GHOST OUT OF HIS GRAVE ⁺˖⋆ fog

[nightbird]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ guarding the camp overnight was usually uneventful, a banal task that she understood the importance of but hated completing. it had rained all day, icy droplets barraging down, attacking the forest, leaving the ground and all brave enough to venture out into it soaked to the bone.

nightbird had tried to find something dry to keep her paws warm, it was to no avail. the protruding rock she tried sitting on for a while felt more like a sheet of ice. by midnight, she couldn't feel her paws, shivers shaking her frame in a last ditch attempt to keep warm. a soft wind picked up, disturbing leafless branches but it didn't ruffle her frozen fur. and just past then, when the silver claw of the moon was making it's retreat, something else settled into the forest alongside her.

fog, although nothing more than a subtle mist at first, blocked her vision of nearly the whole forest. it was so dense that the moisture was nearly choking her, and even as the sun began to illuminate gray clouds overheard she could barely see a foxlength in front of her. unease rose nightbird to her paws, how could she protect camp from something she could not see? if an attack were to be launched now, there was nothing that could be done.

but still, she held her post, pacing to bring warmth back into her limbs and get a better scope of what was around. she didn't even know which direction camp was by now, how far had she wandered? multiple sets of pawsteps sounded in her ears, flicking them to an alerted position as her pale gaze tried to make out figures in the fog. she couldn't scent them, through her cold nose, forget seeing them. everything just looked grey and green, she had no way of knowing that this was no threat, just an unfortunate dawn patrol that would have to navigate this mess. her fur spiked down to her tail, a low hiss rumbling in her throat. "who's there?"

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── AND NO RIVERS AND NO LAKES ⋅⋆⋅ CAN PUT THE FIRE OUT ──┐‎

• 
  
  
  

• 

• 
  NIGHTBIRD ✩ she/her, lead warrior of thunderclan, twenty-seven moons.
  ⭃ a small black smoke molly with a single white paw and pale silver eyes.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by vayle ↛ @vayl3 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[RACCOONSTRIPE]

The thickness of his fur absorbs every drop of moisture from the air, it seems—his movements squelch, his whiskers droop and borderline drip with the water the atmosphere clings to. Raccoonstripe is reminded of the marshes he’d left behind—it had always seemed perpetually wet in ShadowClan’s prized territory. The morning sun is weak; it struggles to rear its head, to pierce the gloom that blankets ThunderClan’s forest. The dawn patrol had been miserable, and no doubt they are all paw-sore and in need of a thorough grooming session.

A thin, small figure accosts them from the gorse tunnel—at least, he thinks that’s where her looming voice is coming from. The fog has given the forest strange acoustics; Raccoonstripe, though, recognizes Nightbird’s piercing call. He throws a sly smile over one shoulder, flicking his tail to gesture the patrol closer, before rumbling his response. “Now, is that anyway to talk to your brand new mate?” He smiles, the damp settling in his bones chased away by the brilliance of her hostility.

, ”​

​

 

[BURNSTORM]

It was the kind of day that made you want to crawl back into your nest, miserably cold and with a thick fog blanketing the territory. When Burnstorm breathes, he can see the breath in front of his face and thats about it, any hopes of seeing more than a few feet in front of him were quickly squashed and he finds himself relying on memory alone to traverse the territory with the rest of the dawn patrol. When he gets home his first plan of action is to make a beeline back to the warriors den so that he could catch a few more winks of sleep, but not before he spent a considerable amount of time grooming the dampness out of his fur. Usually, he was all for going hunting first thing in the morning but with all this fog he does not see how they are supposed to get anything done, how anyone would be expected to be out and about right now.

Nightbird's voice, as sleepy and down-trodden as he is right at this moment, spooks him. It seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at the same time and he actually does find himself jumping, his fur fluffing up and his eyes going wide before he realizes that its just his uncles mate. Embarrassed, he turns to give his pelt a couple of quick licks, smoothing it down and hoping that in the fog no one had noticed how startled he had gotten. "Oh great here we go again. Should we give you two some privacy?" he teases lightly, a small laugh accompanying his words.

​

 

[DUSKBIRD]

✦　　. 　 ˚　.   He had been sent along with the dawn patrol to meet up with his mentor. His training was coming to an end all too quickly and the freedoms he was allowed were still few and far between, but more prominent now. Close enough to allow him moments of loneliness and a warrior's responsibilities. That's a troublesome thing to realize. Something about the changing of seasons, time going on and on. The day was miserable enough already. Like Burnstorm, he wishes he could turn himself back into his nest and sleep it all away. Loss is still heavy on the young tom's chest. (Others seemed so ready to move on– was it his fault? Was there something wrong with the way he simply couldn't let it go?) Moments like this, at least, the pain is distant. He treks alongside the patrol with his head a little low, more concerned with the immediate territory than the wound in his chest. There's a lot of misery around him.

And something far, far more miserable in the realization that Raccoonstripe speaks of Nightbird, his mentor, as his mate. And Burnstorm, who he looked to with immediate bewilderment, isn't even surprised.

It's a dawn patrol. The forest still sleeps.

Duskpaw can't help it anyway. He yelps, "What?!" so loudly it rivals a twoleg's firestick. Smoke barrels out of his mouth with the word. Had he missed something? When had he missed it? And Burnstorm knew about it! Raccoonstripe said it so casually that he feels as if he should have heard the word from someone else in camp. Was it just terrible luck that he hadn't? StarClan help him– Raccoonstripe is mates with his mentor. One hardass lead warrior to another. "How brand new? Did you just now decide that?"

𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐𝘍 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘞𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎 ﹖  ╱╱ 9.14.2023 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  DUSKPAW. HE - HIM OR THEY - THEM. APPRENTICE OF THUNDERCLAN, NEARING WARRIORHOOD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ———
  
  
  ——  a lanky apprentice with mostly dark brown fur that fades just slightly near the chest, throat, and ears, while the tip of their tail burns with the bright orange tabby flame. his eyes are a deep, rich amber-brown, seeming red, often somewhat critical and cautious but not unkind in expression. he is not terribly tall, but his shoulders are broadening with age and training.
  

  ✦ BLAZESTAR x LITTLE WOLF. LITTERMATE TO SKYPAW, PART OF HOWLINGFAM. MENTORED BY NIGHTBIRD. DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT HIS SKYCLAN HERITAGE. —

• "speech"

​