duskclan AANAWI GO NIMAAJAAN NIMAAMAA — return

[Thriftfeather]

As he stumbles his way back to the pathetic place that has come to be known as camp, Thriftfeather reaches for an emotion, any emotion, and finds himself woefully bereft. He had sat in place for a long time, long enough for the blood that lightly spotted his flank to dry into a tacky red paste, long enough to feel entirely lighter than he once had been, and long enough for a new weight to settle over himself. Thriftfeather doesn't stumble, even when he feels as though he should. He blinks as heads turn to him instead, green eyes wide but, in an unusual change, not guarded nor wary.

"I—" Thriftfeather stops before he can truly start. His voice had been too small—it caught in his throat. He shifts himself, rights his shoulders into blocks, lifts his chin. Old habits, "I killed Ghostwail. It was—it was the correct thing to do."

He speaks with a surety he hadn't known he possessed—only, he had known, hadn't he? Anger will come later. Perhaps remorse—not to be confused with guilt—or the familiar fear that has always come to bite at Thriftfeather's heels. Through the sharp edges of his mind, Thriftfeather is aware of the crouching future, but not of its shape. It will come for him when it does, and not a moment sooner. There is no option other to wait in numb anticipation for its strike, and live with the ensuing fallout.

For now, Thriftfeather lifts his chin subtly higher, "I won't hear any—there isn't convincing me otherwise." His torn ear flicks—it has been flicking since he had found his way back, since before. He hadn't noticed until now; despite himself, it doesn't stop with his awareness, "Her body is still out there. I left her for the birds."​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 12 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Privetkit was likely the least appropriate to arrive first to Thriftfeather. Morning sprightliness hit the kitten, who certainly did not know of the concept of getting an adequate amount of sleep. In fact, he had stayed up all night (much to Berrysnap's chagrin, though his mother had given up and let up to her own sleepiness), and the morrow permeated through yesterday's dogged coat. Privet, far from a stripling yet with the ardor and energy of one, came out of the makeshift nursery of Duskclan like a lizard with its belly scales scraping the sand - dynamic and almost frenetic. Spotting Thrift, the little one would, of course, allow curiosity to bloom and his pawsteps to skip over.

Inquisition lined fern-green eyes at Thrift's statement, as though a stare befitting of a midnight-pitched owl, round and unbecoming of a small kitten but a nighttime predator. There was something that was not there before - crusted scarlet on the warrior's flank, like it had been painted on with a dried varnish, the frostbitten rime upon a wintry scape. Keen nose caught upon it as well - it was coppery, metallic, like the honey that seeped from the scurfs and skin from thin prey. Blood.

"Left her for the birds... Why?" Quiet, almost-wavering voice of the kitten sounded below the full-grown cat as he glanced upwards. He knew of Ghostwail and Thiftfeather, and now one of them had gone and one of them was here. Death was a strange concept to him - fully alien, as if he could not wrap his young mind around it. What happened to the cadaver of the woman who was not here? What did the birds do to Ghostwail? Did they eat her like he ate his prey? He couldn't imagine it, the visual simply did not grace itself to him.​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

Rumblerain's tail curls protectively around the little tuxedo, ushering Privetkit closer to their own form. Why is he out here by himself? They bend down to lick the top of his head with a gentle murmur of, "Go back to Berrysnap. You don't need to worry about this."

Regardless of whether or not he listens to them, Rumblerain steps forward to more closely look at Thriftfeather. He's speckled with blood, though he seems unharmed. The golden tabby has always been quiet, reasonable. Not the sort to murder unnecessarily. Had it been an ambush? A mercy killing, Ghostwail trapped somewhere she could not escape? Rumblerain shudders. Granitepelt would be furious, wouldn't he?

"What ..." They take a small breath, eyes flicking over his features. "Do you want to talk about it?"

​

 

[DUSTWHISKER]

✧ . With this burgeoning new era the lot of them find themselves in, Dustwhisker hardly finds surprise in the tinge of copper in the air, the crimson staining of golden fur. It’s bound to happen. It’s happened before. Shadow-lined eyes blink at the warrior before him, the squeak of his voice stalled before a shift in posture gives way to reasoning.

He’s killed. Haven’t they all, at this point? But Ghostwail carried ties to Thriftfeather in a way Lilacstem hadn’t to him — ways Dustwhisker doesn’t comprehend fully — and for a brief moment, he holds an inkling of concern toward the younger. But her killer insists it was the right thing to do, and it dies then and there. There isn’t convincing me otherwise, he says. Dustwhisker doesn’t even try.

“ Congratulations, “ the tom mutters instead, a shadow-furred head dipping in acknowledgement.​

✦ ABOUT

• 
  DUSTWHISKER ✦ AMAB. He / Him. Warrior of DuskClan.
  ✧ . A black tabby / black chimera and white tom with dull yellow eyes.
  ✧ . Breezecurl x Stormtalon
  ✧ . Mentored by Breezecurl
  ✧ . Peaceful and healing powerplay permitted!
  ✧ . Penned by Abri ‣ @_abri_ on discord, feel free to dm for plots!
  ✧ . " Speech " ; Attack
  

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