pafp DOWN IN MY BEAST HEART | windclan questions

[PRIVETFROST]

"What was it like? Living in Windclan, I mean." Boyish voice sounded amongst those still recovering from battle, as Privetpaw sat down next to the golden-hued Thriftfeather, green eyes prying past long purls of fur and burning into fleece flesh itself. He hardly even knew the other, considering Thrift more like an acquaintance or a coworker rather than a friend or trusted compatriot. It was the matters in which he regarded most, if not all, of the Duskclanners. They lived together, ate together, held the same ideals to the same regard. And yet, Privetpaw could hardly bring himself to care about them beyond the worth measured by bloodshed's whim. The wine-dark apprentice found little use in it. Ever the curious soul, Privetpaw almost obsessed over those that resided in the moorlands, as Windclan existed almost as a mythological kingdom traced upon the ends of the drawn horizon. Anything that the Duskclan apprentice was not privy to was one that he would duly seize with eager grasp, as though the world wholly owed him its time, spilling out of it as he pulled on it further. He wished to know everything about Windclan, how saccharine they spoke and how soft they had become. "Was it as bad as everyone says it was? I saw the Windclan camp, for the first time. It's bigger than ours. More dens and cats, too. Surely, it is gluttonous - the manner in which they take so much land for themselves."

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• Please wait for @Thriftfeather !
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 7 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather visibly starts at the sound of Privetpaw's voice so near. A moment passes in silence and then Privetpaw continues on. Thriftfeather turns his face Privetpaw's way and realizes after an embarrassing moment that it is him who the questions are for. It is an easy thing to forget that he is now grown and that, somehow, there are those younger than him who will look to him for—knowledge? direction? How is it that Privetpaw can be here, in the guttering splinter of WindClan, without ever having known its source?

There is an injustice to that, ashy over Thriftfeather's tongue.

"It was like here," Thriftfeather settles on as an uncertain answer. It was like here in only the broad sense—DuskClan doesn't come with any amount of security. His damaged voice wavers around the words, "We would wake up around—sometime around or before dawn and hunt or train," Thriftfeather used to need to remind himself to love that life. How could he have missed how golden it was?

"Sootstar was..." Small, imposing, terrifying, "She was decisive. There was never any question as to—we all knew she was our leader. She was irreplaceable," Now, left floundering in a world having known someone like that—now living in that kind of lack—what was anyone supposed to do? Thriftfeather swallows acidic worry, "But it wasn't a terrible place. It had—there were always these purple flowers, no matter the season. And in Greenleaf the prey was always plentiful."

The softer of plants had been darkened and the woody ones had starkened. It wasn't a bountiful place anymore, or else it was only bountiful when taken in comparison to DuskClan's scarcity. That place—the one Thiftfeather's homesick heart demands he returns—doesn't exist anymore, having been eaten away in the fire during Thriftfeather's absence. ​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　Privetpaw's question makes Vulturekit's stomach twist. He's scary, even though he's barely older than them, with his dark glare and his bared teeth. He fought. They ran.

His words are proper, poised, each one sounding like it was carefully selected. He speaks like an adult, and it makes Vulturekit feel even younger. And his words - was it as bad as everyone says it was? They don't make sense, they make his stomach twist. WindClan isn't bad, WindClan is home. It's comfort, it's Periwinklebreeze's soft fur.

It's smoke billowing over the horizon, fire choking the breath from their lungs. Running away from blood and flame, always running. He wonders whether it's naive to want to go back - and pushes down the thought forcefully. "It was better. It - it is better. Um," he corrects Thriftfeather with a confidence he does not feel. He does not know who he is trying to convince.

He doesn't want Privetpaw to look at him. He doesn't want to speak over anyone. He shrinks back, continues in a timid and rambling voice. "It's - um, the c-c-cats are all nicer and less scary." That's what he misses, the cats. His family. Nightingalecry is gone, but she was WindClan too. He misses them so much that it makes him sick. Thriftfeather's description is - almost right. "Sootstar's g-gone. The prey and the flowers were gone tuh-too, for a little bit, 'cause of, um, the fire. Buh-b-b-but they're come - c-coming back. It's nice. It's b-better." Which would he rather have? The fire, the violence, or the cloying isolation of DuskClan? He wants flowers and nursery milk-scent, his siblings' pelts pressed to his side. He focuses on that.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

The thought that Windclan, that faraway land of bogeymen and martyrs alike, was just like Duskclan had perplexed Privetpaw. He had always conceptualized those of the moor as different creatures entirely, and yet they shared the same schedule as he. The obtrusive heather flowers had invaded his vision, as though fallow fields had been tilled by the hands of false kings, beauty ephemeral and impudent at its best. Obsessions with aesthetics proved a fruitless effort, when winter would surely run through the flesh of the verdant and draw out its colors. The scrublands often evaded such descriptors of beauty, but he found dignity in the basal and hope in the destitute. There was a certain sort of eminence of those that made the most of little, as opposed to those afforded their gluttonous fill of prey and shelter. A huff escaped his nostrils, at the mere fact that both Thriftfeather and Vulturekit spoke of the damned with such fondness, as though their affections had poisoned and hollowed them wholly. Privetpaw could hardly hide the grimace of disgust that curled along his lips. "It's better? I doubt it. There is surely a reason why Duskclan does not reside in the land of lies. Our territory may not have the flowers or the greenery, but we have our honor. Nothing is greater than that." Stubbornly did the boy speak, like the two wove fantasies of a home they could not return to, rose-tinged glasses harrowed into blindfolds. Privet knew little else of the world around him, and perhapd could not aspire for any higher standard of living - not that he would ever grovel to the idea of a lovelorn birthplace.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Vulturekit speaks out in protest for his home and Thriftfeather shakes his head to subtly dissuade him. It isn’t worth it—he’s trying to spit enough to make a lake. Privetpaw isn’t going to know better, only the same or worse. Anything different will be unacceptable to his or any of DuskClan’s ears.

Perhaps predictably, Privetpaw does just that. Asks why DuskClan would exist on the edge of the world if it was a terrible place—Thriftfeather bites his own reply. DuskClan didn’t exist until WindClan split. They exist here because they were defeated and driven away. It isn’t a glorious story and Privetpaw seems happy with the scant life he has been reared in, so Thriftfeather opts to let Privetpaw continue to believe a life that sees a better DuskClan. Maybe that belief could make it the truth.

“It isn’t the territory or any amount of—of lack that gives us honor,” A meaningless word to Thriftfeather—his face remains placid despite this, “We’ll have it no matter where we live.” ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​