happy for them // cold nights

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw's body feels frigid. She's gotten so used to huddling beneath the stars with her Clanmates, even with her many weeks residing in the medicine den, that sleeping beneath pine trees and atop damp ground... it is far too uncomfortable to say the least. The slop beneath her nearly soaks to her bone, if not for the fluffier nature of her fur as of late. She's heard some cats call it a leafbare coat, and that not every feline is blessed to grow one out as much. She feels as if it's as much a curse, as grooming out the humidity seems like a lost cause.

"It's... so chilly," she complains, pulling her tail in closer to her body. She scans clusters of cats, some seeking refuge in quickly made dens while others resign to sleeping in the open. Maybe if she can find one of her friends, or Snakehiss... Damn, she'd even try curling up in beside Sootstar, if her mother would allow it. Her ears fold back, "Since when did it start getting so cold?" she continues. Being born in leaf bare and only truly remembering the tail end of it, she's not experienced much of the cold.​

 

[heathermoon !!]

The humidity within the swamp only sapped away what little warmth was left. At least the thick leafy forest seemed to trap the heat they gathered in the hollow, but ever since they were dragged along to ShadowClan, to beg for mercy and shelter... Heatherpaw might have preferred to turn back to the moors and risk his fate there. He had hoped that his time underground in the tunnels might have made it at least a little more bearable but the tunnels weren't so wet and grossly muggy. Not even enough self-pitying jokes insulting the mud and grime here could hold off how miserable he felt in the dark now.

Heatherpaw lifted his head when Cottonpaw voiced her complaints and he stretched chilled limbs to inch closer to her. "Hey, we can huddle up together and warm up? Like when we got cold back home." The ruddy tom smiled lazily, already setting up to hunker down beside his friend.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 11 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Snakehiss, like Cottonpaw, has taken notice of the dipping temperatures as of late. All of those seasons ago, when he was just a kit, he remembered stepping out from under the gorse bush and noticing the frost that had clung to the ground. Leafbare was making its approach, his parents had told him, and hunting would not come easy. It had been a tough season indeed — hunger, sickness, tensions, and of course the battle with SkyClan.

How ironic now that all of the clans are facing the same predicament. All their chosen clanmates were out in distant lands somewhere, searching for the herb promised to save them all. Were they all still alive, or had it been a doomed mission from the beginning?

Snakehiss' coat does not fare well with the cold. It is thin and flat — good for bounding along the moors, but not so much for bracing wintry winds. He, too, has taken to curling his tail around his paws and coiling up tightly like an adder to conserve warmth though to little avail. When Cottonpaw speaks as he draws near, the moor runner huffs exasperatedly, "Leafbare is on its way and those brutes are making themselves at home in our camp." All while they took refuge in this insufferable land.

It's strange, how he can now barely pick up on the smell of herbs wafting from the ashen molly's pelt. I think I'd prefer her reeking of the medicine den. Even that horrid, stuffy place was easier on the senses than the marshlands. Ugh, this place was unbearable — the mud constantly squishing between his toes and clinging to his paws was disgusting!

The thin-legged tom swiveled his head in Heatherpaw's direction once he suggested "huddling together" to the medicine cat apprentice. Snakehiss could hardly believe his ears — had the tunneler not picked up on the fact that Cottonpaw was his to pursue? They had an agreement to support one another, so surely the red-hued male would get the hint once he serves him a rather icy stare. "A fine idea, Heatherpaw." Snakehiss manages a leveled tone through his teeth and shifts his emerald gaze toward the medicine cat apprentice, gauging her reaction. "Cottonpaw, dear, won't you come join me? There isn't a more beautiful coat I'd rather be pressed against." He trilled, as sickeningly sweet and charming as could be, hoping his request alone would be enough to sway Cottonpaw to his side.

✰ INFO

• 
  
• 

  ✰ SNAKEHISS
  —— he/him; warrior ( moor runner ) of windclan
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and a notable bite mark on his right foreleg
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[hitch]

Whatever's going on between the WindClanners, Rosemire doesn't want to get involved in it. Maybe the dark feline simply dislikes Heatherpaw, as he called him— except his comment directed at Cottonpaw seems quite...pointedly amorous. Is this young love and jealousy? It's almost amusing in its frivolousness, though he knows it is not the case for them. Compared to yellowcough and the coming hunger of leafbare, it is so very simple, but he stands by his decision to leave such matters to the three involved. Instead, he focuses on a problem much more easily solved, and, ironically, not quite as messy as envy.

"Mud helps," he says, feeling rather like some bog creature who's crawled out of the water to impart cryptic wisdom. He clears his throat. "It's cold at first, but when it dries, it keeps some of the wind out. I feel warmer when I wear it." His disdain for mud is mostly for show these days.

His pale gaze flits between them. "But uh, cuddling works too?"
​

​

 

[RACCOONSTRIPE]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXRaccoonstripe is not unfamiliar with leaf-fall in the marsh. The dampness streaking every bit of foliage, the perpetual cool wet underpaw, and the general misery of this sunless, godless part of the forest makes things dreary as leafbare. He flicks an ear toward a group of young WindClan cats, one of whom he recognizes as their medicine cat apprentice. She trills about the cold, and tomcats begin to swarm her almost instantly, the word cuddle on their eager lips. The tabby watches with amusement, his tail thumping lightly on the ground behind him. “Oh, we should all be so lucky to have a beautiful pelt to press against on a cold night,” he nearly singsongs, throwing the lanky black warrior a wink.

XXXXXA ShadowClanner with milky fur and a brutally scarred throat seems uncomfortable, but his offer of streaking one’s fur with mud is sound enough… Racoonstripe remembers Rosemire from the Great Battle and before, and his dark gaze flicks his direction, accompanied by a stellar grin. “What would you choose, if you had the choice, hmm? Clumps of mud or a beautiful coat? I’ve been told mine is pretty—what do you say?” His whiskers twitch, and though he thinks briefly of a dainty-pawed, cold-eyed black smoke, he wouldn’t say no to additional warmth from any cat—even a ShadowClan warrior.

─────────​

​

 

[Bluepool]

If Bluepool were honest, she does not miss the marsh group. She does not miss the mud between her toes, the way the wind seems to whip you extra hard here and settles into your very soul. She does, however, miss the moors. The wide open skies, the miles and miles of hills that stretch across their territory. It is cold here, her niece is correct. The lead warrior herself shivers, puffs herself up in an attempt to defend her bones against the chill. When Heatherpaw offers to cuddle she almost scoffs and rolls her eyes. The other clans were going to think that WindClan was full of a bunch of soft-hearted fools at this rate, she holds her tongue for now though, content to be an observer as Snakehiss disgustingly and blatantly hits on her kin in front of her. At this she actually does roll her eyes.

Rosemire is a familiar face, as is Racoonstripe, both cats she had known in a previous life, back when they lived in this miserable swampland together. Why Rosemire had stayed is a mystery to her. "Whatever you lot chose to do would you do it quietly? Some of us want to sleep" she says with a half-hearted grumble.

​

 

[heathermoon !!]

Perhaps a sassy retort or bashful acceptance might have been a reaction Heatherpaw expected, but instead his eyes found themselves bearing against the searing cold stare of ivy. If he hadn't known better, his fur would have started bristling, smoke building in his lungs to snap back something hurtful- but he does, saving himself and the rest of WindClan any further embarrassment.

It's all he needs to understand, a gentle oh murmured under his breath as he took a step back, a chill running down to his tail as another breeze whisked through his fur. "I'm hurt you don't think I'm just as handsome." His tone is light-hearted in mocking. The pale ShadowClanner spoke a bit of advice, personal experience in battling the freeze. His surprise has been subsided for now, he would have to talk to Snakehiss about it later anyway, more focused on the exchange between the warriors. Beautiful pelts were mentioned far too often in this conversation now that the apprentice didn't want to be part of anymore. Too many old folks joined in and ruined it.

"I think I wanna stick with the mud now, thanks."

This place blows hare guts.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 11 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[WOLFWIND]

Wolfwind is lucky to have been blessed with a thick coat of fur, but even so, the lack of dens by the burnt sycamore made it much harder to keep warm. As a WindClanner— Cottonpaw, mentions the chill, Wolfwind doesn't find herself above agreeing with her. Huddling for warmth did not sound like a bad idea... and idly, she finds herself scanning crowds of cats for kin or clanmates she would not mind squeezing in with.

Cottonpaw, dear, won't you come join me? There isn't a more beautiful coat I'd rather be pressed against. " Sweet StarClan, " her voice is utterly appalled. She meant to keep that in her head, but apparently her mouth had other plans. In the midst of hunger, sickness, and rogues, is everyone trying to distract themselves by being excruciatingly lovestriken? " You sound like... " the man she was just about to mention, Raccoonstripe appears them. How is it so unsurprising that the two of them would get along? Wolfwind feels more aligned with this ShadowClanner— having a coat so pale that Wolfwind swore he remembered him from when she was apprentice - aged. " Only in ShadowClan would mud be an accessory, " she muses lightheartedly. Thank the stars she'd gotten out of here when she could.

And to Raccoonstripe— " Does this usually work for you? " There's a note of laughter in her huff. From what she's seen, clearly not. " Raccoonstripe can't do anything subtly, " she tells Bluepool. A yawn splits her jaw. " Maybe the two of us should get away from these weirdos. You have fun with your mud. "

OOC ✨ 9.5.2023 BET MY MONEY ON A STUPID HORSE, I LOST THAT

•  

• 

• [ SO I RAN OUT TO THE TRACK TO GET MY CASH BACK ] WOLFWIND THUNDERCLAN LEAD WARRIOR! MENTOR 2 EMBERPAW; KIN 2 MANY.
  —— SHE / HER, CONFUSED BY BUT NOT OPPOSED TO THE USE OF OTHERS
  —— CURRENTLY 22 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 1ST.
  
  FRIEND TO MANY! UPBEAT AND UPFRONT. MOVES THROUGH LIFE WITH AN UPBEAT EXTERIOR AND BRIGHT EYES. MAKE NO MISTAKE! TAKES HER JOB VERY SERIOUSLY. THERE'S IMPORTANCE IN SAFETY, RECKLESSNESS ONLY GETS YOU SO FAR. ONCE A FOOL, BUT NO LONGER

​

 

[hitch]

He idly paws at a small twig protruding from the mud on his other leg, though because the paste has solidified, he thinks freeing it would mean tugging the patch off completely. Rosemire doesn't want to apply another layer again, so he just has to hope there aren't any kits eager to run his way anytime soon. Which— yeah, he should be pretty safe from that. Annoying as it is, it would be worse to subject himself to more cold mud, so he leaves it alone in time for the vaguely familiar ThunderClanner to look his way.

Rosemire blinks slowly. His cheek itches a little, he realizes. He's not flirting so much as he is complimenting himself, and he supposes he can see the appeal— whoever this theoretical person is, they aren't wrong. His fur is a warm shade and it looks soft enough, compared to Rosemire's own muddied pelt. There are large scars across his neck, and when Rosemire swallows, he imagines he feels his own, poorly concealed.

"If I had a choice?" He echoes. Nearby, a WindClanner —also familiar— grumbles about her sleep, while the apprentice challenged by the black tom sensibly throws his lot in with mud. The other ThunderClanner's joke rubs his fur the wrong way, but he doesn't say anything about it; he's left Raccoonstripe unanswered for an awkward length of time.

"Well, I think you should try out both options and see for yourself." Complete avoidance is apparently Rosemire's choice. He swipes up mud in his paw and smears it over Raccoonstripe's shoulder. "If your shoulder stays warmer than the rest of you, I guess it works."
​

​

 

[sparkspirit]

Sparkspirit has a knack for falling into awkward situations. It seems more part of his life now than not. A misplaced puzzle piece, crinkling at the edges wherever he tries to fit. The cats around here speak so sweetly that his pelt prickles too. Unease. That line between disgust and sickness, his heart overfull and full of stinging nettles. He had to be dramatic on top of it all. Like Bluepool, he rolls his eyes. Unlike her, there is no true decorum to the fools-blooded tomcat. He scoffs openly, the sound genuinely derisive before he remembers that there is more here than Snakehiss and Heatherpaw and Raccoonstripe all speaking sweetly. He doesn't mean to bother the rest of them, so he forces his dark head up. There's a darker stripe smeared across the ThunderClan warrior's coat. Seeing it, he has to stifle a laugh.

"It sounds like you're pretty bad at being flirted with." Blunt, perhaps, particularly when both the warriors involved were much older than he, but it feels good to talk to cats who don't see traitors whenever they look at him. "And like you're flirting with Bluepool," he adds to the other ThunderClanner. Gross.

𝘛𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐  ･｡ﾟ  🗲  ╱╱ 10.15.2023 𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘚𝘈𝘠 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• 🗲　　. 　 ˚　.  SPARKSPIRIT. HE - HIM - HIS. 12 MOON OLD MOOR RUNNER OF WINDCLAN. VERY LOYAL TO HIS CLAN. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ————
  
  
  ——  a trim mock tortoiseshell tom with mostly black fur splashed with the occasional patch orange. he has a singular white mark on the back of his neck shaped similarly to a lightning strike, and a small scar across the bridge of his nose. his eyes are a shocking electric blue.
  

  ✦ ECHOLIGHT x ELMBREEZE. ADOPTED BY YEWBERRY. BRIGHTFAM, BUT SOMEWHAT ESTRANGED DUE TO HIS LOYALTY TO WINDCLAN. ————————

• "speech"

​