give like ground in a sieve ↷ [ sharpening claws ]

[smogstar]

A peculiar sensation meandered down his spine and coiled up at his tail; an acerbic fusion of antsiness and unease, triggered by a passing thought. The greatest constant in his own little reality, the steadiest, longest-lived force, it was not Halfshade, nor his family as a conglomerate, and not even his time as a warrior in ShadowClan. What has defined him as an individual is all he is not. Deputyship. An invisible cage placed over his muzzle, itching him, but keeping him in check so that he may one day take the ultimate mantle. Control.

As he slogged through the mire and shouldered past reeds, rushes, and patrolmates alike, Smogmaw came to this realisation. He has fulfilled his role diligently for seasons on end, and has not known any deputy from another clan to last as long as he has. This hasn't bothered him before. He is self-assured in his capacity to one day succeed Chilledstar, and has yet to perceive any disturbances along the path laid out for him. But something pricks at him now.

Some part, a deep-rooted uncertainty, whispers in his mind: What if he does not become leader? What if his much-sought-after ascent ended at the deputy position? What then?

He doesn't like this feeling, so he vehemently wills the intrusive worry away, promising himself to rid himself of it through tangible means.

The patrol reroutes itself to the Burnt Sycamore at his command, the large, brittle growth with branches like charted routes outlining the sky. Its bark, coarse and crumbly, catches a cat's claws in a most satisfactory way. Smogmaw's claw-tips scrape raw and sharpen against it, the tiniest miniscule shavings fluttering down to the mottled ground below. He cares little if the rest of the patrol joins in or idles nearby, but the fact remains, having sharper claws would give them all an edge. Oh, puns.

"That's a great feeling right there, that is," he remarks in a huff, forelegs still draped over the trunk, claws bared fully. Every prick kills the tension inside, each motion a release; a burst. All the while his claws grew in roughness and edges, his mind cleared. "Dunno why, but nicking the wood smooths the nerves a bit." And the truth is, he's been at an end for more than a couple days now. Pensive, unusually so. From letting the tears flow freely in camp, to whatever the blazes this was, Smogmaw was growing unnerved by how emotional he has been recently. ​

 

[Snowlark.]

[ ༻❄༺ ] As far as Snowpaw has known, Smogmaw has always been the second in command, Chilledstar's right paw and the one to take their spot when the time has come. He could not imagine it being another but then there's the time of after Chilledstar. Who would take that spot next to Smogmaw? Would it be someone like Forestshade? Or someone else? Thoughts Snowpaw never dwelled on much since they did not imagine Chilledstar going anytime soon, nor Smogmaw.

He followed close by next to @MIREPURR his tail twitching a bit while mud oozed pass his paws, something the boy had grown used to after the warmth of the sun had thawed away the frozen land and the rain kept it at a murky point. Soon they were going towards the burnt sycamore, these movements in the patrol felt robotic, something that had become practically second-natured to Snowpaw to this point that he didn't think much aside from keeping alert for noises, prey, or predators.

Smogmaw had taken time to began stretching, sharpening his claw on the burnt tree while making a comment how it felt nice to sharpen his claws on the wood and how it soothes the nerves a bit which made Snowpaw hum a bit before looking at the burnt tree with a calm look in his yellow gaze. Perhaps it was a good thing to have, with all that's going on-if scratching wood helps ease one's nerves then so bit it. "I'm sure it does... after all we've all been quite stressed as of late...especially with the frog population" he commented softly before making a hesitant move over, trying to also dig his claws into the tree with awkward movements, wondering how the deputy could enjoy this.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── You ve wasted your life , but thanks for applying ──┐‎

• 
  "speak""Thoughts"
  
• 
  Snowpaw ❄ He/Him, apprentice of Shadowclan, 9 moons.
  ⭃ Lithe long hair blue lynx sepia with high white, and yellow eyes. Stubby tail, permanent resting bitch face
  ⭃ Hailfreckle x Mudsplash
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted (ask first) / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by Ryn ↛ @/Rynnaro on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[MIREPURR]

Mirepurr does not like to dwell much on the future if it carries even an inkling of something negative — something that ShadowClan has plenty of, in both past and future, making this quite a difficult thing to endure. Their current standing is comfortable; Smogmaw has been more stable than any other deputy, and Chilledstar fits perfectly within their Clan. Day after day, their remaining lives lessen, and as promising Smogmaw is already... Mirepurr simply does not want to imagine a reality where Chilledstar joins the previous leaders of this Clan, up there, amongst the stars.

The burnt sycamore comes into view. Isn't that just ironic? Wild and hungry flames that turned this place vivid orange- they're long gone, leaving behind only memories.

Smogmaw shakes them out of their little trance. They refuse to flinch when his claws emerge and shred at the bark, not wishing to remind the deputy himself of any injury that might occur from splinters. That, and it feels almost wrong to sharpen one's claws on this specific tree... that's just the sentimental in them talking though. Their maw remains shut to keep that to themself.

Both him and Snowpaw talk of soothing the nerves — Mirepurr flexes their own claws, thinks of how harmless they are in comparison to the more battle-ready warriors. Sharing tongues or running a lap around the territory sound like a much better ways to get rid of the excess shakes... but to each their own.

"After all the bad, we're owed something good," they remind Snowpaw. Would it be enough to lift anyone's spirits? Highly doubtful, considering their track record is not too promising. StarClan will have to bless them for many seasons to come if this logic is viable.
​

 

[betonyfrost]

It isn't a notable thing to Betonyfrost when Smogmaw diverts the patrol. Neither is it notable when he takes his claws to the Burnt Sycamore's flank—the only notable thing it has ever done has been to burn. Her wilted ears don't perk until Smogmaw speaks on how soothing it is to dig his claws into the wood. It is something they have in common, then, even if Betonyfrost knows in her chest that wood is not her preferred choice for testing her claws.

Snowpaw and Mirepurr both speak in turn. Betonyfrost's green eyes track between them, slow enough to not appear completely engaged, and then she snorts.

"Maybe in another life we would have gotten what we were owed," She stands to her hindpaws as she speaks and places her forepaws against the scaled flesh of the Burnt Sycamore. Slowly at first, she works her claws in. As she gains speed, bits of bark fleck down to her; it does nothing to sooth her, "In this one we can't expect that sort of joy to find us. Make it—" She returns to her fours, "—And cling to it when it is yours. No good comes from waiting for it."

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 33 moons | tags​

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[springflame]

( ) a patrol with his sister is a welcome respite from the interaction with clanmates he feels are almost strangers. springflame follows dutifully behind smogmaw, at betonyfrost's side as they enter the clearing. the burnt sycamore soars high above, as charred as his pelt is, as scratched up as he feels inside. a yawn stretches his jaws, pink tongue curling out as his clanmates converse. he is quiet as usual, taking a seat beside his sister as she arches up to scrape her claws along the tree.

amber eyes flick towards smogmaw as he speaks, and he nods, flexing his own claws against the earth. "feels good on the muscles," he'll comment, head turning as snowpaw and then mirepurr speak. betonyfrost adds her own opinion, waxing philosophical as she is known to do, and springflame zones out, swiping a paw across his face and blinking hard. he hadn't slept well the previous night- this break is dangerous in the way that he might fall asleep if the sun shines on him just right. sniffing, he gets to his paws, padding around to a free spot on the sycamore and arching his claws into the wood, tearing downward.

I COULD BE YOUR BEST YET 🍂 FUTURE FAVORITE REGRET

• // "#8E3F1B"
  
• 
  
  
• SPRINGFLAME HE / THEY, WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a scrawny charcoal and white tabby with amber eyes thin and wiry, this boy is made of underdeveloped muscle and anxious energy. his pelt a mess of charcoal and ivory, with eyes a sunny amber.
  

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[BATCHASER]

Batchaser blinks, as he watches Smogmaw divert from the patrol. Turning his head to the side, he tilts his head when the deputy shreds at the bark of the Burnt Sycamore. His whip-like tail twitches, as mud slips in between his toes when he moves to plop himself next to Mirepurr.

Observing as the deputy drags his claws against the bark, a dark ear swivels to Snowpaw. He agrees with the apprentice with a hum, about the frog population dwindling down. He watches as Betonyfrost joins the ‘sharpening of claws’, with a few of her own words.

Batchaser flexes his own claws, comparing them to his… eager? battle ready clanmates. He's more of a dreamer, not much of a fighter. The tall curly black smoke zones out the rest of his clanmate's conversation with a yawn stretching his jaws.

THE DARLING MOON ‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ HIDDEN EYES AND SHARP GRINS

•  

• 

• ( THAT'S ONE ENEMY DOWN! ) ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ BATCHASER. ╱ shadowclan warrior.
  ✦ cismale ; HE / HIM, fine with gendered terms. ; 31 MOONS & AGES EVERY 10TH.
  ✦ pansexual / not actively looking / open to crushes & romance
  ✦ a tall, shorthaired curly black smoke mix with gold/green heterochromatic eyes.
  ✦ battle notes — thoughts ; "Speech, 7077A1" ; attacks only
  ✦ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✦ smells like rain-soaked pavement, mist & sweet leaf rot
  — all opinions are ic
  
  — biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone
  

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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

they can't live forever. they don't intend to. they don't want to. they never wanted so many lives. they think they would have been just fine as a leader with just one life to spare. more careful. less reckless. less... somber. doesn't matter. they got what they got and so many told them to count it as a blessing and for the most part they think that maybe it would be more of a blessing if they could give their lives way. give those a second chance that deserved it. like nettlepaw. comfreypaw. tornadopaw. poppypaw. halfshade. just to name a few. a few of many that deserved a second chance. they think starclsn should offer more of those.

they have no desire to sharpen their claws. they're already sharp enough. primed and ready whenever they could. they never know the dangers that lurk, and thus they must be ready– especially with their missing eye. they needed to be ready for anything.

"having fun, are we?"

———————---***i try to live in black and white***———————---​

but i'm so blue✧ i'd like to mean it when i say i'm over you

•  
• — black feline with a white marking across their face, a white chin, a white right front paw, and blue eyes. chilledstar is covered in scars, the most prominent ones being the one across their face, and the one across their neck.
  — 46 moons old; ages the 3rd every month
  — they / them pronouns
  — aromantic / homosexual ; currently not looking
  — child of JAGGED and RAVEN
  — shadowclan ; loyal to shadowclan ; other info if applicable
  — mildly difficult to befriend ; trusts barely anyone; trusts no one outside of shadowclan
  — "speech", thoughts, attacking
  — peaceful powerplay allowed

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