camp Beneath The Mask // Cold Rain

[Drizzlepelt]

The cold seasons were never pleasant, though it was possible to find joy within anyways. Despite that, however, it sure did make the rain much more unbearable. Drizzlepelt returns from camp, already freezing; it started to rain in between the trek back as well, so now he’s even more cold than before.

If his moniker was anything to go by, Drizzlepelt tended to love the rain. If there was anything he could give his mother credit for, it was giving him a name not dissimilar to water. He finds it funny that he ended up joining SkyClan then, because he could easily see himself in RiverClan. Though, his prior status as a loner would probably mean he’d be spat at if anything. Well, at least the sky is just as applicable.

Nevertheless, this rain is torture, feeling like acid singing through fur instead of a comforting reprieve from the droning heat. As soon as he drops his pitiful amount of prey into the covered pile, he yells out ‘brr!’ involuntarily, shaking like a deer. “Miserable…” Drizzlepelt drones, grumbling.​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

It's an unintentional side effect, that his lifestyle at times leaves him in a position similar to that of a hermit. The bought of yellowcough had conditioned him into constant checking— eyes on that could rarely ever be taken off, lest his patient die once he blinks. Of course, the odds of this now are, slim... slimming than slim. Because he is him, and only sickness of especially unholy nature could possibly take his cats away from him...

What was the point? The point was that he was try. Painfully, arduously mortal, and dry. Only the most stubborn of rain could worm its way past leaf and hazel to break away onto himself. And that stubborn drop was still not stubborn enough to sink past swathes of velvet to meet heaven - touched skin. Any wetness of his nose is all intentional. Any wetness of his eyes— not so; but it would not happen. Any cat that isn't him finds themselves caught in a trap. That is: the sky. Dawnglare could not steer entirely clear from it's web, but, well, that was another issue, entirely...

Yes, he'd poke his nose out, if only to glimpse cats less fortunate than himself... Drizzlepelt seems to accept what was made for him. Dawnglare wonders if the stars had smiled, when they cast what they did. If they saw irony, then laughed and laughed. Perhaps he heard it too, because all he does is stand...

" If I did not know any better, " he smiles, the pull of of teeth and gums. " I would think you quite enjoy this. "

If he were a different cat, he may invite Drizzlepelt to come shelter himself within his own den. But he was no different cat, and he could certainly run for the warriors, if he so yearned to. Not like he wanted wet paws sopping up his entire supply, anywho...

A WISE WOMAN SAID I'M ALIVE 🍷 NOBODY'S EVER TOLD HER SHE'S WRONG

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• ( I'M AS ALIVE AS HER BEARD IS LONG ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  𓆩♡𓆪 He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  𓆩♡𓆪 Currently 60 moons old as of 12.05.23. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

​

 

[Drizzlepelt]

Of all the cats he would expect to actually try and strike up a conversation with him, Dawnglare was very low on that list. Drizzlepelt can’t exactly say he has a favorable view on the tomcat either. Though, he can at least admit that his work is very important in sustaining the clan, and he cannot dismiss that.

He also didn’t exactly notice his absence when he was sick with Yellowcough, proving to him even more that Fireflypaw more than deserves to finally gain the second half of his name. Hopefully it happens sooner than later, seeing as Dawnglare doesn’t seem to be in a particularly bad mood today. Hopefully it would stay that way. But on the topic of sickness…

Before the rain has any more of a chance to get under his skin both figuratively and literally, he ducks under foliage to try and skirt away, close to the medicine cat so he can continue the conversation. “Normally I would! And I don’t even hate Leaf-bare that much… but it feels like my fur is being singed off. You’d think extreme cold and heat would be different, but are they really?”

Both are dangerous, so it doesn’t really matter in the end. Better this than the latter, though…at least the cold settles in slowly. He can easily remember his first Leaf-bare, only four moons old. He almost didn’t make it out alive, but he did. And he will again.​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

If there was one thing Twitchbolt had never managed to conceal about himself, it was how much he enjoyed weather like this. When the sky was fickle and cloud-swollen, when everyone looked at it with disdain, he found himself most at home. Usually Drizzlepelt was a face plastered with a smile when turned to in rainstorms, but today... today there was obviously something different. Something off. Was it the temperature?

Drizzlepelt's retort to Dawnglare confirmed it- it was the temperature. Twitchbolt looked anything but attractive, fur sticking soggy to a slight, shivering form- but there was a smile on his face, wide and wild with glee. "It might be cold, but- y'know what that means?" He bounced on his feet, fidgeting a little. Excitement glimmered verdant in his eyes. "It means snow!" Of course, he didn't give anyone time to actually guess. The clouds were looming mountains, and there was something brewing, he was sure.

A shiver of anticipation skittered across his spine. "It looks like it might storm..."​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

"Yes," he replied to Drizzlepelt, deadpan. "Heat and cold are entirely different." Entertaining prose had left the Lead Warrior when the sunlight did, his green and blue eyes cast towards the steely sky. He did not miss the nights wandering the Twolegplace for shelter from the heavy storms, SkyClan's clearing was hardly the soggy cardboard boxes he used to shelter in, but it was not the pinnacle of warmth and comfort either when the weather was so dreary. Droplets clung to the corners of his silver fur, whiskers sodden with the same treatment, and the large tom let out a huff. He stayed within his small shelter, not so willing to face the cold rain as he'd like to admit, unappreciative of the way it seemed to find gaps in his spotted hair. "I would rather face this than moons of heat." His fur was thick, built for Leafbare - it was easy to judge the others for being frail when he felt the same when the sun tore at his back like talons. Twitchbolt mentioned snow and the black-tipped ear of the Lead flicked in acknowledgment; given the events of the last snowstorm, he'd rather not tempt fate like that.

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[Howlfire]

With her fiery name, one would think Howlfire would have preferred the warmer seasons. In truth, she had no real preference for the hot or cold seasons, finding equal amounts of positives and negatives in both of them.

Howlfire has braved leaving the nursery in search of prey for her kits, shivering as the rain begins to soak through her fur. It isn't a particularly pleasant rain, with an icy bite to it, that seems to sink through to her very bones. As she approaches the prey pile, she spots several of the warriors in a discussion about the weather and Dawnglare speaking to them from the relative safety of the front of his den. Drizzlepelt, who she knew could be fond of rain at times, seemed particularly miserable and cold. Twitchbolt suggested it might snow, which with how chilly it was already even without the rain, Howlfire could believe. "Have to agree with Silversmoke, I'd take this kind of weather over moons of unbearable heat," She mewed, as she approached the group, nodding in Silversmoke's direction. "At least in this weather its more easier to find shelter and get warm. Sometimes it feels like there's no escape from the sun in greenleaf."​

 

[GREENEYES]

As a child, Greeneyes remembers a love for the rain, or rather, the mud it brought forth. He remembers a family walk — one at the tail end of a simpler time — as white paws turned brown in pools he'd hopped from like stepping stones, as he learned of twoleg nest landmarks, the sweet smell of the red nest.

Such fondness of that sort of weather had only dissipated as time grew as tragedy struck in its gloom-ridden winds and still holds now. The sharp strike of chilling rain hits his pelt and Greeneyes bites back at rising dread as he moves to greet his clanmates with a growing smile.

" Awful weather today, yeah? " he chirps, lifting a paw to lick at it. Though, he supposes Twitchbolt is excited for the gloom of it all, the storm-chaser usually is. Malachite eyes dart up to confirm the fact, observing the bounce in his fellow council member's — in his friend's — form. Well, at least he's enjoying it.

Though, despite his current dislike for the drenching chill, he can't help but to agree with Silversmoke and Howlfire, memories of last greenleaf's heat against flaming fur brought to the forefront of his mind. " But where was this sort of rain during the warm moons? It's too cold for it now! " It would've been a relief to have, then — a storm he'd perhaps have higher gratitude in. ​

✦ ABOUT

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  GREENKIT ‣ GREENPAW ‣ GREENEYES
  ── Lead Warrior of SkyClan
  
  ── Daisyflight x Raven Ramble
  ── AMAB; He/Him
  ── A red tabby and white tom with bright green eyes.
  ── Mentored by Sheepcurl; Currently mentoring Falconpaw
  ── "Speech"; Attack​

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