private Hidden Vessel ꕥ& Icebreath

[LAMBCURL.]

When the tunnels call, who was he to ignore them?

Who was anyone to do so, really, aside from the one who'd started the very tradition, herself? Her wisdom was one well-spent onn this place. So barren as it could be, at times, tunneling was sure to become a way of life– practically had, already, with the mice they'd pryed from their cold prison mid leaf-bare. Prey liked to be warm too, you see; and the soil had an inherent sort of warmth to it. The deeper you went... untouched by sky, you were able to feel the comforting rumble. It's a presence always there– one you must learn to pick apart from anything else that skittered about the burrows. You might not realize it could be demanding,

For it wasn't only food that brought them here. At least– it should not be, if you were anybody worth remembering. Your body would cool as quick as any other's, but heart and mind aligned, you would feel the stale breath, feel the tug at your paws, tiny, as they might be. The tug is firmer, when something grand lies around the corner. He is but a whisker away from his partner. Or perhaps, a fox-length? He was distracted, curled ears straining for anything extraordinary. "Determined..." So determined, this one, pulling ahead with surely a morsel scented on her nose. Or could she perhaps, better here what he could not? He was not so selfish as to think him the only one. Did the trembles spell rumblings of treasure, then? "Do you hear it?" he asks, voice in awe.

[ @icebreath ! feel free to make up whatever the hell "it" is <3 ]​

 

[icebreath]

TAGS — Prey aside, the tunnels as an entity are enticing enough for Icebreath as well; she lives for her work, her life in the shadows. Dangerous as this labyrinth is, it's an excellent escape from the turmoils and pressures above. She's an overthinker at heart but there's no room for that down here, no time, when her mind and all of her senses must be fully engaged if she wishes to succeed — at patrolling, at hunting, at surviving. She'd been afraid when she first began her training so many moons ago, well aware of the many perils tunneling presents. And in some ways it's a wonder that such a nervous, paranoid cat had come to flourish down here the way she does, that her anxieties quieted over time and found themselves channeled into skillful self-preservation and attentiveness. She may be near-useless above ground, timid and a poor fighter, but WindClan relies on her for what she can do down here and she thrives under this type of pressure alone.

New nerves have been bubbling up ever since her warrior ceremony, however. A wavering of once reliable confidence in the absence of Nightmareface's ever-present guidance, with the knowledge that any mistake could lead to Sootstar questioning her decision and regretting the faith she'd placed in Icebreath. Faith as a tunneler, and now as a mentor. (She's not mentally prepared to take Cottonpaw down here for the first time, within the next few days, but will she ever be?) It's gotten a little easier since the promotion with the passage of time, but not much. She hates it. She's supposed to be in her element down here; it's the one place she's supposed to feel truly capable.

So when she catches a scent, the little molly latches on hard, desperate to prove to both Lambcurl and herself that she's deserving of her rank and livelihood. With quivering whiskers she picks up her pace, slinking purposefully through the narrow passage. "Mhm. Mice," she murmurs briskly, large ears swiveling. They pick up the sound of little claws scrabbling at the tightly packed dirt. "A lot of them." Newleaf's arrival is already proving to be a blessing — is it a litter she's hearing?
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