camp find forgiveness in the weeds || story time

[heavybranch]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ When Heavybranch had first joined the marsh group moons ago, he had been long past being a young tom. Younger than now, he'd still seen it fit to hunt when he was hungry and fight when needed. Things had been less formal back then; Heavybranch doesn't know the day he retired. His joints started to ache more by the days, his lungs had soured. Younger cats had started to notice his age more and more, would offer to fetch him a fresh vole or bring him wet moss to drink from, until one day Heavybranch had realized moons had gone by since he last lifted a paw for himself.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ The marsh group has since eased into ShadowClan, and suddenly Heavybranch had his current name, and he was an elder by rank. The change had done little to effect his day to day. Sometimes his clanmates would approach him for a bit of an advice or an ear to bend, but more often than not they visited Heavybranch for no other reason than to tend to him — apprentices who'd taken it as a duty rather than a kindness to pluck his fleas and soften his nest. This way felt lonelier, less like he was thought about for the sake of himself, moreso that he was an obstacle in the form of a task in the way of the clan's adolescents to their free time.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Despite this shift, the kits never changed.
They've always followed behind Heavybranch, curious about his age or wanting a game. Today is no different — he hears a gaggle approaching as he settles in a sunbeam, and turns his head just in time to see the group come to a stop. Heavybranch doesn't need to ask what the kits want. He knows the look already.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝Eager today, hmm? You ever hear about a strange animal called a lynx?❞
There is a tone Heavybranch takes up, loud enough to be heard clearly but quiet enough to tempt a listener to lean in closer. A touch conspiratorial, as if the knowledge Heavybranch is about to impart is a grand secret, exciting and dangerous. It's a voice that says gather around now, the story is about to begin.

/tagging:
@COMFREYKIT
@RAGGEDPAW.
@Crowpaw.
no need to wait for them to reply!​

P. 14​

 

[smogstar]

Smogmaw loses little sleep over matters in the distant future. This may strike some as odd, given that 'ambitious' has now become a label associated with the tom—but viewing the world through an opportunistic lens, he believes there's little room for fretting over future dreams when one's survival is at stake. Even so, the most favourable opportunities are not those you strive for, but rather those that come to you on their own volition. Such is why he pawed over WindClan's scent barrier so many nights ago, and seized the chance to upset the balance of power.

There is, however, one fear he holds about the future, and one fear alone. Age. The tom would soon rather feed the worms beneath his paws than endure a lifespan as long as Heavybranch's. The very moment he finds himself too weak to fend for himself, too feeble to provide for the clan, or too emsaculated to walk across camp without any difficulty, he shall make a request of Starlingheart to slip him some poisonous herbs; assuming she doesn't take after the rest of her ilk and meet an untimely demise.

Granted, with age comes experience, and with experience comes lessons to be learned—and when knowledge is considered to be a tangible form of power, Smogmaw can acknowledge that Heavybranch is useful in one regard. The elder's voice is borne by the breeze, and when it reaches the deputy's wayward ears, he feels compelled to join the small audience before him. Admittedly, his knowledge on lynxes was as limited as the kits', and thus his interest was piqued. So he meanders on over, wordless, assuming a seated position some fox-lengths behind the children. ​

 

[COMFREYPAW]

Comfreykit loves to play fight and wrestle as much as any of her denmates, but there's something special for her about visiting the elder's den. She loves the way Heavybranch tells stories -- he makes them grand, exciting, puts her paws into the world he weaves. She knows some of the other kits get bored and fidgety, but Comfreykit often tells them the stories are inspiration for new games.

Besides, the way his eyes light up at their approach causes warmth in her belly. "Hi, Heavybranch!" She purrs, bouncing close enough to touch her nose to his in greeting. "I don't know about lynxes... are they big? Are they scary? Do they eat cats?" She scurries to find an appropriate place to sit so she can listen to the story and watch his face change as he tells it.

Comfreykit hardly notices Smogmaw's approach, but once she does she gives the deputy a curious but respectful nod. He is usually too busy to spend any time around the nursery, but she wishes to please him with her listening skills all the same.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ Chitter has never thought about growing older, becoming a wise old raisin. Being able to rest after his duties of always putting Shadowclan first are over and done with. Having the clan look after him instead of the other way around. Perhaps he just thinks he will live forever. That couldn't be farthest from the truth though. His paws shift against him as he wants a hoard of kits and apprentices scampering after the elder. They seem eager about something or another and he tilts his head a bit before pushing to his paws. Stretching and arching his back the warrior makes his way closer, pulling his ears forward to catch Heavybranch's words. Lynx? Well, he has never heard of such a thing and his curiosity is grabbed quickly. With a small mrrow of laughter leaving smiling jaws the tom sits down beside Smogmaw. He greets the deputy with a dip of his head before he focuses back in on the story telling. ​

 

[heavybranch]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝You'll just need t' listen in, and you'll find all that out,❞ Heavybranch promises Comfreykit warmly, and then offers Smogmaw and Chittertongue a look far more reserved. The story he had in mind for today might have a far more tenuous hold on reality than what anyone over a scant amount of moons might find useful. Still, if they wish to listen in, Heavybranch is hardly one to stop them.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝This is a story told to me by my mother, from a time back when she was... oh, about his age,❞ Heavybranch points with his small ears towards Chittertongue, ❝She was hardly a young cat when I was born, and I'm hardly a young cat now, so as you can imagine this happened many moons ago. More than most can count, and far more than any one cat has the right to see. You'll need to understand that the world was different then than to as it is now. One such difference was that everyone spoke the same. A cat could talk just as easily to a squirrel as I can talk to you.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝But you want to know about a lynx, don't you? They are big animals — bigger than any cat you'll meet, but more or less the same in build and appearance. You'll see things about a lynx that you don't see in a cat though: each one has a tail less than half the length of one of our own, and they have paws as big as your head. Frightening thing to see, if you don't know what it is.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝But when my mother saw one, she was young and reckless, and so she sat herself right down besides it and said to it, 'I'm jealous of you and your great big paws,' and that lynx, easily the size of three of her, said right back, 'And I'm jealous of you and that great, long tail of yours.'
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝And so then the two of them got to talking, and had gotten it into mind that they'd have a competition of sorts. If my mother won, her and that lynx would trade paws, so that she'd get to have the great big ones and it'd be left with those tiny ones, and if that lynx won, they'd trade tails so that the lynx got to have the long one, and my mother would be left with the short one. The rules were simple, whoever caught the biggest prey by next day's moonhigh would be the winner, and they were allowed to hunt as much as they'd like.
‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝My mother was confident then, was an excellent hunt even by the time I was born, but there was one thing she wasn't considering when she agreed. Can you tell me what that might be?❞ Heavybranch directs the question towards Comfreykit, head tilted and easy smile back.​

P. 14​

 

[RIBBITLEAP]

Ever since the moment his brother had fallen to enemy's claws, Ribbitleap has carried a fear of growing older. Growing older without his brother beside him - a duo once inseparable, playing games in the midst of this very camp, preparing for a battle they'd only thought of as pretend until it was far too late for either of them to truly realize its gravity.

But he stands alone now beneath the stars that carry his littermate's pawsteps, as the twelfth moon since his brother's death begins to march closer and closer. Too quickly, too soon.

Leaping Toad should be here too, be allowed to grow into an elder, telling stories to kits as Ribbitleap can only hope he will. Toad would have liked the audience, would've loved to tell the tale of their adventures as children of the Marsh Group, he's certain.

The young warrior settles among the small crowd before Heavybranch, listening to the tale he spins. One of lynxes, a tale far older than Ribbitleap, than Heavybranch himself. There's a pause in the story, as the elder directs a narrative-pushing question towards Comfreykit, and Ribbitleap looks to the young kit, awaiting her answer.
​

 

[COMFREYPAW]

Comfreykit lifts her chin to look at Ribbitleap, the young warrior settling close to listen to the elder's tale. Chittertongue, too, draws near to sit beside Smogmaw. The charcoal she-kit gives both a quiet trill in greeting, but her amber eyes are wide and fixed upon Heavybranch as he begins his tale.

She can hardly imagine a cat as old as Heavybranch with his mother. Oh, how ancient she must be! Comfreykit asks, "Was she in ShadowClan, too?" She doesn't know how young her Clan truly is, nor the extent of the blood soaking its origins. She only knows she lives in ShadowClan, and her mother does, and every cat present has lived there since she's opened her eyes.

Heavybranch begins to describe the lynx. Her ears prick with interest -- bigger than any cat she'd ever meet. He tells her about their tails, stumpy, and their massive paws. Comfreykit wants to see one, but there's a note of caution, of respect and fear, that deters her from saying so. Perhaps they are too dangerous to want to encounter.

Heavybranch's mother, though, had been fearless! She'd challenged the lynx to a hunting competition, wagering her tail for his paws.

"The lynx is bigger than she is. Couldn't he hunt much bigger prey?" Her eyes are wide. She hopes her answer is right, or at least close to being right.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​