pafp a little bit tired of // moss collecting

[✧ Marmotbite.]

CAUTION TAPE AROUND MY HEART
marmotpaw | 03 months | female | she/her | physically easy | mentally medium | attack in bold #9ab973

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There is not a lot to do as an apprentice, much to Marmotpaws dismay. The days are monotone and dull - walking back and forth until she's trod upon the paths so many time's she knows them by heart. Days of dirt and earth and darkness - nothing and no one around but her mentor or whatever poor soul she is paired with for training that day. Always part of a pair and never alone - never never never. She misses it - her self imposed solitude, though she supposes it isn't forever. It is only when she is below, beneath the belly of the earth, that her freedom is stolen.

At least that's what she thought. And yet, now she has been intruded upon once more, company forced upon her in the name of 'saftey' what with the strange events of the past few days. The countless murders. She really could care less - if she dies, so be it. It is survival of the fittest after all. If she cannot keep up, death is what she deserves. A heavy sigh leaves her lips as she glances at the she-cat beside her from the corner of her gaze - they're not to far apart in age, she recalls, but it is hard to tell. Where she has always been tiny, the runt of her litter in a family of already small cats, the blue-toned she-cat beside her can only be called tall. Tch.

attention turns back to their task - to collect moss. "... whacha do to get stuck on moss duty?" she finally asks, paws scraping away at the plush plant underpaw, for certainly this must be a punishment for one or the both of them. This is tedious.

@Azaleapaw

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[Azaleafrost]

She didn't know much about Marmotpaw. Their duties were different and they didn't often cross paths. Except for today, a day where she was doomed to collecting moss. It's not that it was a bad chore.... It just wasn't training. It wasn't patrols or sparring. It was boring. Moss tasted funny. And she knew why she was assigned the duty in the first place when it was given, it was so she was out of the way, so those poor, poor wild born cats didn't have to look at her.

She didn't want to look at them either, but she had no choice.

she walked beside the smaller cat quietly at first, unsure of how to react to her. Did she hate her too? Did she not???? Azaleapaw didn't know, and so she didn't speak. That was until Marmotpaw asked what she had done to get put on this chore.

"I existed, usually that's enough for most cats to punish me." She said.

Way to be a downer.

"Though I suppose it's important o stay stocked up on moss regardless...." She added.

She squished the moss beneath her first. It was soft and...Fuzzy? She didn't know how to describe the texture of moss, but it was fun to squish. A simple joy. Unfortunately for the moss, it would not save it from her claws as she carefully began to scrape it from the ground.

She didn't know how to carry conversations. What should she say? Should she say anything at all? Quite a dilemma.
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[breezepaw]

WHO WANTS TO SLEEP IN A CITY THAT NEVER WAKES UP ✧​

breezepaw had been dismissed back to camp by her mentor after spending the day walking borders, committing the territory to memory. it was tiresome, and they recognized that, opting to send her home while they did some hunting. a tired glaze glossed over her blue eyes as she trudged across the moor, absent-minded as she moved.

stopping, the tabby felt lost, serves her right for not paying attention, but voices were carried on the wind to reach her ears. soft as they were, her head was raised to find the source. two apprentices worked in the distance, although she couldn't quite make out whom yet, it was obvious they were alone. long legs carried her over, more alert than her former state. as she approached it became clear what they were doing. claws dragged against moss to free it, breezepaw most definitely did not envy their task. azaleapaw mentions that all she had to do to earn punishment was exist, breezepaw's ear flicked. "they shouldn't do that," she hums quietly, licking a few stray hairs on her chest. it wasn't right to ostracize your own clanmates for something they could not control, if they only had her here to poke fun then why keep her among windclan's ranks at all. still, her words were quiet as to not cause a fuss with anyone passing by.​

 

[HEATHCLAW.]

The youth of WindClan are raised similarly to how he was. Once you tore down the rigid walls and structure it was all the same. Menial tasks with seemingly no meaning. At arms with unsheathed claws. Made to survive at the youngest they possibly could. The rest of the world wouldn't wait for them to grow up, after all.

He catches himself on the edge of their chatter by accident; dead grass floating on the wind. The promises of Greenleaf draw him up and out of camp. Sets a certain sturdiness in his paws. Tall and broad, he cranes his neck in a way that gets across special attention, though there is only a minute shift in expression. He would not blame them for any pessimism. They've been met with more tragedies than anyone was prepared for. There's a blustery sigh from his nose, not exasperation. "No one's punishin' you for existin', now," he gruffs, the slightest hint of sympathy there, despite it all.

His paws bring him a few steps closer to their bounty itself, head craning as if to get a better look at it. Moss gathering was no difficult task. Wasn't really somethin' you could fail at without another thing bein' terribly wrong. Already, he's trailing back to his previous business. A brief call as he lets them now. "S' worth more than any of you might think." More than to clean or to drink from. There were other things to find within typical tedious work.

OOC INFORMATION

• —
  
• — HEATHCLAW: he / him; cisgender male, 42 moons. moor - runner of windclan.
  — bisexual with no clear preference. single.
  — low, rumbling voice with a noticeable, but not overbearing southern drawl.
  — goes with the tides. if loyalty is what will benefit him, so be it. independent but amicable.
  
  — for windclan – a tall and broad chocolate tabby tom with half a tail. Smattered with smaller scars, the most obvious being a sharp cut across his lower jaw and eye, that of which is half-blind. Sharp-jawed with an intense hazeled stare; lost most of his tail due to an incident when he was younger.

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[✧ Marmotbite.]

CAUTION TAPE AROUND MY HEART
marmotpaw | 03 months | female | she/her | physically easy | mentally medium | attack in bold #9ab973

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There are still many things that the girl does not understand about clanlife. Despite having spent jus as much time here as there now, this new world seems to lack the common sense that had been ingrained into her since birth. the blue-one has already killed - both prey, and foe, if she remembers correctly. What does it matter her roots? She is clearly growing well here - like a vine content to strangle and crush its surroundings for its own growth. It should be something to be proud of - surviving. But because her ancestors were.... 'kittypets' she is instead scorned.

"ah... i see," she says simply. She cannot say she understands because she doesn't, but she can acknowledge the world around her best she can. Their limited solitude is fast interrupted - and the change in the scarred child is near immediate. Pelt bristles and tail twitches in unease - she has never liked the feel of a strangers gaze upon her. It makes her feel like prey.

The two don't do anything to distressing however - simple platitudes, empty greetings. Boring and polite conversations. Tch. What does catch her attention however is the rumbly toms words - ears prick up and mismatched gaze snap to attention. "Whaddya mean by that?" she says sharply, curiosity mixing with her normal distrust. She blatantly ignores the other apprentice - they've done nothing of worth after all. Why waste time.

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[HEATHCLAW.]

It was only a thing said in passing. Shred of hope offered to the youths he could see his younger selves in. Words he might've liked to hear. Already scanning the moors for rabbit's afoot, he isn't quite prepared for the sharpness he's met with. Heathclaw turns to Marmotpaw with the slightest hint of bewilderment, brows upturned, so-to-speak. With the way she's lookin' at him, he nearly feels that he'd regret givin' the wrong answer.

It's a silly thing, that thought. Following a pause, Heathclaw would come around to where the apprentices worked. He too would scoop at a clump of moss. Bigger paws, more experience – better takeaway. It's only to say that he's like them, though. No one would ever completely break to the tedium. S' a part of life, and the like. "Teaches ya values." Another scoop. "Work ethic." And another. "Cooperation."

He clears his throat, then, taking a step back. It's sufficient in his book, both in words of advice, and paws to help. He'd glance to Marmot as if to ask, Good enough for ya? Not that he'd change a thing, if it weren't. Only so much he can do. "Head start for ya."

OOC INFORMATION

• —
  
• — HEATHCLAW: he / him; cisgender male, 42 moons. moor - runner of windclan.
  — bisexual with no clear preference. single.
  — low, rumbling voice with a noticeable, but not overbearing southern drawl.
  — goes with the tides. if loyalty is what will benefit him, so be it. independent but amicable.
  
  — for windclan – a tall and broad chocolate tabby tom with half a tail. Smattered with smaller scars, the most obvious being a sharp cut across his lower jaw and eye, that of which is half-blind. Sharp-jawed with an intense hazeled stare; lost most of his tail due to an incident when he was younger.

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[Azaleafrost]

Azaleapaw doesn't mind her company, for once. They weren't jeering at her or stepping on her, looking down their noses at her. Marmotpaw and Breezepaw are quieter than other apprentices, and she appreciates it. At least they didn't have a stick up their rear.

Breezepaw even says that the others shouldn't punish her for existing. She agrees.

"They shouldn't, but whatever helps them feel better about themselves, I guess." She says.

Heathclaw joins in and she stops herself from rolling her eyes. He doesn't understand, she guesses. Not his fault. He wouldn't understand.

He explains the importance of moss and she nods in agreement. She looks over to her moss collecting companion. Maybe.... They could make it fun? Heathclaw made a nice pile....

"Wanna see how much moss we can fit in our mouths....?" She asks.
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