camp DOWN BY THE RIVER ✘ abandoned kits

[SMOKESTAR]

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Dawnstorm is accompanying them out today, he's trying his best to get used to the colony cats and find some level of understanding and companionship with them but he had left the majority of their learning and adapting under Snakeblink's tutelage. It wasn't really a good look for a leader to ignore part of his clan out of a sense of uncertainty, so he made it a point to invite the tom along with him and Beepaw to the border closest to twolegplace at least so he could see where it was and perhaps Smokestar could get a better understanding of him. The dark tom wanders over the newly fallen snow, the fresh crunch of it beneath his paws a harsh reminder of what was to come.
His ears pricked upward and he glanced to his daughter and the other tom with his head tilted, "Do you hear that?" There is a shrill sound like birdcall in the distance, but its timbre is off just enough to not be mistaken for a meer sparrow. With a flick of his tail he urges the two along with him, urging caution and keeping his head low until they come upon the scene.
A blue tabby she-cat is perched at the border expectantly, as if knowing a patrol would pass at some point; an odd thing in itself, but even more alarming was the pile of kits before her, three of them wailing from being left upon the cold soil and perhaps even hunger if the molly's skinny stature is anything to go by. She does not give them time to speak before she is already going herself, "Hi! I heard - I heard you clan cats will take in queens with kits, I really need the help. I can't hunt and twolegplace is so dangerous. Won't you help me?"
There is such an air of lightheartedness to her tone that it feels fake, rehearsed, she stands poised before them with the kittens piled before her at the border almost like a setpiece being presented, but above all else there is something familiar about this tabby she-cat.
Recognition dances across his expression finally, his words are hoarse and uncertain, "Kindling?" And like the match of her namesake the tabby seems to realize who she spoke to as well, mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish, "Oh! Ember! It's been so long!"
Just hearing his old name froze his blood like the chill did to their river, ice water in his veins and his breath exhaling in a cloud of white as he considered how to reply, to even feel. She takes his silence more goodnatured than it was intended and continues on, "Even better." She continues, "We're family, surely you'll take me in?"

There is such audacity to her words as she stands there, not even a tail touching the mewling kittens crying upon the cold earth, she does not even spare them a look and even her words reek of her selfishness. Take HER in. Help HER. Not a mention to the fragile lives she is letting the cold drain the warmth out of with every second right in front of them. He sets his teeth into a snarl, he will not let some leech into his clan to drain their resources and contribute nothing when she can't even care for her own kits suffering at her paws.
"Take you in? You're lucky I don't take you OUT!" It is the first time since the rogues invaded that his voices rises into thunder, screams its outrage forward into the blue tabby's face and she flinches and backs away, her smile fades in favor of a sneer, her tail lashes in face of his anger. "You'd turn me away?! You're killing my kits then!"
Again she sweeps her tail over them in an arch but does not touch, using the gesture to remind of their presence as if their gradually fading cries do not do enough work in that regard. "Don't be cruel!"
"What are their names?" He interupts, his tone biting like the ice they stand on, the frost that clings to the trees around them. It is a question so sudden she falters and even when she realizes what is asked of her she hesitates, sporadic sounds escaping her as she fumbles through noises half-muttered before finally ending up on, "I haven't decided yet." As her answer. His long orange eye darts to Dawnstorm and Beepaw. He'd not let this wretched cat into their clan but...the kittens cries were growing fainter...

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

• Patrol - @DAWNSTORM & @BEEPAW.
  Kits - @pebblekit. & @SHELLKIT & @RIVERKIT
  
• 
  
  
  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

​

 

[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He was still getting used to being part of something that he still felt cautious toward, but Dawnstorm rarely voiced that fickle part of himself for things he couldn’t quite explain. He supposed his father had some paw in his son’s inability to express emotions without looking clueless, in which case, the tom was clueless about a lot of things that regarded his social life.

By surprise, Dawnstorm padded alongside Smokestar with monotone hues despite the swirling curiosity bubbling within his stomach at the powdered snow. It wasn’t a surprise given his life in the mountains before they had to move, helm turned to stare at the trail they left with a childish fascination. Rarely had he dwelled on something like this, always training, never given the chance to be a kit unless he wanted to be reprimanded, and reminded of his bitter upbringing to parents who wanted nothing to do with him. Oh. He shouldn’t be thinking about this now—

Voices directed his attention to a lonely queen sitting beside mewling kits, reminded of his own that drew a frown from the deadpan tom. He listened, unsure and twitching with unknown emotion. “Smokestar didn’t say that.” He voiced, staring at the other, tone deadpan. Didn’t she listen? “He said you, not them.” He finally added after a troubled pause, turning to Smokestar with a languid blink. Did he do that right? Maybe not. It was too late now. He shifted awkwardly, tail sweeping across the snow-covered ground.

“You haven’t touched them.” He finally added, staring at the faint cries with furrowed brows. “They’re cold.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, stating the obvious, perhaps, staring at the pile of kittens before staring at the stranger who seemed familiar with Smokestar, calling him Ember.

The ex-Ripple Colony member shifted to stare at Smokestar then, helm tilted just slightly. “She is like my mother.” He hummed, rather blunt with his words. “Didn’t want to name me.” His gaze crinkled, shifting to stare at the squealing kits with a worried twitch of his brow.

It was obvious, maybe glaringly obvious that the mother wanted to use the kits as a means of sympathy, and perhaps it would have worked, but even someone as socially clueless as he was could at least see the cracks. “She does not want them. Only using.” He muttered, staring at Smokestar with dual-toned optics. ​

​

thought speech​

 

[PEBBLEPAW]

[

( ☼ ) the small tabby bundle trembles with the cold, his form only slightly larger than his two siblings as he attempts to wrap his body around them. the thin tail twitches involuntarily, the tips of his tiny tufted ears darkened with frost that eats away at his flesh. he is only aware that he should be in tremendous pain, but over the time they have sat at this border, his body has taken that from him too. all there is is numbness- he cannot feel what he will learn to be his paw pads, and he has completely forgotten about his ears. his sole focus is on his wriggling siblings, their smaller bodies shivering just as hard.

their mother sits, stoic and as cold as the air around her. her paws do not reach to comfort, her feathery tail does not wrap about her children to keep them warm. she barely looks at them, gazing off into the territory with a determined look on her face. the kit feels sick with emotions he is not yet old enough to name. as the undergrowth crackles with movement, he settles his chin atop his sister's head, pressing into the lilac fur as he tucks his paws around his brother's frame. puffball though the other is, the fur is thin, frame gaunt. none of the kittens are warm at this moment.

breathe, he urges his brother. live, he urges his sister. his heart thrums with life that he begs to pour into his siblings. barely old enough to feel, let alone know his surroundings, he focuses on what he does know- the similarities between himself and his kin- their faltering breaths, the tiny coughs that signify life. the kit raises his voice in a definitive call to survive, offering a shrill meow that fades quietly into the cold air.

above, the rumbling of voices flits over his head, the higher pitched vocals of his mother retorting as she gestures with her tail. the kit is too tired to be curious. he tucks himself into the pile of his littermates, shutting foggy kitten eyes that have barely learned to see correctly. the boy awaits judgement.

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // " speak "
  
  
  
  
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  PEBBLEKIT ☼ HE / HIM, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING x UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. 2 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  
  stocky and broadly built, pale blue fur covers the length of pebblekit's body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, his square muzzle dashed with white that flows down to his chest, and powders his paws and the tip of his tail. over time, flecks of white will appear on other parts of his body, vitiligo having been passed to him similarly to his mother and uncle.
  
  
  
  

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[shellpaw]

it lies too still upon the powdered meadowgrass.

beneath its siblings, pale ribboning wisping the edges of their wilting bodies like laurels of windswept heather. mourning dove bones sing fragile where skin hangs too loose from a sprawled, unmoving kitten. it is only when a noise -- something familiar, even in the washy darkness of it's earliest memories -- breaks the sullen silence with something kind and lilting that caving flanks rouse to a violent heave. there is a helpless, tattered pull of breath from it's lungs, strong enough to gape silently the pink of her mouth. that warmth ; marrow deep, thick like honey, that shed known for only a brief moment in a short, tragic life. that warmth was somewhere, it would think, if nature had decided what to do with it yet. its shore - kissed body trembles, working it's drooping head in a gummy open, close, open, close of for milk. desperation, a kindling of survival buried instinctively into the riverbed of its skull knows that despite the pull of tiredness in it's bones, it must move. it must move, and hope. the world, as it knows it, is pain ; it is cold and frostbitten at too - soft edges, downy kitten fur no match for the chilled burn rashing its nostrils and pawpads a stark cherry red.

it does not know the concept of mother but it begs her anyway, toes splaying despite how it rouses the scorch of bare, fragile skin. a heartbeat long slowed to preserve itself beats fluttering against a hummingbird chest, breath damp and wheezing. the weather has set in and it does not know itself, its consciousness, small mercy of nature that that was. the most vulnerable would not know life and thus not know suffering, this slow scrape of near motionless limbs wrought stiff from the cold. a pre - mortis, jutting at the ends just as the ends of it's coat crystalizes like salt spray. nature was not kind, but it kneels down to welcome it now, starless despite the ebb of comfort rousing from that darkness easing the child in and out of glue - eyed awareness. there is wetness at its nose, at its maw. its body aches, but a numbness is all it had ever known and knows still, falling snow sapping the heat from the litter further until -- until -- sensation. a nosing at her skull and suddenly, that cradle of darkness recedes again, eases the creature back into its skull. a littermate. it's ribs flare, stark and exaggerated as they were against the frozen plush of its flank. find warmth. find milk. live. live.

easily mistaken for a cough, a sputter, a rattle of breath leaving a near vacant vessel -- she utters a single, trembling mewl.

im here. im here, im here, im here.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𓇼 𝙎𝙊 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿

• i.
  
  
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  SHELLKIT 𓆉 SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING xx UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. 3 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  delicate lilac - striped molly with sugarplum eyes she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of shell - touched cream, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore. feather breath and elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined warm, sugared amber.
  
  currently sick with whitecough. symptoms include a running nose, wheezing, sluggishness, and labored breathing. please keep contagion in mind.
  
  

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[RIVERPAW]

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝   His fur is thick and long, and in this moment, that does nothing for them. The kitten joins his brother in shrouding the smallest among them from whatever he can. Instinct, perhaps, if not his personality. Though the frost-bitten shape pressing down upon him offers no warmth, at least there's comfort in solidarity. There's something to be said about siblings: they are the only ones in the world who understand what it's like to be raised just the same. But calling them raised was beyond a stretch. The tail that sweeps over them brings a new intensity to the cold air. It's the closest to a mother's touch the group of them had ever had.

They mewl themselves. A plaintive sound, but not for the figure standing before them. A cold face presses into their sister's fur. Stay. Even without names, he knows his sister by the beat of her heart and the laborious lifting of her lungs. They cannot change what is being said about them. Cannot change what little their mother feels about them. They burrow their faces into what little warmth there is and huddle together, as they must. As this kit thinks they always will.

He joins in the silence then. No more calls for their mother, or rallying cries for their littermates. As the voices above them rage against one another, the last of his energy goes to surviving the cold for at least a moment longer.

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𓇼 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀

• ooc: —
• "speech"
• 𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟  𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐓. HE ╱ THEY. KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING x ﹖ NEPHEW TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ———
  
  
  ——  a messy blue tabby with low white. though small and slimmed down by the chill, riverkit's thick coat will bounce back with time and love. the fragility beneath his fur will dissipate with time. though currently stocky as most kittens are, he will gain some semblance of delicate stature with age. with a steady diet, riverkit may begin to fit into the clan he's so proudly named for.

​

 

[BEEFANG]

FIGHT SO DIRTY BUT YOU LOVE SO SWEET — Beepaw had been padding along idly with ears pricked being attentive and can't help but watch Dawnstorm from the corner of her eye, she hardly ever interacted with the colony cats when they had joined their ranks there was something different about them yet she cannot put her paw on it but she tries to be open minded since he's her clanmate. They're patrolling near the Twolegplace, her bicolored gaze focused on it pondering how cats could ever be so comfortable with those furless creatures that walked on two legs, and the thought is interrupted at the sound of Smokestar's voice. The noise itself makes the fur along her spine rise and she immediately follows after her father to see what it was, her body and head lowered as she creeps forward with caution and the sight of a blue tabby is enough to make her hackles lower themselves especially when she realizing a trio of trembling kits near the skinny figure of the queen. The molly starts talking about how she heard that clans took queens with kits, which wasn't wrong nobody in their right mind was that cold, and yet Beepaw can't help but frown in the slightest and untrusting of the stranger.

Her pupils widen when Smokestar speaks a name and the blue tabby reacts to it calling her mentor by another name one that is not his. "That's not his name. It's Smokestar," The apprentice interjects coolly only to flick her ear when this Kindling takes her father's silence for good nature and warm welcoming paws but that is not the case. Her next words make the skin on Bee start to crawl. We're family, surely you'll take me in? Her eyes locked on the way Kindling's tail would only hover over the kittens instead of offering her tail to keep them warm like a good mother would and the kittens seem a few moons younger than herself, she feels pity for them. She would never understand how it must've felt that your own parent would not draw you close into their warmth to shield you from the cold when her own father had done that even without the threat of cold. A frown on her maw and her snout wrinkling with lips drawn back as the first signs of a silent snarl are directed to the queen.

She listens to what Dawnstorm says only to silently agree and Beepaw turns to Smokestar once more awaiting for his answer. What he would do even if she was beginning to press a few steps forward in the direction of the kittens yet had not strayed far from her father. She had family outside of the the clan. She had more kin. Beepaw's uncertain of how to feel about it but that's not what she thinks of right now. She wants to ensure that they live and that they're warm and actually taken care of.

TALK SO PRETTY ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ BUT YOUR HEART GOT TEETH

• 

• 
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ shorthaired black smoke molly w/low white and mismatched eyes
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ 6 moons old; ages the 10th every month
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ sexuality unknown/too young
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ currently being mentored by smokestar
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ daughter of cicadastar and smokestar
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ sister of cicadapaw & starlightpaw
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ peaceful powerplay allowed

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[SMOKESTAR]

—————————————————————⊰★⊱————————————————————
The blue tabby stiffens at Beepaw's correction, her lips curling but she says nothing. Smokestar regards her in a quiet fury as his mind races to make a decision, he does not spend very long on it but it is how he replies that burdens him. The kits mewl and tremble more as the seconds tick by, their lives very clearly held on fragile threads and he sets his teeth into a scowl as his orange gaze dances over to Dawnstorm's words. Using them. Of course she was, there was no way any proper mother would be using her kits like pawns to get what she wants, not even giving them the warmth of her body while she pleaded their chances to enter because that would cover them up, that would make their frail forms less visible in a bid for sympathy. He lashes out on impulse, claws slinging upward and the molly pivots back with a surprised yowl of alarm, her immediate instinct after is to run without so much as a second glance back at the kittens; abandoning them to save her own hide the moment things grew too dire for her liking.
"Quickly...pick one up, we need to go back to camp." His head dips with an urgency, teeth securing gently into the scruff of the single blue tom kit and lifting him up; Beepaw and Dawnstorm are left to gather the other two and he is thankful for having had a third cat present with them to make the task of taking the shivering bundles of fur back to camp more swiftly and with less struggle.
The dark tom leads the way, winding swiftly through the trees and his paws vanishing into the mounds of snow crunching beneath them with rapid succession - the moment they reached camp he did not pause a moment before heading to the nursery and stepping in, disgarding his usual manners of asking to be allowed in less he disturbed the queens, but time would not yield to politeness.
"Hazecloud, help...they're dying." Either he or one of the others could tell the details soon, but the kits were priority. It occurred to him that they might not make it, dying nameless upon the ground once set next to the gray queen and the very idea of his own flesh and blood passing on in such a way fills him with horror. He remembers Willowroot's lost kit, limp and nameless - had it reached StarClan with no identity, did it frolic in the fields of the heavens or did it wander lost and alone?
"....Riverkit." He sets the blue tabby tom kit down, turning with a flick of his tail to gesture for Dawnstorm and Beepaw to do the same and he names each as they are gently lowered, "Pebblekit." The dappled lilac child, fur short at the cheeks and just barely visible tabby spots on her head, "Shellkit." For the final one, face masked primarly white with a sliver of lilac like the crack of a shell forming over her right eye.

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

• Tag - @hazecloud
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  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

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[Moonbeam]

Moonpaw had been mentally prepping herself for new kits to come, Hazecloud quickly coming closer and closer to bringing new life into the clan and it would be her first proper thing to learn as Ravensong's apprentice - or so she thought. She hadn't been expecting new kits to come in from outside the camp and she was sure no one else had been either. Eyes flick to the entrance as the small patrol come in kits dangling in maws and quickly the white apprentice got up from her spot, moving forward towards the nursery silently as she listened to what Smokestar said.

Hazecloud, help...they're dying.

Frown quickly formed as she peeked in to the nursery and eyes scan over the three new RiverClanners with ears pinned to her head. "I'll get Ravensong." She'd speak, backing away quickly before casting a glance at Beepaw, one the two friends knew well. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything. The look said before she hurried off to find her mentor, the snot-covered kitten that Smokestar had named Shellkit quickly flashing through her mind.

I WISH PLANT LIFE ꕥ WOULD GROW ALL AROUND ME

• grabbing @RAVENSONG !

• 

• MOONPAW formerly Ratpaw || NPC x NPC || sister to Rowanpaw || apprentice to Ravensong.
  -- She/Her || 7 moons old, ages every 17th
  -- smaller than average, small rounded ears. SH white masking cinnamon torbie with orange eyes.
  -- soft-spoken, often found humming, tries to comfort others by smiling

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[Nettlepaw-]

NETTLEPAW ♂
RIVERCLAN
APPRENTICE
FOUR MOONS
BLIND IN BOTH EYES
BIOGRAPHY AND TAGS
APPRENTICED TO PIKESPLASH
PLAYED BY SHEOGORATH​

---

He was sore, bitter, and ready for food and a nap. Instead, as the boy makes his way toward the fresh-kill pile, he hears a rustling at the camp entrance, and immediately scents several RiverClanners rushing in. Nose twitches, eyes searching blindly through the frost of leaf-bare... something foreign rests like a bad taste upon the wind. Nettlepaw lashes his tail, a cold mix of irritation and uncertainty flashing across his expression as he hears the group's hasty march toward the nursery. Trailing after them, he hears the concerning words of his leader from within, a desperate plea to Hazecloud. What is happening?

Nettlepaw sniffs again, but he still finds himself uncertain. Kits? Loner kits? They didn't smell like any neighboring clan. Relying on context clues is all the boy really has, but he hears Moonpaw rushing off to fetch Ravensong, which only deepens the boy's concern.

Of course, there is a selfishness that boils within his chest. As if we don't have enough problems already, now we'll have two litters this leaf-bare? If he was worried he would have to go hungry over Hazecloud and Lichentail's foolishness before, he's almost certain of it now. We're all going to starve, Nettlepaw frets to himself, feeling his insecurities burn just beneath the skin. Can this get any worse? It could, but Nettlepaw dares not think about such things, for fear it might bring them out of the depths of his twisted mind and into the living world around him.

Glaring at the nursery for several long seconds, a cold sigh finally blows past his teeth as the apprentice makes his way back to the fresh-kill pile. He's hungry, but now it seemed there were strange kits to feed. As much as Nettlepaw wishes he could ignore it, the very idea pulls at his heart-strings. Even if they make me starve all leaf-bare, the young tabby notes irritably. Sinking his teeth into a large trout, Nettlepaw stumbles with it back toward the nursery, struggling with the weight of the fish as he finally breaches the entrance and slinks into the shadows within.

He drops the fish nearby, sightless eyes cutting through the shadows with a dim glow.

"I brought fresh-kill." Nettlepaw speaks up roughly, and his throat feels dry. Still, he adds, "For the... newcomers?" A question hangs in the air. Who were these kits? He had heard Smokestar name them, so he knows they must be young. Could they even eat fish yet? A dozen inquiries flood his mind, though for now, the apprentice remains silent, unsure of Smokestar's temper. Even Nettlepaw knew better than to irritate the clan leader.
​

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[hazecloud]

The nursery had been protected from the graces of that mornings snowfall. Now with the trio of kits Apricotflower had taken over for being apprentices, the nursery had fallen rather silent. Eelkit still remained, yet it was only a matter of time before she joined them too. Some part of the molly had grown attached to them, to a degree. She would miss Goldenpaw's cheery, sing-song voice whenever she woke up. Bitepaw's quick impulsive remarks to make him seem stronger, hiding the worry he held for his mother. And Valekit, silly Valekit that held superstitions from his life before Rookfang had found him.

She wondered if it would be different when her own arrived. Once they reached the age of apprentices she would not be in this den anymore but rather joining them on their first few patrols. Watching them bond with their mentors and face the same dangers she had when learning the territory. It would be the tail-end of leaf-bare when they earned their titles as -paws. The river would be thawed and they would see it full of fish waking up and rising from the mud. See the forest wake up from the moons long ache of ice and snow.

Hazecloud hasn't realized she's almost falling back asleep in her daydreaming until a set of broad shoulders pushed through. Smokestar with paws wet from melted snow and two others rushing forth to bring the small forms of three kittens. She stumbled to her paws to get a closer look, glancing between the six visitors before accepting the three with a gentle curl of her tail. Soft silky fur to warm them soon, it's Shellkit who held most of her concern. Ice has chipped at the edges of her fur and she began to rasp her tongue in the opposite direction of the little one's pelt as if it were a newborn, acting without thinking. Was this what the other queens had meant? That something within her would know just what to do? Was she even doing it right?

"I have them." She reassured gently, her voice a whisper as she looked over them, cold bodies pressed as close as she could manage. They were so quiet, their rugged state made her heart ache. "What happened to...? How...?" How did they find these kittens at all?

Nettlepaw arrived with prey and Hazecloud wondered if the apprentices had simply formed the habit of approaching with food the moment they saw a kit or queen. "I don't think they're ready to eat solid food yet, but you're very kind to help, Nettlepaw."​

 

[PEBBLEPAW]

( ☼ ) as he is ripped from his siblings, the blue tabby lets out a shrill yowl, tiny paws churning in the air, fighting to return to his rightful place. the wind burns into his body as he is carried, struggling much of the way, to what he will eventually know as his home. he calls for his kin in vain, his angry cries unable to be heard over the thundering paws of the one carrying him. as exhaustion seeps deep into his bones, the boy stops fighting, too small to do anything about his fate. he hangs limp in the jaws of his rescuer as they enter riverclan's camp.

he is set down in a place much warmer than the snow he had been trapped in previously, but he does not move for several moments, body paralyzed in its hunched, bristling form. finally, an angry, pitiful sounding meow will escape from the tiny mouth, little paws scrabbling at the nest material to seek whatever is producing so much warmth. he finds his siblings quickly, inching to bundle into them and doing his best to curl his body around them as they both shake with the cold. this new environment is busy- light filters in through branches, nearly blinding the half-opened eyes of the child, and noise rumbles over his head in panicked hisses. he tucks himself into newly discovered soft fur, burying his nose into the stranger's stomach.

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // " speak "
  
  
  
  
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• PEBBLEKIT ☼ HE / HIM, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING x UNKNOWN, NEPHEW TO SMOKESTAR. 2 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a large blue tabby with low white. pale blue fur covers the length of pebblekit's stocky body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, and his muzzle, paws, and tail tip are dashed with white.
  
  
  
  

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[shellpaw]

picked by the scruff, she is eerily silent, still the only indication of life her trembling chest and softly working jaws, gummy and too pale inside. she is taken from her siblings, cold - slowed heart picking up in instinctual panic ; she does not scream. she merely pants in quick, shaking breaths, swollen belly expanding more than looked comfortable for her delicate framework. it’s colder now, and while it peels back the black haze in her head, it hurts. being moved from her spot half - buried in the snow, covered by her brothers, stings wind at places she’d thought long numb. through petal folded ears she hears her brother cry, a furious screech interrupting the mumble of frantic voices around her.

she doesn’t know when they arrive, or where she’s being taken. her mother’s scent is long gone, but with her kittish mind, she had already forgotten her. she is coiled like an albino spider when brought through camp, string thin limbs coiled up at her thick belly like a drowned rodent. more voices, more smells, and then — there were few again. she is being lowered, lowered into sudden, encapsulating warmth. it would have elicited a gasp, should she have been capable, but she merely squirms ; like a worm in a compost bin, the abrupt shove into comfort and pleasure startles her stiff, spine flopping her upper body forward as much as it could with such little articulation. there is a smell of milk and tenderness around her, soft plants under her wind - bitten paws. it’s more contact than she’s ever known.

then, something else. a tongue, ruffling her fur backwards and sending dormant blood rushing back to the anemic surface of her skin. forearms like reed stalk jut out to either side of her, effectively starfishing her to the soft moss, pinning herself without thought for her mother — or who she would think — to pick the sickles of ice from her fur. this was right, this was right and the molly aches, does not wish for anything more. the singe of her skin ebbs, pulsing as heat rushes back into shrunken capillaries.

i’ve got them. she hears, but she does not know it’s meaning. she doesn’t know it either, but her uncle names her, names her brothers as she feels pebblekit nuzzle into her tongue - slickened side. her name is shellkit, and she nestles at hazecloud’s belly with her brothers, using the closeness to attempt a soft, weak latch. it warms her freezing nose, sending it wet at the nostrils again, but that was an issue for later. for now, she would simply knead at the moss in small twitches of baby paws, too tired to lift them to the queen’s stomach.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𓇼 𝙎𝙊 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿

• i.
  
  
• 
  
  
• 
  
  SHELLKIT 𓆉 SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING xx UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. 3 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  delicate lilac - striped molly with sugarplum eyes she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of shell - touched cream, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore. feather breath and elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined warm, sugared amber.
  
  currently exhibiting symptoms of whitecough. this includes a running nose, wheezing, sluggishness, and labored breathing. please keep contagion in mind.
  
  

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[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ​

Any other day she might've been busy with patrols... might've taken it upon herself to hunt until half the clan could be fed by her paws alone (or fall asleep trying). Today was one of the few she had opted to spend looming like a lone sentinel, charged with a timeless task of watching the nursery's residents, in keeping them safe. That owl was plenty a warning sign that they were not as safe as she'd like them to be, though Bitepaw was now an apprentice, they still had Eelkit to worry after.

The camp does not remain quiet, her fur stands on end as thundering, hurried paws rush past. They do not so much as cast her a glance and in the blur of their quickened movements, she swear she sees something frail, something squirrel-like in size dangling from not one but three different maws. But they are not deposited as fresh-kill amongst the pile to feed hungry bellies, instead-

What? Curiosity consumes her just as much as fear- she doesn't even consider whether or not to move before her paws practically lunge towards the sedge-dense den. She doesn't get a chance to catch whatever explanation their leader offers but she stands absolutely dumb-founded, slack-jawed by the sight of three, tiny, mewling kittens.

Those were not hers... Hazecloud was still very much not in active labor. Where the hell had they just inherited an entire litter from? StarClan must be playing a joke on her... It was one thing to make the mistake herself but now?

They are already nestled up so closely to the smoky molly and she doesn't seem to hesitate to rub the dragonfly-fragile girl in a hasty effort to warm her. She looks frozen, as fragile as the ice she mimics.. only the faintest tell-tale rise and fall of her flanks suggest she might still cling to life, like the dribbling of a stream near-dried in the summer heat. "Shellkit."

A blue tom wraps his tiny frame around petal-soft fur, as if he is big enough or strong enough to protect her... another of similar color but splashed in white like clouds of snow had stuck to his fur and tainted it. "Pebblekit. Riverkit." They are named for the culture they are to inherit.. and with some distant thought, Lichentail is jealous of how certain Smokestar is to name them so quickly, to pick such strong names, ones that suit them.

"Can I help," she asks, voice coming out in a croak of uncertainty. Where were her instincts... she didn't know what to do but stare and hope this night would not end in loss. She hovers, nervously at a small distance, pale eyes unwilling to depart from milk-starved, shaking figures.

---

WELL IF YOU WANT MY BLOOD I'LL MAKE SO MUCH BLOOD

THAT YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING DROWN​

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[SMOKESTAR]

—————————————————————⊰★⊱————————————————————
Inside he still feels a fire burning, his chest almost aches from the anger resonating there but he swallows it down now that the kits are being tended to and his single orange eye follows Moonpaw as she rushes away to grab Ravensong. Good, he had wanted them to be checked, there was no way they were not harmed from being so neglected in the cold and StarClan only knew how long they lay there before the patrol come upon them and their wretched mother.
"You can leave the prey for Hazecloud, Nettlepaw." He says first, nodding to the blind apprentice despite him not being able to see the gesture, "She'll need it." Especially since now she would not only have her own upcoming kits but these as well. It was something that filled him with dread but what else could he have done? Left them to die? Smokestar gives an audible groan of dismay as Lichentail approaches and he launches into the explaination quickly, "A loner came and left them, tried to use them as a bribe to get into the clan...once she realized it wouldn't work she was quick to abandon them." He supposed he'd have to tell the truth then wouldn't he, what a pain to have to deal with this now in his life when he had long since moved past it so many years ago, "Her name was Kindling, she was my older sister. She has always been this way...selfish...manipulative..." The dark tom falters in his words, a weariness crossing his maw at the faint filaments of memory reminding him of her neglect and abandonment of their mother that lead to her death. He doesn't want to think about it, a snort escaping him as he shakes his head, "I'm sorry to put this on you Hazecloud, but kin or not...I couldn't leave them."

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

• OOC can go here.
• 
  
  
  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

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[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dawnstorm remained silent, watching the molly through his peripheral as she bolted at the first sign of danger, leaving behind her ill kits to fend off the winter chill. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, emotions that he couldn’t quite pinpoint overcompensating for the low thrum of anger at the blatant display, dismissing life for someone’s gain was—The chimera frowned, startled by the turn of events, feeling guilty for things he couldn’t quite understand.

His brows creased, muzzle wrinkling with the need to ask, to understand, but he refrained, teeth digging into the meaty flesh of his tongue. He surged forward, scooping up one kit at Smokestar’s call, startled by its weight, far lighter than he expected, trailing after the other with nervous paws, emotions running rampant that he swallowed down without resistance.

Slipping into calm was odd, carrying the small bundles toward the nursery, stiffening at the morbid statement, wishing that would not be the case for them. He blinked, setting one down beside the other, as gently as he could for Dawnstorm had little knowledge in carrying things not made to be eaten or used, pulling away with a subtle twitch of his tail. The chimera listened on in heavy silence at the spew of words being tossed about, Moonpaw grabbing Ravensong, Nettlepaw bringing prey for kits that weren’t yet old enough, Hazecloud and Linchentail's voices echoing.

Smokestar’s voice echoed, providing answers to questions that he had yet to form, brows crinkling. He glanced over. “I’m sorry.” Out of sympathy, Dawnstorm had his troubles, but none had outright abandoned him like this to hang over him like dark clouds in constant reminder of his wrongdoings. “What can I do?” He spoke after a pregnant pause, glancing at the couple and Smokestar, himself. ​

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thought speech​