A COLD SUNDAY 𓇼 PINKPAW

[shellpaw]

the evening is dim, a haze of pink - blue - indigo painting across the sky in thick, jagged lines of wispy clouds. the falls paint the area around it in low - spritzing mists, water slicking to the curve of cobblestone that made up the two leg bridge and shellpaw emerges from the reed aside it with her nose high in the damp evening air. dusk patrol had been her favorite to attend lately by far — the coolness of night seeps through waterlogged pelt as she pulls from the shallow waters near the base of the twoleg stretch of land. voices lilt from nearby, the low murmur of patrolmates venturing further up the treeline. lichenstar would not move too far without her, she knows ; but this place, she would not blame them for leaving untread.

her mother is stilted here, haunted in the eyes and paw steps cursed to move ever forward in place of their mourning. troutsnout’s disappearance troubles her much the same ; she’s been captured, missing, they say. we’ll find her, she’s still out there, they promise while the smoke around them still dissipates in the same, lingering sense of loss. the falls wash away any scent of her as it had smokestar, douses the blood or copper - spotted fur she’s come to familiarize herself with more and more fondly since her time in moonbeam’s den — rough stone waxing and waning with the reek of twoleg instead. she sifts through it, through the trash and muck left on their pebbled shores, gulps in heavy around the block in whistling nostrils for a hint on her first of the too many, too recent search patrols.

beneath it today, however, is something different. diluted still beneath the mossy heaviness of their bridge that lilac capped paws wander to ascend, nestled low in the rainbow - tinted mist of the falls when she spots it — a flash of movement, of mottled reds and blacks and whites.

she pauses a beat. water slicks to her bones, gaunt, wraithlike and dull in heavy eyes ; from the nestle of undergrowth she could see the cat was young, or small at the very least. she thinks, briefly, to call for lichenstar. a warbling call of alarm, fledglings cry to send her clanmates feathers ruffling with effort unneeded.. she decides against it, whispers for the best to the brief spark of hesitance. it flutters to life as curiosity, ” hey. “ a blunt start, pointed through rasping vocals — a thrust of butterfly wings over the falls raucous thunder. strawberry - hazed eyes flit towards the darkened lands behind, then back towards what the girl could only assume was a windclanner, ” there are tw- um, twolegs, out here. didn’t you know it’s dangerous to be so small, and alone? “ obviously.

she sniffs through her dragonfly drone, tries for haughty and ends somewhere between genuine and pitiful. still, her attention slips towards where the molly was rummaging, letting ever - lidded eyes squint further just slightly, angling her neck as if it could let her see what exactly the apprentice was doing. brow whiskers furrow, ” are you.. looking for something? “

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ° 𓇼 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i. @PINKPAW HEHEHE
  
  
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  SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENTAIL ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENTAIL, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

  
  

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[PINKSHINE]

It was her first time truly outside of camp alone. Her first trip without warriors had been one dedicated to adventure. And her adventure had then been dedicated to fire. In a way, this one was too. And it wasn't fair that it could do that. It wasn't fair that it could be long gone and still in her life like this. Sometimes, she even swore she could still smell smoke...

She has a very specific mission today, and that's to find something that'll distract her and everyone else from the smell, and the burnt up moors, and the scarce prey, and everything... Something fun! Something amazing! Something the fires wouldn't have touched, and for that, she had to go far. Unintentionally, she's found herself travelling alongside RiverClan's border. And eventually, the water wasn't an evil, churning, yawning drop anymore, but something she would are to describe as pretty. The water bows downward, sending a misty spray into the air and over the tops of rocks. The sun catches on it in the prettiest way, making water look more appetizing than it probably ever has. The molly takes a moment to look around, ears pinned flat and an airy, " Woah... " leaving her then.

Pinkpaw's seen this on her way to the gathering, totally... but now she had the chance to get a closer look. And surely, if there was something magical waiting for her in the territory, it would be here, where its too wet for the fire to ever touch... Through the undergrowth, she creeps closer. Searching for... a flower, or some treasure. Something that would put a big smile on her friends' faces, or a fun toy for a kit. Poking beneath the leaves a bush, she sees...

Hey.

Pinkpaw goes still. She notices the scent of another cat maybe a bit too late, and maybe that's why Featherpaw was a warrior now, and she wasn't. Featherspine. What would Scorchstreak do right now? Probably stand up, like, " I am the deputy of WindClan! Become, strange cat! " but Pinkpaw wasn't the deputy of WindClan, so that kinda put her in a weird spot...

So instead, she just pokes her head out and says, " Hi! " like she would to anyone else. Even though it wasn't anyone else. It was a RiverClanner, wet fur and all. Ew! It's so ew, she can't help but gawk a little bit even if she knows it's rude. they're even, because she was totally rude, too! " You're alone too! " she retorts. ...A pause, to make sure she indeed was. Yeah! " And smallll-ish, " she adds with a sniff. " You must be talking about your twolegs. Our twolegs did an evil thing an' left already. "

She can let bygones be bygones... Or, like, she's too excited to talk about what she's looking for to stay mad for too long! " Yeah! I'm looking for something fun! I've never been here before. I mean, I have, but I've never stayed. " What was that thing she saw earlier...? She sticks her nose back into a bush, trying to rediscover that very cool thing. Shiny, red... " Lots of my friends are sad right now. Twolegs are the worst... Wait, so RiverClanners really swim? I kinda thought you guys made that up... " But that doesn't matter! She couldn't come all the way out here and leave empty - pawed! " Hey, I saw something really cool somewhere, help me look! "​

 

[shellpaw]

she'd heard, in murmurs wisped far above lilac capped ears at gatherings past, that riverclan had a certain smell. place reeks like fish, they jeer, and shellpaw had never quite understood it. not until now, blinking slow and furrow - browed at the mottled she cat lain half concealed in a thicket of reed, did she think it must have been strong — stronger, at least, than the salt thick scent of her approach. regardless, this molly did not seem all that perturbed by her presence. aside from a brief, tense silence, from the greenery sprouts a face of mottled ginger and shadow broken only by a thick stripe of alabaster. ringed blue eyes blink wide and gleaming in her direction, far more vibrant than the land from whence she came.

windclanner, her mind supplies, nose twitching mindlessly at the underlying smell of char clinging to colorbright fur.

hi she chirps, and instead of the bristling sear of annoyance she’s seen prickle the arched older spines of patrolmates in times past, shellpaw finds herself inclining velveteen ears forward in lieu of their gentle backward tilt. there is a brief douse of relief that floods rabbit thin veins when she realizes it’s an apprentice, just like her — hardly a threat, she’d think. she calls her small, and alone, which ruffles sopping curls despite it being blatant fact. her maw opens to fire back a ive grown because she has, when her words fully register, ” they’re not mine. they’re wild i guess. “ like rogues. wild twolegs, the ones that venture from their nests and set up awkward makeshift dens on the far part of their meadows. it is enough of a distraction, enough for her to drop the pretense of doing more than cattail thin limbs could provide.

she instead gawks in turn, dove whistle tone growing incredulous, ” they left? like, um, left left..? how’d you get them to do that.. “ while said more as a statement than a question the riverclanner inches closer still, shuffles her paws to only whiskers away and cranes her neck as if to hear a secret. could they be run off, after doing an evil thing?

but the molly looks at her, and looks and looks until she feels awkward about the slow drip of curls drying into an alabaster halo of frizz — a are there scales in my cheek fur? hangs on the tip of her tongue because she had shared a pike with pebblepaw before she’d left, but she doesn’t have to voice any rousing nerves. the girl instead shifts into something even brighter, exclaims that she is looking for fun, and something flits across strawberry toned eyes. she was here for fun.. shellpaw hadn’t seen much fun, not since becoming a warrior and burbling face first into a world of rogue attacks and disappearances. tail of solid lilac lifts in a dramatic upward plume, an intrigue she cannot contain despite how her still, stony expression hardly changes. she’s had lots of training, training, training and fishing, fishing, fishing.. a little break wouldn’t hurt.

not if she didn’t take too long, didn’t lure her mentor close enough to spot them huddled shoreside when the girl drops, sticks a paw beneath a thistle of cattail and shellpaw dips to her belly herself too look alongside her for.. whatever it was.

she wonders if this were wrong, if lichenstar would be upset with her — but this cat was pretty okay. she wasn’t doing anything wrong, like stealing or breaking the code.. so it was fine. she’d never seen the falls before, not really, and it astounds her enough to lift her onto mismatches toes in an excited semi - bounce, ” the falls are lots of fun! its, um, my favorite place. it’s soo pretty, and sometimes there’s this, um — there’s like a little rainbow on it? but only where its all misty, and it has to be sunny.. “ her breath hitches, rises and falls to cut between harsh intakes of breath that never seem to reach deep enough to make her anything other than hoarse. she takes a moment to sniff, long string of words oft to send her nose running ; a paw lifts to rub at dampening muzzle, though it falls just as quick.

the girl turns, ducks her nose back into the bushes and shellpaw stares, watches unflinchingly, tells herself that if the river didn’t want her to be here, surely a twoleg would’ve come by and plucked her up in the same way it had riverpaw. her throat clicks, ” twolegs are ugly jerks. “ breathy, more an embittered sigh than anything else, a cut of eyes away from her to mull over how it must feel to be a windclanner, ” sorry they did bad stuff to your place. did they make it all.. like that? “ she thinks of the fire she and pinekit had seen, thinks of rolling hills and only smatterings of what she’d once heard to be full of life and colorful blooms torn to an obvious pit, dry tangles of undergrowth all that remains when she casts her eyes across the gorge.. having taken refuge in their beech copse only moonhighs prior, back when she was still only a -kit. twolegs, on top of it?

she’d be sad, too.

i thought you guys made that up startles her out of thoughtful haze, suddenly aghast at the idea ; did windclan think they were lying? did everyone else? she makes a noise of rebuttal, a strangled huff before managing to word, ” what?! yes i can swim. actually. for real. “ it was one of the few things she knew, really.. so far, that is. lichenstar is delicate with her. may still see her still as the sickly one, the one who couldnt do anything but wander off alone .. shellpaw pointedly does not think of the mile she'd taken in the inch her mother gave her to fish by herself at this very moment, ” in fact, i ca -- i can swim so good i could find a better, funner something than whatever youre looking for in there. “

still, she says whatever she'd seen was cool.. and shellpaw had never been one to keep her nose where it belonged. ruddy eyes slit blithely, but she leans onto her side and stretches a fishbone pale forelimb into the falls - misted greenery to pat around alongside her. the girl squints her concentration, pivots her neck to look upwards into the bushel of greenery but finds little.. but she can’t expect a windclanner to find a decent trinket. she assumes they have little ; rabbit bones and, like.. ash, maybe.. " so why dont you just get them, uhh.. some pebbles, or a shell. or something. " oh, " thats my name, by the way. shellpaw. " and her brother, pebblepaw. named river gifts.. prized and special. surely any upset windclanner would appreciate one.

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i.
  
  
• 
  
  SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENTAIL ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENTAIL, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

  
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