camp coming of age — cool rock

[GRAVELSNAP]

Gravelpaw has never had much interest in make-believe games, even when they were small, hardly more than a kit. They prefer games that aren’t so… juvenile. Such as the game they’ve come up with—though they wouldn’t be caught dead calling it a game—that involves a bunch of pebbles and a need to be prepared for when another clan decides to attack them. They don’t haven’t any pebbles to accurately represent Tigerfrost, though, and it’s important that they get one because he’s a lead warrior now, and he will be a key piece in any battle that WindClan may have.

Gravelpaw does not manage to find a Tigerfrost stone, but they find something better. Prettier, at least. It’s a gray-brown rock, and it sparkles delicately in the sunlight. "Perfect," they mumble under their breath, scooping the rock up with a snowy white paw to move it back into camp. It’s smooth and flat—with the exception of the large crack down the center of it, showing jagged edges and sparkles on the inside—and it fits perfectly in their paw. For a moment they simply stare at it, studying their newest find. It’s too large to represent any WindClan cat, but too pretty to be used to represent any of the maggot-eating cats of the other clans.

Maybe it will be Outlook Rock. The thought sends their head spinning for a moment—that would be a brilliant strategy, they think. For WindClan, Outlook Rock would be a great place to go if they were surrounded, since it’s the highest spot on the moor. With a sharp sigh, the apprentice turns to face the nearest clanmate. "What do you think of Outlook Rock." It isn’t phrased like a question—more a demand for an answer, their face expressionless except for their typical narrowed eyes.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 He has glanced at Gravelpaw's growing battle-outline every so often between resting from a successful hunt on the moors. There is a bitter strain in his chest when he catches sight of the stone representing Sunstride, but manages to wrap it tightly enough that it does not manifest in his features. He draws in a deep breath and closes his eye, intending to put aside all thoughts of their argument. He knows Gravelpaw isn't keen to socialize, so he expects their silence— and is startled when they break it.

He blinks fatigue from his mind. "It is my favorite place in the moors," he answers, but realizes in context, they are asking for strategy's sake. Humming, he stares intently at the pieces they have arranged. "There is an advantage to forcing your opponents to climb to reach you, but only if you can be certain they will battle you there— they could simply wait until a lack of access to food and water weakens you." If they were to have an enemy surround them on Outlook Rock, they would not find it as difficult to hunt while still keeping WindClan trapped. "Not to mention I have heard SkyClan cats climb far better than most here. So it is a good vantage point, but it is not the ideal place to trap ourselves if invaded."
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[MALLOWLARK]

Ever nosy, ever-looming... sun-bleacher wraith, Mallowlark grinned even as he reclined, watching Gravelpaw's little game between the darkness of languid blinks. The clatter of pebbles and the muffle of paw steps did not particularly snag his attention, but the suddenness of the apprentice's question did. As if it would have killed him to keep his eyes closed, Mallowlark's silver eyes shot open, settling immediately upon the pair. There was no twitch of a whisker nor flicker of a blink as he stared, attentive to Wolfsong's particular focus on SkyClan. Forever the enemy, the pine forest cats may be... would wind and sky collide ever more? He hardly thought he could stand it anyway, and to think there might never be an end to it...

"I almost fell off it once!" A sudden exclamation, and perhaps an ill-fittingly joyful sounding one for both the conversation and the statement. The memory was a humorous one now, though... and it was entrenched in memories of one of his most wonderful nights. That toppling cough that had almost mangled his spine in a fall had lead to a connection he'd never stop thinking about. To Outlook Rock, for its place in that memory, he was grateful.​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[LAMBCURL.]

A teary face nearby, Lambcurl blinks. In the midst of camp, sat amongst the trodden ground with his half-tail tucked close, he wasn't sure why they were talking about something so, so far away... A pale face snaps toward them, eyes wide and pink lips pressed thin. That isn't to say that he has any qualms with outlook rock, no. He finds it perfectly agreeable. More than that, even– a spectacle of the wonders that could be found in nature, great pillars built of naught but rock, more hulking than you'd think anything should have the right to be.

For him, saying it was his favorite place of all... well, he simply could not. Who knows what else he's yet to lay eyes on, what else? But of course, it isn't about him. His opinion is paltry to that of a lead warrior; better yet, Wolfsong demands by his presence. Dreamy-eyed, Lambcurl blinks. He's lost, lost... "Who is battling on Outlook Rock?" asked in a mumble, but genuine. Does he suggest a hiding place? Suppose, suppose... Lambcurl supposes you'd be quite invisble, from below at least... Though a hawk would be able to pick you off quick, so quick. He doesnt think he'd be prepare for the blinding of light...

At Mallowlark's chirp, worry springs anew, and Lambcurl's gaze changes. No longer living he seems. No, Lambcurl looks at him as if he's a ghost, floating, swaying... hovering in the wind. "Did you?" he asks, eyes stretching just that bit wider.​