private AS THE SUN HITS, SHE'LL BE WAITING — orangestar

[SLATE]

He had truly taken the spaciousness of Orangestar's den for granted. Splayed out, muscular limbs spilling out of the sides of intertwined twigs, moss, and needle clusters, he soaks in the comfort of his own nest. No longer was he trapped inside the stuffy medicine den, tossing and turning in makeshift bedding while trying not to kick the body of a neighboring resident. Knowing himself, it wouldn't be long before he landed himself back under Dawnglare's care again, but maybe just for a little while he could try to be more careful...

Of course, he knows this "sleeping arrangement" isn't considered normal among leaders. The only other cats who slept in their dens were their mates and, well, Slate wasn't that. However, Orangestar didn't have a mate to protect her. She was undoubtedly a strong warrior, but in Slate's eyes, she needed to secure her residence. Leaders had targets on their backs — a random rogue had attacked Blazestar and taken his last life for reasons unknown, but one could wonder if it was because he was such a powerful figure in the clan. A pair of aggressive foxes had attacked a patrol and taken one of Orangestar's lives. Rogues—presumably—had taken the lives of two warriors just recently ( one of which being the leader's sibling ). Maybe, if Slate guarded the entrance to the leader's den, he could be the first line of defense against any threats.

The job of an unofficial den guard did not come without restlessness, though.

Just as the Maine Coon is about to doze off and shutter his eyelids, a rustling coming from outside of camp immediately grabs his attention. Slate's mangled ears pricked up in alert, his head jolting upright and the charcoal hairs along his back bristling out of instinct. Having not noticed any cats leaving camp in a while, the lead warrior immediately assumed another creature was stirring close to the hollow — a scurrying mouse or squirrel, maybe, but...

Slate sits up now, wrinkling his nose and staring out of the den's entrance to survey the walls of camp. In the back of his mind, the fear of another fox attack lingers. Ivory claws dig into the ground, his shoulders tense as he listens for another rustle.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝘼 𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆, 𝙂𝙀𝙏 '𝙀𝙈 𝙐𝙋

• @Orangestar

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

​

 

[Orangestar]

Orangestar had fled Fireflypaw's den as soon as possible after her conversation with Twitchbolt, and has barely seen him since. The air had been stifling with too many SkyClanners clustered beneath the familiar bushels, in a way reminiscent of the overflowing warriors' den that she has long since moved out of. StarClan above, has it really been a whole season? It feels like last moon that Blazestar had been killed, half of that when she had moved into his vacant den.

That vacant den had quickly become too empty for her liking. Orangestar still isn't sure if she had accepted Slate's offer to guard the den because he was capable, or because she was lonely (and now, though she'd never admit it, she sleeps better with him nearby). With him freed from the medicine den's watchful bough, soft snores help her drift off when he turns in his nest: the audible reminder that Orangestar isn't alone here, even in her solitary role among SkyClan. She stirs at the small rustle he makes as he sits up, but doesn't wake in full.

Orangestar isn't a fool. She knows what the lingering stares mean— the ones that Slate receives when he enters her den in the evening. She tries not to acknowledge the knowing glances, the whispers that pop up every so often when SkyClan thinks Orangestar is too busy to hear. Slate, who was allergic to fun, padding after Orangestar of all cats.

She doesn't know how much of that is true. As far as she knows, he is just protective: they've known each other for just about three turns of newleaf now, SkyClanners together for two. Even if it were, he has never done anything to pursue her before or after her mateship with Ashenclaw. But with that said ... Orangestar has never done anything about it either. Should she have expected herself to? Her last mate had died, even though they were long since separated.

In the back of her mind when everything is too quiet, she has turned the concept over between pale paws. It was the with Owlheart, back then still a 'paw and fretting over her feelings for Crowsight, that had sparked the thought. Past flames, the father of her kits included, and the way she had loved them.

The way she still loves them.

Orangestar jolts awake at that, a single semi-conscious musing that snaps away any lingering sleepiness. It's promptly replaced by shock. Confusion wells up soon after, feline brow furrowing, though the way she curls slightly in on herself forces a hissed breath through gritted teeth. She slept wrong, and her hindleg hates her for it. She's had a good run. Should have known it would end soon.

"... Did I wake you?" She mews, strained, cracking one ochre eye open.

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

• // local woman has half asleep thought, startles herself all the way awake. more at 10
  
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | eight lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — single ; mentoring springpaw
  — speech is in #F18C47
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[SLATE]

Slate does not expect to hear a voice from behind him, especially since he had assumed Orangestar to be at rest. The Maine Coon turned his head, his gaze fixing on the red-patched she-cat. Had she woken him? If anything, he would have expected him to awaken her. "No, just... thought I heard a noise." Even camp did not feel safe these days, as if foxes would charge in and slaughter countless warriors or twolegs would trample the walls and shove them all into cages. Slate's muscles tense at the very thought of seeing one of those silver, glistening traps again. However, he is quick to move on, especially since he had overheard a sharp breath straining through her teeth moments ago, "Is somethin' wrong?" He sincerely hoped not; Orangestar had more than enough to deal with at the moment as it was.

When he was assured that nothing of concern was afoot, Slate's amber stare dulled into softness, his mind no longer in active alert mode. His eyes flick once more toward the walls of camp, his jaws parting to utter, "It feels more dangerous than it's ever been." Slate had never felt so on edge, even in the days of Blazestar's reign. Why did it seem that all threats were closing in around SkyClan at the same time?

Vengeance begins to flicker in his stare, brows creasing as the recent murders continue to dwell in his mind. All the search party could manage was strands of strange fur and nothing else; no scent, no trail. The murderers had known what they were doing, clearly, and that is what frustrated Slate. "I would've tracked those mangepelted rogues down myself if I knew where their scent led." Into the twolegplace, into the depths where they hid like cowards. Slate feels sick even thinking he had once potentially lived among them, had been considered one of their kind. "They could kill again." It certainly did not help with the fact that, should anything happen to Orangestar, his bullheaded and inexperienced former apprentice would step up in her place. Slate still did not agree with Orangestar's line of thinking, but now was neither the time nor place to bring it up again.

A twinge in his broad chest incessantly reminds Slate of why he cared so much. Dangers and threats running rampant had never kept Slate up at night before, at least not like this, but the recent escalation in bloodshed had struck fear into his heart — not for himself, but for someone who was deeply important to him. The tom bows his head slightly, "I... don't want it to be you this time." Not so soon after she had her throat ripped out by that fox. Not when she could use her lives on more worthy opponents rather than grimy scum of the earth. Orangestar wouldn't lose her lives as quickly as Blazestar had, not if he could help it.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝘼 𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆, 𝙂𝙀𝙏 '𝙀𝙈 𝙐𝙋

•  

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

​

 

[Orangestar]

"No. Just my leg."

It's enough of an assurance that Slate turns, then, some of the tension slipping from broad shoulders as if dripping from his form. Orangestar lifts herself into a vaguely comfortable recline, ears pricked towards him as he starts to speak. She isn't sure what she expects, but scarred jaws press together when vengeance lines his meow. If she didn't have so much to do, a Clan to run and a deputy to keep a close eye on as if she were an apprentice all over again, Orangestar would have done the same. Might have pressed Slate, were their roles reversed, to allow her to avenge her sister and Clanmate. Neither deserved their fate.

The culprits could kill again. And, as much as the thought sickens Orangestar, there's nothing she can do about it. SkyClan is too intertwined with the Twolegplace, a large pawful of Clanmates making the journey in and out each day. She can't stop her Clanmates patrolling the border; that would just invite rogues closer. Her tail twitches, agitated. All she can do is urge vigilance, really ... She sighs, though the tension in her neck does not recede.

"I'd rather it be me than any of our Clanmates." Orangestar states simply, blinking weary eyes. With every word her consciousness sharpens, waking further. She couldn't drift back off now even if she wanted to. Pink tongue darts out, a moment's quiet following the assertion, and Orangestar draws a paw over her whiskers thoughtfully. "You know that. They ... you, won't come back if you die, Slate."

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | eight lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — single ; mentoring springpaw & fangs
  — speech is in #F18C47
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[SLATE]

〔✦〕The Maine Coon had expected her to respond with something like that, though it wasn't any less frustrating to hear. Slate didn't want Ora to feel as if she had to take the fall over anyone else. She would keep sacrificing herself over and over until there weren't any more lives to sacrifice! "At least we don't have to die nine times over." Unlike her. Her next end could be anything — being trampled by a monster, mauled by a band of rogues, drowning in the river. Slate would prefer going through hell only once and not having to relive the suffering. Is this really what you want? He would press if he wasn't already so sure of Orangestar's answer. She had reiterated her sense of duty to her clan many times over, not just to him but to her clanmates. Leading was what she was meant to do, what she had vowed to do long ago. It was not like her to back down in the name of fear, in the name of the unknown. She was too stubborn, too determined.

There is a quiet air that lingers for a brief passage of time. There is an unspoken tension, as if the lead warrior has much more on his mind but he's choosing not to say anything. He tilts his tufted head slightly downward, thinking, and soon enough he finally breaks the silence, "... What is it like?" A moment passes before Slate clarifies, dim amber gaze only flicking up to meet hers briefly before returning back to the dark shadows of camp, "Dying." It was painful, that much was obvious. Slate more so meant what happened after the light left your eyes. The spirit of a leader possessed the ability to return to its mortal form, but what happened in between was an enigma to the former rogue. His entire life, he had only known death to be permanent with not even an afterlife to take refuge in. To know that hundreds of dead cats, even some that he'd known, were watching them... Slate still found it a hard fact to swallow at times.

oh no, ive said too much ( i havent said enough ) //

• ooc.
  
• SLATE —— lead warrior of skyclan , mentoring coffeepaw ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ cismale / he/him pronouns / 39 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ single / bisexual & monogamous / closed to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— hard combat difficulty & weak to agile, quick fighters / will start fights, will kill if necessary
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a scarred longhaired maine coon with amber eyes. a large, 20lb tom with thick locks of fur. his chest and underbelly is ruddy from sun exposure. notable scars decorate his face and his ears are both torn with one being folded over.

​

 

[Orangestar]

// tw for description of death, minor gore & suffocation in the para marked with an asterisk

What is it like? Her eyes narrow, hoping he would elaborate in a different direction, but a small sigh falls between them as Slate confirms the one thing she doesn't particularly want to talk about: dying. Orangestar has buried the event, raked thought across its protruding spikes like she would toss leaves over an abandoned pile of prey-bones. Slate nudges at that metaphorical pile now, and his leader's shoulders stiffen as memory rushes back to her.

* The sickening crunch in her throat had almost made her sick, the pain of her windpipe crumpling numbed by shock and distracted by the teeth in her fur. The fresh scars itch now, non-lethal at the time, but now just irritating enough that Orangestar tries to bend her neck awkwardly to reach the exposed skin. She gives up as quickly as she'd started. She remembers the spots that had danced in her vision, unaware of the rain pouring down above her head, eyes glassy as lightning had illuminated the fox who had felled her.

Orangestar coughs, small, almost a choked noise, and takes a ragged breath. Her heartbeat is faster now, the faint memory of battle-breath preparing her for a fight that isn't here. It's just her and Slate; she's safe, she knows logically, but thinking about what had happened has her on edge all over again. Is it the breeze that ruffles her pelt, or is she shaking now too?

She stands, limping on quiet paws to sit down next to Slate. Even that small movement seems to sap the energy from her, weariness giving way to fatigue. The air is warm, Greenleaf upon the forest in full, but even with the ambient temperature she can feel warmth radiating from the tom at her side.

When she speaks, her meow cracks; almost a whimper, much smaller than it's ever been. "Nearly enough to make me reconsider my lives." Even though I'd seen Blazestar return ... it's very different to be the one dying. Though she does not say the words outright, Orangestar hopes that Slate would understand not to press her on the topic. "I pray that the next time is quicker."

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | eight lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — single ; mentoring springpaw & ashpaw
  — speech is in #F18C47
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​