his mentor's name. Ravenpaw pulled himself entirely through his obscured hiding place, staying close to Dovepaw and Mosspaw. He did not say anything, but the softened look in his rounded eyes might just be enough to explain the impossible in words. Beesong is gone.

​

 

[iciclefang]

The rest of them, their leering and judgmental stares, fall away as Iciclefang watches Ashpaw speak. There’s a tremble in her words, phantoms of pain behind glass-green eyes. The young warrior’s throat clenches as she listens to her dearest friend recount her tragedies—and persevere. Ashpaw’s explanation of the kit is reasonable enough—as Iciclefang had suspected it would be. Still, it’s a foolish warrior who makes assumptions, she thinks with a dagger-bladed glare Boneripple’s way. The foolish ShadowClanner had left in a huff after being scolded by their leader, and Iciclefang is glad she’s gone so she can savor Ashpaw’s return properly.

“You’ve been through much,” she says, her voice softening somewhat. “And your paw…” She grimaces, scores the other she-cat’s blood-splattered flanks again with pale blue eyes.

“I think I might need Beesong,” she tells them, and Iciclefang freezes. It’s been so long since the ginger apprentice had been here that—she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know Ravenpaw is their medicine cat in all but name. “You… you’ve missed a lot,” she murmurs, shifting her gaze away. It’s not for her to determine if Ashpaw returns home or not, but she defers to Cicadastar now. There would be plenty of time for Ashpaw to learn about the cat who’d died, the cat who’d been left to step up in their place.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​