camp FRIDAY AFTERNOONS | delivery...?

[BIRDY]

TAGS — It's a day like any other.

Birdy loves the free life. He can hunt his own food, he can sleep in the plush green summer grass, he can piss where he pleases. It's been this way for over half his life now, and it still never gets old. Whether he roamed the streets of the housefolk colony or pushed his luck at the edge of the forest, he could always find something to spark the ignition in his chest and keep him moving. Whether it made him happy or not didn't matter — he didn't have to be happy as long as he didn't have to be anything else, either. As long as he didn't have to sit in that house, huge and vacant and cool white marble, with his family rioting around him. Parents who didn't understand his restlessness. Siblings who were great backups for a son that didn't quite work out.

The housefolk hadn't liked him much anyway. He was cagey; he didn't like to be touched, much less held or petted, something those giant flesh-pink idols didn't seem to understand despite his hissing and clawing and biting and — well. When he'd gone, they'd practically thrown him out, but Birdy maintains his own agency in the exit. He's a better loner than pet; a better tramp than child. He'd chosen this path knowing all of that.

And god damn, does he love it! It's a day like any other. Somewhere in the twolegplace, Birdy hunkers down amidst lush green foliage, hazel gaze fixed intently on a curbside sparrow. It flitted about a partner, the pair of them scrapping over some mysterious worm or crumb or mushy days-old burger. Toned muscles ripple beneath the scrappy black and flaxen pelt. He creeps forward, eyes flashing intently, and leaps — only for the sparrows to dissipate, splitting away from him like wood from an axe. Birdy squints; a lopsided, frustrated smile creeps across one side of his muzzle out of instinct. "For real...?" he murmurs, though he has already made his mental plan to continue hunting in search of a meal. This is exactly what he would be doing, actually, if talons like knives had not sunken into his back immediately following.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Birdy can't speak; can only watch as the ground pulls away from him. It's a slow ascension. For a few minutes, he thinks he might be able to grab onto something and wrench himself out of the grip he's caught in, but the hawk's talons are so fucking sharp and they hurt and blood dribbles from his back and down his shoulders and into the grass below, splattering across pavement he can't reach, and then across the tops of those shiny twoleg vehicles he'd sometimes napped beneath, and then across roof tiles he can almost touch, and he's pretty sure he's gonna die up here, isn't he?

He'd scream if he had the sense. Unfortunately Birdy lacks much sense in these cases. He manages to glimpse sideways enough to see the brown and cream feathers that gild the beast that holds him. Hawk. They don't commonly predate the suburbs, but he finds himself thinking he should've known to be careful regardless. Eventually they soar across the vast green ocean of manicured lawns and towards the pine forest, where Birdy can nearly grip the tops of the trees. He really is reaching, he really does have some survival instinct, but god, it hurts.

Birdy has accepted that this is his fate, unable to move enough to twist around and claw at his captor, when some shot rings out. The talons release. "Oh fuck," he finally manages, and the pair descend together.

Even if the milling SkyClan warriors had not been able to spot him above the crown of their all-encompassing pines, they would certainly take notice of the way the branches bend and snap now, cushioning a not-too-high but not-too-low fall the whole way down. Even the least perceptive SkyClanner would notice the newly-installed art piece, injured man and dead hawk in the middle of camp. The mottled tom hacks from his new residence among the fern embankments. "Oh my god," he manages, weak, unable to suck air back in to the lungs that expel it so readily. He can hardly see beyond the stars that twinkle in his hazel vision. A deeply horrid, desperate gasp for breath in, and then Birdy can feel the burn in his sides. Mistake. Breathing was a mistake. Truer now than ever before. "Oh wow. Oh my god."

He can do little more than writhe in the sandy earth he's been delivered upon.

/ tldr; birdy and a hawk have fallen in the middle of camp! the hawk was killed by a hunter (maybe even one from riverclan territory if that map math works). birdy is in need of medical attention for gashes and blood loss on his back, and some bruised bones (mostly in the ribs) but thanks to the pine trees catching his fall nothing broke completely.​

 

[Johnnyflame]

MY WORLDS ON FIRE, HOW 'BOUT YOURS?
THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT AND I NEVER GET BORED."​

---

”Mind your tail, lass! I know your eager, but every mouse and squirrel in the area will be able to hear it rustling the pine needles if-”

CRASH! SNAP! CRACK!”

The noise caught him completely off guard, cutting him off in the middle of his impromptu hunting lesson- they were waiting to head out on patrol and he’d just been going over proper hunting forms when the trees above began to shake, branches swaying violently and snapping as something made their way through them.

His hackles rose on instinct as he bore his fangs and lept in front of his apprentice to shield them from whatever beast was coming at them from above, his mind unable to grasp what it could even be- no fox or dog or snake came crashing through the sky like that, but it was coming too fast and there was no time to do anything else in those few seconds but brace himself for whatever it might be.

Claws unsheathed themselves and fangs flashed in low snarl just as the thing broke through the canopy and tumbled directly into camp a few feet away. He caught a glimpse of great wings and feathers just before the thing landed in a heap, his heart leaping into his throat as he realized it was a massive bird and he snarled, lashing out without realizing the thing was already dead.

Claws tore through feathers with a hiss of warning, body puffing itself up to draw attention away from Sangria, and just as he was about to shout for back-up his brain seemed to realize something was wrong; the enemy wasn’t moving. And it wasn’t alone either.

”What in the stars-” A cat. There was a cat there as well, bloody and stunned as it gasped for air. ”Orangestar! Dawnglare!” he called, heart still thrumming with adrenaline as wide golden eyes surveyed the scene. Other cats were gathering now, and despite his overwhelming confusion at what the hell had just happened, Johnnyflame forced himself into action, quickly trying to set up a perimeter around the hawk.

”Everyone stay clear of the bird! And you- keep still! Your lucky you didn't crack your skull open on the way down!” he called, the last part directed to the stranger as he quickly bound over to inspect them. They didn’t look good.

OOC- tagging @SANGRIAPAW @Orangestar and @DAWNGLARE (with small tag for @Fireflypaw since he would probs be nearby to hear or tagging along with Dawn anyways :) )

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[FIGFEATHER]

Figfeather was enjoying the breast of a plump bird when it happened. SNAP! CRACK! Almost like thunder. Alarmed she shoots up onto her paws as she watches nettles and loose twigs sprinkle the ground several fox-lengths away. She doesn’t have time to investigate the tree branches until a cat lands square on the ground, and was that- a hawk with it?!

”Good StarClan!”

Memories of snow-covered rocks and unstable terrain flood her mind. She envisions talons ripping into black fur, leaving her dead in a blanket of crimson stained snow. There isn’t a doubt in her mind, this cat is dead.

That was until Johnnyflame speaks as if he isn’t- and then the corpse begins to writhe and gasp. Figfeather abandons her meal and cautiously approaches, weary not to get too close as Johnnyflame had instructed. Staring at the hawk she notes it’s unusual wound that had torn clean through it. What had caused such damage? Her whiskers furrowed, all of this was completely wrong. She looks up into the sky and sends a prayer to her ancestors in hopes this wasn’t some type of ill sign.

♡ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Figfeather
  » SkyClan Lead Warrior
  » She/her . AMAB
  » Sire to Sangriapaw & Coffeepaw
  » Mentoring Daisypaw
  » A red tabby she-cat with a mangled leg.
  » ”Speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A foe in battle whose ability to strategize can shift tides.
  » Excels in strategizing and pre-planning her battles.
  » Fights defensively and to aid her clan to victory.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[Tawnyclaw]

*+:｡.｡ Tawnyclaw felt more at ease sleeping in the boughs of a tree than he ever did among his clanmates within a confined den - apprentices or warriors. Still, despite his moons of experience, Tawnyclaw has had his moments of, let's say, testing to see if gravity still worked. Although instinct is a hell of an assist when you want to land on your feet, it doesn't always activate when you're half asleep. Tawnyclaw has had plenty of moments waking up in agony, breathe scooped out of him by a mighty, unseen paw, leaving him hollow in spirit and mind save for the eruption of panic in all things nerve and lung. But the heights in which he has fallen has never been at the level of bird's eye view - holy shit.

"What an entrance!" Tawnyclaw barked, unhelpful. Padding to stand beside Figfeather, he can only stare dumbly at the stranger and the hawk, knowing any attempt to...do anything besides retrieving the medicine cat would be more of a nuisance than anything. Still, his paws itch at the helplessness, and - eyes never leaving the fallen figure, he asks Figfeather, "Should we...should we - uh - do something about the bird?" can't be right just - leaving it there, next to the injured stranger.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 3/15/24

• 
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  GENERAL:
  ♔ Tawnyclaw
  ♔ DFAB— He/Him — Unsure
  ♔ 12 moons — Ages 1 moon every month 28th
  ♔ Skyclan — Warrior
  ♔ Son of Orangestar and Ashenclaw
  ♔ Brother to Cherryblossom, Eggbounce, Glimmersun and Owlheart
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ♔Physically hard | mentally medium
  ♔ Attack in bold #bf8924
  injuries: None currently

​

 

[Howlfire]

Like many others, Howlfire was enjoying a peaceful rest in camp, when the sudden loud snapping and cracking of branches disturbed the peace. The noise was so loud that Howlfire jumped to her paws immediately, the fur along her spine prickling with unease for a moment as she tried to determine the cause of the sound. To say she expected a hawk and an unknown cat to come tumbling out of the canopy and land in camp was an understatement.

"Maybe we should leave it for now?" Howlfire suggested when Tawnyclaw asked what to do about the hawk. It was dead, that much was certain, but she had never seen quite a wound like what it carried on its body. Her gaze travelled towards the strange cat, looking at him with concern. He was alive at the moment but with the fall he had taken and the injuries, she did wonder if he would even survive.​

 

[Orangestar]

A monumental crash sounding atop her head, the flutter of feathers, and the resounding thump of a body hitting the ground compound immediately into the sort of headache Orangestar knows will linger for a while. Orangestar rises to her paws, theoretical discussion of hunting tactics with @Springpaw and Fangs (@Ashmoon) abandoned as she sweeps from her den.

Brown eyes are glazed over near immediately, taking in the talon-wounds on this cat's side (they remind her of Cherryblossom, of Little wolf in turn, and the leader feels ill), and she moves almost mechanically as her paws grind to a halt next to her son. Long fur is on end not in wariness of the stranger, but in defense of her Clanmates as if the hawk would begin to move again despite the reeking wound that had felled it.

To Tawnyclaw and Howlfire, she tells the two torbies, "Move the hawk to the edge of camp for now. Keep clear of its beak in case it keeps moving. Johnnyflame, give him some space." Orangestar adds to the third. A glance to Figfeather invites the sun-striped molly to choose her own path among the chaos.

Her gaze descends next on the stranger, writhing atop trodden dust in understandable pain, but Orangestar demands to be heard. This stranger has brought a feathered predator into their camp, one that SkyClan rarely sees among the trees. Her rasp is firm as she meows, "You. What is your name?"

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | eight lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — single ; mentoring springpaw & fangs
  — speech is in #F18C47
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

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[BIRDY]

TAGS — He's aware, in some dim way, of the bodies beginning to crowd his, which writhes in the dirt and ferns and looks generally pitiful beyond belief. Blood oozes from his back while spittle flies from his mouth, each hacking cough producing more mess. It's really pitiful. It's hard to look at. It's generally in line with the other first impressions that Birdy makes nowadays.

Something or somebody tells him to keep still. Birdy is happy to oblige, though his sides still heave. Each fraction of movement burns with the force of the heavens. Had he broken his whole body? A toe wiggles here and there; he can still throw his head back to groan in pain; it seems like these things are at least in working order. Maybe his organs exploded. But his coughing produces no blood — and no phlegm either, for that matter. In fact, aside from the rippling fire in his sides, it's getting easier and easier to breathe. He still sees stars, and his head barks like a bitch, but other than that? He's in mint condition. Definitely.

In fact, he thinks he's just aware enough to speak when a hoarse voice addresses him directly. What is your name? Birdy doesn't answer right away. He shifts his position on the ground, feeling much like a worm or some other groveling creature, in an attempt to see Orangestar better through squinted hazel eyes. Everything is so bright. A sea of faces all stare him down, their expressions ranging from fear to disgust to hostility to just plain confusion. Birdy supposes he can't blame them — he's pretty confused, too. After his extended survey of the crowd, though, he nets the dreamsicle molly in his gaze once more, a partly-smile, mostly-grimace coating his maw in a rakish slant.

"Birdy," he answers. His voice is hoarse as if stolen from him. It sort of had been. He coughs, hoping to restore his voice to its normal croaky register with moderate success. His head inclines imperceptibly forward towards her; his brows flick upwards a few millimeters, still squinting slightly. "And —" he pauses, pressing another cough to his shoulder with a wince, "— you are?"

He apparently thinks little of the hawk that had nearly made him into lunch. Maybe he would be afraid if he even realized it was there, but for now he just tries to maintain focus on the several Orangestars floating before him.
​

 

[Nightcrawler]

Kurt was rather getting used to spending his days with SkyClan and in their camp, learning their ways and enacting his charm on whoever looked his way. He'd met an array of characters and had enjoyed every interaction. He knew - in fact, he'd come with the idea in mind - that he'd experience new things with this new aspect of his life, and he thought that he had prepared himself for every new experience that could possibly come his way - hunting, new threats, the like. He'd just never expected to see cats falling from the sky.

"Mein Gott im Himmel!" He exclaimed, jolting to his feet as the stranger and his fellow hawk slammed into the ground in the midst of SkyClan's camp. There was an indescribable look that had spread across his face, and he slowly approached the scene, letting his betters in the Clan assess and take control of the situation. The cat that had fallen was speaking, and Kurt let out a breath of air and looked up to the sky, crossed himself, and murmured, "Thank God."

Stepping around those gathered, Kurt tentatively took the hawk by the wind, baring his teeth as he got a hold of it and began to pull it towards one of the camp's corners. Up close, the hawk was huge, much larger than they'd ever looked when they were flying - no wonder they were considered such a threat. Through his chore Kurt could hear the stranger talking, strained, and his ears perked up curiously as the stranger introduced himself as Birdy. It was almost funny, that, given the situation, but Kurt held his tongue. This was no time to make jokes.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

• 

• KURT ✩ daylight warrior of skyclan, twenty-eight moons
  → speaks with a German accent
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

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[SLATE]

Unbeknowst to them both, Slate and Birdy are cut from the same cloth. Two toms who had been born to prestige and privilege, into a roomy and pristine den where twolegs were practically at their beck and call to pamper them. From an early age, Slate knew that he wasn't meant for the life that his parents had groomed him for. There were always his littermates, who were more than happy to go live with unfamiliar twolegs when the time came for it. There were always the other kittens—likely dozens—born before him that were created for the same purpose. They made the twolegs happy. However, that was not what Slate's purpose was.

For now, though, the Maine Coon only sees a strange tom—bruised and bloodied—crashed right in the middle of camp. No, not on the border like strangers usually were—directly in the heart of their home, where their resources and prey were housed. Where their vulnerable and young watched in utter horror and confusion at this sight. He had practically fallen out of the sky — or, at the very least, out of the tree.

Immediately, his thick pelt bristles wildly and his amber eyes brighten in surprise as he storms forth toward the crumpled form of the stranger. Though the other is in no position to be a threat to the clan, Slate still is sure to serve an aggressive reaction to a stranger who had miraculously landed in their hollow. "This is SkyClan's territory." A snarl leaps out from his throat quickly after Birdy questions Orangestar, broad muzzle wrinkling with hostility.

Slate sees no reason to trust outsiders at the moment, especially not after two of their warriors had been slain by unknown suspects. Could this hazel-eyed tom have been spying on SkyClan from the branches above, scoping out the layout of their camp, plotting the downfall of his next victim? The thought briefly probes his mind, and Slate grows all the more impatient with the injured stranger. "Explain yourself." The lead warrior demands with a lash of his bushy tail, narrowed gaze burning down toward this "Birdy" fellow.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝘼 𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆, 𝙂𝙀𝙏 '𝙀𝙈 𝙐𝙋

•  

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Johnnyflame's call is near - comically unecessary, he thinks. The air itself seems to buzz with the shot that comes along, loud enough to send far away birds careening into the air. Loud enough to make him flatten his ears, even if his apathic state. It's quite the chain of events... A crack of thunder, and then the depositing of two bodies, one after another. A heavy thud, and down comes crashing a winged beast. A second thump and there is a stranger. Dawnglare remarks his surprise with a mild, " Oh. " Well, surprise is a strong word, really... Yes, he expected this to come...

Whilst Johnnyflame is shoo'd away, Dawnglare steps forward, his right to be here as true as Orangestar's. He nonchalantly noses his way past Slate. Overreacting, really. " Move, " he sniffs. " They are a messenger, clearly, " sent by StarClan themselves – clearly, they have heard his thoughts, and clearly, they took issue with it. Dawnglare gives this... "Birdy" no satisfaction of seeing him squirm. He has done what StarClan has asked — or whatever it was He may demand separately from his star - studded peers. He had no right to ask any more of him, not while they still stood on separate plains of life.

Dawnglare sniffs at their supposed wounds... though the tang of blood is as real as it has ever been. It matts his fur and makes it ugly... No, this would happen to no Sky - beast. This messenger is of utterly unremarkable origins. Confusion seems to tint his gaze. A pink lip juts forward. " ...Your blood is real, " he observes.​

 

[SANGRIAPAW]

✧ Her head inclines in a nod, accepting of the older tom’s corrections to her form. Hunting for real is way different from hunting bugs and warriors’ tails when she was a kit. Her tail is difficult to control, mostly because she’s so excited for every new thing that she learns, but she tries her best to hold it still like he tells her to. Of course, Johnnyflame doesn’t have the same problem since his hair is so short, but she still thinks his advice is the best that there is. "Okay," she says in return—but then she’s cut off by a sharp crack, and then the rustling of something in the trees overhead. A heavy weight crashes through the canopy and down to the ground, drawing every eye in the camp to it. The thing lands with an earth-shattering crash, but before she can ask what’s going on, her mentor is shoving himself between her and the thing that’s fallen into camp. He snarls and claws at the threat—Johnnyflame is so cool!—but then the identity of the sky-fallen creature becomes clear.

It’s… a cat. And a big bird with deadly-sharp talons. Only one of them is moving, and he seems to be saying something, but Sangriapaw is focused more on the way that he moves. He’s… he’s hurt. Johnnyflame calls for everyone to stay back, but the torbie presses herself to his side anyway, unwilling to abandon her mentor even in the face of what could be a great threat, if the bird gets up. She’s an apprentice now, and she can’t be… afraid of everything like a kit would. And neither fallen creature seems like much of a threat, seeing as one is writhing around in pain and the other isn’t moving at all. There’s some discussion amongst other warriors of what they should do with both predatory bird and uninvited stranger, and leafy green eyes regard them all with undisguised curiosity. What will they do with the hawk—what will it do to them, if it isn’t dead after all? But then Orangestar appears like a superhero, barking orders at her clanmates and telling them all what to do. One of the new warriors moves quickly to follow her command, and Sangriapaw moves to take a cautious step forward before thinking better of it.

She turns to look up at Johnnyflame once again as the leader starts to interrogate the stranger. "What’s going on? Is he staying? How bad is he hurt?" Dawnglare seems to take a special interest in this Birdy, and the girl watches on with similar intrigue. What a funny name, since he came falling down from the sky like that…

✧ gliding down the rainbow

• ooc: —
• 
  SANGRIAPAW ❯❯ she/her, daylight apprentice of skyclan
  ⭃ cinnamon torbie with white spotting and vibrant leaf-green eyes. bold, bright, and curious.
  ⭃ daughter of fantastream & figfeather ; sister to coffeepaw
  ⭃ mentored by johnnyflame
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ⭃ penned by foxlore

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[Ashpaw]

——————————————【 Apprentice | 8 Moons | SkyClan 】—————————————

【⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆】Fangs hesitated for some time after their mentor rushed out to the commotion outside. They were very curious certainly, but if there was a fight the ex-Rogue wasn't particularly keen on sticking their head out. Things settled down quickly however, and soon the albino walked out of Orangestars den to investigate. Crimson eyes widened at the rather unusual sight, the stranger and the exceptionally large bird. In a rather melodramatic fashion Fangs looks up into the sky, as if expecting more cats and birds to rain down from on high. "Maybe there's something to this StarClan thing after all, though were we really that short on prey?" they asked in their sing-song voice.

[penned by Delphy].

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[ricepaw]

Ricekit is not concerned in anyway shape or form as the stranger comes barreling through the trees and cracks unto the ground like an egg after a loud crack had resounded through the skies and air. No, shes not horrified, or even worried- this cat just interrupted her nap and shes beyond angry, slowly and lazily sitting upwards and glaring through narrowed eyes, hackles raising. She quite likes her beauty sleep and to have it interrupted...

Slate bursts in to all snarls (unsurprising from him, she thinks; he's always annoyed and perhaps worse than she with that) and Orangestar is demanding a name.

It's more so Slate's hostility that makes her a bit angrier, hypocritical because she would do the exact same thing- except she would do it with more tact, more grace, she thinks. "What does he have to explain?" annoyance drips from her tongue, ears pinning back, voice hushed to avoid it being heard by any other adults. It is not hard to discern the situation from the fact that a bloodied and bruised stranger sits in the camp, probably unable to get up- everlasting do adults get on her nerves.

She suppresses a groan of sheer frustration, rolling her head to the right and then the left, and then the right again, and then the left once more. She'd like to go back to her sun-drunk sleep, feeling the warmth lay gently across her fur, but now it does not seem to be an option as their medicine cat seems a little too interested in the newcomer. Weird. She turns with a huff and settles back in to the dirt below, totally trying not to eavesdrop as she turns away, ears swiveling back to listen.

Totally not eavesdropping at all, and shes totally not letting her frustration with being awoken effect her normally nonchalant mood. Cats gather way too fast, and Fangs, another newcomer, sings something that she doesn't care to listen to. Sangriapaw asks the only logical question (in her mind), how bad is he hurt?

𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚂𝙼 𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙽 -♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙵𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝙽 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝚂𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳

• 
  ❥ ricekit
  ❥ cis female ,, she/her ,, 05 months
  ❥ kit of skyclan ,, heronstep x cauliflowercurl ,, siblings
  ❥ regal, curly-furred white she-cat with striking green eyes
  ❥ "speech, f0a78e" ,, thoughts
  ❥ too young ,, single ,, not interested at all
  ❥ smells like hyacinths & lilies
  ❥ penned by chuff

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