private COOL NEBRASKA GUY [✨] slate


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Dawn bleeds into the night. The sun had not yet rose from it's blanket but midnight blue had turned into a lilac. Soon the sky would turn orange and yellow to wake the entire forest but for now only the insomniacs and early birds rose.

Figfeather had not been able to sleep. Her eyelids weighed heavy against her eyes and she had spent the night tossing and turning. Moments of sleep had found her here and there but quickly they had fleeted, leaving her to the sound of her den-mate's breathing. At last she could not take it anymore and got onto her paws for the day and prayed to StarClan she would not fall asleep on whichever patrol she was assigned to for today.

The day prior had been rough. Twitchbolt was reinstated as SkyClan's deputy, a choice she had supported Orangestar in once, but the second time left her feeling bitter. Why? Why? Why? Echoed in her mind, a question she could not answer.

A shadow appears at the edge of the medicine cat's den. Piercing yellow eyes peering out to watch as the clan awoke. Figfeather recognizes from the torn ears it is @SLATE . The two never had been on sharing-tongues terms, there had been a time where Figfeather had been merely a 'paw and the large tom-cat a lead warrior, but somehow now she stood his superior. Still, she had deep rooted respect for the stone-faced warrior and cautiously approaches him.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Figfeather offers a faint smile. Dawnglare and Firefly must have their paws tied getting him of all cats to settle down. She doesn't want to know what the bickering matches that had to occur sounded like.
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The older burly, ripped and torn, dark tom cat and the younger yellow-hued, three-legged, sharp-witted she-cat were two birds of a feather, as difficult as it was to believe. Slate never possessed much of a reason to pay much mind to her before but it had begun to grow apparent following her promotion that Figfeather was more tolerable than most clanmates. The tabby had sense, tending to favor his opinion more often than not in varying situations. Therefore, Slate felt that she was worthy of his respect... though losing it was certainly easier than gaining it.

If it were up to him, Silversmoke would have been chosen as deputy. As annoying as the silver tabby was at times, stubborn and bound by his specific set of morals, he was level-headed and pushed for decisions that other cats would not make otherwise. He knew what was best for SkyClan. However, Orangestar had decided to narrow down her council to only two ( for what reason he still isn't entirely sure ) which left Twitchbolt and Figfeather of all cats. It was clear which one had more potential, more capability. Twitchbolt had his chance and, not to Slate's surprise, he had fumbled it.

But Orangestar had chosen him again.

SkyClan's reaction had been somewhat of a mixed bag, with many congratulating the patchwork tom cat for stepping up again and others rather unsure about what the future would hold. Slate, for one, was not thrilled in the slightest about his mate putting her faith in a cat that didn't deserve a second chance. What was so worthy about him? Over Silversmoke, over Johnnyflame, over Figfeather?

Speaking of Figfeather, the brightly-colored tabby manifests out of the corner of his half-lidded gaze. Amber eyes flick toward the lead warrior, an ever-present frown curled onto his maw as he grunts, "Can't sleep. Dawnglare won't give me any more poppy seeds, either." Something about how he didn't need them anymore, how all of the herbs were being wasted on him. Slate would be lying if he claimed that his pain wasn't tolerable at this point, but those poppy seeds at least aided him in restfulness. He was awake pretty much all night otherwise, ruminating over Orangestar's deputy choice.

The Maine Coon wonders what Figfeather's opinion on the matter was. Was she disappointed or happy for her fellow lead warrior? Had she been hopeful on being chosen for the position? He did not want to outright ask, but perhaps if he brought it up... "So, I guess Twitchbolt is in charge of patrols again, huh?" Slate flicks the tip of his tail, slowly knitting a faux brow and gauging the she-cat's features for any indications.

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    a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-two moons. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face.