CASTLES MADE OF WINTER — warm welcome

[GRANITEPELT]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXAt Chilledstar’s behest, Granitepelt leads the able-bodied warriors and apprentices across the Thunderpath and into the thickets of marsh grass lining their home. Immediately, they will feel swallowed up by ShadowClan’s territory. The ground underpaw will become unfamiliar and spongy, and though the pine needles scattered throughout might feel like home to SkyClan, the softness of the earth and the pools of green-filmed stagnant water will remind them they are in a foreign territory. Frogs hop from puddles to slick, muddy banks. Dragonflies whizz overhead, and mosquitoes purr and whine in cats’ ears.

XXXXX“You heard Chilledstar. You are not to leave the Burnt Sycamore unless it is to hunt at the Carrionplace.” His tone is cool and authoritative, despite the newness of his position and his age relative to the warriors he leads. “You’ll have to make do as far as bedding goes. There are plenty of reeds to form makeshift nests and, as you can see, more than enough moss.” He turns to regard the cats who have followed him into their territory. “This tree was struck by lightning when I was a kit, and the fire burnt a portion of our territory. There is no danger here now, save for the dangers in every territory away from camp.”

XXXXXHe shrugs. “Your young are safe. Your sick are safe. The rest of you must fend for yourselves.” Granitepelt searches again for familiar gray pelts, one mostly-white, the other streaked with darker shades of steel-blue. It will be obvious to any cat he’s distracted and searching through WindClan’s ranks.

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open to any Clan cats not staying in camp!
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[SOOTSPOT]

ThunderClan's paranoia had damned his home further. A united front may have been able to challenge the rogues and convince his cowardly clan to pull their weight, instead, the two groups had been attacked on separate fronts and forced into a territory Sootspot had promised himself was not worth visiting. Death and decay hung in the air, worse than that of the Twoleg stench that he swore permeated near him (SkyClan, he realised, and felt a shiver of disgust roll down his spine). Moisture clung to his nostrils and the bright stare of the Tunneler seemed conflicted on where to settle. Hadn't this been his mother's home, before everything? The conversation was a distant memory drifting further and further away, she was WindClan, not this place, never this place, with its bubbling ponds and screeching insects. If she had truly come from the marsh, then he was grateful how far the Queen had climbed to reach an admirable spot - a shame their hosts could not say the same. The familiar feeling of mud clung to his paws as he followed Granitepelt, ears flicking at the tale of their living quarters.

It was easy to imagine ShadowClan's superiors grinning from ear to ear at their 'charity', how easy it would be for the rest of the clans to tear each other apart while sitting so close to one another. A bloodbath seemed all but guaranteed unless they could put aside their differences - perhaps collectively hating ShadowClan would be just the unification they needed. He detected a silent threat in the other's assessment of WindClan's ranks, the promise that should the rest of the clans not comply with ShadowClan's rules, then the young and sick would be fodder for whatever giant rat the group kept as a leader nowadays. Whether ShadowClan was truly able to reap the advantages they had given themselves, the chimera would not know, but he resisted the urge to trill at the thought of finding out. "It is... comforting to know you keep our weakest safe," A smile danced upon his muzzle, innocuous as a sunflower, but his gaze settled upon ShadowClan's lead quickly in challenge. Recognition did not pass in his chartreuse eyes, not yet, it was another nest the Tunneler wished to stir. "ShadowClan and their safety is known across the forest, your third leader must be proud of the reputation."


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[freckleflame]

she hates it already. her fur threatens to stand on end with each rustle of movement, each scornful glance from where flocks of cats gather with their respective clans. when granitepelt stops she simply plops her hind end off to the side, still shellshocked, still dirty from the run. her chest shakes with each breath, each new memory replaying behind her eye. if it weren’t for the haze of thankfulness, for refuge, perhaps the tom would be grinding her nerves — but as is, she simply sits, stares. her maw agape, if only slightly, nodding absent along with each droning word from the tom’s lips. she wasn’t built for his terrain, feels muck weigh down the thick fur along her well - muscled limbs, feels it spike her belly where blood had already crusted along ginger and black alike.

freckleflame doesn’t need to look up to know it would be a windclanner to start it all — to lift their voice, haughty. she whips her head around, sneers at the blue tom with a sudden, abrupt ferocity, ” someones gotta keep y’all alive, “ the she - cat begins with feigned nonchalance, lifting a leg to lazily scratch at a single, tufted ear. it doesn’t last long. her foot thumps back against the ground, heavy enough to make a damp sound in the partially dried soil beneath her, ” stars knows y’all can’t keep a medicine cat long enough for them t’do it. on the bright side — maybe th’ rogues wont be able to track y’all’s hare dirt stench all th’ way up here, not with all this.. mud around! “ barks of anger, of trembling nerves, ones that spike the thick length of her spine and send her puffing from the pale orange of her toes to her tufted ears. it was their fault — it was. she had no one else to blame for thunderclan’s misfortunate, for the influx of rogues running windclan further inland and thunderclan from their homes. she lifts, pulls her tail high and bottlebrush thick, ” howlingstar shoulda left yall with the crowfood! “ here, shadowclan might as well have done the same.

YOURE ON YOUR OWN IN THE REAL WORLD ╱ ABOUT ☀︎

• i.
  
• 𖦹 . LESBIAN. SINGLE, CRUSHES EASILY. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK. FOURTEEN MOONS. NAMED A WARRIOR 8 / 3 / 2023. MENTORED UNDER WOLFWIND, PENNED BY ANTLERS !!
  f. she / her, daughter of sunfreckle and rabbitnose. large cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. fire - forged, smoldering ; shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over a well - toned form.
  
  in warriorhood she has grown to full, hulking height ; unspecified maine coon heritage born of sunfreckle's kittypet background shows itself in large, round paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. freckleflame is broad shouldered and square - jawed, wild cheek fur like the blazing edges of a red sun — a hulking, thick - furred thunderclan warrior, forever blaze - kissed. a characteristic lack of personal space leads her to a slouching, touchy posture, often inclined to lean or bump against her peers, all while bearing a lazy, bright - eyed grin.
  
  ——— ˙⋆ — prone to bouts of explosive emotion. all opinions are solely in - character and during these times, often untrue or said only in anger.
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  

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[Badgerstrike]

She fought as hard as she could, but even she couldn't contend with so many rogues. Badgerstrike is covered is a mix of her own blood and her enemies. Several wounds mark her pelt, and she staggers as she walks. Her eyes are trained forward, telling herself to just keep walking. The fight is over, she can relax. Somewhat. Who knows, those rogues could be following them right this moment.

Certainly not the ones she faced, though. They'd be fools to follow after her in their state. She didn't get to kill them, but with luck, infection will take care of them for her.

Her siblings are somewhere in this crowd and as much as she would like to seek them out, she doesn't have the energy to push through so many cats. Cats who are irritable and at their limits. Her ears twitch as Granitepelt speaks. He seems oddly focused on Windclan, but she doesn't point it out. She doesn't really care at the moment. She's sure someone else will point it out anyways. A Windclanner starts talking and takes the usual jab at Shadowclan's unfortunate leadership. She rolls her eyes, of course someone has to start something.

She grins as Freckleflame bites back. She's absolutely right. Badgerstrike has no problem showing family bias even if it makes her a hypocrite. "If I had to care for so many cats with rotten attitudes, I'd go crazy too." She says. "You'd think StArClAnS FavOrEd would be more respectful towards medicine cats." She says mockingly.

She has no strong feelings on the mud here. If anything, it was fun to fling around and listen to the splat sound it makes that she finds oddly satisfying. It's good to use in battle, too. "Aw, the mud isn't too bad-" She is cut off immediately as her paw sinks into a soft spot in the ground, covering it in mud and algae. "Nevermind. I tried to defend the mud and it has bitten me."​

 

[ROEFLAME .]

ROEFLAME — break the air to feel the fall.
Despite her exhaustion, her gait was made of quickly placed pawsteps, avoiding letting herself rest in one place too long for the fear of anymore mud clinging to her pelt, the stars knew she did not have the energy to spend half the night cleaning it off.
The cinnamon tabby is lingering somewhere near Freckleflame and the other Thunderclanners. The marshland made her sick, for more reasons than Roeflame could count on one paw.
Her mind has only just begun piecing together a list when a familiar gray pelt catches her eye, slinking through the crowd before coming to a stop. A scowl begins to form before abruptly snapping back to something unreadable, she didn’t want her obvious discomfort around the other to be noticeable- what was it she had yelled at him from across the four trees clearing, so long ago? Something about mommy issues?
How ironic.
Sootspots condescending remarks cut her train of thought off, of course it’d be one of Sootstar’s own to bite the paw that sheltered them.
Freckleflame erupts from nearby, and Roeflame only snorts- she couldn’t really blame the brindled warrior. They were all on edge.
"Do windclanners ever learn to keep their trap shut? Or are they so used to having to yell over the wind that their jaws are permanently slacked?" She grumbles with a roll of her eyes to Freckleflame, Granitepelts presence now entirely disregarded.
Even if her birth mother had made foolish choices, thank the stars she chose the right clan to leave Roeflame in.
"speech"

tags​

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[hollowcreek]

A loud trail of mud suctioned around fur and forcefully pulled away followed Hollowcreek as he joined the crowd following Granitepelt. He kept his ears perked, lingering around any conversation to see if it was worth picking up. The brown tabby wasn't big on useless gossip or whimpering. But in times of distress some were more willing to whisper what should be kept to themselves.

The closer they get the the Burnt Sycamore the sturdier the ground became. Not entirely solid but enough that he wasn't sinking ankle-deep in mud anymore. His chin tipped up as he recognized the strong tree that once stood here, a brilliant show of sturdiness that it once was. Granitepelt explained what curios question already sat on his tongue, He didn't recall Briarstar sharing news of a fire spread across her home... or maybe he had forgotten? He rounded the wide trunk to examine the damage done to it before the ThunderClanners mockery took his attention.

So much for a peaceful start.

"Do not pay them any mind, their egos are wounded that they couldn't play hero this time." Hollowcreek returned to stand beside Sootspot. "I think they've forgotten losing nine lives three times over is far more worrying than a cat with just one." Not that all of them had been killed, Dandelionwish was proof of that.​

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"speech"​

 

[Thriftfeather]

It isn't until they arrive at the burnt sycamore that Thriftpaw begins to feel just how filthy he is. He bleeds, eagerly from his cheek and sluggishly from a mark on his haunches, and mud coats his paws. He's touched his torn ear several times, a nervous habit he hasn't caught himself in enough times to break himself of, and so strangely, the mud appears in smeared paw-print spots over and around it. Gravelsnap's warning about ShadowClan, given so many moons ago, still sits high on the crown of Thriftpaw's head. He eyes the warrior who'd guided him here with the due amount of shaking-legged wariness.

Thriftpaw pads over to the reeds that the ShadowClanner had indicated with a well-worn grimace. They would all need nests — Thriftpaw needed a nest, and listening to the start of bickering between the clans was setting something loud off in his head. The moss, a far more familiar nesting material to Thriftpaw, is damp (is anything in ShadowClan ever dry?) and the reeds have a harder base than the grasses Thriftpaw has known, but their bushy heads spark something like recognition in Thriftpaw.

He sets himself to something useful, snips the reeds close to their base, just above the point where they become flexible, and places them in a haphazard pile at his flank.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 8 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXOne of the warriors he seeks speaks up, and Granitepelt is pleased. He eyes Sootstar’s son boldly, mentally matching the shades of slate in their pelts, though this cat wears his mother’s dense and soft coat. There’s something smug residing behind coal-smudged eyes, but Granitepelt does not know this cat—his brother—the way he wants to, the way he wishes he did. Perhaps the WindClanner had anticipated his remark about dying leaders to bother him, but his mouth twitches into a smile. “Our track record with leaders is not the best,” he admits, voice cool despite the smirk, “But our track record with kits and queens is fine.”

XXXXXNevermind their last leader had died to his own paws. Nevermind that.

XXXXXThunderClan’s twitchy, though—a tortoiseshell with golden eyes snaps in his half-brother’s direction, something about medicine cats. Two more ThunderClan she-cats join in, one he recognizes easily by the silvery-red of her coat. Dark green eyes narrow, though he says nothing. He’s a lead warrior now—his duty is to ensure these cats are seen to their resting place and to ensure they know the rules and nothing more.

XXXXXA tom bearing WindClan scent steps close to Granitepelt’s kin, and a golden-colored apprentice with the same moorland smell begins to nest down in the reeds. The ShadowClan warrior flicks a dismissive ear. “StarClan favors no Clan but ShadowClan today, it would seem, since you’re all here. Do try to get along in my absence. Your yowls will drive the prey away, and none of you can really afford that just now, can you?” He turns to go, tail whipping idly behind him.

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[OAKFANG]

don't try to rush your enemies .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Such hospitality. He thought, lips quirking up in a peculiar expression, amber eyes crinkled around the edges. How thoughtful. He nearly cackled at Badgerstrike’s comment, declaring mud its enemy. Oakfang couldn’t say he was thrilled, stuck with WindClan wasn’t on his to-do list, nor was being attacked mindlessly by rogues.

He stared at the Burnt Sycamore with a wrinkled muzzle, glancing around for Whitelion with his white fur, wasn’t all that hard to spot looking lost. He hummed, tapping the mud-ridden ground, helm cocked.

We’ll just have to see how much they favor ShadowClan. He thought with a flick of his tail, grinning mysteriously before calling out to his friend. “Let’s get you something comfortable.” He murmured quietly to Whitelion, brushing sides as he gravitated them away from the lumbering crowd.

Enough with the politics. It was giving him a headache. ​

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thought speech​

 

[HARRIERSTRIPE]

Harrierstripe snickers as he comes to stand beside his half-brother and Hollowcreek. ”A WindClanner makes a sly comment and the whole forest gets their tail in a bunch.” The way the other clan cats react only fuel Harrierstripes desire to act like an annoying gnat. He feasts aggrivation and irritation, it was amusing to him more than it was infuriating. ”They cant stand us, we’re doing something right.”

Harrierstripe looks to the two older warriors and meows ”Where do you think Sootstar and Sunstride want us to begin? Should we try and hunt at this… ‘carrionplace’ Chilledstar was talking about?” His mother had not been too pleased with the hunting grounds they had been provided, Harrierstripe was curious to learn why.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Harrierkit . Harrierpaw . Harrierstripe
  » WindClan Warrior
  » He/him
  » A black and chocolate chimera with golden eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A foe who uses jeers and jaunts to distract his opponents.
  » Excels in using terrain to his advantage.
  » Fights to outwit and see another day.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

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