camp EVERY DAY APOCALYPSE [ ˚❀༉‧₊ ] CLEANING

[Starlingheart]

Every day is a new day, a fresh start if you will. Starlingheart held in her paws the possibilities that each new dawn brought. She could choose to sit around and mope about her many misfortunes, to give up and languish in her den as many would, or she could get up, push forward and keep trying in the hopes that this day would be better. So that's what she does. Despite the weariness in her bones and soul, she rises each morning and gets to work. Cleaning, sorting, searching. Restocking her ivy leaf bundle for the ceaseless emergencies, taking note of the conditions of her stores, the vitality of the plants out in the territory. Today was a big one. Today, she was raking all of the old moss out of her den and she would spend as long as it took gathering fresh bedding that she would then hunch over to weave into nests, beds ready to go for any future patients and then by the time she got to her own she would be too tired to do anything more than clump together a few clumps to collapse into. It wasn't important though, it never was.

She toils away while the dawn patrols head out for their morning jaunt, working in a steady rhythm. Rake, toss, rake toss. And when that is done she heads into the forest to retrieve the fresh moss. Her claws scrape against stone as tangles of fresh green fall away from gray and carpet the forest floor. She clutches as much as it as she can in her jaws, but ultimately she has to make multiple trips in order to retrieve the amount she needs.

By the time she is onto the weaving step of her labors, she is beyond tired. "Im getting old huh" she jokes lightheartedly to herself with a slight huff, looking down at the moss at her paws which must somehow be shaped into nests before days end.

( ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ) fly me up on a silver wing

• 
  
  
• 
  STARLINGHEART SHADOWCLAN MEDICINE CAT; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO PITCHSTAR, CHITTERTONGUE, NIGHTSWARM, SKUNKTAIL, AND LILACFUR. MOTHER TO NETTLEPAW, FLINTWISH AND GHOSTMASK.
  

  A skinny she cat with short black and white fur littered with scars and one singular green eye.

  ✦ Easy in battle + has little to no formal battle training
  

​

 

[MIRESTAR]

✦

Starlingheart has always been a pleasant sight and company; not even the scars marring her face stop her from greeting the world with a smile, an active resistance against the world's cruelty. Mirepurr finds solace in the fact that someone shares their belief one way or another — perhaps some think it's easier for a medicine cat to remain so laid-back, but Mirepurr has a feeling that some of the worst battles have been fought within her den, squeezing all potential out of nearby herbs just for a chance to save a soul.

It's fortune, then, when they pass each other's side on her way back to camp. Paws softly turn on their axis, quick to follow when her workload becomes evident enough. There's always something to do for a medicine cat.

Mirepurr hadn't expected her first word to be a comment on her own age, and it gets a swift bark of a laugh out of them. "Just don't let any of our senior warriors hear that." Starlingheart is simultaneously young and ancient; her vigor rivals that of a kitten's, and her wisdom is deeper than pools after heavy rain. "Need an extra set of paws for all that weaving?"
​

 

[MARBLEPAW]

Marblepaw has barely been an apprentice for more than an hour before Starlingheart goes to clear the moss from their now-shared den. The pale tabby watches curiously as her new mentor works. She's meticulous. She's determined. With every return trip, her breath is a touch more ragged, a touch more labored. Marblepaw mews, "I can help with this now. Why don't you rest?" She eyes the scraps of moss that lie scattered around the den, and begins to scrape them into a pile.

Mirepurr enters, their voice gentle like a new dawn. They laugh at Starlingheart's assertion that she's getting old, and offers their own paws to help weave the medicine cat a nest. Marblepaw brightens at the suggestion. "We can do it together! And you can just catch your breath, Starlingheart." She gives Mirepurr a grateful glance and settles on the rough-hewn floor, drawing bits of dried moss closer to her with outstretched claws. "Erm... I actually don't know how to weave," she confesses, feeling her flesh burn with embarrassment. All she knows about moss is how to toss it back and forth! "Mirepurr, can you show me?"

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

• ooc: —
• 
• Marblekit . Marblepaw, she/they w/ feminine and non-gendered terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 6 moons old, ages realistically on the 1st.
  — mentored by Starlingheart ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a
  — shadowclan medicine cat apprentice, formerly a rogue. siltcloud x lilacfur, gen 3.
  — currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh fawn tabby with dull green eyes. courageous, curious, introspective, observant, judgmental, snarky.
  
  

​

 

[mockingbirdcry]

Starlingheart . . . she's a real sweetheart, huh? It mystifies Mockingbirdcry how the black - and - white healer hasn't let the souring events of her storied past curdle her kind demeanour. It'd certainly have that effect on a weaker cat . . . the queen is a touch ashamed to admit, she is among the ranks of the cats who could easily fill such a role. On the other paw, the lilac torbie's rather certain that despite Granitepelt's incendiary ( read: fascinating ) actions and gasoline personality, she likely wouldn't've landed herself in Starlingheart's pawprints in the first place; although that's not unique to the monochrome medicine cat's murderous choice of mate. Rather, Mockingbirdcry wouldn't dare be caught dead so . . . attached to one of the Clan's myriad muck - drenched mopers.

Of course, that was just her point of view, and she's sure many'd disagree with it . . . to each their own, and she supposes she's not entitled to judge. Enough about that . . . She dashes the pointless thoughts as fine china against a wall as she trails the sound of voices and Mirepurr's white flag of a tail to find said medicine cat. Nosiness doesn't become her, and though she'd be quick to deny it, she's often victim to its whims . . . campbound in greenleaf breeds boredom, and searching for events of note often requires a bit of intrusion. Sue her.

" Or senior queens, " the lilac torbie remarks as she winds her way into the little gathering of chance, her soft - spoken voice pitched lower than ever, accent acquiring a rasp from overexertion. Clearly she's overworked her fragile vocal cords talking over the Gathering with anyone willing to lend an ear ( that being somewhere in the realm of . . . two cats ), and the scratchy irritation she's long acquaintanced with is making a rather unwelcome nest in the base of her throat. She offers a curving smile to the trio and a hoarse chuckle to indicate she's joking, of course . . . although, gosh, if she were a warrior, she'd be getting up there for them, huh? Best not to think about it . . .

" Enjoy your youth while you can, " Mockingbirdcry advises softly, a small canting of the head indicating her advice extends not just to young Marblepaw, but to the two adults wise beyond their moons . . . or they must be, to have been installed among the fabled leagues of ShadowClan's higher ranks. She strives to be as aware of the Clan's internal politics as its external, and that includes council appointments; she can only presume Chilledstar sees something in Mirepurr's golden - hearted openness that she doesn't . . . wow, she sounds kind of rude, huh? Stars above.

" Well, usually I try to take some ferns and bramble and . . . " she starts hurriedly, trailing off her barely - started instruction rather quickly. The lilac torbie's ears flutter in semi - realized embarassment at her own rudeness . . . and to a higher - ranked cat, no less! Mockingbirdcry's heavy tail flicks awkardly against the rough earth and she ducks her head in partially faux meekness, conceding the lesson to Mirepurr, " Sorry—you were asking Mirepurr. "

OOC : —

♡

​