camp DULCE BELLUM INEXPERTIS ❀ FORAY OUT

LUNGWORTKIT

she's my collar.
Jul 25, 2024
18
2
3
The place beyond the confines of the medicine den is distant and strange. The moor has faded into the background of Lungwortkit's memory, fixed in a state of permanent rainstorm, drizzling and grey. She can hardly remember the paleness of her mother's heaving flank. Her world is one etched in bitter herbs and mournful quiet, the borders of her landscape forged in gorse and sandy earth. The most she has glimpsed of the outside world is the wax - waning glow of the entrance and the strange scents the cats who come to visit carry in on their ragged pelts.

Today, that will change. Lungwortkit feels better than she ever knew a cat could feel; Cotton's ministrations before her sudden disappearance had done their work, and the yellowing veil of illness is lifted from her eye. She is still blind to the havoc she has unknowingly wrecked on her new home, the sickly and sagging bodies in the badger's set distant and unknown to her. To Lungwortkit, the day is good; to one who has never known anything else, the tightness in her chest is standard, as is the way she must pause and wait patiently for breath every few tail - lengths towards her goal.

Her small paws crest the lip of the medicine den's entrance, and her two - toned eye waters insistently against the brilliance of the day's sunlight. Lungwortkit coughs once, as if for punctuation, and makes her way further out into the heart of camp. The world is an assault of sensations—the bright hues that make her eye tear up, the hurricane of scents that make her sneeze, the cacophony of bird - calls and rushing wind and meows that make her flatten her tufted ears. She drinks in the open air like a starving animal, her pink - blushed muzzle cracked open to inhale the dusty scent of the moor instead of the familiar smell of medicine.

" I'm Lungwortkit, " she proclaims to the first cat who catches her eye. She has taken to her expanding vocabulary with the same hunger she takes to everything with, and she aims to show it. " What's your name? "
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OOC :
 
જ➶ Her days have been empty since her mentor gave up on her and she supposes she can understand why. Though it didn't make her less angry about the situation amd the fact that they didn't think she fit being a moor runner. If anything she could be better than the rest of them if he would just give her a chance. Yet he said no and that she would be reassigned to something more her speed. The implication slapped her against her face but she said nothing, merely hoped for his downfall in the end. Now she just lounges in camp, her gaze lowered to the ground though the girl can see nothing but shifts in the light and darkness around her. Her tail sways against the ground and she just listens to the sounds around her. Being blind is natural to her anyway and with that comes the ability to remain alert despite it all. Her ears twitch as she picks up the sound of small paws stepping towards her direction. Though she says nothing the girl is aware and as they get louder she lifts her head.

The shadow tilts her skull then and turns her head in the young kit's direction. "Nice to meet you." Her tongue is smooth as her voice slips from honied vocals before she closes her cloudy eyes once more. "Lungwortkit is it? Well I'm Silkenpaw." Gently she reaches forward carefully to try and boop her paw against the kit's in greeting before she lays her head down upon the ground. "How are you feeling?" She is supposed to care. She should and so she asks to be a good clanmate.
 

Cottonsprig's morality pet was a disgrace, something that never should have been brought into the clan for all the damage it had caused. The chimera had done his best to steer his own offspring clear of the sick, often trying to convince those with the sniffles to continue on patrol as to avoid infecting them. But, it was harder to do such a thing with a kit, a kit with one eye and fur wispier than dead hairs - a weak kit whom he couldn't convince the clan (because he was aware of how it sounded) would die in a few moons anyway. Sootspot may have brought in strays too, but he at least had the decency to make sure they were strong.

Perhaps he would find a use for the sickly thing yet.

Sootspot's ears twitched at a new voice amidst the fray. He stepped back as the other took one forward towards Silkenpaw, an uncomfortable smile pressing upon his maw which only seemed to increase as Silkenpaw touched the other. "Lungwortkit?" His brows raised, sympathy crossing a sudden frown. "I am sorry." An awful name was bestowed upon her, and for all his vitriol, he could not help but believe it to be crueler to give such a nasty title to the other, a permanent reminder of the burden she'd put upon the clan, of the thing she'd taken away from them, of her wrongness. Death would be kinder than the curse Cottonsprig had put upon her.

"My name is Sootspot. I am glad to see you are well... who was it that gave you such a... name?"
 
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Luckily for the brown tabby, he had escaped the depressing confines of the Badger Set earlier that day after being deemed fit for roaming WindClan's camp once more. Buck had gladly ditched the lumpy makeshift nest and had made way for the Sandy Hollow; it didn't feel quite like home to him, not yet, but it was leagues better than sitting in that cramped and dark place for another moment.

In the midst of settling back into a routine here in camp, a small voice catches Buck's attention and he flicks his orangeish gaze in the direction of the newly-emerged kit. She was a cute little one, wasn't she? He did not know much about interacting with youths, truthfully, but he was willing to partake in the informal and unfolding meet and greet.

The newer addition to WindClan pads over, sporting a small smile, though cocks a brow slightly as introductions are made. Lungwortkit sounded unusual to the male, like the words 'lung' and 'wart' were shoved together to form a name. He still does not completely understand the naming conventions of the clan cats. "Nice to meet you, little miss. 'm Buck." He drawls with a nod of his head.

Sootspot's thinly-veiled criticisms prompt a side glance from the former loner. It was a wordy name, one that perhaps sounded funny on the tongue, but Buck was sure that it wasn't the worst name to have.... right? "I think that's what Wolfsong gave us in the Badger Set." The tabby recalls aloud, trying to think back and see if he could remember. Whatever the herb was, it fixed him right up in no time.

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    a new warrior of windclan, buck is thirty-one moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells of cotton grass and gorse.