camp ALL MY WORRIES [back at camp]

[CLAYFUR]

Cicadastar has taken his selection of warriors, apprentices, and other RiverClanners to the gathering, surely mingling with the other clans and having fun. Or maybe they aren't having fun, given what recently happened between RiverClan and WindClan. Maybe he should be glad that he's once again volunteered to stay behind and keep watch over the camp; he doesn't risk getting caught in the middle of whatever might go down with all the clans in one place. He can’t risk getting injured, not with everything that he still has to do.

Of course, he hasn’t actually been given any specific tasks. He’s only been told to stay alert and keep an eye on troublesome apprentices if need be. To be honest, he sort of wonders what it would be like to finally go to a gathering, but he's begun to dread interacting with the other clans, so maybe it's for the best that he stays home. He'd probably just cling to Clearsight the whole time, anyway. But Cicadastar and Buckgait have gone to the gathering tonight, taking with them a number of warriors and apprentices, leaving the camp sort of vacant. He's kinda bored, but maybe if he looks around he can find somebody to help. Maybe he'll go talk to some of the elders, make sure they're all getting a good night's rest. He isn’t sure whether Beesong has gone to the gathering, though he doubts they’ve gone given the amount of sick and injured cats around the clan.

Speaking of the sick and injured—he’s spent much of his evening puttering around the camp, splitting his attention between hunting, sorting prey, and keeping an eye on apprentices, but he hasn’t visited the medicine cats’ den yet. He pokes his head into the den, glancing around quickly for the medicine cat or their apprentice. When he doesn't immediately spot either of them, the striped tom steps further into the den, calling out softly, "How are you guys doing? Need anything?"


// this thread takes place during the gathering! local babysitter is checking on everybody
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

This shit's far from the worst Hound's ever felt, but by the stars if it is not as inconvenient as it'd ever been. Much like Clay, he's no fan of the gatherings– after all the nonsense that'd rolled around these past moons, he's not so eager to throw himself to the wolves. But to be unable to go, to be denied even the opportunity! He's never been all that fond of lost choices. An' all for this cough. What a damned joke. He's burrowed into his nest with the others that share these sort'f symptoms, feeling his skin start to burn beneath dark fur, and dreaming of days when he'd been more useful than this. Surely this headache was no reason to stop his hunt. 'Course Beeong is worried about it getting worse, or worried about them sharing this sickness with others, but... Ah, there's nothing he hates more than confinement. Specially since he wants nothin' more than a body to burrow against when he's sick like this. Warmth and comfort from another soul: an embarrassing thing to desire, for Hound.

And it's certainly not something he'd ever voice. When Clay asks, a derisive snort rings out from the warrior's maw. His mouth's curled into half a dry smirk. "Don't let Bee catch you so close, Clay. He'll 'ave your head for it, riskin' this cough like you are." Hound allows his head to rest on his paws, hanging over the nest's edge. "Don't suppose you've got some excitement to spare?"

†  OOC NOTES INFORMATION †

• 
  ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[Snakeblink]

Isolationist by nature, Snakeblink isn't one to socialize across borders even on a good day. In these times, with one of their lead warriors still straddling the horizon between life and Starclan because of a Windclan patrol, there's nothing he wants less than to go frolic in Fourtrees. It means staying in the camp while most of his clanmates are off socializing with outsiders, but that is just as well. With so many in the medicine den he doesn't think he would feel at ease leaving their territory at all, really.

Still, he is restless. The camp is all quiet, no peace, the weight of suffering hanging heavy over it, and it's hard to settle with so many out and about and risking their pelt. Who's to say Windclan will respect the peace of the gathering, after all? So, sleeping is out of the question. The fresh kill pile looks low, bordering on bare; perhaps he'll go on a late-night hunting patrol and try to catch something for the clan to enjoy for breakfast tomorrow. Even if he doesn't catch anything – his nocturnal eyesight being what it is, it's unlikely he will – the exertion might settle his nerves.

Walking carefully in the half-darkness of the camp, moonlight coming and going in ripples as clouds obscure and reveal it in turns, Snakeblink goes to look for Clayfur. He thinks the tom was more or less left in charge of what few of them remained behind during the gathering, so he'd probably like to know where Snakeblink goes. Besides, if anything happens he would rather not have disappeared mysteriously moments before: this kind of coincidence will not work in his favor.

He finds the other tom by ear, listening to his voice rise softly out of the medicine den. He slithers his way in just as it is echoed by Houndsnarl's low rumble. He feels nothing but sympathy for the cats quarantined in the medicine den. He's been sniffling ever since ducking half of his body into the river to fish Gillpaw out, which has made him miserable enough as it is, so being sick and on nest rest until told otherwise must be a real nightmare. Lonely, too, for those used to closer company.

(The scent of old blood makes him wrinkle his nose. Right; there are worse reasons to be stuck here than mild sickness.)

Goal for his visit briefly set aside, Snakeblink makes his steps softer lest he disturbs the convalescent cats and brings himself near Clayfur, tilting his head in greeting to both him and Houndsnarl. He doesn't quite know where to put himself – close enough to be quiet and still heard, but not so much he's encroaching on either's personal space – and hovers a little awkwardly on the edge of an invisible bubble around the two other warriors.

”Perhaps a story would be entertainment enough ,” he murmurs to Clayfur, only half-joking. It's a kittenish suggestion... But perhaps they could use the comfort of a story late at night in here.
​

ooc. information.

• 
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 35 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[apricotflower]

Apricotflower wishes she'd been able to go to the gathering. Not to be combative, but the cream-and-white she-cat desperately wants to see Sootstar be put in her place for her Clan's attack on poor Smokethroat. Cicadastar had been furious, understandably ... but on the bright side, it looked like their lead warrior would start to recover well (unlike half of the Clan population, stuck in Beesong's den and suffering from various sniffles and coughs - herself included). She's halfway between waking and sleeping, sniffling intermittently to keep her nose clear, when Clayfur's gentle voice calls out to them. Apri mumbles something incoherent in response, and slowly stretches out her limbs. Maybe she'd bump a paw into Houndsnarl. Snakeblink's voice drifts over her next and her ears flatten briefly, though it's more of an "ugh" compared to genuine annoyance ... but the notion of a story gets her to crack one golden eye open.

"Story?" She echoes, hopefully.​

ooc ✧ info ✧

•  
• ✦ apricotflower, warrior of riverclan
  — no apprentice.
  ✦ 24 moons, she/her
  ✦ fluffy white and ginger cat with gold eyes. big scar on her left shoulder, little scars on her paws.
  ✦ bi, single. @ on discord for plots.
  ✦ "speech" — thoughts

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[SMOKESTAR]

Apologies to Snakeblink, most of the dried blood smell was his fault but he could hardly notice it himself; whatever the source of it his thoughts were too foggy and disoriented to offer him much focus outside the occasional acknowledgement of cats present and their words, though muffled. Smokethroat gave a quiet huff of annoyance where he was settled in a nest far too big for just himself at the back of Beesong's den, made as such because usually he was not alone in it. As if confused as to why he was laying there alone he glanced over at the flattened edges of moss next to him and then briefly around with a slow slide of his head against the bracken rather than putting in the effort to raise it. Oh...
That's right, the gathering. Someone had told him that was tonight-Cicadastar?-but he'd already forgotten just as quickly. It was like his thoughts refused to be retained and all he wanted to do was sleep.
"Bring me Sootstar's head on a platter..." He muttered to Clayfur's genuine inquiry with a tone that was hard to determine was serious or not; especially now given how graveling his voice was from the wound on the side of his neck as well. The dark tom finally, slowly raised his head, lone eye blinking perplexed at the sudden influx of cats nearby that he'd neither scented, seen nor was aware of up until this moment. 'I must be really out of it...'
When did Houndsnarl get here? When did Apricotflower? How long had he been napping currently? Or had he not slept at all?
The sniffling and wheezing of sick cats made his ears twitch faintly but frankly he'd survived this much of the injury and whatever feverish cloud that had accompanied it that he almost welcomed a normal cold at this point.
If the dark tom has an opinion on the idea of a story he doesn't say, blinking slowly at Clayfur as if just realizing he was there despite already having answered him just a moment before; he turned sharp with a quick shake, still unaccostumed to having only one functioning eye and he tilted his head to try and accomodate for the missing gap in his vision to no real avail. Dejected he settled his head back on his paws with a sigh and finally spoke again, "....story...sure..."
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[GILLSIGHT]

Gillpaw would much rather be at the Gathering right now. But, instead, the apprentice finds himself stuck in camp, stuck in the confines of the medicine den alongside Smokethroat as a chill runs through him.

Stupid ice, he thinks. Boredom begins to creep in as he thinks about all the new faces he could be meeting right now - all the apprentices from other clans he could be talking to - instead of laying in Beesong's den. Stupid river.

But, thank the stars, a visitor arrives.

"C-Clayfur!" he squeaks, greeting the warrior. Some entertainment, finally! He hears the voices of other warriors - of Houndsnarl and Snakeblink and Apricotflower - and his ears perk up to listen to their conversation. This would... He'd be doing this at the Gathering, right? This is kind of the same, he supposes.

It's Snakeblink that suggests a story, and though Gillpaw doesn't know if the warrior is serious or not, it brings excitement to the apprentice. "Y-yes! A s-story, p-please!"
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[CLAYFUR]

The dark, striped form of Houndsnarl is the first he comes across, and he offers the other warrior a warm smile. Of course, he just has to remind Clay of the scolding that he’s bound to receive from one very annoyed medicine cat. "Don’t worry, I never get sick!" He chirps at the other tom as he steps even closer. And he’s not worried about some little cough anyway; it’s not like he’s going to get sick just from being around someone who’s sick! Like, that’s not how sickness works, right?

Snakeblink slithers into the den almost silently, earning a stuttered gasp when he speaks up from beside Clayfur. The chocolate tom only stares, wide-eyed and caught off guard, for a brief moment before regaining his ability to speak. He blinks twice, a smile overcoming his shocked expression. "Oh, a story! That’s such a good idea, Blinky," he purrs, and Apricotflower echoes the word (he frowns upon seeing her; he still feels terrible about letting her go on that hunt). He’s kind of worried—he didn’t come in here with any wild tale prepared, but if both Apricot and Snakeblink agree on it then it seems like he might be persuaded into doing it anyway. And then Gillpaw, the sweet kid who he’s definitely not biased toward just because of his mentor, speaks up too, and. Well. Clay starts brainstorming story ideas. Something Gillpaw-appropriate, but still interesting enough for the adults to care about.

"Can I sit closer?" He gestures with his tail to the empty space beside Houndsnarl. He has the sudden urge to groom someone’s fur, so he licks at his own chest awkwardly. He spends a quiet moment thinking of a story topic, only to be interrupted by a gravelly voice from a tom who looks like he shouldn’t even be alive. "Smokethroat, she would beat me to a pulp. She’s more likely to bring you my head. But I can… tell a story about beheading her, if you want?" He is absolutely not telling a story about, like, murdering WindClan’s leader. Except maybe it makes Smokethroat, who looks totally pitiful lying in a nest and missing one fiery eye, feel better. He may be a complete stick in the mud most of the time, but he doesn’t deserve this. Clay doesn’t consider himself a particularly violent man, but he could kill that rat bastard WindClanner if he ever shows his face again. Anyway. Stories.

"Have any of you heard of Mothcat?"
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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