- Jun 1, 2023
- 135
- 28
- 28
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It shouldn't be surprising, not after what he's heard took place while they were in the mountains (rogues took over four of the Clans - how hard to believe is that?), but it still feels wrong when he goes to search for his nest and comes back with nothing but scraps he can't even definitively prove are his. With how long they'd been gone, the scent had started to fade - for all he knows, it could be his, or Scorchpaw's, or some other apprentice's, someone who hadn't used it in ages. The first night back, it hadn't mattered whether it was his nest or not; a good meal, and the knowledge that they were home with the cure was all he needed to drift right off into what might have been the greatest sleep of his life. It hadn't mattered until that next day, when he'd finally dragged him out of a nest that, while incredibly comfortable what with the lack of accommodations they'd had for a moon and a half, didn't feel like his - wasn't his, in fact. The place had been all torn up when WindClan had gotten back, they'd said, remains of nests strewn all about camp, and yet foolishly, Luckypaw still clung to the hope that he'd find his tucked away somewhere, safe from the prying claws of rogues.
He'd started with the shreds of moss that still lingered around the whole nests, turning bits and pieces over for a glimpse of something familiar, some scent that didn't scream that this belonged to someone else, once, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to peeking his way through the rest of the wreaths of moss laid out, under the guise of moving his new nest back into its proper place. It should be fine - it was just a nest, after all, one that could always be replaced - and yet the longer he searches with no results, the more frantic he grows. There's nothing wrong with cobbling together something new, really, especially not after he'd learned to make do while on the journey, but there is something wrong here. It's - it's not just the nest, that's not the only thing he's looking for, the only thing he's searching for -
Letting out a strangled noise somewhere between frustration and defeat, Luckypaw slides to the ground, nose brushing up against his new, hardly-used nest. They had said the rogues had hardly left anything untouched - but he hadn't believed that, had he? He'd thought - he'd thought he would be lucky, lucky enough for his nest to remain untouched, or at least not completely lost to the wind. For what was in his nest to remain untouched. Taking his butterfly wings with him hadn't seemed like a good idea, especially considering he didn't even wear them around at home in the tunnels for fear of losing them, but now it feels like an awfully bad decision. And yet, what if he had taken them with him, all of them? Would they all be buried amongst the rubble of that canyon, trapped forever underground? Even out in the open, the vast expanse of the sky above him and no walls of rock around him, Luckypaw still shudders at the memory. He'd lost his half of the butterfly he and Thriftpaw had caught, somewhere in that desperate scramble - and, it looks like he'd lost the other half by trying to keep it safe.
Not only that, but he'd lost the one he'd caught with his siblings so many moons ago, too, and that one hurts worst of all. It had been so much simpler back then, chasing down the colorful insects with only worries that would turn out inconsequential in the long run. The others still had theirs, he's certain - Scorchpaw, at least, he knows, wears hers proudly - but now his is gone forever, and he buries his nose deeper into the nest (the nest that doesn't feel like his, not really), claws sliding out to scrabble his frustrations uselessly out into the sandy earth. What was he supposed to do, then, if, no matter what, he was just going to lose? For a moment, he contemplates just crawling back into his nest - surely Cygnetstare wouldn't begrudge him some extra rest, if they even knew he had woken up at all yet. That doesn't feel right, either, but he doesn't think he's ready to return to training, not with nothing to return to besides this new nest he'd have to learn to pick out from the rest, at least until he settles back in. Shifting his weight, Luckypaw lets out a sigh, still half-hanging out of his nest, though a soft brush of motion against his side startles him back up. There, resting along his flank - the butterfly he'd caught as they'd entered the moors again, or at least its wings.
After everything that had happened, it wasn't hard to forget about the prize, nestled in there, and he moves to curl around it, poking gently at the floppy wings. It couldn't make up for the ones he'd lost, but...it was something, at least. Something that was his to keep. It would at least brighten his nest, make it more distinctive, he thinks, but even as he starts to consider where to weave it in, his paws fall idle again. Isn't that exactly what had happened last time? He'd left the wings in his nest to keep them safe, and he'd returned to find nothing left of them. But, the pair he'd taken with him...
Maybe - maybe it could be different, this time. Scorchpaw kept hers safe, didn't she? Not that she was crawling around in tunnels all day, but. Still. Drawing himself up from the ground, Luckypaw moves to situate the wings right where the other pair had been, settled in against the curve of his flank, but he doesn't get very far before his paws fall back down to the ground, considering. That's where he'd lost the pair he shared with Thriftpaw - and, that's where the pair he shared with Thriftpaw had fit. It didn't seem right, putting more wings there; like he was replacing the old pair, trying to get rid of the thought of them. Instead, he moves to nestle the wings at the base of his tail, tucking and securing his admittedly-short fur into position until he's finally satisfied the wings won't immediately fall away. He could've put them behind his ear, like Scorchpaw's, but that doesn't feel like the right spot for them, either, like his flank hadn't been the right spot for this pair. All he can hope is that he doesn't lose this pair, too, especially somewhere in the tunnels - he'll just have to keep an eye out, he supposes. Or, maybe not an eye in the darkness of the tunnel - whatever, he'd just make sure the wings stayed in place. It would be fine, he's - well, maybe not sure, not after having lost the other pairs to the rogues, but he's hopeful, at least.
He'd started with the shreds of moss that still lingered around the whole nests, turning bits and pieces over for a glimpse of something familiar, some scent that didn't scream that this belonged to someone else, once, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to peeking his way through the rest of the wreaths of moss laid out, under the guise of moving his new nest back into its proper place. It should be fine - it was just a nest, after all, one that could always be replaced - and yet the longer he searches with no results, the more frantic he grows. There's nothing wrong with cobbling together something new, really, especially not after he'd learned to make do while on the journey, but there is something wrong here. It's - it's not just the nest, that's not the only thing he's looking for, the only thing he's searching for -
Letting out a strangled noise somewhere between frustration and defeat, Luckypaw slides to the ground, nose brushing up against his new, hardly-used nest. They had said the rogues had hardly left anything untouched - but he hadn't believed that, had he? He'd thought - he'd thought he would be lucky, lucky enough for his nest to remain untouched, or at least not completely lost to the wind. For what was in his nest to remain untouched. Taking his butterfly wings with him hadn't seemed like a good idea, especially considering he didn't even wear them around at home in the tunnels for fear of losing them, but now it feels like an awfully bad decision. And yet, what if he had taken them with him, all of them? Would they all be buried amongst the rubble of that canyon, trapped forever underground? Even out in the open, the vast expanse of the sky above him and no walls of rock around him, Luckypaw still shudders at the memory. He'd lost his half of the butterfly he and Thriftpaw had caught, somewhere in that desperate scramble - and, it looks like he'd lost the other half by trying to keep it safe.
Not only that, but he'd lost the one he'd caught with his siblings so many moons ago, too, and that one hurts worst of all. It had been so much simpler back then, chasing down the colorful insects with only worries that would turn out inconsequential in the long run. The others still had theirs, he's certain - Scorchpaw, at least, he knows, wears hers proudly - but now his is gone forever, and he buries his nose deeper into the nest (the nest that doesn't feel like his, not really), claws sliding out to scrabble his frustrations uselessly out into the sandy earth. What was he supposed to do, then, if, no matter what, he was just going to lose? For a moment, he contemplates just crawling back into his nest - surely Cygnetstare wouldn't begrudge him some extra rest, if they even knew he had woken up at all yet. That doesn't feel right, either, but he doesn't think he's ready to return to training, not with nothing to return to besides this new nest he'd have to learn to pick out from the rest, at least until he settles back in. Shifting his weight, Luckypaw lets out a sigh, still half-hanging out of his nest, though a soft brush of motion against his side startles him back up. There, resting along his flank - the butterfly he'd caught as they'd entered the moors again, or at least its wings.
After everything that had happened, it wasn't hard to forget about the prize, nestled in there, and he moves to curl around it, poking gently at the floppy wings. It couldn't make up for the ones he'd lost, but...it was something, at least. Something that was his to keep. It would at least brighten his nest, make it more distinctive, he thinks, but even as he starts to consider where to weave it in, his paws fall idle again. Isn't that exactly what had happened last time? He'd left the wings in his nest to keep them safe, and he'd returned to find nothing left of them. But, the pair he'd taken with him...
Maybe - maybe it could be different, this time. Scorchpaw kept hers safe, didn't she? Not that she was crawling around in tunnels all day, but. Still. Drawing himself up from the ground, Luckypaw moves to situate the wings right where the other pair had been, settled in against the curve of his flank, but he doesn't get very far before his paws fall back down to the ground, considering. That's where he'd lost the pair he shared with Thriftpaw - and, that's where the pair he shared with Thriftpaw had fit. It didn't seem right, putting more wings there; like he was replacing the old pair, trying to get rid of the thought of them. Instead, he moves to nestle the wings at the base of his tail, tucking and securing his admittedly-short fur into position until he's finally satisfied the wings won't immediately fall away. He could've put them behind his ear, like Scorchpaw's, but that doesn't feel like the right spot for them, either, like his flank hadn't been the right spot for this pair. All he can hope is that he doesn't lose this pair, too, especially somewhere in the tunnels - he'll just have to keep an eye out, he supposes. Or, maybe not an eye in the darkness of the tunnel - whatever, he'd just make sure the wings stayed in place. It would be fine, he's - well, maybe not sure, not after having lost the other pairs to the rogues, but he's hopeful, at least.
i'm falling into place, but still the timing's not right
(☘)
yeah that's a fire i just can't seem to light
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OOC: --
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-LuckykitLuckypaw
- He/him (AFAB)
- 7 moons (Ages on the 1st)
-KitApprentice of WindClan
- Small blue tortoiseshell with white spotting & green eyes
- Art by myself & meghan respectively! <33
- Minor powerplay allowed!
- Penned by Hijinks