BECAUSE I WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE // thorn in paw

[FORESTSHADE]

The leaf-fall rain has long slicked back the patched tabby’s fur. Her thick pelt is heavier than it normally is now, hanging drenched against her sides as she pads through the marsh. Her patrol is nearby, as are her two apprentices…somewhere. Her attention is not on them, though. No, her focus is solely on the rabbit she is tracking, scent growing stale but there. With the approach of leaf-bare, she knows prey is going to become harder and harder to find, and she must help her clan prepare by getting as much meat on their visible bones as she can.

Oh, but the ground sure is slicker than usual with all of today’s rain. Her paws slip and slide a bit with every step, but her stubborn rump continues on, unwilling to abandon the trail. The terrain should be the same, so she should be fine.

But her confidence gets the better of her; one mis-step too close to a slope and she feels her paw slip out from under her. A grunt quickly follows as she goes down, sliding down the slippery gully at a speed too fast for her to stop, and her claws fail to gain any purchase in the wet mud. She is only stopped when she slides right into a bramble bush, grateful for only a moment before she notices the sharp pain shooting up her paw.

“OW!” She yowls out, hissing and spitting as she tries to scramble away from the source of the pain. She cannot see it, but anyone who approached would find her left forepaw bleeding with a sharp thorn sticking out of her center pad.

// apprentice tag @orchidpaw @Sweetpaw​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

The hunt is as good as over, when the light drizzle that's hung over them in thick, grey clouds, turns into fat drops of rain. There is still a certain vigor in him, whenever he finds himself on a hunting patrol. Be better. Do better, with his new name, he needs not prove himself to anyone. Of course, he can say that so long as he likes. Nothing will change if he does not believe it. She does not love chattering when there are better things to do, or before her mouth is laden with prey. If it was the others, whose jaws were empty, of course, Sharpshadow did not mind nearly so much.

But hunting became beyond annoying, when her thick (—in some places, in some places not) coat was slowly becoming water laden. While her face and chest were blissfully velveteen, other parts of her dragged uncomfortably. He feels worse in his skin than he typically did. Of course, he would never be the one to suggest they go home aloud.

The last she sees Forestshade, she is off some ways away. Bold, ( and Sharpshadow ought to be bolder ) Clearly, she still thought herself a prodigy. Sharpshadow paid no mind. He paid no mind. He paid no mind.

And then, he hears her shout. Sharpshadow is scrambling— and then she is not, because she did not think her clanmates would afford her the same energy, so long as she wasn't a sniveling kit. Her face still reflects too much concern, as she peeks over the slope the molly had evidently tumbled over. It remains so, as she carefully picks her way down toward her. Why she does not simply demand Forestshade stops crying and comes to them, or something, is beyond her.

She withholds her grimace, at the quite possibly, the least comfortable thing Forestshade could've found to stop her slip, one-uped only by the waiting jaws of a bear.

" Your paw, " he blurts when he sees it, stopping his eyes from screwing up. He almost asks if she's okay, but, uh... clearly not. He feels awkward for a long moment. Concern feels strange and misplaced in his gut.

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

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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

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

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the sudden exclaimiation from forestshade makes then perk up. they're immediately on alert, fur spiked and eyes dilated as they searched around for any signs of a threat. they were certainly on the more paranoid side of things, now, but could they truly be blamed? those kits were still gone. they didn't think them dead, they hadn't even wanted to think about them being hurt, so that meant they had to be taken. lost, and probably scared. just wanting to come home. ugh. that made them truly feel sick, and icky.

the sound of sharpshadow's voice makes them turn towards her. he points out that somethings up with forestshade's paw and they visibly let a breath out. they're still on edge, anxiety chewing away at them, but at least there wasn't an immediate threat.

"forestshade, hang on a second. stop moving."

they call out, gently pushing against the blind cat to try and stop her from hurting herself further.

"you have a thorn in your paw, kid."
​

 

[Sweetpaw]

————————————————————⊰ʚ･ɞ⊱————————————————————
Sweetpaw had not yet caught a single prey animal, though they had made valiant efforts to do so. His attempts, though failures, were at least somewhat better each time and eventually they had confidence that they'd be able to manage it eventually. The windshifts and carries with it the scent of rabbit, his nose lifted up and sniffing tentatively; head tilted in the direction of the source with some interest. That was the way his mother had gone moments before, her steps light but heavy until she'd dropped to a crouch and they lost track of her during what he assumed was an effort to sneak up on said rabbit.
The tiny black apprentice turned back to what he had been doing, paws shuffling at the ground to feel the gnarled roots that kicked up along this path, to spare them accidentally tripping unecessarily - when the sharp yowl rang out and his head snapped upward.
On quick but careful steps they clamber along after the others in the direction of the familiar voice, the faint scent of copper flooding his nose as he arrived and bumped his head into Forestshade's side in both a greeting and a quick check for life; she was fine but hurt. The voices quickly made clear what had happened. A thorn. It was not rabbit wounds that might get dirty and infected easily, but a simple bramble. The prey scent fades, it has made quite the distance by now and chasing it would be pointless even if he could see.
"Mama-erm-Forestshade, are you okay? Are we going back to camp?" Oh, please say yes-it smelled like poor weather; damp air and the crisp of rain.

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

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

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[SCREECHSTORM]

The cold wash of rain against tufted fur is welcomed by Screechpaw, though its timing is an unfortunate enough distraction from the hunting he's meant to be doing.

With Forestshade and Sweetpaw - and... Orchidpaw - on patrol with him and Chilledstar today, the apprentice expects this to finally be the patrol he catches something on, a vision of his mother's pride that rapidly dissipates with each passing moment. No catches have been made by Screechpaw, and certainly no catches will be made with dulling storm clouds crying over the lot of them, now. Maybe they should go home, to save himself the failure now.

Still, Screechpaw attempts, at least - maybe more than he would if his family wasn't roaming around nearby - parting his jaws to try to catch a fragrance other than crisp drizzle. The leader's apprentice fails to find a scent trail before a shout hits his ears, and copper-tinge mingles with rain-scent. His mother, he recognizes, and his paws rush toward Forestshade's hissing.

"You're hurt!" Alarm leads him to point out the obvious as he emerges onto the scene, as he hurries to stand beside his littermate to inspect their mother's injury. Any lingering objective of catching prey is forgotten now, as his gaze grabs hold of a crimson-tinged paw, a sharp thorn burrowed into it. It's odd, frightening, almost; something he hadn't expected to see - his mother wounded, even in such a minute way.

"Brambles..." he murmurs with a wince, remembering a moment of kit-like boldness that had led to a sting in his own paw. Beside him, Sweetpaw asks about returning home and Screechpaw nudges the blind apprentice's side, quietly sharing the same hope as him. "She's hurt, Sweet. Starlingheart'll have to look at it. Put some stuff on it, like she did to my paw, that one time." At least, he assumes that's what needs to happen - surely Forestshade would need to get that looked at?

✦ ABOUT

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  SCREECHKIT ‣ SCREECHPAW, Apprentice of ShadowClan
  — Forestshade x Vulturemask
  — AMAB; He/Him
  — A black/red tabby chimera tom with mismatched green eyes.
  — Mentored by Chilledstar
  — "Speech"; Attack
  
  ✦･ﾟ: * — His loud entrance into the world bestows upon him a name apt for the path the tom forges. As the troublemaker of his unknowingly half-clan litter, Screechpaw is bound to be known for his curiosity-led escapes and poor attendance as he steps foot into his apprenticeship.
  

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[FORESTSHADE]

Your paw, Sharpshadow says, and Forestshade wants to smack him across the face for being so vague. Is it bleeding? Broken? Gone? But Chilledstar is quick to hold her down so she can’t slap her, instead grimacing with pain as her stinging paw is observed.

A thorn. A measly thorn did this? The patched tabby groans rather dramatically, letting her body go limp so her leader will release her. “How badly is it bleeding?” She asks dully, smelling the sharp scent on the air and wrinkling her snout.

And then her kits are there, worry heavy in their voices and she turns her head to face them, frowning. “It’s fine, kids. A thorn isn’t enough to get your mom down.” As if to prove her point, she pushes herself back to her paws, only to hiss in pain when she puts her bleeding paw back on the ground. She stumbles and holds it to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. “Ow, ow, ow….”​