DON'T GET ME WRONG [ birds ]

[rivewhisper]

"TAKE ME TO YOUR ORCHARD, SO SWEET"​

Rivewhisper was very, very still.

She had been far quieter then she had been as an apprentice- she did not scream or shout as often, did not thrash or complain. She was the picture of poise today. Sun streamed upon her, lighting her normally duller-browns a firey red. Twin blue eyes lifted to that of a low moor bush ahead, the leaves disintegrated by raging fire- but the wood stood twisted, gnarled, low branches exposed. Two birds were pressed down together on them, unaware of the monolith of a cat that stared ahead.

Despite the ash that settled around them, a burnt hope of newleaf, they were curled up against each other. Ears twitched as Rivewhisper watched- who knows what she was thinking about? What information bounced around her brain? They didn't stay for long, taking off a moment later. Spiraling together, her eyes watching them as they went.
​

"yuh"​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Soot still plumes, smoky, from every pawstep Bluefrost and her Clanmates take in their scorched moorland. Her fur is coated with thick gray ash as well as with tunnel dirt at the end of every day; the fire leaves a taste on her tongue like nothing else, dulling it to the smoke-tainted flavor their prey still carries. The tunneler settles near Rivewhisper, a great towering moor runner with rippling chocolate fur and gleaming sky-colored eyes. That blue gaze is trained on the wiry remnants of some sort of bush, and nestled in its blackened branches are two birds, necking comfortably amidst the ruin.

Rivewhisper does not initiate a huntress’s crouch, and so Bluefrost does not, either. She sits, mesmerized by the gentle turn of plumage, of beaks picking neatly at pin feathers, and then she is almost startled when the creatures take flight. She wonders what Rivewhisper is thinking—she herself is thinking that it is a strange world, where the daughter of Sootstar and the daughter of Sunstar can sit beside one another in relatively comfortable silence.

After a moment, she murmurs, “It is good to see life returning to the moor.” She is otherwise quiet; there is not much more to say.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchstorm, like many other WindClanners, loves the moors. Badgermoon had instilled his love for them in her when she was just a kit, mesmerized by the simple beauty of the tall grasses waving, their cricket song rushing through her ears as they rubbed their stalks together. The burn had devastated them — still devastates them, coating her pelt in ash, coating her tongue in salt, coating their prey in ruin — but as subtle moments of life return to them, Scorchstorm wonders if the burn was not as disastrous as they'd thought. Maybe it, like death, must be cycled into their lives; their phoenix moorland come to return to them from its ashes.

The birds are beautiful in their small, intimate moment, a simple preening not unlike that her clanmates engage in. She thinks of sitting with Scorchstreak in the sun-warmed pool, discussing Bluefrost's aunt together; she thinks of her own brushes with love or something close to it. A plumed tail offering her comfort in the dark, learning how to hunt in the horseplace; these things are not anything worthy of the 'love' title, but she thinks of them fondly still, anyway, and is reminded of them when the birds spiral away in chittering song.

Scorchstorm's short, flame-branded coat sways in the wind as she comes to sit alongside her clanmates. Rivewhisper she remembers as a sunshine-fluff kitten; Bluefrost she remembers as a cold-faced apprentice. Both of them she now considers her colleagues, even if they do not speak at great length with one another. To Bluefrost's comment she replies, "I agree." Ever a girl of simple words. For a beat she is silent, but then she continues, staring almost dreamily after the passerine exit, "I wonder if they're mates."

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 ✧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌

• 

• 
  
  — scorchkit . scorchpaw . scorchstorm
  — she/they ; warrior of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — signature by dreamydoggo, template art by sixbane
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[dimmingsun]

Dimmingsun wonders if there exists a WindClanner who detests their home. Surely, it's biased when he thinks of the other Clans' territories with something akin to disgust, thinly-veiled in the way his muzzle would wrinkle at the thought of sinking into a fast river or green-tinted marsh. He couldn't deny how his decision years ago had been born out of impulse; a simple desire to get away, sticking with the first leader his eyes had lain upon. With her (he doesn't even want to think of the name) spiral into madness, he remembers thinking: did I make the right choice?

Even after the battle that painted the moor red; even after their reputation had gotten dirtied beyond their control; even after the fire that burned everything pretty about it away...

Dimmingsun's chest heaves with an inhale. He couldn't possibly give it up for anything, not anymore. He had grown into a fine moor-runner, even with his size that stood out amongst wiry limbs and lanky flanks.

"Maybe," he answers Scorchstorm's theory with words, whereas he meets Bluefrost's hope with a nod. Dimmingsun had been hesitant to approach Rivewhisper in case she wanted to leap, but her body language betrayed no intent of such. Her maw hadn't opened to chitter, either. "I suppose we should expect to find signs of fledglings soon, then." Moors have little trees to speak of, so he doubts they'd get to see nests, but maybe soft and too-small feathers would litter the renewing grass.
​

 

[rivewhisper]

Bluefrost settles near her- Rivewhisper's ears twitch in greeting, but her vision does not move until the birds leap into flight. It is a strange world, that those descendent of the main figures of their civil war could sit in silence with one another. She exhales quietly, vision dragging away from the birds to drop her vision towards Bluefrost with a nod. "Yes. I was thinking similar." Ears briefly warmed before Scorchstorm was arriving.

Her tail twitched in greeting to her- then Dimmingsun- She had opened her mouth to speak after Scorchstorm had given her agreeance to what Rivewhisper and Bluefrost were speaking on, before she squeaked at the word mates and sat a little stiffer. Briefly, whilst aware her pelt was warming in embarrassment, did she think of scarred red fur she had pressed upon only nights prior. Her throat cleared a little bit, and Dimmingsun spoke with a way out. She nodded, head turning in hopes they were not paying attention to her slip of composure.

"Oh, yeah, for sure. I'm hoping all kinds of life returns to the moor." Rivewhisper said with a slightly louder voice, as if unaware she had risen her tone. Tail twitched and swayed, and only moments later did that curious look returned to eyes that slowly relaxed.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── AND ITS BEEN SO LONG THAT IM ⋅❁⋅ FORGETTING WHAT IT FEELS LIKE ──┐‎

• "speech"
  

• 

• RIVEWHISPER she/her, moor runner of windclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH broken braided chocolate tabby with high white and piercing blue eyes. scars stretch over her left eye and across her stomach. graceful, sleek, average height. built for running and stamina
  ⭃ mentored by snakehiss / sunstar / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ small romantic interest in redheart / / sibling to featherspine ; sunlitwing ; bearflight ; singedpaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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