private AND TURN IT INTO GOLD — return

[Thriftfeather]

For every slowed-down moment that passes him by Thriftfeather is aware of the innumerable ways in which this can go wrong.

Each rabbit-kick of his heart against his ribs is a reminder of these potential failures. Someone could have seen Thriftfeather shake Vulturekit awake in the predawn with a soft reminder of the promised feather hunt—perhaps his voice was overly loud, or maybe he or Vulturekit had tread upon something noisy that had gone unnoticed to Thriftfeather. The notion cannot be shaken that this will all go horribly wrong, and still Thriftfeather trudges onward. As dangerous as this is, he couldn't sit in his guilt any longer.

"There," Thriftfeather nudges Vulturekit at the shoulder and then points with his nose to where a ruddy-brown feather is caught in a tangle of briar. Found by Thriftfeather the day prior and left in this spot; he had needed something to keep Vulturekit occupied in this place, "This is always a good spot to find feathers."

Someone could have seen Thriftfeather leave with Vulturekit—how would Thriftfeather explain Vulturekit's absence? Would it be wise to say nothing at all?

"I'll rest here. You look around and see if you can find something better than that one. Just stay where—just don't wander anywhere I can't see you," What if Bluefrost doesn't show up? What if—Thriftfeather feels the rabbit in his chest speed at even the simple start of the thought—she does?​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

There's WindClan scent here. Kit-scent. It is, thankfully, bereft of blood, of fear. Vulturekit is in one piece, unharmed, and accompanied by Thriftfeather, looking characteristically uncertain in his gilded tabby fur. Oh, you came. You came, and you brought our missing kit. Bluefrost's green eyes are alight with something too-soft, smeary. She approaches on light paws, and calls out in her best approximation of a cheerful voice, "Why, Vulturekit! Thriftfeather! It sure is good to see you!"

Her heart flutters as she nears them. Something unspoken smolders. She meets Thriftfeather's gaze and shakes her head, softly. "What have you risked, doing this?" She must know he is not in danger. Not in anymore danger than a DuskClanner could be in.

She leans forward to sniff at Vulturekit. He smells unchanged, but for the dusty layer of the scrubland that's ground into his fur. The little tabby is hungry, she thinks. When is the last time he had a good meal? "Let me catch us all something to eat, okay? You stay right here with Thriftfeather. I will be right back."

They are close enough to WindClan's curved border, and despite their hardships, it does not take her long to find a lame and scrawny rabbit. It still, she notes, tastes of ash, but she muses that it's because of its diet now more than anything. New shoots of grass, grown from soot-dusted earth, have not been enough to fatten its middle. Still, she deposits it before the kit and the tom she cannot bear to look at for too long.

"Eat quickly, now. We must get you home soon. Periwinklebreeze is worried sick." At the mention of Vulturekit's father, Bluefrost tilts her face toward Thriftfeather's again. There is something searching in it—she had seen them fight, had seen the fierce queen's claws shred the fur at a red-splashed throat. But for this... would he forgive him?

"Come back with me," she blurts. Her flesh sears with embarrassment, but she presses: "I will explain everything to Sunstar. I am a lead warrior now; he will listen to me. They all will. I... I will speak for you." There's a pleading note embedded in her voice now.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　Grogginess dulls Vulturekit's mind, softens his bleary steps. The trudges across the dusty ground with a yawn splitting his maw. As excited as he is for feather hunting (anything, anything to get his mind off of the place that he's getting so afraid he'll never leave) - he does wish Thriftfeather didn't drag him out here so early.

Luckily for him, the rogue has already done the work of finging a perfect feather for him. A gentle nudge taps against his shoulder, and he is too tired to flinch. He blinks once, twice. "Oh...!" he breathes softly, taking a few steps towards it. It's dark, like a piece of night forgotten in the glow of dawn. Warm and brown, a mirror of his own pelt. The resemblance is lost on him as he reaches towards it. "It's stuck..." There's a slight pout to his face; any thoughts of searching for other feathers is lost as he begins to set about freeing the poor feather. Briars tangle their way around it, trapping the one bit of fluff.

Delicate teeth slowly pull the feather out by the stem, movements far too cautious and coordinated for so young a kit. He moves gingerly, feeling fur brush the dangerous tips of thorns.

Just as it falls from his mouth to the ground below, there is another voice. He tenses, immediately, jumps and bristles.

It's Bluefrost. She sounds happy.

He doesn't trust it, at first. Is this a dream? It feels like it's been forever since he saw a familiar face and yet... It's only been a few days, hasn't it? He thinks of WindClan, and he can only imagine a camp suspended in the last moment he saw it, blood-stained and chorused by yowls and hisses.

"Um. Hello," Vulturekit says, for lack of other words. The warrior's nose leans close as if to inspect him, and he is very still. A single tiny paw moves to hold his feather in place, carefully set upon its stem.

Apparently he passes the inspection, because soon she is off to hunt. It all feels too fast. "D-d-do you... know her?" They ask hesitantly, blinking up at Thriftfeather. Like he knows their dad. Does he know all of WindClan? Why don't they talk about him, he wonders? Why is he not with them, when he is kinder and softer-edged than the others they have met on this terrible venture?

Bluefrost is not long. He moves to nibble on the rabbit - a rabbit! What a special treat! Unfortunately, he's lost much of his appetite, eating as little as he has. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, avoiding Bluefrost's eyes. "D-d-d-didn't, uh, mean to worry him." He tucks his face into the rabbit even as his mouthfuls are slower than they should be. It's almost somewhere to hide.

He's going home. It doesn't feel real. It feels like his time in DuskClan lasted forever, and like it never lasted at all. It feels too easy, just walking away with Bluefrost.

After a moment, he speaks again. "You should c-c-come." A soft agreement. He glances to Thriftfeather sheepishly, unsure if the suggestion is overstepping. He pulls the feather closer. "I... I want you there." They don't want this to feel like it doesn't matter, like it never happened. They don't want to leave and pretend they don't know the golden cat with blood at his throat. They think about the shakiness in Thriftfeather's voice, and they know that he does not belong here any more than they do.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

There is relief in Thriftfeather’s labored exhale. It lowers his shoulders and eases the tense line to his ears. Bluefrost is here and whole. For a moment or less than, Thriftfeather can forget the reality of his situation. He gestures weakly to Vulturekit and offers a wavering smile.

"I know I said I would bring something I caught myself," Beneath the lightness in his words, his voice is still damaged—still healing, "But hopefully—I hope this will do."

Rather than answer Bluefrost’s softly spoken question, Thriftfeather merely shakes his head. He doesn’t know, or he doesn’t want Bluefrost to know. The uncertainty was enough to nearly ground Thriftfeather from this attempt altogether. This very same action is what broke WindClan apart; it could be enough to do the same to DuskClan. It could change nothing at all. A second uncertainty washes over Thriftfeather over which outcome in this scenario would the the terrible one.

Already, Bluefrost finds ways to provide for Vulturekit in a way that Thriftfeather could not. She bounds away and Thriftfeather shrinks in her absence and then, remembering Vulturekit’s watchful eyes, rights himself.

"I know I lied about why we came out here but I didn’t—I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be disappointed if things… if things didn’t go like I planned," This, whatever it is, had always been more of a prayer than a plan. Too reliant on things outside of Thriftfeather and, contradictorily, too reliant on Thriftfeather himself. There is a wavering amazement in Thriftfeather that none of this has burned him, yet.

Bluefrost returns with prey and, at once, Thriftfeather can think of little else. He allows Vulturekit the first bite and then, with a lack of his usual hesitation, tears into the rabbit’s side. A tingling finds his fur—the sensation of eyes on him. A glance up finds Bluefrost’s familiar green eyes. Slowly, Thriftfeather tips his head to show her that he is returning to form—the impression of Periwinklebreeze’s teeth into Thriftfeather’s flesh had been minimal, despite the amount he had bled in the wake of it.

Although he is no medicine cat, Thriftfeather suspects that the only reason he is alive now is that Periwinklebreeze’s angle had been bad, disrupted by the cowl of fur around Thriftfeather’s neck. In another life Thriftfeather wouldn’t have thrashed his way free, he wouldn’t have had the space to. His breath would quicken with the memory if not for his current company. It still aches like a bruise to swallow and there is still a fading roughness to his voice but it could have been worse. It could have been everything Thriftfeather is.

Come back with me, Bluefrost says in a rush, and Thriftfeather nods along to her words with burgeoning hope. The world is simple like this, and Thriftfeather doesn’t think to hide his eager agreement.

"Alright," He says before he can think. Life could be like this. Thriftfeather stands without shaking—life could truly be like this.

Reality finds him here.

He backs away a startled step as if he had just spotted a snake; surprise at the automatic actions his body had taken. Surprise towards Bluefrost for asking, surprise towards himself for agreeing. Thriftfeather’s head shakes—reality doesn’t allow for this.

"Actually—actually I can’t," He wears his remorse for however briefly getting Bluefrost’s hopes up plainly. His own hopes had been up, too, "You don’t know the state of DuskClan right now," Fragile enough that Thriftfeather fears it will break apart with the smallest of actions—should he tell her of Granitepelt’s death? "There is Gravelpaw and—and the other little one. Hungerkit. They need a space and they don’t belong to WindClan anymore than they do DuskClan."

He finds his direction only as he speaks—Gravelpaw and Hungerkit need out. Thriftfeather couldn’t be the one to leave them behind.

"Just take Vulturekit for now and—just do that and I’ll think of something, and then," And then Thriftfeather hesitates. He’s so homesick for a time now gone that he feels breathless. It should feel like a plan and it should feel like an accomplishment to declare his own future.

Instead, Thriftfeather is consumed by a long-familiar trepidation.

Doubt creeps to him that Bluefrost’s words or his own action will be enough to sway Sunstar, that Thriftfeather could believe in and follow Sunstar with the same dutiful obedience that he had for Ghostwail and Sootstar. That, after everything, underneath the weight of his unspoken wants and his countless moments of both action and inaction, he is worthy of the absolution that would come with returning to WindClan.

"I’ll be safe," Thriftfeather’s eyes glance to Vulturekit—will anything said here be repeated? Will it matter if it is? "This isn’t the last you’ll see me." It is a promise Thriftfeather cannot stop himself from making but a question exists beneath it: will you be coming to see me again?
​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 14 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

It's his smile that gets her—it's a boy's smile, a kitten's, all misshapen and tremulous. It causes her breath to hitch in her throat. "I know I said I would bring something I caught myself," he says, words fighting against their rasp, "but hopefully this will do." "You have no idea how much this means... to WindClan," she murmurs, dipping her head. The fur on her cheeks swoops to conceal her profile.

It's then that she leaves to find prey. Upon her return, she sits patiently as both Vulturekit and Thriftfeather take their share of the meat. The poor tabby tomkit can do little more than poke at his portion, but Thriftfeather takes mouthfuls, revitalizing with every gulp. Come with me, and we'll chase rabbits under the moon, she thinks, and then—then she says it, says it aloud, and she's stiller than stone as she waits for his response.

"Alright," he says. Her face cracks into a smile like porcelain. "You will? We should go now so I can tell Sun..." She trails off, words like ash in the wind, as Thriftfeather catches himself and shakes his head.

"Actually, I can't."

"You will not leave the kits," she says, and though her disappointment batters her like stormy winds, she cannot find it in her heart to fault him. He's like that, she thinks—he's golden-hearted, even out here in this wasteland, even in the clutches of desolation. He cares for his own, for the ones he makes his own, orphaned and drifting through the world without anchor.

"This isn't the last time you'll see me," he tells her, and she holds her breath, meets his gaze with her heart in her mouth, in her eyes. "It will not be," she affirms, and the smile creeps back. "I will find you again."

Perhaps she shouldn't have said as much out loud, with Vulturekit present, but she can't keep herself from spilling over. It's a foreign feeling, one she simultaneously detests and relishes in. It's like burning alive, but what emerges is clean, silvery, pure.

To Periwinklebreeze's son, she turns, and she exhales long and silent. I must get you home. "It is time for us to go, Vulturekit. Say goodbye to Thriftfeather, now." As she waits, she wants to say it, too—but it's there, in the final look she gives him, her green eyes softer than they've ever known how to be.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　The admission of a lie sits oddly with Vulturekit. "You..." he trails off, thinking. It takes a moment to put the pieces together. He wasn't brought out here for a feather. He's thinking like a kit - and he is a kit, of course, but he's never liked acting like one. He's supposed to be better than that. But no, he fell for a lie again. It's a good one this time, but... He can't help feeling mousebrained.

Thriftfeather and Bluefrost know each other. It was never about a gift, it was about bringing him home. He pulls the feather a little closer. "Oh. I g-get it. S'okay," they mumble with a shrug, not looking at him. It's still kind. This is a kind thing he's doing. They feel betrayed more for not realizing than for being lied to, and terribly childish about the whole thing.

It doesn't matter. They still ask Thriftfeather to come with them - and the golden tom accepts.

They don't know if it will make things better or worse. They want to offer him kindness, as he has to them, want to return the favor. Want something to feel familiar. They want living proof that this was real, that it happened, like the burnt grass is remnant of the smoke. They don't want to move on. Their wants are tangled; they feel as though they are choking.

And then Thriftfeather goes back on his decision. Their ears flatten, but they do not object. There's something going on here that feels too big for Vulturekit. Everything feels too big for him, history sprawls out behind him like a gnarl of briars and he just keeps seeming to prick himself on it. Meaning laces through the adults words and he can't understand. All he can do is curl himself around his feather and listen. He's staying for the other kits. That's simple enough to understand. He wishes that it wasn't.

The mention of Gravelpaw makes the kit wilt, just a little. "I d-d-didn't tuh-tell them I was going..." he whispers in soft realization.

Thriftfeather and Bluefrost's words sound like promises, wound together. They have known each other for some time. They will be seeing one another again. "Will I... C-c-can I..." His mouth snaps shut, feeling like he is speaking out of turn. He doesn't even know what he wants. To see Gravelpaw? To see Thriftfeather? The thought of going back to that barren "camp" makes him queasy. "I mean - Um."

A breath. He cannot change anything; he does not try. He lets himself be swept along, as he did in following the guiding spirit of Gravelpaw. "...Bye. And - th-thank you." His words are timid, uncertain. He keeps his paw planted firmly upon the feather, and lets himself meet Thriftfeather's eyes. "I... Won't forget about you, okay? So d-d-don't get hurt again. Um, please." It's all he can ask for. He very carefully does not look to his neck.

And then, he gathers up the feather in his maw. His head ducks down, and he waits for Bluefrost to guide him.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​