sensitive topics ALL OUR TROUBLES WILL BE MILES AWAY . . .


tonight, she dreams.

not entirely uncommon, though not familiar enough to ignore ; shadows stick to her sleeping thoughts like leeches, lying in the river scum of her mind where she blots the babblewhispering of her homeland until peaceful morning. tonight, she curls in her nest tight — moss drawn near mingling with that of her mottled friend, lilac pressed close for the sunwarmth that emits from pinepaw's short pelt. her nose tucked under the plush of her tail, ears low against the curtail of wind sneaking through the gaping maw of riverclan's apprentice den. sleep finds her easily here, bones worn from the cold of late leafbare . . she eases into the blackness without a thought, awaiting morning in quiet tranquility.

tonight though, there are no shadows. tonight, there is rushing water ; ice, the crack beneath her paws groaning as she steps towards cold, misted rock. . she dreams of greedy, pearlescent mouths — oozing red like the pits of smattered cherries, fragrant darkness pooling at chomping maws. pouring like a stormcloud into the pale earth, rivuleting the alabaster of her paws with a kiss of scarlet warmth. fog ribbons the land around her, frosting rheumy eyes against a whipping front and she can't see, not really. there is fur flying in the white around her and then . . there is a glint of ice blue, snapping, threadbare bones drawn and cold and the red, the red . . ! then. there is only song. birdsong, a coo at the back of her skull like a broken mourning dove. it feels like a dying sigh.

her eyes open before the bleeding rise of dawn, the image of sunningrocks imprinted on her hazy mind.

with a gasp, a snort around the ever - drip of her ruddy nose, she jerks her head upward. her head aches and blood rushes through rabbitveined ears, stumbling to ivory paws like a wounded fawn — something. something, howled her name riverbound. something. something. the stars call to her, she knows it in the sleepdrunk haze of her mind that there would be. reverence pulls her into camp long before weariness leaves her, stepping tenderly around slumbering bodies of younger apprentices and into the buffeting breeze. she shocks awake, ducks behind the stone and lichen of her den and to the icy pathways behind . . memories of her early moons repeat in bigger pawsteps. she leaves through a tear in bramble, out into the algae - ridden night.

a lifelong plague of incorrect decisions, heart driven and whimsy - colored ; a disobedience rosetinted by a cloudy head and ears craned where she believes the spirits guide her. blessed by ancestors that whisper dreams and prophecy and belonging into her head when little else does. the stars speak through frozen waves and she can only answer them in stride. there would lie an answer where they coax her, there has to be ; in the same way she'd ventured out in search of something that could make her an apprentice, she does the same at fourteen moons . . to become a warrior. bravery and foolishness is a line she dances along with tippy toes.

it takes longer than expected for the land to open around sunningrocks. the sky has begun to tint a rosen pink, the first blush of morning oozing crimson across the plumdark clouds — smog curls her paws, pads wet with dew and melting frost building as she treads the slippery river surface. her panic is dulled by skyward eyes, nerves steeled by the need to cross, to see, to find out what called her here. the wind roars against her face and through the cattail, she sees . . nothing. only a wide, empty space and nose too clogged against the breeze to scent a thing. fur buffets around rounded face and she sniffs, feels a tightness grow in her throat and suddenly, the undergrowth shifts behind her.

through her stuffiness, she knows — turns around with a drop of her heart to her paws. tears well. uselessness etches hooked claws into her and tears, tears, tears.

" you, you didnt have to come out here for me, i just . . i thought — " pinepaw would understand. pinepaw was always there for her, even when she did . . this. they were nearly old enough to do it, anyway! if she could only prove herself, if she could prove that she was worthy to be a warrior in the coming moon. with this, probably not, " i thought there would be something here. something that would impress lichenstar enough to, to make me a warrior, something . . i had a dream, and i just thought — "

a dream. humiliation brims her blood hot at the childishness of it ; pinepaw had never been childish. not when they'd seen that twoleg smoke and she'd charged toward it without hesitation, and never once since. now, there would be only consequences for sneaking out if they're caught ; punishment for insolent apprentices, and another moon of restriction. her voice eases into a whine that she swallows into taut throat and finally, finally, shellpaw hangs her head with a hiccuping, " i'm so — sorry. " it had been so stupid . . and all for nothing.

behind her, there is a crunch.

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  • SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. FOURTEEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
    frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
    78128298_wohFIHxKbNARetE.png
    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 stubborn 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 and coughing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.
 

she isn't sure what brought her out here. not really.

sunningrocks has belonged to riverclan for nearly a moons cycle now, and the frost that layers those slatedark boulders made her paws so cold the water vole never seemed worth it. yet still, ever since her clan mates, her best friend, had come home torn to ribbons from either side of their borders, they'd sung a resentful song to her — a spiteful, petulant tune she followed like a deviant apprentice. maybe she had never grown out of that hotheaded youthfulness, or maybe she'd just gotten it from her father . . sparky certainly had. another sleepless night, another memory of her sister's spattered blood and her fathers mournful wails, nothing better to do than a night hunt — something she'd not done since batwing . . since batwing. she thinks the shadowed tom would be cheering her on from the heavens, if anything.

it was ultimately harmless, she thinks as she treds the chilled undergrowth, evergreen eyes watching the world open beyond the icedry bushes. any fat riverclanner would be lazing about in their nest still ( but hey, freckleflame would too, if she could sleep at all. ), and they wouldn't notice a missing rodent or two. the water trickles a slow crash where the frozen layer had cracked through, a low simmering mist heavy over bank. the wind howls it's way through the trees ( an instinctive glance . . she looks to where she assumes her late leader must have fallen into the depths ). creepy, she thinks with a swallow that tightens in her throat.

the wind buffets tufted ears and she pins them as she crawls her body forward, squinting against the frosted murk that conceals the lower grounds of an otherwise empty sunningrocks. through the cutting gusts she can smell burrowing creatures amongst the cracks of boulder, vole burrowed deep in weeded crevices that urges her forward along the slate points and that alone carves a smug grin into her maw. sweet! she swipes the creature after only a moments wait, breaks its neck with an easy pounce against the rock wall and a quiet snap. a quick, efficient kill that has her pulling it out with a satisfied hum — trespassing she may be, but not without anything to show for it!

the breeze razors her face from the river's direction and beyond the ruddy scent of preyblood, she catches something else . . something salty. fish - like.

that's her luck.

gentle green eyes flit towards the way she'd come. a couple foxlengths onto the river there is a girl, a warriors age but gaunt in a way that made the tortoiseshell grimace — walking with eyes pointed upwards, unseeing in the thick fog. freckleflame ducks into the tall grass around the base of sunningrocks with heart beating quick, cursing a storm beneath her breath and praying the molly hadn't seen ( she could handle her if she needed to . . she looked ready to keel over, anyway. ). she holds her prize close to her chest, listening as the girls voice rises ( stars, was there another one? even worse . . is she crying? ) and praying it is enough to keep her from scenting her against the upwind. only taillengths apart, the lone thunderclanner begins to back up, eyes trained on figures half - concealed in the mist.

only a few steps in, a single twig crunches beneath a clumsy back paw.

all is lost in a moments breath. freckleflame darts upward from the tall grass and meets rosen eyes for only a moment before, frantically lashing out a thick forearm — scoring the first riverclanner in three long gashes across the side of her ivory throat as she whirls to face her. warmth rivulets her claws and she scrambles back a little further, choking back an instinctive apology as the silvery tabby doubles over with a pitiful bleat. her teeth clench harder around her catch ( she would get this home, so help her. ), copper filling her mouth and bleeding from pinkish corners. her eyes flit to the side, towards the way she'd come ; the fern sways invitingly and freckleflame falls to its call, clambering around to dart back into the undergrowth.

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  • AND I AM A WITNESS WATCHING IT
    FRECKLEFLAME 𖦹 . LESBIAN, SINGLE. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK AND RICH, EARTHY MUSK. TWENTY MOONS OLD. FRIEND & SISTER TO MANY! NAMED A WARRIOR OF THUNDERCLAN ON 8 / 3 / 2023. MENTORING BRAVEPAW! PENNED BY ANTLERS -----------------------------------------
    78457700_xPWPrrxsVVnAJd3.gif
    she / her, eldest daughter of the late rabbitnose and sunfreckle. big, fluffy cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. she is fire - forged, smoldering ; something bright and voracious, radiant as the blazes that once raged through her homeland. shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over her hulking form. a heft of roundness settles comfortably upon her form in adulthood, padding muscle hardened by her life in the forest and yet still partially concealed beneath a tangled thicket of undergrowth - laden pelt. warriorhood had brought her to full height ; kittypet lineage showing itself in glimpses of rotund paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. she is broad shouldered and square - jawed, wild cheek fur like the blazing edges of a red sun — a mirrors image of her father, sunfreckle, and just as warm.
    A LARGE, ATHLETIC MAINE COON MOGGY. somewhat brutish in the wake of her family's staggering loss, bull - headed and hardy with something to prove, freckleflame will often find herself in border disputes as an unsurprisingly formidable opponent. a slow but hard & heavy hitter.
 

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-ˋˏ ༻ ❆༺ ˎˊ- Pinepaw's sleep is often empty and black, and its spell is fragile. The dappled apprentice dozes with her nose tucked below an ivory forepaw, and when the faint rustling of Shellpaws departure begin to pull Pinepaw from her dreamless rest, there's a new cold nipping at her scarred flesh.

It is without a second thought that Pinepaw follows on her friends heels, the camp they are supposed to be leashed to forgotten as the younger apprentice trails her venturing companion; because, what was more important than her? What if… she needs me.

Rime-coated flora slides against coarse dappled fur as Shellpaw's scent leads her towards Sunningrocks. Truthfully, Pinepaw hadn't been since the battle- not on purpose, she doesn't think. A mere coincidence.

When there is nothing but a wall of withered undergrowth between the two, Pinepaw is quick to shoulder her way through it, lacking the same grace Shellpaw carried herself with. When the lilac tabby spins to face her, Pinepaw has barely uttered a breath, tears are welling within brown-sugared depths, and Shellpaw's beautifully delicate features are warped with something the tortoiseshell doesn't understand. You didn't have to come out here for me. "Why wouldn't I, Shells?" Words finally get a hold of the girl's tongue, and honey-speckled ears are driven backwards.

Then, the words begin to spill from the others maw while rose-reflected tears threaten to do the same. Pinepaw's features pinch as Shellpaw explains what brought her here, and the tortoiseshell can practically feel the shame that scorched her friends expression, words…

And what could Pinepaw do? What could she say? Shellpaw was not strong like her, her lungs did not allow for sustainable stamina- everything a younger Pinepaw had feared was unfolding right before her eyes; Shellpaw had long outgrown the apprentices den, and her fragility was something that could not be ignored. Pinepaw's face steels after a moment, she had made an unspoken promise moons ago, one the apprentice did not intend to break now. "Shell… Shellpaw-" we're in this together, Pinepaw wants to say; wants to sweep the other towards her and promise to make everything better.

Crunch.

What exactly happens next is lost on Pinepaw, as the enemy warrior springs up on her blindside- the only thing her singular honeyed hue catches clearly is the sight of a brindled limb slashing across Shellpaw's throat, ripping silken flesh. Something erupts from the scarred tortoiseshells chest, a contorted yowl. The ThunderClanner is fully captured in her fiery gaze now, and there is little time to tend to Shellpaw, because before Pinepaw would let the trespasser slip from her claws, she lunges. Red etching at the corners of her half-gaze.

Extended forepaws would collide against the larger she-cat's body as she tries to clamber away, intercepting her attempt at an escape. Iciclefang had drilled Pinepaw's raw strength into their training from the beginning, and- despite its oak-laden origin- today it serves her well as the stone surface vibrates under the RiverClanners claws when the ThunderClanner would come crashing down, the smack of their skull hitting the ground sending chills up Pinepaw's spine. You're mine.

And then, quicker than a blink of an eye, the brawny she-cat is upon the enemy like a hound. For a heartbeat Pinepaw feels like she is towering over the other- until the heat of the moment is shattered by the flicker of recognition in the other's eye. You know who I am.

The trespasser's fate had been sealed the moment her claws touched Shellpaw, but now Pinepaw's lips curved upwards in sick satisfaction as she goes for the throat. By the time Pinepaw's fangs find purchase against the enemy's windpipe, the only thing she regrets is not time to say something- about Shellpaw, Stormywing, Flamestar… no; she bleeds the life from her friends attacker as swift and silent as she was ruthless.

When the apprentice lifts her head, it is now her muzzle that is streaked with crimson. And Shellpaw… Shellpaw- turning away from the body, the bloodlust that had consumed her being only moments ago was gone; when she went to kneel at Shellpaw's side now, it is only worry that her marred features wear. "Are you okay?" Please be okay.
  • PINEPAW she/her, apprentice of riverclan, 11 moons.
    brawny coarse-furred tortoiseshell she-cat with large, white dipped forepaws, a white tail tip and muzzle. Her left eye is scarred over and blinded, while her right eye is honey-hued and almond-shaped.
    apprenticed to Iciclefang.
    daughter of Iciclefang && Stormywing ࿏ sister to Cragpaw && Crabpaw
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
    penned by Noor@toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

she is only tail-lengths from the grass when a solid weight catches her from the side and, with as much grace as she'd ever had, freckleflame hits the ground.

there is another crunch. this one is louder — she thinks, can't be sure. pain flashes across her temple.

her skull erupts with terrible ringing. her paws and ears and eyes feel fuzzy in a way she's never felt, lids slipping back open to a sky that dances in slow, swirling waves — agony throbs down her spine and the first thing she notices, aside from the stinging bite where the tortoiseshell still holds her to the spattered ground, is that her head feels wet. too warm for the leafbare chill, too warm for the oozing cold in her veins. the molly looms, fills her nose with the reek of fish and brackish water and something dribbles from the side of her mouth that isn't sickness. copper coats her tongue.

freckleflame's drooling head flops to the side with great, heaving effort.

a spatter of blood stains the grey sand aside her, an oblong stone dripping thick crimson from where it had struck her skull upon awful impact. though she does not twist, her haunches kick out in a desperate, seizing urge to protect herself — to find she cannot move. not easily, at least ; with bones suddenly heavy, heavier than lead, she only succeeds a pitiful twitch. nausea rolls in her belly ( not, for once, from nerves alone. ) and slowly, slowly, drags bleary gaze back into the lone, smoldering sun.

a single eye bares down at her. ribbons of freshly healed scar tissue tangles around familiarly white - smattered muzzle, a ghost of riverclan's disgraced lead warrior with an eye she'd seen since childhood. the same, bright gold as stormywing. recognition settles sluggishly in unfocused meadow - green gaze and, miraculously, a bud of hope blooms in her toiling belly ; this cat had thunderclan blood.

the sting of claws in thick shoulder fur is a secondary bite to her dizzy pain and, with a tacky smack, she opens her mouth — stop. her claws catch on the ground, scrabbling up dust as if it would help her fat tongue find the words that only come out as a garbled, frantic grunting. i need help, she wants to say, despite the blaring hatred in the girls eye. her head spins and aches and screams for gentlestorm's healing paw and . . she doesn't want to die. she doesn't want to die. not for something so stupid, impulsive, unimportant — not for a vole, cast away a foxlength by her fall. her sibling had passed standing their impossible ground, her father biding time for his loved ones . .

i know your mother, ricochets in her mind even as pearly fangs dip to her throat because thunderclan blood ran thick. loyal. we grew up together.

but jaws close around her throat and her lids are already fluttering low, colors bleeding, sound warping. images of roeflame, wolfwind, howlingstar, burnstorm, batwing, tansyshine tumble behind slipping eyes. she feels light, too cold between the ears where blood began to cool in the late leafbare frost ; through it all, disappointed. frightened. tears streak clean through the matted cheek fluff, shadows biting at the edges of her vision and sending panic jackrabbiting her heart. the riverclanner shows her no humanity, and freckleflame loses her own with each rivulet of blood that soaks into the ruff of her neck. there was more she wanted to do. her nieces, her nephews were still in the nursery and . . shed promised her father a sunkit.

teeth finally snap closed around her windpipe. she rattles a final, harsh uptick of breath . . before falling blessedly still, forever unsatisfied.

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  • i. 12/27/2024 < / 3
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  • AND I AM A WITNESS WATCHING IT
    FRECKLEFLAME 𖦹 . LESBIAN, SINGLE. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK AND RICH, EARTHY MUSK. TWENTY MOONS OLD. FRIEND & SISTER TO MANY! NAMED A WARRIOR OF THUNDERCLAN ON 8 / 3 / 2023. MENTORING BRAVEPAW! PENNED BY ANTLERS -----------------------------------------
    78457700_xPWPrrxsVVnAJd3.gif
    she / her, eldest daughter of the late rabbitnose and sunfreckle. big, fluffy cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. she is fire - forged, smoldering ; something bright and voracious, radiant as the blazes that once raged through her homeland. shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over her hulking form. a heft of roundness settles comfortably upon her form in adulthood, padding muscle hardened by her life in the forest and yet still partially concealed beneath a tangled thicket of undergrowth - laden pelt. warriorhood had brought her to full height ; kittypet lineage showing itself in glimpses of rotund paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. she is broad shouldered and square - jawed, wild cheek fur like the blazing edges of a red sun — a mirrors image of her father, sunfreckle, and just as warm.
    A LARGE, ATHLETIC MAINE COON MOGGY. somewhat brutish in the wake of her family's staggering loss, bull - headed and hardy with something to prove, freckleflame will often find herself in border disputes as an unsurprisingly formidable opponent. a slow but hard & heavy hitter.
 

pinepaw greets her softly, in a way she does no one else. berry - laden thorns, a way that's reserved for her. it makes shellpaw want to hide her face into mottled fur and let the world fall into silence around her, to come back to her nest and sleep the foolishness off until high morning. shells . . she says, and shellpaw sniffs miserably and coughs to hide her weakened sob. scattered thoughts mix on her tongue, clambering over one another for first word. ( im too old for the apprentices den. i should've been a warrior already, like pebbletail and midnightash. ). she says why wouldn't i? and shellpaw cannot find an answer. so she only shuts her mouth, gaze softening, bittersweet.

what happens next is a blur of striking pain and motion. she hears something — a crack, a twig strewn across pebbled shore that has her head whipping around seconds before claws rake across the side of ivory throat. her cry is mostly surprise, a rush of blood quickly warming freshly open wounds as she ducks back and away towards the bank. the thunderclanner is larger than her, with a broken scrap of prey between her teeth and eyes flitting her up, down with palpable apprehension. there is only a second in which rosen eyes meet wide, alarmed green before the molly is backing up and away herself — before turning, and pelting suddenly around towards the frosted undergrowth.

her breath is rabbit quick, ribs pulsing in and out with heaving gulps of panic ; pinepaw's sudden absence is felt like a severed limb.

shellpaw coils a thick tail around herself and stays as still as a curled fawn, the steady dribble of blood down bony shoulder slow and quickly cooling against the early morning mist. pinepaw is quick ; she tears after the molly, kicking up soil beneath unsheathed claws. lightning fast, a strike of ember across pale gray sand that cracks hard against the thunderclanner's side. pinepaw is bigger than the bulk of her clanmates — grown bigger than her long ago, with shoulders squared and muscled unlike the usual sleek swimmers tone ( she knows the reason, now ). the tortoiseshell flails for all but a second before hitting the ground, unprepared for the launch of hard paws and fishfed weight that she catches across fluffridden flank.

the stone glints cruelly when dark crown strikes its slate edge — sun carries on waves of fog to illuminate the way cherry red dapples the thunderclanner in a beastly halo 'round her head. her eyes open like a stunned frog, wet and slow. the wind roars over her ears and she is thankful she cannot hear the working of her maw as it opens, closes, dribbles blood into the rocks aside her. she watches the molly realize what had happened and begin to kick weakly against the ground, and feels suddenly too light on her paws. her skin grows frosted cold, body locked, regret pulsing against her aching sternum ( she'd come out here to find something. something. had she caused this? ). the river tumbles behind her, a rolling slosh of icy waters seeming to murmur gentle affirmations of she was trespassing. trespassing.

pinepaw leans down and latches teeth closed. shellpaw screws her eyes frantically closed. it's over quicker than she expects.

are you okay?

she is like a beacon. vision slits to find singular eye blazing, a hungry patch of sunlight that fixes her with warmth still. her maw is muddy with blood that fall like amaranthus petals into the ground. her tongue feels like a bloated fish in her mouth, headless and twitching with the last feints of life. pinepaw had only ever wished her the best. pinepaw was brave, and strong, and warrior - bound . . pinepaw knew when to act. ( had she caused this? had starclan drawn her here for this? ) scarlet red. locusts buzzing. minnows turned upbelly beneath thin ice, forsynthia dotting the ground beneath aging gravestone. lovely, repulsive, necessary. she tries not to catch sight of the ginger - black patch of fur sprawled over the shore that has once been hers.

once again, shellpaw survives. once again, the world settles into place around her ; the river mists her paws, eager, loving, and shellpaw eases her haunched shoulders. the danger she'd faced had been real, yet she emerged with her heart still beating, pinepaw's loyal presence at her side thwarting whatever lurks in the undergrowth. she could almost hear the river's voice grow stronger, as if saying, ' see? you were right to trust in me. you were right to trust in me. ' luck, timing . . the stars wrap her paws and douse them in blood. her throat trembles on a hard swallow, " i'm — i'm okay. " dovefeathered whisper, the ache in her neck a fluttering throb at the back of her harrowed mind.

her eyes are faraway, panic a suffocating songbird in her chest, " are, are you okay? is she . . ? " dead. dead. the word settles in her belly like a heavy stone ( was anyone looking for her? did she have family, friends? ), but she forces her gaze onto pinepaw to wheeze, " what are we going to do? " thunderclanners would be angry. her mother would be angry . . wouldn't they?

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  • SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. FOURTEEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
    frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
    78128298_wohFIHxKbNARetE.png
    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 stubborn 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 and coughing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.
 

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-ˋˏ ༻ ❆༺ ˎˊ- I'm - I'm okay. Dewy-eyed and trembling, when Shellpaw's gaze flits to her, everything else falls away. Being so close, Pinepaw expects the familiar scent of river petals and salt, but it is only the brassed stench of claret and fear that radiates from Shellpaw. Dappled features pinch as Pinepaw shields the pangs of dismay that ripple from her chest, that scent doesn't belong on your fur. While Shellpaw's gaze strays from hers, Pinepaw would press her nose firmly to the others temple; seeking a familiar taste of blooms and sweet alkaline. "She was a thief… she could have killed you." Pinepaw speaks softly against Shellpaw's fur, "and she's paid for it." That much, Pinepaw wholly believed; relished.

What are we going to do? With that question, Pinepaw forces her head to move away from Shellpaw's. Tilting her chin, everything comes rushing back to her senses- the stench of ThunderClan blood, the rushing of the churning river, the taste of thick blood sitting in the ridges of her tongue. The body lays sprawled and unnaturally still, Pinepaw knows should she lean further, unseeing eyes would be staring past her. Thrown away like a piece of dirt, the enemy warriors catch lies equally limp. "We return to camp." Slowly, Pinepaw begins to speak, tail tip twitching with the churning of her mental wheels.

After their victory over Sunningrocks, Pinepaw would be revered; no longer a thing to cast side-long gazes at and murmur about in the shadows. No… no, she would be the apprentice who slayed a ThunderClan trespasser and defended what was RiverClans, with her one eye and all. Lichenstar would have to make her a warrior, wouldn't she?

The faint and persistent rattle of a soft breath next to her draws the apprentice from her ambitious thinking, her honeyed hue drags along the berry-red pathways that lined her Shellpaw's throat, and Pinepaw's jaw clenches. We're in this together, is what she had wanted to say before… could she say it now- share her rightful glory, if it meant stepping into warriorhood with Shellpaw?

"We're going to return to camp and tell Lichenstar what we did. That we fought off a ThunderClan trespasser and won." Pinepaw's single eye narrows, "together."
Coming to a full stand, Pinepaw steps away from Shellpaw, but only to quickly retrieve the fallen prey and deposit it at the pale tabby's paws. "Lichenstar will have to make us warriors, Shells. But, we have to make it look like the ThunderClanner put up a fight." In a quick blink, Pinepaw softens her gaze once more, a gaze meant only for Shellpaw, to coax her from the cliff of panic and uncertainty. It'll be okay.

"Will you help me?"
  • PINEPAW she/her, apprentice of riverclan, 11 moons.
    brawny coarse-furred tortoiseshell she-cat with large, white dipped forepaws, a white tail tip and muzzle. Her left eye is scarred over and blinded, while her right eye is honey-hued and almond-shaped.
    apprenticed to Iciclefang.
    daughter of Iciclefang && Stormywing ࿏ sister to Cragpaw && Crabpaw
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
    penned by Noor@toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

her nose presses to ivory temple and shellpaw leans into it, mind whirling like the dawnborn mist. she was a thief. she says directly into ruby-veined ears, with a determination that shellpaw has always believed. she could have killed you. the scent of river and smoke permeates her nose and she finds herself nodding along dazedly. pinepaw was right, of course — she thinks of all who'd lost their lives here only moons prior and flexes soft, lilac - capped paws against the gritty earth.

sit makes her think of pinkshine, briefly. of passing the same creature, a measly vole, across the border — her sides had been hollow - boned and gaunt, starvation clinging to the underside of curving ribs. was thunderclan ailing the same? with two scraps of land torn from them in the same terrible battle that had taken pinepaw's eye, did they continue to pay for their loss? was it better to rid them of another mouth to feed, and return home victorious? riverclan would certainly think so.

had her mother felt this guilt when she tore lives away during battle? had the thunderclanner that had slain lakemoon lie awake, feeling phantom blood leak from its maw? once, ferngill had lamented his regret upon that windclanner falling into the gorge, never to be seen again . . pinepaw, however, stood unwavering. sure of herself, her actions. this molly had been a thief, and she'd defended their border the way iciclefang would — quick, efficient, cool. she pretends the heady scent of iron in her nostrils is sweet like berry paste instead and swallows hard, the roar in her ears beginning to fade beneath harsh winds.

we return to camp. the thought makes her paws heavy, whipping rosen eyes up to observe the contemplative glint she knows is crossing the tortoiseshell's eye. it's a lightly pinching twitch across her mottled features, a familiar sight — pinepaw was thinking. thinking hard, stitching together a plan in her mind the way she would to pounce a bird, strategic and careful. her voice is calm, confident. fear - lit nerves temper just enough for slow boiling curiosity to rise, pressing a quiet, " we do? " prompting for more rather than an affirmation — giving the slightest squint of stony, heavy - lidded eyes of one who knows these little tells.

pinepaw does. were going to return to camp and tell lichenstar what we did. amber eyes search her face, watching the hard line of determination set across her best friends mottled features, that we fought off a thunderclanner and won. we. we. shellpaw hadn't done much of anything, other than bring them out here ( the river calls, calls for protection and reward in equal measure ), but pinepaw says together and a thought crosses her mind. of approaching the jut of river rock, lichenstar's cal like birdsong luring her beneath the glittering eye of starclan. of pinepaw by her side, close enough to twine the fur of their flanks ; her iron pillar, eye an oculus of sun, stained ruddy and bacchanalian when that gaze meets her rheumy own.

" together? " she whispers, as if testing the word on her tongue while pinepaw moves away. she lifts the abandoned rodent, broken and spattered in blood across its tawny pelt and riverclans. she drops the catch at her forepaws, and shellpaw cups it with unsheathed claws, drawing its bent body closer to her belly. lichenstar would graduate pinepaw for defending the rocks and proving it worthwhile, revenge for a bloodline exposed by the very thing that had crafted the code to begin with . . this would prove her a riverclanner, through and through. glory - bound, and willing to share the sunlight.

hunched shoulders ease despite the way her head stays turned away from the too - still thunderclanner. she wanted it . . she wanted to be a warrior more than anything. pinepaw had earned her name, without a doubt ; if shellpaw didn't graduate, she'd face her nest alone for another moon more. for the first time since kithood, she would be without her — she would join pebbletail and many denmates before in the warriors den . . but pinepaw says lichenstar will have to make us warriors. us.

they would, if it had not been shellpaw to draw them out and cause her clanmate to spring into action. if she had not only been something to save, and the scratches along her throat not only a fleeting wound. if the thunderclanner had fought them and lost, life bleeding into their reclaimed land, staining it further as riverclan property. lichenstar would give them their names without a doubt. her single eye blinks slow at her and shellpaw breathes a shaky breath. ( she had come out here for something, come out here for a reason . . this must be right. a sign from the wave - ridden stars. it must be. ).

will you help me? help her lie when they return home? to say she'd gotten these gouges from a thunderclanner who'd openly trespassed, and been confronted for it? lichenstar would scold them for leaving, surely — in this story, they'll have defended their home from a stubborn forestdweller in the process ( she yearns for the glimmer of pride in her mother's eye the same way she had moons ago. desperate. ), " of course i will. " of course she would, she thinks without hesitation, leaning down to take the vole between her teeth. her eyes water with the stretch of scorings down her neck where the blood had just dried, but they settle on pinepaw with a tired, appreciative softness ; a guilty thank you, thank you, thank you. pinepaw would never leave her behind. tell me what to say.

when they start back towards camp, not a glance is spared back towards the lifeless body they'd left. she tells herself it's what a warrior would do.

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  • i.

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  • SHELLPOOL . 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𓆝 ࿐ SHE / HER, FOURTEEN MOONS OLD. WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN ; HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR. SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
    frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
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    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 eiderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with stubborn 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.
    LIVING WITH LONGTERM ILLNESS ; prone to wheezing; coughing and sneezing with a forever runny nose. not contagious unless specified otherwise.