camp BLACK HAIR AND SMALL HANDS | sharpening claws

[SCORCHSTORM]

Grief.

The whole of WindClan knows it. They have all lost, in one way or multiple. Lost cats, lost territory, lost hope, maybe. Scorchstorm is not so miserable yet. But she does not roll in her riches, either, for she is not rich with anything except maybe sadness of her own. She mourns Nightingalecry as if she was a mother; she mourns Bluepool as if she was a mate; and then there is Rumblerain.

Rumblerain, the littermate she mourns while they still breathe. She thinks that she mourns them wholly — she thinks that she knows them. But does she? The question has been tugging at her throat like an enemy's teeth. The Rumblerain she knows is not Rumblerain at all. She sees them still as that soft-faced kit she'd known in her youth, back when Sootstar had not been raving mad (can she even allow herself that memory?), back when Badgermoon had still been deputy, back when he'd called her littlie and my dear. She'd hunted butterflies with her littermates; had placed an amber and black-spotted wing behind Rumblekit's ear with a giggle. Once she'd tried to smack a grasshopper off their muzzle, only to accidentally hit them in the face instead. Would they have laughed about it now? Would they have shared tongues, licking ash and weariness off each other's pelts?

They had looked so skinny. WindClan has always been small, and they are even smaller now in the wake of the fire, but... she could have counted their ribs, if she had only held their focus. Instead they had slavered after Gravelsnap with all of a hound's aggression. When had they gotten so fierce?

When had she?

Scorchstorm draws thin white claws across a scrap of granite. It must have been shed from the Tallrock many seasons ago, perhaps before the colonies themselves had been founded — it is worn, soft at its rugged edges, and wonderful for sharpening her claws against. Each scrape is the same as the last. She draws her paw across the thing over, and over, and over again, ember gaze dim. Elsewhere. She is preparing for war, just as the rest of her clan is, but whether DuskClan or ShadowClan will reach them first... only StarClan knows. In the pale pink light of dawn, Scorchstorm continues her work, oblivious to intervention.

What could I have done to keep them? Maybe Scorchstreak asks herself the same question. Maybe Frostwind does, too. And Luckypaw... does he even know of their sibling's betrayal, rolling in the farmhouse hay? She has not seen him in some moons. I should have paid them more attention, she thinks. I should have put my nest next to theirs. And with some trepidation, she concludes, I should have brought them on the journey with us. She does not stop to entertain any alternative. No staying home, no abandonment — she didn't abandon them, after all. They had known that she was finding a cure, hadn't they? They had known that she and Scorchstreak and Luckypaw were only doing it to help them, hadn't they? With so many of their kin sick, sitting in camp just hadn't been an option. And yet, Rumblepaw had done it. Had they wanted to join her? Had she refused them, somehow?

She doesn't know. She switches the paw that she scrapes across the stone. Each stroke produces a dull sound, as if the airwaves themselves could sense her weariness.

They must have been scared. Scared, lonely, a prime target for Sootstar's raving ideology to sink its teeth into and poison. Scorchstorm's stomach twists, and a grimace cracks its way through her stoic black frown. WindClan had ousted Sootstar. Had killed her now; eaten through every one of the nine lives StarClan had granted her (and oh, how could they be so misguided in their judgment of a cat?), and yet she still twines her claws in their hearts like bracken. Bluefrost had said it best: they could not cast her shadow away from them. Rumblerain especially so. She could not protect them from Sootstar. She could not rid them of the disgraced moorland queen that still lived in their mind, puppeting them against their clan. Is it StarClan's judgment that they should die at WindClan's claws, rather than fighting with them?

I can save them yet, she thinks with a decided, final scrape against the stone. Scorchstorm's tail lashing behind her betrays her fear that it may be impossible. When she finally realizes herself, laying sour-faced in the middle of camp, she realizes she has company. "Sorry," comes her hoarse mumble, "did you say something?"

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc. for june prompts <3 SORRY it is so long. the interactable part is that scorch is sharpening her claws in camp and looking pretty dour, the rest is a lot of introspection and regret.
  

  It wouldn't be unfitting to call you a wayward leaf tossed around in the wind; you're shredded and the edges, and your journey never really stops, not against the currents of life. You're even as scattered, with all the kin that shares your blood strewn across the territories, all in varying stages. At least you still have Scorchstreak, but with recent events... she is most unlike herself. You like to take on a guardian role — the no-nonsense attitude and cold exterior certainly help —, but you cannot protect anyone against what fate dictates for them. How do you cope with that?

• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 14 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

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[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── He has sometimes wondered how his life may have unfurled if he was not his parents' sole child. Would these theorized siblings have joined he and Sunstar when they left their homeland behind, or would they simply have watched him leave, believing him a fool? Camaraderie is not guaranteed between kin, after all, which he knows well from watching other families throughout his life, especially Sootstar's. By comparison, Scorchstreak and Badgermoon's children seemed quite cohesive, but Rumblerain...left. Worse, they followed the remnants of Sootstar's scourge, and for all that Sunstar mentioned they were not willing to fight him, what does that change?

To know a sibling he suckled beside, grew beside, and trained beside would abandon him for that monstrosity— how would he cope with that?

Hopefully better than the loss of his son.

The scraping of Scorchstorm's claws is an itching stream in his ears. She appears lost in thought. Troubled. Hounded, even, which explains the distractedly repetitive sharpening. "I did. I said you are at risk of brittle nails if you keep sharpening them for much longer." His gaze dips to the rock shard. "You've a busy nest of wasps in your head, it seems."
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 42 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  — ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

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[FEATHERSPINE]

Featherspine had hung around her ðir like a haunting since Bearflight's death, and had trie d not to make the yearning for connection obvious. When she looked at him, an icy eye cast warmly her way, she felt a burning on her forehead where he had pressed the ashes of herbs. Lovingly, in memory, with promise. Am I a good daughter? The question whirled in her mind, a constant, blazing, staining thing. So willing to die for her siblings- and that surely made her a good sibling. And yet, her softest brother had slipped through the cracks into the red, snarling maw of the flaming moors...

A good sibling, a good son, a good warrior. It was all she wanted, and surely- surely those identities could coexist. Surely. And if she never slept to ensure that reality- an invincible protector who would never plunge her parents into grief- then she would.

Scorchstorm's mind took on a moor-runner warrior name of its own, apparently- a light sparked in her eyes when Wolfsong spoke, and Featherspine's yellow glare flitted to where light fluttered from newly-sharpened edges. Enemy flesh would hardly stand a chance, and yet... "Let's hope you won't have to b-b-buh... b-blunt them any time soon." His words were gloomily murmured, a glance paid to the side.

It was unlikely, though. Hope made wariness falter, and that was when the enemy was strongest.​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[BLUEFROST]

"It is good to keep them sharp, these days," observes Bluefrost from the fringes. She casts Wolfsong a muted look that diverts to Featherspine without changing. The healer and the daughter of a healer think of spilled blood differently than a warrior does, she thinks... they must. Cottonpaw will never understand what it is to hold a cat down, to draw her claws over her belly again and again until the movement ceases. She will never know the weight of a warrior pinning her to the ground, teeth at her throat.

At least these two are seasoned. Cottonpaw could not even protect herself. Bluefrost imagines ShadowClan streaming into their camp as DuskClan had, imagines claws unsheathed and teeth bared in stark moonlight. Lost in thought, the tunneler purses her lips and turns back to the flame-streaked tortoiseshell.

"You may have to use them yet, if ShadowClan cannot temper itself." As for RiverClan... her anger swells just thinking of the water-dwellers and their hypocrisies. She would like to take her teeth to a fish-eater's throat, and her new status as lead warrior does not change that.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

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[SCORCHSTORM]

When she blinks back to life, Wolfsong is before her. She looks him nearly in the eye now, big as she has grown; she remembers a time where he had towered over her, not as something scary but as something warm. A tree in autumn, something to take refuge beneath while she napped or played. When she looks at him now, he is haggard — carefully unwound by the loss of his son and the refusal of his mate. Perhaps she has no right to let her mind run through such misery as the loss of Rumblerain, but... well, she can't help it. As Wolfsong has been unwound, so have her littermates, it seems.

She heeds his advice and halts her sharpening. As for his observation, she is unsure of what to say. Her mouth opens, closes, and opens again, as if the words won't form. They will — she is just not sure whether to reveal them or not. Has Rumblerain become taboo in the same way Badgermoon had been, all that time ago? Two traitors in the family, now. Or had she been the traitor when she had not followed Sootstar into her rotten pit? Against her better judgment, she offers Wolfsong a simple, soft explanation: "... Rumblerain. I was thinking about Rumblerain." And that is that.

Her attention swivels to Featherspine when she speaks, ears twitching. In truth, she rejects his sentiment. She would like to take her anguish and score it through enemy flesh; she would like to see her grief spill from the throats of cats that deserve it. If DuskClan, or ShadowClan, or RiverClan wanted to attack, she would show them exactly why they shouldn't. She would show them a force to be reckoned with, fueled by all of the misgivings that have been piled upon WindClan — upon her. Scorchstorm is ready for it.

But she understands his hesitance. She offers Featherspine a sympathetic frown. Her golden eyes are hardened with resolve all the same.

Bluefrost's interjection draws her attention. Scorchstorm's tailtip thuds listlessly against the earth; in her silence there is agreement. She thinks now, though, of things other than spilling righteous blood. Instead, she wonders if Bluefrost can understand her own anguish. She wonders if the lead warrior had ever mourned Sootstar as she mourns Rumblerain now; had ever hoped her mother would walk with the stars rather than whatever hellish evil she had clung to, rotting WindClan from the inside out. Had Bluefrost wished to guide Sootstar down a different path? Had she mourned the mother that she once had been, before she was in the ground permanently?

She speaks of ShadowClan, and Scorchstorm scoffs something like a laugh. "Let them try!" she replies, amusement hostile and razor-edged at the thought of the marsh-dwellers. "They can hardly keep their own peace. They'd fall apart quickly." ShadowClan, who cannot agree on anything; ShadowClan, who hunt their owed debts beneath the sanctity of full moon's peace; ShadowClan, a bunch of cowards who could use a good tearing into. Scorchstorm would like to see their attack, really. But she becomes embarrassed of her brashness quickly, and so tempers herself: "let us hope that they tear themselves apart sooner than they can reach our border."

At least she is not thinking about Rumblerain anymore.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc.
  
• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 14 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• 

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[brokenpaw ♠]

————————————————————⊰♠♠♠⊱———————————————————
The invasion had caused a rippling effect across the Clan far more than Brokenkit would have anticipated. It had been vicious and bloody, and he had bravely stood with Honeysucklekit in the tall grasses of the nursery hiding her with his body. It was hard to hide at all, truthfully, at their age now.

Brokenkit's ears stuck out like stalks of dandelion, his legs sprouted like tree trunks from his lean form. If any of the DuskClanners had bothered to look it wouldn't have been hard to find them, but he would have fought back. He wouldn't let them take his sister.

VOLITION - FAILURE

Everyone around Scorchstorm seemed so beaten by it all. A name he's not familiar with popped up from the molly, ShadowClan tied within it all. He doesn't understand how it's all connected, what doesn't he know?

"We're going to die." Brokenkit concluded dramatically. If ShadowClan didn't do what the older warriors wished, that only meant bad news for WindClan.

♠ i swear to god, i did what i could ———— ♠ i practically begged you

•  
• 
  
  
  Brokenkit
  —⊰⋅ kit of windclan | 5 months
  —⊰⋅ he/him
  —⊰⋅ mintshade x gracklestep
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ sh solid black tom with yellow eyes
  

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[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　Vulturekit hates all of this. He hates the shrill sound of claws against stone, the grim sort of fury in Scorchstorm's eyes. He has fled from DuskClan, with Thriftfeather's help... And yet the danger has not passed. Will it ever? He keeps looking for the traces of blood, wiped clean while he was gone. He keeps glancing to the entrance, waiting for cats to spill in once more.

DuskClan, and now ShadowClan. Since the night of the gathering, everything has been wrong. WindClan prepares for war, and he will have to soon as well. Apprenticeship looms, and his claws will grow as sharp as the fire-licked warrior's. He was supposed to have been born into peace, into recovery. Sootstar was gone, everyone said, and that meant that things would be peaceful. He does not feel nearly enough at ease. Is this peace, what they have now? It feels like they're caught in the eye of a hurricane. It feels like the smell of ozone before a lightningsnap never goes away. It feels like the smell of smoke still lingers, and he knows the fire is just around the corner.

Brokenkit's voice pulls the kit from their catastrophizing, speaking alive exactly what they fear. "What!" he squeaks, shrill and panicky. "N-n-no, no we're not! ...Right?" His head whips around, searching for assurance from the older cats. That's why Scorchstorm's sharpening her claws, isn't it? So that they don't all die? They can't just give up. (Though, admittedly, he himself would be quick to. Faced with violence again, he knows that he would make the same choice - and run.)

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

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• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
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• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, five moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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