- Jan 15, 2023
- 604
- 167
- 43
There are ShadowClan kits living in WindClan territory. They are orphans, or so they say, and Sootstar claims that they were rescued from the marshland. Scorchstreak would have once been quick to believe the smoky-furred leader’s account, but after the journey it is more difficult to believe. It’s especially hard to trust Sootstar’s word when ShadowClan so recently showed up at the border asking after two lost kits. Smogmaw’s kits, no less. The deputy of the clan’s children would undoubtedly cause a war if ShadowClan were to find out, and WindClan does not need another war. After the journey to get lungwort and save all the clans, they should not be antagonizing other clans by removing their kits. Scorchstreak is no fan of Smogmaw, but she must admit that trekking alongside the tom on the journey has made her more sympathetic toward him. Besides—she thinks of what she would do if her kits were taken from her. She would be distraught, surely. Mistreatment or not, the tunneler cannot support the secretive carrying off of kits, as though WindClan is no more than a band of vultures.
That Rattleheart must also condemn their harboring of these kits is an easy conclusion to draw. But it is not something that can be easily discussed, and especially not in the middle of camp. Not while everyone else mills about well within hearing range. Scorchstreak is used to clandestine operations both within the tunnels and without; she doesn’t think twice about striding up to her sibling once night has fallen. "Rattleheart," she murmurs as she shifts closer, voice lowered. "Come with me." She doesn’t wait for the other tunneler to respond, and instead sets off in the direction of the nearest tunnel entrance. It is a comfort, to recall just how well she knows these lands. She knows each tunnel that connects to the camp like the back of her paw, and it is no feat to lead her sibling deeper into the tunnel system until she’s sure they will be unbothered.
At last, the calico comes to a step, blazing eyes trained on Rattleheart. "Those ShadowClan kits… what do you think of them being here?" She needs to know. She has always trusted her kin to be her confidants, and now is no exception. And now—with Weaselclaw now resting in a grave, with Badgermoon and Curlewnose exiled and disappeared, with Sootstar acting more strangely than ever, with Bluepool surely following her sister’s every word without scrutiny—Rattleheart may be her closest friend in the moorland, anymore.
// @RATTLEHEART
That Rattleheart must also condemn their harboring of these kits is an easy conclusion to draw. But it is not something that can be easily discussed, and especially not in the middle of camp. Not while everyone else mills about well within hearing range. Scorchstreak is used to clandestine operations both within the tunnels and without; she doesn’t think twice about striding up to her sibling once night has fallen. "Rattleheart," she murmurs as she shifts closer, voice lowered. "Come with me." She doesn’t wait for the other tunneler to respond, and instead sets off in the direction of the nearest tunnel entrance. It is a comfort, to recall just how well she knows these lands. She knows each tunnel that connects to the camp like the back of her paw, and it is no feat to lead her sibling deeper into the tunnel system until she’s sure they will be unbothered.
At last, the calico comes to a step, blazing eyes trained on Rattleheart. "Those ShadowClan kits… what do you think of them being here?" She needs to know. She has always trusted her kin to be her confidants, and now is no exception. And now—with Weaselclaw now resting in a grave, with Badgermoon and Curlewnose exiled and disappeared, with Sootstar acting more strangely than ever, with Bluepool surely following her sister’s every word without scrutiny—Rattleheart may be her closest friend in the moorland, anymore.
// @RATTLEHEART
[ BE A FIRE, BURN THIS DOWN ]