private FIERY PURSUIT [ ♱ ] MOSSPAW

[SHARPSHADOW]

It seems distant now, sunrises spent within the deep dark; hardly anything to eat, hardly anything to keep one entertained besides the shuffling of their own paws, and the sounds of their own voices— and their group had not been a talkative bunch. She recalls Mosspaw's tears, the drip against stone floors barely - audible, but loud within the silent dark. Sharppaw had not known what to say then. She did not know how to reassure anyone. Hardly anyone has ever reassured her.

He recalls her again, green eyes that reached for her namesake stretched wide in shock— because what Sharppaw hadsaid was so ghastly, so appaling; utterly imaginable, the way it was. At the very least, she had not been angry. Just... surprised.

Sharppaw still did not know what to say to her. He feels different from how he did when they'd been trapped in those tunnels— but this is still something he was not made for, and likely never would be. Why did she, of all cats, deserve soft words and false murmurings of what could not be guaranteed?

He still finds himself wanting to talk, though. Which is weird.

It's convenient, where they both lay amongst the larger group. By pure coincidence, they are situated nearby, and not for the first time, Sharppaw would take her nighttime musings aloud. " Aren't you at least a little bit scared? " she whispers to the molly. Sharppaw isn't. If she were to return, just to find ShadowClan all dead in their nests, she would be perfectly fine. ( She most certainly would not be. ) " ...I know you were before, " If that is something Mosspaw had wanted to keep to herself, Sharppaw would gladly hold it above her head, blinking with the memories from half a moon ago.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

• ooc: rubs my grubby hands together @Mosspaw
  

• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[Mosspool]

Mosspaw was not certain what to make of Sharppaw.

It was her that lead their group out of the dark, saving all their lives. For that, she would be forever in his debt. She hoped to get a chance to repay her, before this was all over. Once borders separated them, she was not sure she ever would. And yet, none of that was what she thought of when she heard the name Sharppaw.

She recalls him asking if they should go home at all, as if there was an alternative. Even though he had saved her very life, it was that moment that defined him to her. No matter how long and hard she thought there was no purpose she could find behind such a question, at least none that did not imply something she dared not imagine for a cat that had lead her out of the dark. It simply made no sense.

It was a curious contradiction, and one that - secretly - piqued her interest.

The sound of the other apprentice's voice caught her attention. "Scared of what?" Mosspaw asked, glancing at Sharppaw. It was a genuine question. "We will succeed, the stars have promised that much, and that is all that matters." Everything was relying on that success. All the clans, and everyone she cared about. The grandiosity of her task filled her with pride.

Without thinking, her ear flicked when Sharppaw said he knew she had been afraid. Mosspaw instantly knew what he was referring to, though she would rather forget it. Even to Iciclefang she had not spoken directly about her tears. Now that it was behind her, it felt like an embarrassing moment of weakness; one that did not bear repeating.

"I was." She stated evenly, almost flippantly. As though she had not given a thought to the moment in the time since. "I let my fears overcome my discipline and my faith. I was scared for the safety of my family and my clanmates. It was a momentary lapse in judgement, and it will not happen again." Yes - she decided, smiling softly to herself - that was all it had been.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

When he is met with a glance, Sharppaw only stares back. Scared of what? The question was almost funny, with the amount of things there were to be scared about on this cursed journey. With their luck, a pack of wolves could burst from the forest and storm them all. Hawks, foxes... What was a little wolf, badger, or bear? Sharppaw narrows his eyes, unsure how genuine the apprentice was.

We will succeed, the stars have promised that much, and that is all that matters. Sharppaw keeps herself from rolling her eyes, and the result is an oddly blank expression, silver eyes caught on the desire to squint, but keeping themselves from it. Where was the crybaby Sharppaw had seen...all those sunrises ago? Apparently replaced with a devout. Where was that promise? That they had apparently given Magpiepaw their blessing? Why would they not give a blessing for their own stupid mission?

Sharppaw sort of enjoys the sudden neutrality at the mention of her fear. Forced, right? ( She's done it herself enough times now to tell ) I let my fears overcome my discipline and my faith. Oh, stars. It was a momentary lapse in judgement, and it will not happen again. Oh, she's a riot. Sharppaw feels uniquely terrible, in this moment.

" Yeah? " Her face twitches like it could not fully commit to a smile. " "Scared of what?" she says, like she hadn't been crying. " before, she had afforded her the kindness of not mentioning it by words, but Sharppaw finds herself throwing that kindness to the wind, right now. " Bear could come run out of the forest right now and pick us off. A big bird could come and tear up all we have. Ground could split open right underneath us and we'd be plunged into darkness again... " Nevermind how Sharppaw herself would surely scream if any of that were to happen. She'd rip herself apart; tear at her wrists. " Would that momentary lapse in judgement happen again, you think? "

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

• 
  
  

• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[Mosspool]

Mosspaw could not hide the flush of shame and discomfort when Sharppaw said aloud that she had been crying. She would candidly admit that she had been afraid, but her tears? Those made her sound like a kit. Warriors did not cry themselves to sleep in dark caves because they were scared and missed their mommies.

Mosspaw could not meet Sharppaw's gaze as he stared at her.

She shook her head firmly at the suggestion that her lapse in judgement would reoccur, glaring at the ground beneath her paws. That would not happen, she would not let it. "It would not. Tears would not stop a bear or bird from tearing me apart, and certainly would not stop the ground itself." Her ear flicked at the memory of her own uselessness in the caves. Not just in the moment she had finally broken down and cried, but the whole time. She had become so meek and helpless. All she had the will to do was keep following the lead of the other cats as she teetered perilously on the edge of utter despair. On her own, she would have died for certain. "I would put my energy toward more productive ends; outwitting the bear, fighting off the bird, or leaping to safety as the ground split. We would overcome those trials, as we have the rest."

Still, that did not mean that she was not scared of those possibilities. If any of them were to come to pass, she would be terrified, even if she did not succumb to tears because of it. That part of Sharppaw's words rung true. Her expression softened.

"That said, I did not mean to imply that there was nothing to be afraid of. I simply meant-" A small, frustrated huff left her as she considered how to reword her initial response. That question had been as literal as it had been genuine. "Why do you ask?" While Sharppaw had a near perfect read of her, Mosspaw was at a complete loss as to her intentions. She glanced back toward him, searchingly. It felt like her nerve was being tested, and she did not understand the reason for that. "Is there something in specific that you think I should be afraid of that I do not seem to be? We are closer to success than we have ever been, our allies have shown themselves to be capable, and the stars have given us guidance. At present, I do not see reason for fear."

Their successes had left her in good spirits. They had found more lungwort than she had ever thought possible, and were on the way back to save their clans. To her, it felt as though the hardest part of the journey was already behind her.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

He feels strangely giddy, knowing that Mosspaw was discomforted by him rather than the other way around. Sharppaw often found it difficult to meet the gazes of others. Chilledstar's frosted blue and Smogmaw's oaken stare come to mind— impossible to look away from, no matter how badly he wanted to. Was he becoming like that? The thought is both terrifying, and... something else.

It is such a utilitarian way of thinking— and perhaps one that her peers within ShadowClan would support. What use would crying be? But the real question is: how much does it matter how useful it is, when you are finally in that situation? Sharppaw has not caught eyes with Mosspaw during the climb, nor past the dogs. She had not been there to see her, but she would not be surprised if Mosspaw was always useless, in the face of danger. ( Maybe because she was not dissimilar ) A twinge.

Sharppaw blinks at her as if he really cares. And maybe he did a little bit— because it was sort of fun to watch her squirm.

Why do you ask? Starsilver eyes narrow by a little. For once— she meets a searching gaze in stride, and tries her damdest not to wear a clear expression on it. " You were just so surprised, is all " At present, I do not see reason for fear. What stick up her butt mentor taught her to talk like this? Chalk's way of talking had been similar, but at least he had kittypet-not-kittypet-ness to aid in his excuses. " Surprised why anyone might not want to go back. I mean, what if you walk into camp, and all you see are corpses strewn across the floor? " He doesn't know how to sound, as he proposes this. Sharppaw thinks he wouldn't feel anything at all, but he would still care, in a strange and stupid way. Passive, is how he sounds. His eyes are wide in the sun.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

• 
  
  

• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[Mosspool]

"You were just so surprised, is all"

Mosspaw looked at him questioningly. Surprised by what? Realization dawned on her as he spoke again.

Ah, that. "It was a surprising thing to ask." The suggestion was as unthinkable to her now as it had been when she first heard it. The thought of simply never returning home still made her uneasy. Her ear flicked as Sharppaw described the tragedy they might confront upon their return. What a cruel imagination this Shadowclanner had. It was a touch unsettling to hear her ask the question so passively, did he not care at all for his own clanmates? "All the more reason to return swiftly." Mosspaw reasoned. "That is the only way to avert such a tragedy."

The scene played out in her mind. Her return to camp, only to find a graveyard. All her clanmates fallen to sickness, her family gone. It was impossible to imagine what she would do in such a situation. Her life would be well and truly over were it to come to pass. It was a terrible thought, but even so, she could not bring herself to be afraid of it. It seemed too horrific to ever come to pass. Surely the stars would never allow such a thing.

"If we did not return, what then?" That was another thing she did not understand. "We just... live out here? We leave our friends and family to die? What kind of life would be left for us in the wake of that shame?" She felt her shoulders tense. The thought did not sit well with her. There was another future she could not imagine.

There was only one path forward, success.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Sharppaw narrows his eyes at that— that he's surprising. A good thing, or a bad thing? ShadowClan's elite loved to swim in their surprises; to drown you so deep in absurdity that you cannot keep up. Sharppaw will take this as a compliment, as hope, that she could hope to be the one swimming circles, instead of the one being swam around. All the more reason to return swiftly. " It's been a moon, Mosspaw. More than. How long will the sickness wait? "

Mosspaw's questions are not aimless, though. Though the way she talks makes him want to claw his own ears, he finds good questions. Because— what then, indeed? Dredge on knowing they possibly dodged tragedy, but just as possibly did not return to stop it from happening? Would they wander aimlessly through the mountains, where it was cold always, not simply in Leafbare, would they yowl messages to eachother atop the peeks, patrol territory that no one in their right mind would ever encroach upon? It's no different from ShadowClan. No, not really. In fact, it sorely lacks the stink; carrion to poison their senses.

We leave our friends and family to die? " Maybe, " he says with a mischievous glint in silver hues, even though the bastard didn't know just how right she was. That nothing Sharppaw said had mattered, that true, he was tethered to the swamp by the pull of a thousand webs. What kind of life would be left for us in the wake of that shame? " A shitty one. How much worse would it be? Or— Is RiverClan perfect the way it is? " She is inclined to think so, with the way Iciclefang stomps afoot, with her grand family and clanmates to impress; with the way someone as pathetic as Fernpaw could walk around and feel good about himself still. How did such a place, headed by a madman, pump out such perfect little warriors like her and Iciclefang— Fernpaw a mere fluke she's sure. ShadowClan could hardly churn out a single warrior worth their while, leaders and deputies themselves included.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

• 
  
  

• 

• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 17 moons old as of 11.12.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

​

 

[Mosspool]

𓆝 . ° ✦ Mosspaw did not answer when he asked her how long she though the sickness would wait, though her shoulders tensed even more. She knew nothing of medicine or sickness, the question was wasted on her. Ravensong was more than capable, however, and she could only hope that under his guidance the clan would last long enough to see her return, the alternative was too terrible to consider.

"Maybe."

It was impressive how much one word could affect her. For a moment, she stumbled as she stared at Sharppaw incredulously. Then she shook her head, turning toward the horizon. "You do not mean that." Mosspaw stated decisively, as though it were up to her. She refused to believe she was walking alongside a cat who would so callously forsake the ones they loved, she could not even imagine something so terrible. Especially not from the cat that had saved her life.

"It is, actually." This answer came to her with absolute certainly, and her chest puffed up with pride as she spoke it. The tension left her. Riverclan was perfect, or at least as close as any clan could hope to be. Given the chance, she would not change a thing about it. Their leader was glorious, their deputy and lead warriors impressive, their rank and file warriors capable, and their apprentices...

With a flick of her ear, Mosspaw thought of her sister's antics. Well, the apprentices would come along eventually. They were apprentices for a reason after all.

Along with the desire to save her loved ones, she wanted to save the clan itself. The thought that once this was all over she would go back to the life she had known before was a joy to her. She wanted to train with Aspenhaze again, she wanted to spar with Petalpaw again, and more than anything she wanted to wake up each morning ready to serve Riverclan as well as she had the day before. What more could she ever want?

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  MOSSPOOL — SHE/HER･ 12 MOONS ･ WARRIOR & RIVERCLAN ･ PENNED BY @empyrean !

  Longhair black tabby with deep green eyes. Mosspaw is a very tall molly, standing a head above most cats her age. She has a slim, willowy physique with subtle musculature built up from a lifetime of constant training that lends itself well to swimming and running. Long, thick brown fur falls over her form with tabby patterning across it. Her eyes are a vibrant green, and shine with a bright intelligence and confidence.

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

You do not mean that. She says it with such certainty, a lilt in her voice that spells knowingness. It pisses him off that she's right; that she dares look away from him like her mind is already made. Sharppaw fails miserably at not betraying her annoyance. " You don't know that. " Her fur is alight like porcupine quills, dipped black. Mosspaw doesn't even know what she's taking from him— She doesn't know anything, set in her ways of model warriordom, too stupid to see anything past the fish Cicadastar feeds her from his own maw.

And, oh, it is, actually, Sharppaw cannot believe that a cat like her exists. A caricature, is what she is. Sharppaw wants to laugh, and for it to carry all the way up to StarClan for her ancestors— surely all nodding their heads— to hear. Sharppaw wants to knock some sense into her, to drag claws along her face and tell her that it's not that easy. She wants to cry because she cannot be as perfectly airheaded as this RiverClanner. Sharppaw makes no move to do any of that, in the end. His laugh appears in a clipped, incredulous wheeze, and the awkward twist of his mouth before it disappears. Claws unsheathe and only pick at the ground, unwilling to engage with anyone too stupid to see it coming (That's what he tells himself, anyways). Sharppaw does not cry, because that would be unhelpful; not useful, not conducive to worthwhile results or something, isn't that what Mosspaw would say?

Sharppaw looks ready to burst, for a short moment, fur raised and claws unsheathed, but in the end, she only releases it all with a groan. With disgust crawling its way onto her face, and blinking at the RiverClan apprentice. " Good for you, " dryly as could be. Mosspaw is utterly serene compared to him, and he thinks that is perfectly unfair. Sharppaw liked her better hen she was squirming. " You're like the rest of your clan, " his will to keep blunt words back has been shattered, practically by Mosspaw's will alone. He utters the word like it's a rotten piece of prey that needed throwing up, " —insufferable. "

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

• 
  
  

• 

• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 17 moons old as of 11.12.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

​