pafp BEACON BEACH [♱] PILE O' BONES

[SHARPSHADOW]

It isn't entirely rare that garbage is found outside of the confines of carrionplace. The " confines " themselves are far from fool - proof, evident by the rats— medicine cat apprentices and deputies included— that call the place home. Sharpshadow would be avoiding the place while he still could, and almost certainly, that would not be for very long. Leafbare's oncoming chill creeps its way up her spine. Thick neck - ruff manages to mitigate some of the cold, but his face feels close to freezing.

So he's in a hurry, eyes flitting side to side. The sooner she catches something worthwhile, the sooner they could return home. Surely there would be no trouble with the esteemed huntress Forestshade, amongst them. Sharpshadow is not bitter. Not at all.

A flicker of something pale catches her eye, then, drawing his gaze with a snap of his neck. It was uncommon to find a hare with such a pale coat in the swamp. Maybe it was a lizard... the bleached sort. Sharpshadow things she's seen it once when she was younger; red eyes... abnormally pale. But now that she lingers, she notices that it is distrinctly still. No flick of the tail; no pert ears, listening for predator's. The warrior's eyes narrow, and she is prowling forward like that of her namesake, nosing her way past reeds...

It's bones, potentially a whole - ass skeleton. Sharpshadow does not scream— he refused to do, but shock is certainly evident in his suddenly scrabbling backwards, nearly tripping over his own tail. His backside bumps noisily against reeds. " W-what the ff—fuh? " When he realizes that they would not jump at him (because why would they? Stupid.) he manages to ground himself, blinking wildly at the things. They were no cat bones, nor belonging to prey. They were giant. " There are... bones here? " she alerts, willing her face to look less like that of a scared kit.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

• ooc: please wait for @FORESTSHADE :3 ; Sharpshadow found a fake twoleg skeleton!
  

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• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 17 moons old as of 11.12.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

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[FORESTSHADE]

Forestshade parts her jaws, sniffing the air for any trace of prey. She’s relieved to be able to patrol and hunt again, her paw healed thanks to a week of sitting in Starlingheart’s bitter-smelling marigold poultice and cobwebs. Her pad is tougher than ever as she stalks through the muddy marsh on Sharpshadow’s heel, milky eyes half-lidded in boredom. Not a single trail has been found, and it won’t be long before she feels the patrol might give up and head back to camp. That is, until Sharpshadow skitters backwards, stuttering in shock.

She reels back in response to avoid being bumped into, her ears pricking. “What’s the matter with you?” She growls halfheartedly, bewildered until he says there are bones. “Bones?” She repeats, head cocking and face scrunching up. The torbie tastes the air again - she doesn’t smell any trace of decay or rot. No dead animals here, and that’s a rarity in ShadowClan.

The heavy-built she-cat plods forward, nosing past Sharpshadow until her paws touch the objects, which clatter against each other. She leans down to sniff at them, and they smell somewhat tangy, like twoleg garbage found in Carrionplace. “These aren’t bones. Don’t smell like ‘em,” Forestshade finally mews matter-of-factly, straightening herself to turn her head back towards her clanmate.

// apprentices tag @orchidpaw @Sweetpaw​

 

[Sweetpaw]

————————————————————⊰ʚ･ɞ⊱————————————————————
When Forestshade stops he walks into the back of her leg and stumbles backwards, landing on his tail in surprise; he shouldn't have been walking too close but sometimes they could not help themselves but be a touch clingy in regards to his mother. Being her apprentice was somewhat fulfilling the longing he'd had in the nursery during her many absences, but not entirely. She still didn't spare him much attention but that was obviously because he wasn't trying hard enough. Sweetpaw would earn it, eventually, maybe. Wriggling back upright to stand they creep around the tortie's limbs to go and sniff tentatively at the bones that were being discussed; an odd smell similar to that one hollow container full of crinkling things they had found.
"They aren't, no..." He chirps, agreeing with his mother and tilting his head to the side before raising a paw to bat at the pile and listens to it clatter with a dull echo of a sound. "They sound...empty."
They had gnawed on bones before, there was a weight to them and inside was also food if you chewed at it enough; marrow it was called. Meat inside the bone, bones were often covered in meat - he wondered how deep the layers went on a living thing. Did some have many? Did some have less?
"I don't think these would be pleasant to chew on."

ʚɞ ･ﾟ･ sweet like honey - little yellow bees ʚɞ ｡･sweet honey nights & golden honey days

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  Sweetpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ They/Them
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ LH Solid black w/golden eyes (Is Blind)
  

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[RIBBITLEAP]

In all honesty, Ribbitleap has never seen the bones of a twoleg, and he doesn’t think many of his clanmates can even make the claim that they have. So, Sharpshadow’s discovery is a startling one at first, one that makes his paws go still.

“I thought twolegs were more careful with their dead,” he says, an assumption of such based on the sheer lack of prior knowledge, “I wonder if their kin knows.” Though twolegs seem to be rather messy, and rather dim-witted, he’d expect them to not leave their dead out in the open, would expect them to hold proper burials.

His fright leaves him forgetting, if only for a moment, what Forestshade doesn’t. Confused, he parts his jaws, only to confirm her words just as Sweetpaw moves to inspect the twoleg skeleton. No bone scent; a hollow noise.

“What else could it be, then?” he asks, uncertain eyes cast over the discovery.
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