camp BETTER BATTEN DOWN, BABY | storm

[BUCKFIRE]

The wind had carried it from afar — that all-too-familiar, all-too anticipated earthy scent of rainfall penetrating dry ground. This pleasant aroma rouses Buckfire from his slumber immediately, drawn out of his nest like a moth to a flame. Hopeful expectation courses through his veins like his own ichor, his paws carrying him toward the edge of camp where he observes mountains of dark gray tumbling and bounding in WindClan's direction with the power of wild mustangs. They charge forth, hefty clouds overtaking clear skies and swallowing them whole until nothing is left.

For most, this sight was probably foreboding — a cause to scurry to cover and brace themselves for a torrential downpour. However, for Buckfire, this is exactly where he's meant to be.

Within a short while, slicing winds and fat droplets of cold water are battering and smacking the brown tabby's face without mercy. The moor runner's paws plant themselves firmly into the ground, molten gaze squinting as the rain washes over him. Adrenaline kickstarts his heart, an addicting thrill gripping his soul. "WOO!" Buckfire shouts against the gale, though it only roars louder as if to challenge his confidence. The pattering builds louder and louder, the rain only intensifying by the moment.

Craning his head against the winds, the soaking-wet tom peers across to see a few clanmates staring at him from the comfort of the camp shelters. They furrow their brows, tilting their heads at him as if he's crazy, though he pays no mind. Instead, Buck calls out, "This one's a real toad-choker!"

𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋

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• 

  — buckfire / 32 moons / he/him pronouns
  — windclan moor runner / shadowing scorchstorm / former loner
  — sh black tabby w/ orange eyes, nick in left ear & scratch on right side of lip
  — click for tags

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

"Buckfire!" he calls. The oaken tabby is a smear of earth-tones in the whorling grays of the storm at night. Wind whips past, picking up his voice to dissipate in the cold, roaring rain.

"Buckfire! Buck! Buh—ugh, he can't hear me, Sedgepounce huffs bemusedly, turning back to his compatriots huddled beneath a more generous lip of the camp's sandy hollow. It's dark and miserable and doesn't fully shield them from the rain, but it's at least better than standing out in the middle of the storm like a maniac. Just one of Buck's wilder eccentricities, it seems.

Shuffling closer toward the shallow wall, Sedgepounce tucks his sand-addled paws beneath himself. Sleep will surely evade him as long as the storm persists—and likely after, since it usually takes hours for their nests to dry on a good day—so he seeks to entertain himself with good-natured conversation instead. "Y'think the wind will just, like...carry him away?" he wonders.
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[Brackenpaw]

What was the appeal of storms anyways? Buckfire is rendered a kit in his excitement in this moment, hooting and hollering as if this wasn't an inconvenience at best and a regular boring weather phenomena at worst. Maybe storms will no longer be considered boring if she gets to enjoy the sight of the moor-runner making a fool of himself out in the rain. Was this just how he reacted to all water? Remembering how he was at the river she can't say that she'd be surprised if that's the case. "I thought you'd realise after you called for him the first time" her comment is dry but there's a phantom of a smile on her lips. The apprentice shivers, smile dying into a grimace as the rain manages to find them in this poor shelter.

She doesn't understand Sedgepounce, he seems to be good humoured over everything. At least from what they've seen of him that seems to be the case. Didn't they ever have anything other than a sunny disposition? They suppose if they were witness to that it would be jarring since she's only ever seen him attempting to make humour out of a situation. Ears lie flat as they groan in displeasure from another sheet of rain drenching the land around them, once again the shelter only saves them somewhat from it.

"I'm sure we'll hear about it if it does" they roll their eyes at the thought. "If the wind doesn't carry him off then I'm sure the lightening will chase him around like a mad dog" they chuckle at the thought. It's not plausible and they know that but they weren't exactly talking about realistic possibilities with cat carrying winds.

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‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  ooc.
  
•  
• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 11 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Scorchstreak | Formally mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

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[downyfur]

Logistics preoccupy her. The storm is more than strong enough to flood the tunnels. Maybe even a few of the thinner sections will collapse entirely under the weight of a soggy ceiling. Those running beneath ShadowClan territory will be as swamped as the aboveground, though with prey still abundant they have no need to sneak around there as they had with Sootspot last Leaf-bare. Downyfur keeps their dark gaze trained on the distant horizon as they spiral down the map in their head, absentmindedly etching notes in the sand.

From a great distance away, the shouts for Buckfire begin to register. A white-splashed face turns back towards the gathered, rueful amusement coloring the narrow lanes of his cheeks. Large, mismatched ears turn to answer him, the ghost of a smile in Brackenpaw's remark. Deep blues slide outwards, setting aside their project for now. "I do think he heard you," they mrrow good-naturedly. "He just doesn't want to come in. Great StarClan, he must be soaked to the marrow," they add, uneasiness beginning to puncture their expression.

Without the former barncat here to defend himself, the two of them begin to crack jokes. Downyfur remains seemingly unaffected by their heightened spirits; if anything, it brings reality into stark view for them. "Someone really ought to get him," they pipe up. "We can't afford to have him catch a cold." "Especially not because he wanted to frolick around like a brainless foal," goes politely unsaid.​

 

[SHEEPPAW]

Eyes blink as he stares out from the shelter, a smattering of raindrops fall against the earth. What was the appeal of the storm anyway? The long - limbed apprentice stares at Buckfire, the oaken tabby that is currently in the rain, shouting his excitement for all to see. Strange. He tilts his head, confusion lacing his features. Rising a brow at the frolicking warrior, he turns his sky - blue gaze to Sedgepounce when the warrior speaks of will the wind carry him away? He lets out a snort at that comment. "Will we be the first ones watching Buckfire fly off?" Wait- Do cats have the capability to fly off? He lets his best thinking face ever, his plumy tail thumping near him as he thinks about it.

Probably not...? Sand-dusted paws slide in front of her, as she lets herself fall onto her stomach. "Eh, rain isn't so bad!" Sheeppaw stretches a forelimb to catch some rain on her paws, with a bright smile on her face. Though she narrowly cringes when some water splashes her face, the moor - runner apprentice shakes her head with a joyful laugh leaving her. She is quite amused.

Large ears swivel towards Downyfur's voice, and she turns her head towards the tunneler. "Uhh... Who's gonna volunteer to get him?" His tail curls around him, while he turns at his clanmates, with a blank stare on his face. He shouts out a quick. "Not it!"

⊹ ⏜ ۫ . 𝙎𝙉𝙊𝙊𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙐𝘿𝙎 ᶻ 𝘾𝘼𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘽𝙐𝙄𝙇𝘿

•  
• no ref yet </3
• ( HEY! WHATCHA GOT? ) ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ SHEEPPAW. ╱ windclan apprentice.
  ⤷ genderfluid ; HE / SHE ; not opposed to gendered terms
  ⸝⸝ CURRENTLY 11 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 29TH.
  ✶ undecided / not actively looking / open to puppy-crushes
  ✶ a lanky, longhaired black smoke with high white and blue eyes
  ✶ thoughts ; "Speech, B9D6F2" ; attacks only
  ✶ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✶ smells like night air & windblown heather
  — all opinions are ic
  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone
  

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[Cricketcry]

The gloomy tom is indifferent to rain, it is just another weather phenomena. It is clear that not everyone has the same opinion of the dreary rain brought upon by the blustery storm. The sight of the brown tabby across the camp seeking the blows of the storm's wind upon him brings a awe-like smile to Cricketcry's somber face. From beside the rest of the onlookers, Cricketcry watches silently. "T-tuh-Toadchoker?" He repeats the unfamiliar phrase with a rasp, casting a bewildered look towards Sedgepounce.

Other than his initial repeating of a word he will be adding to his vocabulary, Cricketcry does not contribute much more. He half heartedly listens to the debate about whether Buckfire should rein it. His olives hues are entirely focused upon the antics of Buckfire. A part of him wishes he were so outgoing as him and his paws prickle as he imagines diving into the downpour and prancing in circles- maybe he could shout some made up words too.

'Who's gonna volunteer to get him?' It wasn't as though any eyes were directed upon him expectedly- this would be a much odder sight than whatever Buckfire was doing- but he hoarsely chirps, "I c-c-can. He's no use... if he catches a ch-ch...chill." Tentatively, Cricketcry emerges from the cover against the storm and limps towards Buckfire.

"B-Buck!" The now rain-slicked tom calls, his raspy voice likely carried away by the rushing winds. "They're all worried... for your health!" He feels a rush of confidence, perhaps infused within himself by the storm, and a wide smile breaks Cricketcry's features. He shouts over the storm, "You wouldn't want to... croak!"

WHITE NOISE, WHAT AN AWFUL SOUND

• OOC—
  
• CRICKETCRY —— Tunneler of Windclan
  𓆧 he/him / 28 ☾
  𓆧 timid, cynical & wistful
  𓆧 has a slight limp
  𓆧 petite lh chocolate tabby/fawn chimera

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