I AM A PATIENT BOY ↷ snow paths

[smogstar]

There's a tickle in his throat this morning. It is a brittle irritation, chafing against the front part of his neck, and at intervals it compels the tabby to hack nastily.

Apart from that, though, today is just another day of this pestilential season. The cold air bites at his nose when he pokes his head from the warrior's den, and his clinical gaze skims over the camp with relative apathy. Scarcely any clanmates can be seen in the midst of this abominable blanket of snow. Plenty of the clearing is still wrapped in the icy bosom, with entrances to dens partially blocked off and snowed in. A large amount of the powder isn't even disturbed. He wheezes resentfully.

A warrior cannot do a lot when their territory is so difficult to traverse, this he understands. But nothing is being added to the fresh-kill pile when it's still buried beneath several pawbreadths of snow.

Sniffling noisily, because his nasal pipes were congested as well, the tom pushes his way out of the den and into the hollow. There's not a lot of activity happening behind his eyes. His line of vision is fixed solely on Starlingheart's cave, and without much thought or deliberation, he begins trudging through the frozen white hell, bulldozing a pathway of sorts.

Smogmaw would retch occasionally as he shoulders through the snow. The sensitivity in his gullet had worsened, but he can ignore it for now. He's in a far better condition than some of his other warriors, anyhow. So many of his clanmates had needed medical assistance in recent days. Geckoscreech, with her malnutrition. Betony, and the frostbite which bedevilled her. Not to mention the ill-fated Carrionplace patrol. With this season's potential for injuries in mind, making the cave more accessible only made sense.

The stone fortifications of the medicine den are within reach, a good wad of fox-lengths away probably. But he cannot go further. His windpipe overcomes him. Halting in his tracks, the tom's shoulders would constrain and clench inwards. His spine tightens, and he starts lurching as he would if he were trying to expel a hairball. Hyiik. Hyiiiik. It's a dry, unpleasant noise.

"This is torturous," he grumbles. An effort is made to compose himself, to return to all fours and finish his task, though to no avail. He slumps over instead, ceasing his progress, yet allowing his throat some reprieve.

Cold. Hungry. Sick, apparently. It's a wonder how he, or anybody else in ShadowClan, is still alive and kicking it.​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Leafbare was nature's chance to shed its old skin and be born anew. It was a believable statement told to her some time ago by her family, but it did not make the season any easier to deal with. Her paws traced over the flattened snow as she pushed her way out of the warrior's den, breathing in fresh air for the first time in a short while. Immediately, she was met with a chill and, letting out a quiet 'brrrrr' between the clattering of teeth, decided to let some of her passengers off of her fur. Dry, crumbled leaves fell to the entrance, along with black specks that were near invisible to her inattentive eyes. Ferndance stared into space for some time as the cold nipped her skin, all plans she'd made leaving her head the moment that she noticed it was still rather unbearable outside. A lot was happening to ShadowClan in a short space of time, she didn't associate the scattered thoughts and nausea with worry for her home, but perhaps she should have. She was one of the lucky ones, starving but able to stand on her four paws. Sick in some ways, but not in the ways that would kill her.

The loud gagging of a clanmate brought the tabby's ears forwards, her eyes near-instantly falling on the culprit. She watched with bated breath for a hairball that never came, moving with the patient gait of a hunter. A path had been carved in the snow for her by Smogmaw, even still, she found the earth cold and unpleasant. The other tabby seemed to be moving towards the medicine den, and with a cough like that, Ferndance wasn't surprised. She prowled until his lurching ended, paused, and momentarily frowned in disappointment that there was no furball - that was the only reason she'd stepped so far out of the comfort of the warrior's nest. When the other spoke, his voice lined with its usual growl, Ferndance moved to be slightly in front of him a mere tail-length away, blinking softly. "Oh dear..." She murmured at his complaint, knowing nothing that would alleviate Smogmaw's suffering. Nothing but... well... "Would you like me to put you out of your misery?" It was a question asked with no malice nor sarcasm behind it, speaking in a tone that a Queen would use with kittens that needed comforting. She didn't want to kill a clanmate, but if Smogmaw was in enough pain then...



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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

unreasonably hard. this was torture. an absolute killer way to slowly take out shadowclan. had starclan hated them so much, they should have just taken them out with the fire. dying now would be a waste, and besides– every single shadowclanner would have a bone to pick with those starred idiots when they did drop dead. chilledgaze knew they did. they hadn't even thought about the possibility of having to be leader, despite being deputy. it was just not on their radar right now.

the sound of coughing makes them tense with a blink of their dull eyes. emotionless and stale, they follow the same path smogmaw began to push through the snow for them, widening it with their own steps being just slightly off center. they didn't care. they're tired, hungry, and it wasn't like everyone else wasn't. they twitched their nose as the lack of malice in ferndance's voice before just speaking up, though there isn't even a single freckle of emotion within their tone. it was lacking, almost as if they didn't care.

"taking him out would certainly get rid of my misery. finally keeling over?"

it might have been a joke. it might not have. who knew? they didn't even change their tone of voice in one way or another.

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[ NOBODY ELSE MATTERS, GIRL ]

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

In fact, the last time Roosterstrut had witnessed leaf-bare, he had been a tiny tot about the tender age of four moons. He could barely recall how much it had snowed then, but he did remember the powder blanketing the ground. This had been about the time that his father had been killed by a fox; he remembers the crimson staining the camp entrance. Had it been exactly 12 moons ago, now? Perhaps it was better not to keep track. As far as Roosterstrut had come in processing and coping with Goose's death,
he feels like he's set back whenever those negative memories crop up and cloud his mind again.

It was difficult to properly interact with Smogmaw. It was practically impossible not to remember the events of that fated day long ago, but Roosterstrut has to constantly remind himself that he's an adult now—no, a warrior—and that duties to the clan came first. Personal judgment could not stand in the way of responsibility. So, the orange tabby tom had trudged forth through the thick snow to meet the forming group near the medicine den. Smogmaw was weak and exhausted, just like the rest of them. How could he expect to dig a path entirely on his own? Mousebrain.

Thankfully, Roosterstrut had youthful energy and spirit on his side in order to keep him pushing through the harsh season. He certainly was not as well-fed as he could be, but he could muster enough strength to work a little bit before getting drained. Why not help? He was about as useless as a rock otherwise. "C'mon, the path is almost cleared. Maybe if we all work together on this then we won't have to work ourselves to death like this guy." The tabby flicks his tail in a gesture towards Smogmaw before hopping down into the path and beginning to dig out where the job was left off.

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— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

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  ✰ ROOSTERSTRUT
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. sixteen moons old. warrior of shadowclan.
  —— laid-back young adult who utilizes humor and fun in order to distract from serious matters. he is a decent warrior, though he hesitates to take risks.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  roosterstrut is a vibrant orange tabby tom with pale green eyes. he stands at a height ever so slightly above the average. his fur is long and whispy and his tail is especially reminiscent of a rooster's. he sports a signature, goofy smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye.
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[smogstar]

Hyik.

There's a particular hopelessness in his features, even more so than what can typically be expected from the ashen tabby. He does not fight through the discomfort, nor does he make any more inimical commentary about his situation. Smogmaw simply accepts his defeat. Hyik. Generally speaking, he's too high on his own spite to raise the white flag—but here, in this snow-capped hellscape, worn thin from his own anguish and this damnable cough, he may have finally met his match. Fuck, it'd taken him long enough. Hyik.

Black-tipped ears would pivot rearwards at the scrunching of snow beneath paws. Immediately, he tries pushing himself off the ground, grunting and heaving as he does so. Nobody should see him so... emasculated. It'd give them something to point and laugh about later on. Lamentably, his effort is in vain, with yet another Hyik prompting him to buckle over once more onto the snowy ground.

"Not now," he utters straight away, dramatically dreary in his response. He groans, comfortlessly shifting his head to glimpse Ferndance. He'd have to make a rain check with her later, as there are more pressing matters at hand. When Chilledgaze converges on the scene, a long, strung-out sigh would part from his coarse throat. Their deriding is expected, reciprocal for all the trouble he'd given them in days past. "I'll croak in due time, relax. Just help me clear the snow, first. My mortal remains aren't going anywhere without a path outta here."

The keen tone of Roosterstrut is next to register inside his head. Okay, he doesn't need an audience to watch him wither away. Seeing how he hasn't coughed for a decent amount of time, Smogmaw strives to lift himself off the ground one last time. He'll show the younger tom what working himself to death really looks like.

His gaze flicks behind him to see the orange tabby take the initiative and finish what's already started. "Someone ought'a help him pave the way to Starlingheart's den," he asserts, glowering at both Chilledgaze and Ferndance. "We need passage to the fresh-kill pile, as well as a way out of camp. There's also the elder and apprentice dens, and the nursery too." Pitchstar can dig himself out of his own little home for all he cares.

Without another word, he starts going in the direction of the pile. He wheezes a little bit, but for the time being it seems as though his throat is letting him off easy,​

 

[Tornadopaw]

If you don't like me, that's your problem

Tornadopaw can hear movement just outside the apprentice den and it stirs her awake. The air is colder than usual with the thick layer of snow helping to plummet ground level temperatures. She could only imagine just how cold pitchstar might have been, given he sleeps alone. At least the bodies of other gathered apprentices made the cold tolerable. With a stretch she exits her nest, carefully stepping past various sleeping bodies to reach the entrance and exit of the den. A tired huff falls from her jaws, aching muscles from training strain as Tornado begins to dig and carve her way through the ivory wall before her. A shiver runs down her spine as warmth rapidly leaves her. Shaking her curly pelt to dislodge any of the icy powder Tornado cleaves several more pawfulls of snow before calling out to the older warriors. "I'll be glad when leaf bare is over." The burly femme mutters to herself more than anything. ​

When I let it bother me, that's my problem​

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