pafp BURNING MILL | snake eggs

[SOOTSPOT]

It was a process that had spanned an hour on a busy Greenleaf, the sure-footed chimera having the benefit of moving without provocation or detection while the clan's eyes were elsewhere. He'd scorn them for refusing to honour him with attention in his heart, but in his head, praise how he was allowed to wander through the camp like a ghost. The ire, that particular day, was aimed towards his sister, so spur of the moment that it was a miracle it had lasted long enough for him to finish his plan. But spite was a powerful motivator, and to finish it Sootspot had. Perhaps it would teach her not to turn on him so easily, perhaps she would see it as a warning from StarClan, a reminder that she had signed away her right to have what she so desperately craved. On the other end of camp, he would await her reaction, lackadaisically grooming himself as if taking a break in the heat.

Within Cottonpaw's nest was a clutch of snake eggs, bruised brown with rot and aged to a point where their soft shell was as fragile as paper. Four long-dead eggs nestled within the straw like vulnerable kittens ready for the medicine cats to discover when they had returned from their patrols.

The implication, he hoped, was clear enough.

[ @cottonpaw ]

[ please be advised that soot left no evidence behind that he was the one messing w/ cot <3 ]

​

 

[cottonsprig]

[ pre-naming! ]

Cottonpaw's path is irregular at best. She's too chatty to stick to the cyclical nature of life - if there's someone she's fond of nearby, slacking or otherwise resting their paws, then she's more than okay with joining them even if only for a few moments. And she invites much of the same into her day-to-day life. Just so long as work is done in a quick and efficient manner, she doesn't see the issue with never sticking to a routine.

With that said, Sootspot either must've been quick to avoid the eyes of others, or the tom knew of his sister's social behavior and timed it just right. Regardless, when she finally happens upon her nest for the day it is long after the tom left eggs within mossy tendrils. She approaches initially with disgust - the rot can be scented from several mouse-lengths away after all. And then, after a few moments of inspecting them (and no doubt who must've committed to such an awful prank,) she thinks about it in simpler terms.

StarClan or not, it's a simple sign. Her future as a mother has long since been dead, withering away in the medicine den. Cottonpaw tries not to overthink the snake aspect, feeling discomfort and sorrow itch beneath her skin already. Instead, she tugs her nest out of the den, calling out, "Can someone help me with this?" to those lingering nearby. She'd rather throw the whole nest away at this point. The context need not be explained to her. Whoever wanted her to read into this display got their wish, and sadness wants to weep from her eyes.​

 

[ROWANPAW]

〔✦〕It just so happened that, on Rowanpaw's way back from bringing moss to the nursery, they had come across the sight of Cottonpaw dragging her nest out of the den in an unusual display. They wonder what the medicine cat apprentice could possibly need assistance with, but as they approach closer, they realize that a rotting clutch of eggs is nestled inside her bedding. "What are those?" It does not occur to Rowanpaw what creature laid them; she has never seen them before, not even in the tunnels. Baby rabbits and scurrying mice, sure, but not snake eggs... at least not yet.

The chimera lifts their head, noting the sorrowful expression begging to be released fully from Cottonpaw's features. They like the healer trainee just fine, though they have a constant pressing to ask What did you have to do with my father? The time is never right, though, just as it isn't at the moment. Maybe one day, soon, they would steal Cottonpaw's attention away for long enough so that they could finally get answers. Maybe it was something trivial, or at least not as much as Rowanpaw was expecting, but at least curiosity would cease gnawing at them like maggots on flesh.

For now, Rowanpaw decides to push their nagging thoughts aside and commit to helping Cottonpaw with her predicament. They nod, "I will." before peering down at the brown-spotted, foul-smelling gathering of eggs. Sneering with disgust, the tunneler apprentice tentatively reaches a paw in and attempts to scoop one of them outside of the nest. Gross. How did they even end up in Cottonpaw's nest, anyway?

let me walk to the top ( of the big night sky ) //

• ooc.
  
• ROWANPAW —— tunneler apprentice of windclan , mentored by webthorn ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ afab demigirl / they/she pronouns / 7 moons & ages every 17th
  ✦ single / graysexual & monogamous
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— easy combat difficulty / may start fights, won't kill
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a shorthaired black/tortoiseshell chimera with heterochromia. a lithe, slightly muscular cat with a smaller-than-average build. a direct line splits their face, as if mirroring an inner battle of identity and belonging. a serious expression usually graces their face, and their amber and blue gaze is always sharpened.

​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　Vulturekit had been lingering by the nursery entrance, watching the others play in a manner not unlike his namesake. Hovering, lingering, waiting for the first scent of blood - of trouble - to swoop. It is not the kits that draw his attention, though - it is the healer in training of the clan. Enigmatic in her practices, yet bright and social in her manners. Both seem equally perplexing to Vulturekit.

More perplexing - more troubling, - is the nest which she drags into the clearing. Rotten and slimy, fragile scraps of white and snail-sludge. He can't even fathom what they could be... Some experimental herbal poultice gone wrong? No, that's silly. Why would they be in her nest if that was the case? And they smell... Like the maggot-eaten food that the apprentices pull from the fresh-kill pile.

"I'll help tuh-too," he blurts, paws pattering closer. He feels bad, leaving Cottonpaw to deal with this all on her own. His paw hovers, glancing between the two apprentices. There's something watery and sad in the healer's eyes, and his stomach twists. "Who... who did this? It seems - um. K-k-kinda mean." An understatement, but - hopefully it's not true. Maybe it's just an accident, and she feels bad. He wrenches his eyes away and dabs a hesitant paw in, imitating Rownpaw's movements. He quickly pulls away upon feeling the texture, nose wrinkling. "And gross."

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

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  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.

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

A snake's skin had been among his offerings to Wolfsong and their ancestors, at the time of his pregnancy. They could be wondrous things. A signifier of change– new beginnings. Or stealth and venom, fangs that will strike as soon as they are needed. He cannot say which was passed more to his litter. He had thought it something good until Snakehiss had spoken. Now he worries it is a curse buried beneath their skin. Something that will hatch and burst forth like the rot from Cottonpaw's nest. Its stench sullies their camp. The burnished tom's nose is wrinkled as he approaches, a great, slow weight to his stride. That none had warned her of this worries him enough. That it had gotten there at all, even more so. Creatures do not lay eggs this rotten. Nothing living could have birthed this. Not even the old moor queen herself, in all of her final worsts.

No. A clanmate had put them there. Whatever sick prank this was, it was far more troublesome than thorns in a nest. "Do not worry with taking them from her nest, Rowanpaw. Take the whole of it outside of camp, to be buried. We will make a new one, with whatever flowers we may spare to take away this stench." Vulturekit's worry of mean resonates. It is more than that. Cruelty, he decides eventually. Narrowed eyes say as much as he stares off in disgust-filled thought. "Vulturekit, will you check for those near the nursery? Perhaps we will find some there."

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) 〚 06.17 〛 🟒ᨒ

• ooc: —
• ↟ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑.  ╱  AMAB  HE - HIM - HIS.  LEADER OF WINDCLAN.  ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆  ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀
  ————  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has a lot to prove.
  
  
  
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or un-windclan build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.

• "speech"

​

 

[dimmingsun]

☀

It is the pungent smell of rot that brings Dimmingsun closer to the medicine cats' den, as concerning as that is coming from the cave filled with herbs and other healing prospects — not a place he likes to visit, not unless absolutely necessary, much to his dismay. Wolfsong and Cottonpaw are a respectable pair in his mind. The simple fact is: if you need their attention, you are in trouble. StarClan knows Dimmingsun has been cooped up in there more times than he'd like in the past few moons, and if possible, he would much prefer to stay out in the freeing breeze-laden landscape of the moors.

He comes anyway; first in hopes of discovering the culprit behind this stench, and second because Cottonpaw specifically calls for assistance.

The mess that is present in Cottonpaw's nest is concerning, to say the least. Eggs- half-liquid eggs mix with the greenery that makes up her bedding, and just the sight alone is enough to make him want to turn tail.

"There's no snake in there with you and Wolfsong, right?" Dimmingsun feels compelled to ask despite the obvious signs of the contrary; there is no way Cottonpaw would have failed to realize someone else sleeping beside her long enough for the eggs to reach this stage. A snake wouldn't have gone unnoticed either, if it had decided to move its bearings... but, the theory of a lousy predator is much more friendly to think about, rather than someone wishing Cottonpaw ill and deliberately making such a mess.

Vulturekit is taken care of by Sunstar — good, the poor kit does not need to torture his nostrils any more than necessary —, so Dimmingsun hovers by Rowanpaw while they switch gears as per orders. "If you can't stand the smell, we can take turns."
​