GHEOBHAIDH TÚ DE CHOSA SA LEON ÓG IS SA DRAGAN

[SCORCHSTORM]

It is nearly moon-high when Scorchstorm finds her sibling alone.

She has tracked their scent beyond WindClan's territory; well beyond it, now, but not so deep into unclaimed lands that she could not reach the heather tunnel before sunrise. Already, though, the landscape has changed. There are no thick swaths of rushes, no red-tipped grasses or pink bursts of heather; it is wide and open and plain, but it is so barren, as if the earth itself has fallen ill. The brown grasses quiver in the wind. Dust skates across the flat horizon. Clouds conspire overhead to dull the color of it all even further, aiding the midnight darkness in its work until even the flaming orange hues of her pelt are pallid as dead flesh.

She still does not know where DuskClan's camp lies. She and Rumblerain dance on an impossibly lonely stage. Her tongue falls into plié; her heart stands in arabesque; her mind does a series of pirouettes en pointe, spinning through different avenues of conversation. Conversation. Would their exchange of words really be so civil? Would she be able to beg them home and maintain dignity? Would she be able to beg them home at all? She has already buried the cat they once were, but that grave had been little more than an aspiration — an aspiration to apathy. Part of her thinks it would be so, so much easier to forget that they were ever siblings. It would be so much easier to fight them if they had not grown up together (although Frostwind seems to disagree), it would be so much easier to chase them away if she did not want so badly to reclaim them as her sibling. If she did not care for Rumblerain, she would not be here now.

She is about to call to them, but Rumblerain beats her to it. Her masked sibling rounds on her, their ice-chip eyes embedding themselves into her pelt like shrapnel. Scorchstorm steps slowly out of her meager brush of cover, dual-toned hues burning as she awaits her littermate's greeting.

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 ✧

• ooc. @RUMBLERAIN
• SCORCHSTORM —— lead warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 18 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• 

​

​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

As a WindClanner, night-hunting had felt unfathomable to Rumblerain. They were made to race the moors, to enjoy the sun on their fur, to retire before the moon rose and rise with the early sun. Since their flight, however, the DuskClanner had grown used to hunting when moonlight stained the landscape. Granitepelt had not imparted his ruthlessness to his successor, but it seems that he had passed on a propensity for night hunting.

Hunting, tonight, is nearly impossible with a moor-cat following them. She is stealthy, they recognise: only a chance flash of white-tufted ears amidst a landscape that does not suit her had clued them in to her presence at first. They lead her far from camp, as far as they could manage before the trek back would bore them from their thoughts.

"I know you're there." Sister, their mind adds, aching for familiarity, though they do not voice it aloud. Rumblerain turns, eyes taking a moment to find Scorchpaw - it would not be her name now, but they do not know if they care to know it. Would she be Scorchbreeze, honoured for their Clan of traitors as their brother had been?

For what feels like an eternity, they study her in silence. She has grown into something unlike them, lean and powerful, sleek and conditioned. Ginger-streaked fur blossoms in flame where their own ashen complexion cannot compare. Most importantly, perhaps, is that the tortoiseshell's bones do not just as prominently from her form as her littermate's do. The rapidly intensifying Leaf-fall had treated DuskClan poorly thus far, and with none otherwise vulnerable within their Clan, the leaders first priority to feed is their kits. In the harsh scrublands, Rumblerain goes hungry more often than not even with the superior hunting luck of their new warriors.

"You are not welcome here. Speak your business and leave; I cannot guarantee the mercy of my Clanmates." Their warning is hushed, as if the others they speak of are within hearing's distance even now. Their stance shifts, paws wider apart but claws still sheathed, a faint glimmer of curiosity reflected in ice-chip eyes. What do you want, sister?

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring berrypaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​