camp BATHE US IN INNOCENT SONG | dual introduction

[GANNETLAUGH]

Snow brushed upon the once-verdant lands, with strokes of arctic-white flushed upon where greens once walked, until no color except for the overwhelming blanche remained. The water froze into an imperfect mirror of the sky, reflecting the dismal greys of torn and twisted cloud, like it had been muddled by the discomposure of the heavens. A mist rested upon the body of the territory, a heavy body that burdened the forest and its rivers, settling into each crevice and each breath that stole from it. Despite the creatures that lived within its gut, leaf-bare always made sure to cover its tracks. It covered any footsteps that blemished perfect blankets and kept itself a pristine porcelain of an environment. It was leaden, but not gauche. Neatly packaging its anger, tying down tapers of tempests, and polishing the varnished verglas. It was beautiful, if not to suffer in its own art.

And Gannetlaugh couldn't be happier about it, for the molly held an indomitable spirit that could not be dulled by such weather, a sun whose rays dripped and pried through the grim gunmetal-hues. It burned even as despair hung to the ends of whiskers and words, like oil that crusted the tongue and temper, immutable in the face of impotent waters of hope. The cruel season manifested even into jutting bones and dispirited stares, and it'd take even a blind man to see what it had done to the clan. Well, Gannet kept the wool over her eyes, most of the time out of will. They didn't like to allow sadness to form as a miasmic pall upon coltish limbs. Melancholy may meet her, but she would refuse its gaze. It was best to go through life like that - she only had one to spend!

The feline always found something to smile about, donning a mirthful expression whenever xe could - after all, if xe didn't, who would? This particular day brought the grace of a flurry in the stead of fury, and snowfall proved light and merciful, slowly steadying upon yesternight's apparent wrath. The frost only nipped instead of bit, which was a godsend for the shorthaired feline, who so cowered in the face of temperatures like this.

"C'mon Condor! Let's go! Wake uuuuuup!" They nudged their brother with quick jabs of white-and-black paws, poking at Condorcackle's exposed and downy belly. They found this to be the most effective way to get someone's attention. Her voice reverberated through the entire warrior's den, a loud echo of the woman larger than life, an illuminated shadow of a halo. The forenoon air was sharpened yet not piercing, and just crisp enough to feel it tug at one's inhales, but not remain as an unwanted guest. It was the perfect day! "All of you! Get your rears up! It's too beautiful of a morning to laying about!"

@Condorcackle / No need to wait to post!​

 

[wolverinefang]

"TURNS OUT I'M PRETTY GOOD AT RUNNING MY MOUTH"​

It's hard to sleep with three wriggling bodies kicking him in the stomach so he got up early to find some more fluff for the nest. He's not one to do that, in fact, he's used to being nocturnal. This early he's like a ghost, wavering back and forth and mentally lamenting his empty stomach. He normally didn't mind mooching off of clan resources but now that he's a father and not doing his part is like trouncing glass, he's aiming for productivity. It's more similar to banging his head against a wall when it comes to the little he knows about this lifestyle but one day at the time, they say. "Mmm... I don't want to wake up until all of this sky trash is gone," the tom complains, even though he's already standing with a piece of moss half hanging from his snout. He kicks into the powder of snow to emphasize his words. What purpose does this serve anyway? Starclan's just having a laugh at this point (not that they're actually useful anyways but at the very least they could not be a hinderance).

Too tired to remember a filter of politeness, he adds sarcastically, "Being this chipper in the morning is downright dis-gust-ing. What's got you so hyped up?" He couldn't summon that kind of energy if his life depended on it. Wolverine's yellowed gaze moves across the young molly and a mild expression of sympathy finds her brother, voice somewhat muffled by the moss slowly sliding across his teeth. He's sure the same fate will find him soon when the kits stir and it's only then that the gears in his brain seem to whirr again. He spits the moss out for now and starts scratching the ground for any sign of dry grass, in vain. If he knew how to weave, this would be easier and he could stretch the material farther but that's far beyond what gawky paws like his could ever manage so it's quantity over quality in this case. He'll just have to find more (somewhere), simple as that.

BUT NOT GOOD ENOUGH — ♤​

​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Clay is awoken by a shout. It’s not the most pleasant way to wake, but at least Gannetlaugh’s tone quickly reassures him that it’s not a danger-shout. But—ugh, what time is it? Surely it’s too early to be expected to get out of his soft, comfy bed, with soft, warm fur pressed against his side? But the she-cat doesn’t seem to be shutting up, so reluctantly the tom gets to his paws, dropping into a heavy stretch. He delicately touches his nose to his nestmate’s fur as encouragement to go back to sleep, and then straightens up to face the nuisance who’s officially dragged him from his nest.

Truthfully, after the initial shock he’s not too upset about being woken up in such a way. The loud warrior isn’t, like, unbearably annoying, and he’s probably done worse anyway. He chuckles, stepping toward the entrance of the den to stare out at the snowy camp. One clanmate seems especially grouchy this morning—fatherhood must be getting to him, and Clay feels a little bit bad for him. Only a little bit, though. "Oh, come onnnn Wolverinefang, where’s your sense of adventure?" He coos the words, leaning closer to grin at the other tom. Then he turns to watch Gannetlaugh’s attempts to wake her brother, poking and prodding at him. "Look at that—sibling love! Isn’t it so sweet? You really want to interrupt that?"
​

[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

​

 

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

unlike gannetlaugh, buck's spirit has been dulled for too long. especially in this cold. especially with mouths to feed. she's been up with the sun, always rising together. she's done it since she was nothing more than a wild-willed kit, and she supposes she'll continue until she's buried. her eyes catch sight of the aforementioned molly. brilliant with joy and an uncrushable demeanor. it's welcomed with smokethroat dampening the clan everywhere he went, simply because he is awful. it's been a blessing with him locked away in the medicine den, but she supposes he may be roaming about now.

she's situated outside of the warrior's den, easily hearing the excitable woman's calls. the deputy's face peering in to find the arising faces of clayfur and the outsider. someone who should not be slumbering with the rest of the riverclanners. she cares not for his status of father, but it's too early to start a fight. not now. for now, she simply breathes in deeply. the cold cutting through her lungs and forcing her body to wake up further.

she peers in further, not quite inside the den, but allowing the warriors to see her. "you're right gannet!" calls buck, allowing her voice to join in on being a nuisance to anyone still slumbering. "aren't these warriors so lazy now? not even enjoying this fine morning!" or being productive. she'd like to grab some cats to do routine tasks, and this will be the perfect way.
​

 

[Condorcackle]

Oof.

The first thing the young tom feels as he is ripped from the peaceful world of dreams and slumber is quick shot to his ribs, then one to his belly, and another, and another. His sibling's flurry of blows was relentless, and soon he began to wriggle and thrash.
"Nooooo," he groaned, covering his face with his paws so that she wouldn't see his wide grin. "Cmon Gannetlaugh, five more minutes." Condorcackle could act like the sudden awakening was a pain, but honestly, nothing his sister did was ever a pain in his eyes.

He rolled over to avoid any more jabs, blinking open bright blue eyes.
"You said it, Wolverinefang," he meowed, slowly rising and shaking off the moss from his pelt. "Then again, that 'sky trash' probably isn't going anywhere until we make it." And if that was the case, the tom had a good idea of what they would all be up to today. His ear twitched at Wolverinefang's next comment directed at his sibling's cheerfulness. If there'd been an inkling of venom in his words, Condorcackle might've frowned, but it was obvious the tom meant no harm. Besides, xe could take care of themselves when xe needed to. He offers a wide grin to Clayfur, his energy invigorating.

"You all heard Buckgait," he purred as the molly's voice rang through the air. "If we don't get our tails moving, who knows what she'll do." His purr rumbled on as he made his way toward the den exit, nudging his sibling along the way. "You got a plan for all our paws or did you wake us all up just because?"

 

[GANNETLAUGH]

Gannet first heard the grumble of Wolverinefang, as if the tom's voice had been rasped by the scourge of winter, and such rime had overtaken even the hardiest heart. He hit xem with a sarcastic tongue, but xe had grown used to it - they never let such snappish remarks and prudent pecks ruffle her fur or ruin her day. Though, the molly could hardly take the other warrior seriously with a strand of moss clinging to his nose. "Well, it's just as I said! It's such a beautiful morning! Perfect for swimming in the icy water, isn't it?" She mewed in that sickly sweet tone of hers, like melted candies sticking to the roof of mouths and ears alike, a honey that rushed instead of crawled. She was a cat crafted of sanguine summers and syrupy springs, a sun to braise the sky after the long night. She figured the best way to go about life is to always keep a smile on their face - or, at least, pretend to do so. She never had to pretend much, though.

At least Clayfur seemed to harbor more humor than Wolverine, and over her many moons of life she noted how some cats were predisposed to good spirits and some were not. Perhaps it was an environmental thing, perhaps a temperament matter. Even the slightest glimmers of drollness were ones they could work with, as though a seamstress weaving golden rays of sun, stray strings into tallow tapestries of her own aureate adventures. She let out a chiding huff in response to the grumpy-faces in her presence.

And even her deputy would join in on the early dawn's festivities, and Gannet flashed a smile to the waking Buckgait. Though the wind cut harsh upon brittle bone and paper-thin skin, especially on those who stood on thrones as high as snowcapped mountains, there would always be that one breeze that only brushed and never beat. There was always exultation to be found in the littlest things, always a lucky clover upon the field of monochrome greens, and always another morning to greet tired yet expectant eyes. Morale was especially dire in this season. Perhaps luck would not grace all of the Riverclanners, and some may never live to see another new-leaf. She wasn't naive - she knew how death's hand did not discriminate, how knells of war called even those that turned deaf to it. But there was no use moping about the circumstances she couldn't change.

Looking down, she spotted a wide grin cross her brother's face, though obscured by hefty grey stormclouds for paws. Condorcackle finally gave in to her persistent pestering, and so the molly stopped her incessant jabbing - her paws were getting tired, anyhow. Gannet hopped on her haunches and rocked back and forth, like she embodied a pendulum deep into its motions. Doing those sorts of motions helped her focus, grounded her attention lest it divert and dissipate.

"Weeell... We could go on a hunting patrol! Or see how thick the ice on the rivers are! Or race each other down a snowy hill! Or, oooor... Do all of those things at once!" She babbled. ​