camp death by manners |➹| prompt

[sparrowsong!]

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It was by their fault alone that Sparrowsong found themself laying next to a clanmate, staring down at the limp form of a sparrow that lay between their paws.

Time got away from them sometimes, that was all. The sun was well above their heads now, beginning its slow Greenleaf descent toward the horizon, but the chocolate tabby hadn't yet eaten. It wasn't that they didn't want to, but in their haste to carry out their newfound duties, they had... well, forgotten.

It seemed one of their Clanmates had noticed that ― bless their soul ― and had offered them some of their prey. Gleefully they had said yes, unknowing of what it was they were being offered until it was set before them, an offer of the first bite.

Sparrowsong swallowed hard, heart twisting and gray eyes tracing its small, broken form. Some of its feathers had already been plucked, a sign that it had nearly been torn into before being offered to them, and for a moment they turned their head away as to not offend their Clanmate with their despaired expression. It would never sing again. Who had it sung with before its death, they wondered? Was it taken from its family?

Their throat tightened with the threat of tears, only to jolt when they remembered the set of eyes on them. Sucking in an abrupt breath, they looked up at them and gently pushed the bird back untouched. "I'm... sorry," they said after a moment. "I wouldn't want to take it from you. I can- we can still eat together, if you want? Let me go... get my own."

// feel free to be the cat they're eating with
prompt: Sparrowpaw prefers to eat rodents rather than birds, but a Clanmate notices they're hungry and offers to share a sparrow with them. Not wanting to be rude, Sparrowpaw does not immediately refuse. Write what happens next.​

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[TWITCHBOLT]

He was trying to be more social. Get more involved, suck up the... the pit of anxiety that so often plagued him. It was becoming easier, now that he had been imbued with a certain importance; Blazestar admitting faith in him, though, had done less for the self esteem than most might realise. Most of the time everything went fine; no-one snapped or yelled at him or demanded his demotion for tiptoeing out of line, for stumbling on his expectations. But that catastrophising possibility was what often kept him from trying. The haunting worst-case scenario. He was ever prepared, but consequently ever-scared.

Still, this was just... sharing prey with a Clanmate. And he liked Sparrowsong, despite them having originated from somewhere other than the Clan; the initial suspicions that sparked regarding everyone who was new to the clan had dissipated. Having specifically trained to catch birds, his parents' 'lunch-time food', it was instinctual, almost, to offer it to the newly-named warrior. This'd be... be a celebration, wouldn't it? A congratulations.

He was familiar enough with nervousness, though, to know when another cat was experiencing it. For a moment Twitchbolt's quivering expression stilled (as much as it could) into a picture of fairly blank confusion. Was it him? Was he- that insufferable? Or- or, said the rational side of him... it was just the bird. "Oh- oh, sorry, do you- do you not like them?" His face was crumpled into an apologetic grimace, a paw inwardly berating his mind- how stupid, to have not known! ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[CHALK]

⭒✧ Arriving later than other daylight warriors and assuming the evening shift, owed to his participation in twoleg lessons during the day, Chalk was always on the lookout when he entered camp. He had to catch on the day's going's on, trying his best to identify where the slack might have fallen and fill in where needed. As the tom entered, it was clear hunting patrols had been successful, marked by the feather prize in Twitchbolt's mouth. Chalk watched the exchange mildly, only taking note when the recipient's expression erroded into something unsettled. The back and forth of stormy eyes, sudden breath and discreet rebutle seemed to suggest it, at least. Sandstone paws got him within range to hear Twitchbolt's tumbling response, each stuttered words rolling over the other.

Upon inspection, the bird looked typical. It wasn't likely there was something wrong with it- the lead warrior was an experienced hunter. Teeth parted to question, the unreadable nature of Sparrowsong's refusal plucking at his curiosity but the pair's combined discomfort gave him pause. Chalk took a breath. The reason would reveal itself on its own. Instead, in a quiet prod, he meowed out "Theres a vole on prey pile." ​

⭒ ———————————— ✧⭒​

 

[sparrowsong!]

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Twitchbolt seemed upset. They'd upset Twitchbolt. Sparrowsong had begun pushing themself to their paws, ready to go fetch- well, anything else, really, but now they found themself planting right back down and feverishly shaking their head.

"No no, I just- I didn't mean to― I-I'm sorry," they said, stumbling over their own words in an attempt to placate the withering tom. Their gaze flickered down to the bird, only to quickly return to his face. "I'm sorry, I just... I feel bad to hurt them." It came out weak.

Chalk, passing by, spoke of a vole on the prey pile. Sparrowsong flashed him a grateful look before looking back to the lead warrior. "It's― not you. I promise. I, um... Wait here." Then, once again rising to their paws, they hurried off at a brisk pace to go collect the aforementioned vole and return, right back to laying by his side.

"It makes me sad to see them dead," they said then, gazing down at their paws. "The little birds." Back then, they hadn't had to hunt birds or mice or squirrels. It had been far less common to see them than it was now, but even then it had brought them joy to hear them chirp and sing.​

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