camp haze around my face ] hunting bugs

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit crouches low in the dusty, sunlit patch of ThunderClan's camp, his large paws splayed awkwardly in front of him. His dark fur ripples in the afternoon breeze, contrasting with the dappled shadows and beams of light cast by the trees surrounding the clearing. Amber eyes focus intently on a small movement between the cracks of the dry earth—a beetle, scuttling frantically in search of a hiding place. He shifts his weight, silently moving closer, his tail twitching with excitement. His gaze never wavers from the beetle, eyes narrowing as he inches forward. Then, with a swift pounce, his paws crash down, trapping the insect beneath them. Lifting one paw cautiously, Howlkit watches with satisfaction as the beetle wriggles in place. The young kit's face remains impassive, though there is an intensity in his gaze as he considers his prize. Without hesitation, he swipes the beetle up and bites down, feeling its crunchy exoskeleton snap beneath his teeth. Howlkit chews slowly, the strange, earthy taste filling his mouth. He has taken to hunting bugs lately—moths, beetles, spiders—anything that crawls across his path. There is something satisfying about catching such small, delicate creatures in his oversized paws, like it is a test of his ability to control his strength.

Another beetle catches his eye, and with the same quiet focus, he pads toward it. This time, he doesn't bother crouching. His paws come down in a heavy thud, and soon the beetle is between his teeth, quickly devoured. A few other kits play nearby, wrestling and tumbling through the clearing, but Howlkit ignores them. His gaze is already sweeping the ground for his next target, scanning for anything else that moves. The taste of the beetles lingers on his tongue, heavy and soil-tinged, but he doesn't mind it. In fact, he finds the sensation oddly calming, like the rhythmic act of hunting and eating bugs can quiet the restless tension always buzzing under his skin. It's a way for him to catch his own food, to eat without needing to rely on the untrustworthy cats that live all around him. As he settles down to nibble on a third unfortunate insect, a wiggling caterpillar this time, a moth flutters past his face, drawing his attention upward. Howlkit's eyes gleam. Bugs are much simpler than cats, and right now, that simplicity is what he wants.​

 

[Finchpaw]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☀︎˚｡⋆ Finchpaw understands that Howlkit is...troubled, to put it lightly. Constantly on edge and behaving as if every day is one to be challenged, to end just as it was to begin without even allowing the opportunity to hold onto still budding hope, the springs crushed underfoot and the petals plucked prematurely so that only a tattered stalk remains. It was tragic to some degree, but it also struck him as a new beginning in of itself, for all the anguish and turmoil Howlkit had to and would continue to endure in the life he had been given, every splinter of those tiny teeth against brittle bone was a process of his rebirth and reformation. Perhaps it would be better.

With this in mind, it was refreshing to see the tiny creature behaving as a kit should, chasing bugs and playing in whatever way he saw fit to bring him a sense of enjoyment despite the fact that it was done in solitude and perhaps with a touch more violence than what was customary of one his age. It mattered little to Finchpaw as he continued to observe the shadowed kitten's behavior, a gentle smile pulling at the edges of his lips as he realized this may very well be one of the first times that ThunderClan's newest addition could experience something that was as close to peaceful and simple and right as he ever had since his arrival.

Finchkit's ears would swivel and position themselves forward attentively now, Howlkit suddenly honing in on the presence of a flittering moth, its fragile powdered wings carrying it through the wind with a clumsy and uncoordinated gait. He seemed mesmerized by it, as if for a moment he and that miniscule and perhaps even meaningless being were the only two things in the entire world. He would allow the tiny black smoke to fall into this moment for a while, watching until the moth began to gradually push itself higher and higher into the still air with frantic and repetitive pulses of its wings. Seeing an opening, he would approach Howlkit now, his pace slow and steady and his paws staying light as they touched the ground. He did not want to cause a scare, and so he would allow his posture to slouch- not that it did much, for he was already quite a tiny cat- truthfully, he looked as if he were still a kit himself at times, albeit a much older one.

"Hello, Howlkit." Finchpaw would announce his presence in a soft and gentle tone, but not one that was infantilizing. He made sure to announce his presence a couple tail lengths before he closed the distance between them in hopes that the smaller of the two would not startle with too much intensity upon seeing him. "Getting tired of milk I see." A lighthearted comment making light of the way he had consumed every squirming bug he caught.

He would fix his hazy blue orbs on the moth still ascending now, allowing his attention to linger on it for a moment before returning his downy gaze to Howlkit. "Do you know what moths are said to represent, little one?"

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── IS IT OUTRAGEOUS FOR ME 𓆩✦𓆪 TO WANT TO LIVE DESPITE IT ALL? ──┐‎

• 

• 
  FINCHPAW 🕊 he/him, apprentice of thunderclan, 8 moons.
  ⭃ chocolate/cinnamon chimera w/ high white.
  ⭃ important relationships on this line / / family, mate, apprentice, kids, whateva! - [tbd]
  ⭃ peaceful, healing and minor combative powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by sloane ↛ @encarcerated on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[DEERPAW.]

The creature is still awkward around kits... The weird way they play games and the way they speak make him curl his lip in disgust. The faux tortoiseshell was haunched over a couple of rocks he'd found nearby, while still keeping to his favorite shaded spot in camp. Deerpaw slides his gaze away from the rocks he held no attachment to, head tilted up to find Howlkit crushing a beetle between kitten teeth. It makes the corner of his lip twitch upwards.

Flattened feathered ears twitch along his spiked neck fur, as he raises onto dark paws letting the shade slide off of his skeletal figure while approaching Howlkit and Finchpaw. Long, ginger tail was lifted from the ground, as he wordlessly grunted out a greeting from his closed mouth to the two. He watches silently as a moth flutters about on powered wings, the little thing ascending allowing his half - lidded gaze to stare at it. Breaking eye contact, he lets his sight flick to a caterpillar wiggling about near his paws, he lets a sheathed paw nudge it away from him. He doesn't like caterpillars much. Boring.

﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑮𝑶𝑨𝑻'𝑺 𝑬𝑮𝑮 ᯓ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃

•  

• temp deerpaw reference

  

• ( I-I CAN'T H-HANDLE IT! ) ˚₊‧ ♰ ‧₊˚ DEERPAW. ╱ thunderclan apprentice
  ⸝⸝ AMAB ; HE / HIM ; CURRENTLY 10 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 26TH.
  ✶ homosexual, ace / not actively looking — mentoring none.
  ✶ a scrawny longhaired black/dark ginger tortoiseshell tom with low white and hazel eyes.
  ✶ thoughts ; "Speech, 4d4344" ; attacks only
  ✶ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✶ smells like mud &. damp earth musk

  all opinions are ic! he's morbid and he sucks </3 ♱

  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit senses Finchpaw long before he speaks, his amber eyes flicking to the older apprentice's approach, though he doesn't turn to fully acknowledge him. His body stiffens slightly at the sound of Finchpaw's soft voice, a quiet signal that someone is trying to reach out. Finchpaw. He doesn't fear Finchpaw the way he does others, not with the other's fairly small size and rather soft demeanor, but the distrust doesn't fade completely. Every cat's words feel like hidden traps, and Howlkit's learned that any moment of calm could be shattered by a stray question or an unexpected threat. The moth flickers in the air above him, and for a brief second, Howlkit's guard slips. The moth's wings—so fragile, so careless in their flight—draw him in, almost like the insect doesn't know how easily it could be crushed. It flies without caution, something Howlkit could never do. He watches it hover clumsily in the air, mesmerized by the way it seems unburdened by the weight he always feels pressing down on him. For just a heartbeat, there's nothing but him and the moth, the soft wind against his fur, the silence around him. It's a moment that feels distant, out of place in his life.

But Finchpaw's voice cuts into that space, pulling Howlkit back into himself. His jaw tightens as he shoots a wary glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing instinctively. The words are gentle, but Howlkit has learned not to trust softness. Softness is what weak kits cling to, and he's not weak. He can't be weak. When the apprentice speaks, Howlkit doesn't respond right away. He just keeps his eyes on Finchpaw, muscles coiled beneath his fur. The apprentice seems harmless enough, but that only makes Howlkit more suspicious. Harmless things are often deceiving. Harmless things that deceive lead to disappointment, to betrayal. His eyes dart back to the moth, now just a tiny speck against the sky, and something inside him aches for it to come back down where he can catch it. Where he can control it.

The comment about milk doesn't get the reaction Finchpaw might have been hoping for. Howlkit just keeps his eyes on the sky, uncaring of what is being said to him. "What's it to you?" he mutters under his breath, though it's more defensive than hostile. Finchpaw isn't mocking him, but Howlkit has heard enough judgement in his short life to always be ready for it. As Finchpaw looks up at the moth again and asks about its meaning, Howlkit's lip curls slightly, not quite a snarl, but close enough. "Moths?" His voice is low, rough, like he's chewing on the words. "I don't care what they mean." He tries to sound dismissive, but his gaze betrays him, flicking back to the sky as if still searching for the creature. There's something about Finchpaw's question that makes him feel... vulnerable, like the moth has become more than just a distraction. But he refuses to show that.

Howlkit has never been one for meanings or lessons, at least not the kind that come from other cats. He's learned more from pain, from the fox-burrow and the murder of his mother, than from any pretty story about what moths represent. He swallows hard, his throat tight, and shifts his weight uncomfortably on his paws. Finchpaw's question lingers in the air, but Howlkit refuses to let it sink in. The last thing he needs is someone trying to explain something he doesn't want to understand. Then Deerpaw arrives, his silent presence adding to the weight of the moment. Howlkit watches the older apprentice nudge a caterpillar away with disinterest, and the sight makes him feel a little more grounded. Deerpaw, like him, doesn't care about fragile, crawling things. There's something solid in that. Something he can understand.

Howlkit's gaze hardens, and he lets out a small huff as he pushes himself to his paws, brushing past Finchpaw with a quiet, defiant energy. "I don't care what moths mean," he repeats, more to himself than anyone else, though the words are sharp, biting. He doesn't want to care. He can't afford to care about anything as fleeting and fragile as a moth. He moves away from Finchpaw, not quite turning his back on him, not able to bring himself to turn his back to anyone, to give them that trust. He heads straight for the caterpillar that has been pushed away by Deerpaw, sticking a paw forward to curl claws into the squirming thing and shove it in his muzzle, chewing and swallowing the bug with no hesitation.​

 

[FALLOWBITE]

ˏˋ*⁀➷ Fallowbite watches her little sibling hunt bugs with an impassive stare. Something about it makes a coldness settle into her bones, some emotion not quite dread and not quite shame. She remembers her own days scavenging for bugs, just as young as Howlkit is now. At first, in the fox burrow, it had been for fun. Competitions held between sisters, with Fallowbite always the ringleader and winner.

She had been younger than him, then. By Howlkit's age, Fallow had already become Fallowpaw. By its age, she was off on her own searching tirelessly for her lost family. Then the hunting had become an act of desperation, pawing through sheets of snow in search for anything that moves. She remembers the bitter taste of bugs with the same sort of stomach-twisting haze as she does all her days wandering beyond ThunderClan's border.

She does not know whether Howlkit hunts out of joy, desperation, or simply that untameable wildness that runs through the blood of all Baying Hound's kits.

Whatever its cause, this ritual will serve it well come leafbare. She does not say this. Instead, she says: "Gonna be a good hunter someday," with a hesitant sort of approval. She keeps distance from it, regards it warily with a lone golden eye. Its every move is slow, telegraphed. It keeps its distance to keep him at ease. Every movement and word seems to set the wild-blooded kit alight, eyes darting and teeth bared. She thinks that this must have been what she looked like too, and feels all the more guilty for it.

She lets out a quiet hum as Howlkit denies the apprentice's question. His words are snapped like the clicking of fangs, hostile and closed off. "Not even a little curious? I never even knew they meant something," it says softly. Maybe the admission that she too is unaware will soothe it. Maybe the acknowledgement of Finchpaw's words will enrage it. She wishes she knew her sibling well enough to tell.

‎‎A PLACE CALLED HATE ⁀➷ THE CITY OF FEAR‎

• 
  
  

  "SPEECH"

• 
  FALLOWBITE ⁀➷ she / it, warrior of thunderclan, fourteen moons.
  ➳ a scarred, pointed brown and white molly with shaggy fur and golden eyes.
  ➳ standoffish and solitary, always seems to have a dark cloud hanging over its head.
  ➳ baying hound xx npc, littermate to antlerbreeze & doepath.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit bristles, ears flicking in Fallowbite's direction, keenly aware of her watchful gaze even if he pretends otherwise. He can feel the weight of her stare, as cold and unyielding as leaf-bare itself. It unsettles him, her one-eyed scrutiny, the distance she keeps. He knows it must be out of caution, as if he's something wild she needs to keep at bay, and the realization only sharpens his bitterness. When she finally speaks, her voice low and almost uncertain, he pauses mid-swipe at the dirt. Her words feel strange in his ears—"Gonna be a good hunter someday." There's a hesitant warmth in them, something that doesn't quite belong. Howlkit scowls, glancing away, trying to ignore the part of him that wants to believe her, to latch onto even a shred of approval from someone as evidently violent and powerful as her.

It's frustrating, how she seems to watch him like he's something unfamiliar. A creature from the forest, dangerous in his unpredictability. And yet, he senses a kind of echo in her gaze, a shadow of something similar between them. It irritates him more than it reassures. When she hums quietly, almost contemplative, he glares, defensive as though she's dared to intrude on something private. Finchpaw's question has left a sour taste in his mouth, and Fallowbite's attempt at sharing her own ignorance feels clumsy, like someone trying to reach a place they can't quite grasp. The admission should soothe him, maybe—a gesture of solidarity. But he's too used to the ache of solitude, too accustomed to being the one who is silent, who doesn't need anyone else to explain things.

"Not curious," he snaps back, his voice as cold as the bug he bats across the ground before scooping it up in his jaws and crunchind down harshly on it. It's not true—he is curious, about a lot of things. Things he doesn't know how to voice, things he wouldn't dare reveal. But curiosity feels dangerous, vulnerable. Not for him. In that way, he can see himself reflected in Fallowbite's guarded eye. And it angers him, the sense that maybe, just maybe, he shares more with his older sibling than he'd like to admit. The wildness, the hunger, the restless need to understand yet remain untouched—it sits heavy between them, a silence that even Fallowbite's words can't shatter. And it aches, heavy and hot in his chest, as he once more sees her ripping his mother's throat out in his mind.​