private AS IT ALL FALLS APART ✧ scorchpaw

[iciclefang]

It’s a warmer day, clear and bright, and Iciclefang sits beside a creekbed that runs through a shallow ravine. She intends to fish alone, but a flash of fire catches the corner of one eye. She sighs, focusing. WindClan, small but growing into broad shoulders and long limbs. After a moment, Iciclefang recognizes her. “You were watching me show Stormywing how to fish, weren’t you?” After a heartbeat, the warrior sighs and averts her gaze. “Come sit here, then. You won’t learn anything all the way over there.” She realizes belatedly she doesn’t know the she-cat’s name. “Iciclefang.” She hopes the abrupt introduction will inspire the apprentice to share her own name.

Once the girl draws nearer, she flicks her tail tip against the spot she wants the apprentice to watch. “Look. See how the shadows are stacked? That’s how you tell which fish is closer to the surface.” She adjusts her sitting position, careful not to throw her shadow over the water. “You have to remain out of sight. You wouldn’t think the fish can see you, but they can.”

She studies Scorchpaw for a moment, her blue eyes suddenly distant. “To think… I could be in RiverClan, teaching my own apprentice how to do this. Instead I’m here showing a WindClanner.” She laughs, semi-bitter. “What I fool I am.”

Several heartbeats pass, and Iciclefang shrugs, rolling the remarks she’d made off of her pelt like beaded-up water. “Who is your mentor? Did they come with you?” She wonders if the WindClan lead warrior Scorchstreak is the girl’s mother—they share a name and a tortoiseshell pelt, and she’d be surprised if they weren’t kin in some way, at the very least.

ooc ✧ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦

• @SCORCHPAW
•  
• 

  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

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[SCORCHSTORM]

Iciclefang is keener than Scorchpaw initially gave her credit for. When the RiverClan warrior calls her out into the open, she obeys meekly, white-dipped paws tentative as they find a place near Iciclefang's side. She hadn't meant to be staring as she'd been– but, for as much as RiverClan and WindClan failed to get along (did WindClan really get along with any clan?) she had become enchanted by the way the elder tortoiseshell hovered above the water, paws striking only at the most opportune and intentional moment. There's something about this method of hunting that exudes a grace that Scorchpaw can only aspire to, and the fishmongers' sleek pelts certainly did nothing to subtract from that beauty. It makes her mind wander to the tunnel they are digging, digging, digging, right to RiverClan territory. Would she see Iciclefang on the day of its completion? Would the other molly invite her to sit at the bank then? Certainly not.

"Um- thank you," she murmurs as she finally settles at the warrior's side, tail curling around seated paws. Iciclefang, she introduces. "Scorchpaw," she responds. Then, she falls silent, allowing the RiverClanner's instruction to ebb at her like calm tides. In the river, she spies the cluster of sleek black shadows; she can almost see her white ear-tips on the water's surface, and so she scoots back in accordance with Iciclefang's lesson. Her ears twitch as she watches the fish shadows dart around, languid at rest and faster than even a WindClanner otherwise. They're... interesting. She can see why RiverClan makes it a habit of watching them. "If they can see you, how do you catch them without them noticing?" she asks, whiskers twitching, her focus remaining on the scaled creatures.

She's still fixed on the river when Iciclefang's wistful comment sounds, a soft and sad puff of breath in the cold air. Scorchpaw's jeweled gaze flicks back up to her, cautious and glazed with a wistfulness of her own. She has nothing to say in consolation, so the mollies sit in silence for a few beats until Iciclefang asks the dreaded question.

Who is your mentor? she asks, and Scorchpaw's chest splits in so acute a way; she feels at once burdened by guilt and shame in equal parts. Guilt because she knows that Iciclefang could never have known how piercing a question she asks; shame because the question is only so piercing due to the betrayal of her father. Scorchpaw's face sheds its soft empathy as if outgrowing its skin. As if aging rapidly she looks haggard; angular; desiring pity but unwilling to accept it, a stone-set grimace and eyes dark with sadness.

"No." Scorchpaw answers Iciclefang's second question first. Her paws tuck beneath herself, as if she needed to make herself even smaller than she already was; for though she is a giant among WindClanners she is still bested in size by Iciclefang. Her pelt burns as if the flames that danced across it were real. "My mentor was Badgermoon." The fur at the nape of her neck prickles against her will. She finds she must chew the inside of her cheek hard to prevent the tremble in her chin. But after a few silent, tense breaths, Scorchpaw's stomach stops churning just enough to continue, "I think Sootstar will, um... reassign me. Once we're home." Another few beats, and she finds the courage to match her desperation to change the subject as quickly as possible: "who's your apprentice?"

/ sorry that this is so late!!

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐈 𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐄 ✧ 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿

• 

• 
  
  — scorchkit . scorchpaw
  — she/they ; apprentice of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by giinya, signature by raphaelion
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[iciclefang]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXThe younger tortoiseshell draws closer, and Iciclefang feels herself relax a little. She can tell the apprentice is wary, and she can only imagine why. WindClan tells sordid tales about RiverClanners snatching cats over the border, but she finds folly in both instances they preach about. The first had been Hyacinthbreath’s doing, and she had never been a true RiverClanner. The second had been Sootstar’s brood getting too close, too comfortable, and WindClan had deserved it. She looks now into lovely eyes, complex amber shades following the waters, and Iciclefang feels her paws prickle faintly. Surely it isn’t guilt she’s feeling—but it isn’t exactly relief, either.

XXXXXShe offers her name—Scorchpaw. “You share half a name with the lead warrior,” Iciclefang observes. She watches the shadows in the water. “You must be kin to Scorchstreak, then.” She lets a paw slip swiftly into the water, but the fish she’d been after is quicker, attuned to their voices, and darts away. She easily flicks droplets from an ivory-capped paw, unperturbed. “Sometimes, it’s better to actually dive into the water to catch them,” she explains. “The water’s too cold and shallow here, though. We must be quicker than they are. It’s not easy, for certain, but fish have a lot more on them than skinny rabbits or mice.” She smiles thinly. “It’s a great reward for a patient fisher.”

XXXXXSurprisingly, her question about Scorchpaw’s mentor seems to draw a strange aura from her scrunched-shoulders. “My mentor was Badgermoon.” Iciclefang knows Badgermoon—the black and white warrior had led a war patrol to SkyClan’s border. She flicks her tail. “Reassign you? Did something happen?” Her tone is mild.

XXXXXScorchpaw asks about her apprentice, and she murmurs, “His name is Cicadapaw.” A loaded name for WindClan to hear, surely, but Iciclefang braces herself for any reaction. “He is Cicadastar’s son, if you can believe it.”

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[SCORCHSTORM]

Their conversation flows as easily as the brook they fish at. Though the topics may make her heart sore, Scorchpaw finds it easier to talk with Iciclefang than even some of her own clanmates. That thought ties a small knot in her throat. Should she really be socializing so much with the other Clans? Sootstar would surely disapprove of the bonds they've forged throughout this journey. Even though their distinct clan have started fading (and StarClan does she miss the clean breeze on the moors, the heather-laden scent, the golden grass), she knows that her clanmates at home would expect her loyalty to be fiercer than ever– and not just because she was journeying on WindClan's behalf. She has a traitor's blood in her veins, after all.

But she also shares Scorchstreak's blood (and a little more than that), as Iciclefang points out. Scorchpaw nods at the RiverClanner's assumption. "She's my mother. And Luckypaw is my brother, actually," the girl supplies, her jasper gaze still fixed in the river. Awe sparks in her eyes as Iciclefang darts a paw into the river with bullet quickness. If RiverClanners could run as fast as they could fish, then WindClan would only be the second-fastest Clan in the forest. Her ears twitch as the other molly explains the various fishing techniques they employ. She's only seen RiverClanners dive after other cats back at the bridge– imagining them catching fish that way wasn't too hard. "Do you like this way or diving better?" she wonders aloud.

Then Iciclefang prods her further about Badgermoon. Scorchpaw realizes her mistake; the other Clan cats don't know about his betrayal, do they? Well, other than the Clan surely housing him by now. Or had he gone to horseplace, or twolegplace, or some other place where she'd never see him again? And what if Iciclefang's very clan held him in their ranks? Scorchpaw's ears turn hot, embarrassment for being so vulnerable creeping into her bones. Should she divulge his story of treachery? The way he'd abandoned her and her family for a mere power struggle? The way she still wishes she could return home to him in spite of it all?

Scorchpaw's smile fades to a thin, tight line. "He left," she murmurs, ears angling backwards in her discomfort. "I don't really know why." He was my father; why did he leave us behind? More words threaten to burst from her tongue, but that is all she offers. She rolls her shoulders and tries not to let any suspicion into her glare. For all she knows, he could be hiding in RiverClan's camp, but for a sweet, brief moment, she would like to imagine otherwise.

Then it is Iciclefang's turn to answer her query. Her apprentice is Cicadapaw; undoubtedly the long-faced leader's son, and confirmed to be as much only moments later. Her memory flashes to Cottonpaw, to the stories of the young molly held hostage by Cicadastar's mate; she thinks again of the tunnel that her mother is in charge of digging right to RiverClan land. Surely she would face him in battle someday. Surely she would face Iciclefang in battle one day. For now she tries to ignore that possibility, a smirk creeping back onto her muzzle. "Is he as gangly as his father?" she questions, though good nature laces the words.

And then she falls silent again, mind buzzing with questions. Would he be better trained than she is? Iciclefang seems to be a skilled warrior; as skilled as any WindClanner, if she dared to think it, and though she is on the journey now, there's no doubt she'd go home to teach Cicadapaw all the things she'd learned from her trip. And what would Scorchpaw learn? Would she be able to face Cicadapaw in battle, if he faced her? Would she be able to train beneath a warrior as strong and capable as Iciclefang is, now that Badgermoon had abandoned her?

Her gaze returns to the river. The shadows of the fish have crept closer and closer– Scorchpaw recognizes her chance. Quietly, she raises a cream-dipped paw, gaze hardened with focus, careful not to throw her shadow over the water (though she can't be sure how successful she is). A few breaths, and then a strike; and yet she acquires no fish. "Rabbit fluff," the apprentice curses, shaking the cold brook off her paw.

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐈 𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐄 ✧ 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿

• 

• 
  
  — scorchkit . scorchpaw
  — she/they ; apprentice of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — signature by giinya, template art by ska-i
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[iciclefang]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXThe young tortoiseshell supplies her with an easy answer. Scorchstreak is not just her kin, but her mother—and the pale, quiet apprentice named Luckypaw is her littermate. Iciclefang’s pale gaze twinkles. “Is your mother very protective? Do you feel you’d have more freedom if she hadn’t come on this journey, too?” Her own relationship with Icesparkle had been different—the calico queen had been content to leave her four kits to flourish in their own ways, her daughters competitive and capable, her sons sensitive and seeking. Scorchstreak is not Icesparkle, though—WindClan’s lead warrior is known for her ferocity. Indeed, she remembers that dappled pelt streaked with blood in RiverClan’s makeshift camp, remembers her claws at Cicadastar’s flank. “Your brother is quiet. What is he like? Do you worry about him being here?” She has to idly compare Luckypaw to Fernpaw, though she knows little of Scorchpaw’s relationship to her littermate.

XXXXX“Do you like this way or diving better?” The apprentice is inquisitve. Iciclefang finds she likes that, likes answering questions for her and showing her how to fish. She can only hope Cicadapaw will be as receptive. “I prefer diving.” She gives a short, dry little purr. “I wouldn’t recommend it unless you are a strong swimmer, though. It’s for experienced fishers. This keeps you relatively dry, and your head above water.” She turns back to their task at paw, to the silvery glow of mountain sunlight on frigid water.

XXXXX“He left,” Scorchpaw mumbles in response to Iciclefang’s query about Badgermoon. She half-turns her gaze from the water to the apprentice’s fading smile. “I don’t really know why.” “That must be hard.” She thinks of Hyacinthbreath, driven away with teeth bared. She’d never supplied such kindness to Dovethroat, but—but his mentor had been a traitor, not to WindClan who means nothing to her, but to RiverClan. She thinks, too, of the battered, bloodied cats with WindClan scent who’d appeared on their border, driven away, away to SkyClan or wherever else they could find shelter. “WindClan has a lot of cats who… leave,” she says, suddenly choosing her words with care.

XXXXXThe topic moves smoothly, like the water. Scorchpaw’s question about Cicadapaw causes Iciclefang to snort with amusement. “At least as gangly,” she says. “He’s the spitting image of Cicadastar. I can only hope he’s as capable.” She watches with admiration as Scorchpaw concentrates on her fishing, and though she misses her mark, she’d been close.

XXXXX“You moved just a fraction of a second too soon,” Iciclefang tells her in a mild voice. “Look—there!” She drops into a whisper, nodding to a fleeting shadow with her nose.

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