for all the times i never could // intro.

[► Sneezefur.]

IF YOU ONLY LISTEN WITH YOUR EARS I CAN'T GET IN
sneezefur | 24 months | male | he/him | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold #50c878

---

He has never liked the cold. His frail figure is not built for the frigid temperatures, the chill of snow and ice so much that he can see his every breath. He's skeletal frame is not made to go without prey in these barren months - a fragile thing, this body is. He is made of skin and bones and the shortest of furs after all.

A tangle of limbs, the warrior reluctantly rises from his nest, pale gaze turned into the white of the world outside the den. He is not looking forward to this - not at all. A quiet sigh slipping past parted lips as they are drawn into a joint popping yawn, he strides forwards clumsily on long limbs, blinking furiously against the glare of daylight upon snowcover. It still has yet to stop, he notes - a frown tugging upon his features at the thought that it might continue to snow. Already prey was running low, murmured worries of frostbite and whitecough and colds reaching his long ears as he looks about.

'I certainly hope it stops soon... at this rate, they'll have to change my name to sneezecough' he thinks, a shuddering breath the only sign of his internal monologue. He can already feel his resistance wavering, his resolve crumbling - he wants nothing more than to curl back up in his nest, but he's hungry, and there are things to be done about the camp. Like shovel aside the snow, so he can actually find the prey pile. 'I think... its this way-?' he wonders, but before he can even make it more than a few pawsteps he's slipping upon slick ice, tumbling head over paws with an uncomfortable crunch. Green gaze flickers in confusion, blinking slowly as though that will solve the problem of his world being upside down. 'well shit'
​

​

​

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"That was a nasty tumble you took...you alright?"
He had seen the embarrassing display from across camp, but by the time he rose to stand the other tom had already slid about and flipped over his paws like a newborn fawn, clumsily twisting into a heap onto the cold slush of the ground. When he arrived it was a careful shoulder being offered in a lean to help the fellow upright.
All of their warriors look malnourished now, the river was denying them food and the wind was cutting and brutal with its nonstop harrassment; supposed WindClan had the right idea with its name given the similarities. But Sneezefur especially looked frail and all skin and bones, a clinging pelt drawn over the frame of a cat with no padding to hold the heat in his body; it made him worry all the more for the lack of food. The prey pile the tom had been seemingly heading toward was coated in a thin layer of powder, a good flick from his tail would clean it but he knew already without looking the pickings were slim.
"Why don't you head to Beesong and I'll grab something for you?" Some cats took their names a little too literally and it was a right shame, imagine looking so sickly your entire life-then again he was one to talk. Sounded like he heaved fire and smoke with each word, throat burnt from the flames rising up but the breath he exhaled was cold and fog-like; winter's kiss.
​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Everytime he saw another one of his Clanmates in a worser situation then he, he thanked whatever was up there that it was not him. A selfish choice, to be sure, he never would protest that, but that thinking was what got him through the winter. Cold-hearted bitterness to meet a force just as cruel.

His large ears pricked up at the sound of a cat skidding and falling. When he looked over, he noticed Smokethroat was attending to him. Edging over hesitantly, the black-furred cat made himself have the appearance of someone concerned. After all, Sneezer looked particularly worse for wear and his fragility is especially concerning.

"If there is anything on the fresh kill pile." Ravenpaw remarked pessimistically, hearing his own stomach growl. He half expected to be sent on a hunting patrol the moment those words left his tongue for their insolence. ​

 

[GLOOMPAW]

The forces of nature meant to bend to their will were in direct opposition in leafbare. Wasn't the river meant to sustain them? The breeze meant to carry the scent of prey to them, to refresh them after a hot day? Gloompaw remembers the summer hot and with each shiver she wishes it was back. Her mouth is set in a grimace as she steps outside the den, fighting to no avail against the chatter of her teeth.

Sneezefur's fall's crunch hits her ears even from this distance. Her knee-jerk reaction is a feral grin at the motion of sprawling legs tangling, like a spider in its last few breaths, but she slams her jaw into her shoulder when she realizes how bad the slip was. Rightfully remorseful, and praying to the stars Sneezefur hadn't seen, she skitters over. Offering her own side to support the tom upright, Gloompaw doesn't speak, afraid there is a terribly timed giggle still being smothered in the back of her throat, but her concerned look echoes Smokethroat's own words.

Ravenpaw was right, though. There were scarce options for the freshkill pile. They might end up brushing the snow aside and seeing nothing but tails and discard and rot. ​

 

[► Sneezefur.]

IF YOU ONLY LISTEN WITH YOUR EARS I CAN'T GET IN
sneezefur | 25 months | male | he/him | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold #50c878

---

Blinking bright eyes for a moment, slightly dazed, it takes a second for the tom to realize his slip has been witnessed by his clanmates. face burning hot as a rather unsightly red tinges his features in his embarrassment, the stick-figure of a man slowly stands up, taking advantage of the offered help from smokethroat. Leaning heavily but for a moment upon the others shoulder, the pale feline quickly shies away - uncertain and uneasy at the touch, body coiling taught and tense. A slow blink is all that conveys his gratefulness, expressive gaze leaving emotions plain to see. A short dip of his head, almost a bow with how low he jerks himself, and then he's skittering back and away a few pawsteps, eager to put some distance between himself and his fellow warrior.

Something close to a grunt or perhaps a hum leaves the frail toms throat, as Sneezefur acknowledges the others words for a moment, consideringly, before shaking his head - an action that sends is entire body into a tremor mimicking the action. He's fine - he always is, and it's not as though he broke anything. At worst he may have a bruise by the next morning, something he's no stranger to. The scarred feline instead turns his attentions upon the rest of those gathered - Ravenpaw only has words for the fresh-kill pile, though it's not as though the warrior disagrees. He simply has nothing to add to the conversation, and Gloompaw only grins at his misfortune, joining him in silence.

Awkwardly shifting from paw to paw, he tries his best to play it off - 'what in starclans name was I doing again-? oh, right... food.' with a small frown, he founds his hunger has been tempered by his embarassment, and the thought of eating is more unsetling than soothing. Casting one last queasy glance at the pitiful pile of prey, he choses instea dto wander away back to the sidelines of the camp - desparately hoping the others will simply... forget this whole thing ever happened. Starclan knows he'll certainly try to.

​

​

​

​