GOOD MORNING BALTIMORE // it heckin wimdy

[OLIVESHADE]

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The moors were a rather unforgiving environment even at the best of times. From lack of shade and cover causing burns of both heat and frost, tunnels and grass alike flooding if there were too many storms...there was no end to the territory itself deciding to kick its inhabitants in the ass without said inhabitants trying to off eachother as well. However, possibly the worst offender of this was Windclan's namesake.

Today was one of the days the wind woke up and decided it would cause problems, specifically, problems for all the light footed Windclanners.

Having returned from a hunting patrol with a few mice swinging wildly by their tails in her maw, Oliveshade felt rather pleased with herself. Many moons ago she would've turned to the tunnels to feed herself in weather like this, and now here she was feeding more than just her on a day windy enough that even the birds decided flying wasn't worth it. That is, until the gales assaulting the moors decided she and her catch needed to go absolutely flying into the gorse surrounding the camp, tumbling down into it like someone's poorly thrown bowling ball. There's a loud "SHIT!" hissed through clenched teeth as she falls, seemingly hitting every thorn and rock on the way down as she tries to curl around her catch and her belly. When she finally rolls to a stop, the fresh kill is fine. Oliveshade is not.

The pale feline is absolutely coated in thorns and dirt, pawpads and skin scraped to high hell. While concerning of course, perhaps the most hilarious thing about the situation was the complete deadpan that the molly's face had turned into. Seemingly ruing all of her decisions up until this point with a single expression.​

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[ASPENPAW_]

( ♬ ) Even within the confines of camp the wind threatened to knock Aspenpaw off her paws when it was at its strongest, and it was beginning to frustrate her. With the chill in the air only increasing each day, her task today had been to help bolster the elders' nests, but so far she's spent more time chasing after errant nest materials that have been carried away by the wind. It reminds her of playing around as a kit (not that she was much past those days), though chasing down the same clump of moss for the fourth time wasn't quite as fun when she's actually trying to get things done. Aspenpaw's resorted to sitting on her materials at this point, though it seems that the moss at least stays put better tangled within her fur.

So focused on her task, she hardly notices Oliveshade's return to camp, though the tunneller's cry certainly catches her attention. Aspenpaw whips her head around, turning just in time to see Oliveshade swept off of her feet and crashing into the gorse barrier. A cry of surprise leaves her lips as she's jumping to her paws, running toward the fallen warrior. "Are...are you okay, Oliveshade?" she asks hesitantly, approaching a few pawsteps. It looks quite painful, getting all those thorns snagged up in her pelt, but she's not sure if the molly has hurt anything else based on the lack of reaction.

// RIP OLIVE O7​

( WE'RE ALL JUST SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING ☾ )

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Oh, here came a clamour- the whipping winds had grown all the more violent by the minute, ravaging their pelts and paws! For once, Mallowlark was glad for his large form; most hunting patrols rendered his slug-paced, but facing the tumult he seemed the only one able to stand up straight! And impossibly upright he was, letting a snowstorm pelt thrash and twist in the gnashing breeze. What jaws the air had, when it wanted to! And how did it decide what days were to be wracked with squall, and what days were to grin with sunlight? Perhaps it was the mother and her fickle voice, or the bones at Fourtrees, or the spirits in the sky-

Ponderings were sundered as Oliveshade's yelp rang out- and down, down, down did she disappear! Bumbling through bramble and briar, thrust into a set of thorns, she reared her head when she finally came to a stop with nothing but displeasure written clearly across her expression. What else could Mallowlark do but laugh? If he had even the slightest hope of stopping it, he was not sure he would even try!

Mewling cackle, dissonant giggling rose with the din. "Hah-hah-how much flesh did you just tear off!!!" His 'question', if one could call it that, was brimming with so much laughter that it barely resembled its intention. He could imagine it, and his hysterics did not halt at the hilarious thought; Oliveshade leaving a perfect ribbon-trail of pelt and ichor, streaked in a perfect line into the camp... what horror that would have been for the kittens!​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

PERFECT LITTLE PUNCHING BAG​

periwinklekit | 03 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically easy (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff​

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With a quiet sniffle, the shy boy plods over to see what all the commotion is. Blinking blearily, it takes a few moments for the scene to catch up to his weary brain, and his pale gaze widens in horror as tears well up. "A-a-are you ok-kay?" he asks worriedly, unintentionally echoing aspenkits words. That looks like it hurts - it has his stomach rolling and his lungs heaving and he doesn't know what to do. "Sh-sh-shoul' I go g-get d-d-d...." he has to pause for a moment, jaw working as he huffs - words are hard sometimes. "D-d-dand-dy-lion," thats as much of the medicine cats name as he can mange to stammer out even in his worry,

 

[Dandelionwish]

Mallowlark's cackling laugh indigated only a few things. Someone had done something stupid or someone had gotten hurt. Maybe even both! The black-footed tom's macabre sense of humor was something that used to bother him but he'd now adjusted to so significantly that he didn't bat an eye when he saw bird bones being stacked into intricate towers. That, in addition to the wounds he'd seen, were slowly but surely desensitizing him to the clanlife he was now willingly burying himself within. His name was muttered in a small but familiar tone and his long strides carried him forward to stand alongside Perwinklekit and Aspenpaw, mismatched eyes seeking the source of the disturbance that had so rattled his clanmates.

His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of the molly practically morphing into a porcupine before his very eyes, the tiny pinpricks of red dotting her pelt seemed a lot more noticeable to him than anyone else; perhaps it was because the visions of red were perpetually burned into his eyes from his first few moons in WindClan. This, at least, was not a fault of the clan or any cat but a simple accident. Unfortunate, but a relief to see nonetheless.
"Ye done took a nasty tumble did ye?" Oliveshade's prey remained uncoated as did the parts of her side that was visible to him where he stood-she must hve tucked herself into a ball as she went rolling which probably saved her some more uncomfortable thorn placements. "C'mon over and we'll get to pluck'n. Won't be too enjoyable but least ye get good company!"


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