private die young // “celebration”

[CRAGPAW]

// @Pinepaw ⭒ @CRABPAW

The muffled sounds of laughter and cheerful chatter filter through the walls of the medicine den. Cragpaw's ears twitch at the noise, but he doesn't look up from his sister. Pinepaw lies curled in her nest, the moss beneath her stained with old blood. Her remaining eye is closed, her breathing steady. Strong. She'll be okay. The sharp scent of herbs clings to his nose, making it hard to think about anything else - not that he'd know how to process everything, even without the cloying smell. His sister, half-blinded. His mother, disgraced. Himself, a stranger in his own fur.

Half-ThunderClan. Again, always, the words churn in his head, louder than the feast outside. He'd thought the revelation would feel less surprising by now, but the truth has only grown heavier. He risks a glance at Crabpaw, sitting beside him, and wonders if his brother feels the same weight crushing him. The tricolor tom flexes his claws against the dirt floor, his voice low when he finally breaks the silence. "I don't get it," He mutters, his gaze fixed on Pinepaw's bandaged face. "How can they act like nothing's wrong out there? Like..." He swallows hard, trying to keep the bitterness from seeping into his words. "Like anything is worth celebrating right now." His tail flicks sharply behind him, the frustration bubbling up despite his efforts to push it down. "Do they even care what happened? About her? About-" He stops himself, biting back the rest.

He doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to give voice to the doubt curling in his chest - that maybe the clan doesn't care because Pinepaw isn't all RiverClan. Because he isn't, either. His throat tightens, and he glances at his brother again. "What are we supposed to do now?" He looks back down at his sister as she stirs, clearly awake now.
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[Pinepaw ⭒]

-ˋˏ ༻ ❆༺ ˎˊ- The close presence of her brothers had never been a huge comfort for Pinepaw, before their victory at Sunningrocks it had hardly been tolerated. Now however, their near constant presence was something the injured tortoiseshell could find some solace in- even if it was just a scrap. They were all suffering in unique ways, and they were acting as Pinepaw's rocks. It was a humbling thing.

The noise of lively chatter from just outside is like ringing in the mollys ears from where she lays, numb to the smell of rusted blood and herbs by now. Soon enough, her dressings would be removed and Pinepaw would be forced to confront her new face; her new identity. The thought of her marred face and tainted blood makes the apprentice's skin crawl.

So, she had begun to try and focus on what else her reintroduction to normal life would mean. Pinepaw imagines the shade of the beech copse, she thinks of the sensation of sand between her claws before they pierce her mentors skin. Being thrust back into what tattered remains of Pinepaw's former life meant regaining her strength; her power. Iciclefang had been worried about her falling behind - and it's true it'd be an adjustment- but behind the girls raw strength burned something inexplicable. The sensation made fear impossible.

Cragpaw's voice breaks Pinepaw's train of thought, and peels open a singular sunshine hue. She shifts rigidly in her nest so that her half-gaze can meet her littermates as he continues. Her brothers anger is not unfounded, but Pinepaw's tail flicks with indifference. "What is the alternative, brother?" She prompts, though there's no malice in her gravelly voice. "To be a pity show? The freaks our clanmates need to walk on shells around?" She lifts her head, muzzle shaking with disdain.

What are we supposed to do now? It's a question Pinepaw has pondered ten times over, always coming to the same conclusion. "You should be out there," the tortoiseshell finally replies, her ear angling back. "Don't let yourselves become outcasted like Iciclefang, we're not her, we're not like them." Pikesplash, Splashdance, Swiftfire's brood. They may share the sentiment of toxic blood, but that's where the line of similarity was drawn. At least, perhaps if Pinepaw spoke it into existence enough, the truer that could become.

"So we're going to carry ourselves as such. We aren't going to let our mothers disgrace own us." Glancing between Cragpaw and Crabpaw, the apprentice's tone is steely. Pinepaw had no plans to throw herself to ruin- despite the way her existence made her belly twist- it didn't change her strength, her fire; self pity wouldn't be what hinders her from avenging what has been lost.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── AND I BEG TO BE TESTED ⋅ ࿏ ⋅ BY GODDESSES RESTING ──┐‎

• 

• 
  PINEPAW ✩ she/her, apprentice of riverclan, 6 moons.
  ⭃ stocky, coarse-furred tortoiseshell she-cat with large, white dipped forepaws, a white tail tip and muzzle. Honey hued optics take the shape of almonds.
  ⭃ apprenticed to Iciclefang.
  ⭃ daughter of Iciclefang && Stormywing ࿏ sister to Cragpaw && Crabpaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Noor ↛ @toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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[CRABPAW]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 The clan celebrates, and Crabpaw sulks. He's watched over Pinepaw at every opportunity since her injury, unwilling to leave the side of either her or Cragpaw. His shoulders are tense, spine ramrod straight as he perches at his brother's dappled side. His head is tilted, his good ear turned in Cragpaw's direction as the other tom speaks up. He's right, Crabpaw thinks. RiverClan is celebrating, they're happy—but they shouldn't be. Lichenstar died, Pinepaw is hurt, and Iciclefang lied. Was Sunningrocks worth the revelation that he and his siblings don't belong here, not fully? Was Sunningrocks worth Lichenstar's life, Pinepaw's eye? His paws dig into the ground below, claws kneading at it absently.

When his sister rouses, he doesn't notice at first. He looks to her when she speaks, though, declaring them all freaks. He flinches. She doesn't mean it like that, he knows, but it still hurts to hear his fears spoken aloud from the mouth of his own littermate. She says that they should be out there celebrating with the others, and the fierce way he shakes his head would give anyone else a headache. "I don't want to be out there with them. I want to be here… with you," he asserts, letting his body curl in slightly on itself. The clan probably secretly hates them all now that the truth has been revealed—who does he have now, outside of Pinepaw and Cragpaw? They're all in the same swamp, fighting against the quicksand trying to drag them down. "There's nothing to celebrate out there, but at least in here we can… celebrate because we're still together."

time to fight ˚𓆛˚｡ it’s time to ride

• ooc: —
• 
• CRABPAW 𓆝 he/him, apprentice of riverclan
  𓆟 ginger and cream tabby with rippling white spotting and mossy green eyes. closed-off and unnaturally quiet.
  𓆟 mentored by cicadaflight
  𓆟 son of iciclefang & stormywing ; brother to cragpaw & pinepaw
  𓆟 peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  𓆟 penned by foxlore

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[CRAGPAW]

Cragpaw listens to Pinepaw's words, his jaw tightening as she speaks. A pity show. The thought makes his fur bristle. The last thing he wants is for anyone to look at Pinepaw - or any of them - like they're broken. He can't help the flare of guilt that rises when she says he should be out there, though. His sister's steel is unshakable, but his feels like it's cracking under the weight of everything.

When Crabpaw speaks, the tricolored tom turns to him, watching the way his brother shrinks in on himself. His words twist something sharp in the apprentice's chest, even as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I get it," He mutters, glancing between them both. "I don't want to be out there, either." His tail lashes against the ground as he exhales sharply. "But Pinepaw's right. We can't let them push us into the shadows. Not after everything we've worked for." He looks down, digging his claws into the dirt.

There's a spark of determination beneath the bitterness in his gaze. Mismatched eyes flick back to Pinepaw, his tone softening as he meets her fierce gaze. "We're not freaks," He says firmly. "We're strong. We're still us." He glances back at Crabpaw, his expression wavering for a moment before he adds, "But she's right about one thing. We're not like Iciclefang." He doesn't say it cruelly - it's just the truth, one he's still trying to make sense of himself. "We can't let her choices define us. If the rest of the clan can't see past it…" His tail lashes again, and he lifts his chin slightly, forcing confidence into his voice. "Then we'll make them." The resolve in his words surprises even him, but he clings to it like a lifeline. Because if nothing else, he knows they have each other. And perhaps, he's just trying to convince himself of this, too.
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