duskclan I could learn to love ‡ Hungerkit intro!

[Ebonylight.]

*+:｡.｡ "Evening Duskclan! I have found another new life to bless our ranks" Ebonylight sings, bright and cheery. The trek from horse place and back had been a long one, but his new little guy handled it like a champ! Ebonylight's serpent-like eyes flash proudly down at his new little toy - a tiny thing, with fur the color of her mother's blood. Sootstar above, how lucky was he to find a darling kit to look after! Sootstar would surely be pleased if her blessed soul were still around.

Wrapping her tail protectively around her little friend, Ebonylight would continue, "her mother was dead, so I couldn't leave her behind! Don't worry, I'll be sure to share my and Gravelkit's dinner with her so she doesn't go hungry..." a sparkle suddenly fills her eyes, an idea flashing forth. Turning burning hues down upon the kitten, Ebonylight would nuzzle her ear, "I know this is a big change, but you're doing so good already! To make this transition a little more exciting, what about a whole new name?" They think fondly about the time they announced Gravelkit's name, and how irritated some of Duskclan had gotten with them. Although naming the kit something like Sunkit or Bluekit was an enticing thought, they figured a whole new name would earn the kit a swifter place among the ranks.

"From now on, you'll be called Hungerkit?" in honor of Ebonylight's satiated hunger and their endless starvation for their denied parenthood. "to honor your soon-to-grow passion for the clan and lust for life!" he says instead, purring brightly down at the kit.

@HARVEST

@GRAVELKIT //tagging baby intro!

*+:｡.｡ Updated 4/13/24

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• 
  
  
  
  GENERAL:
  ‡ Ebonylight
  ‡ DFAB— He/They/She — Pansexual
  ‡ 18 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ‡ Duskclan (Rogue)
  ‡ Mates with Nightingalecry, father to Frightkit, Deathkit and Witherkit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ‡ Physically hard | mentally hard
  ‡ Attack in bold black
  
  injuries: None currently
  

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[Thriftfeather]

The horrible thought comes to Thriftfeather as soon as he sees Ebonylight trounce into camp with an unfamiliar kitten in his wake: that this will somehow become familiar or, worse yet, normal. Someday, Thriftfeather may witness this and not feel the mind-halting drop of his insides. He wonders, he wonders, he cannot stop himself from wondering, and that arrests him into place more than anything else. Ebonylight cannot know—he cannot possibly know—and Thriftfeather cannot begin to parse if that is a comfort or not.

"Hungerkit," Thriftfeather echoes. He has been here, before. He has been here countless times. He speaks, despite how barren his mouth feels, "That's—uh—that's a lovely name."

He can't let Ebonylight see him caught off guard again. It isn't an option, not after last time. Thriftfeather swallows and swallows again, and then makes an effort to ease the tension from his shoulders. He is a warrior of DuskClan—there is nothing here for him to be frightened of. He can face this, despite of or because of the way his heart rabbits. He thinks of Ghostwail, dead, long limbs akimbo and mouth still partially opened—a terrible reminder that he can face anything, when pushed to it.

"I lost my—when I was young, my mother died too," It feels like a bold thing, speaking directly to Hungerkit.

He comes forward a step and, noting Ebonylight's tail wound around Hungerkit's small shoulders, halts his own comforting paw before it can reach her. Another exhale, shuddering—how many times had he leaned against Ghostwail's comfort because it was all he knew how to seek? He can't stop his green eyes from tracking that tail to its source, flicking up to briefly meet Ebonylight's own. He wishes at once that he was braver, that this, the quiet words spoken haltingly to a kit, wasn't his version of bravery. There are a countless number of things he would say to Ebonylight or to Hungerkit.

Perhaps he would ask for her name—her real name.

Instead he diverts his eyes and tries not to sneer and tries not to let that wondering take him elsewhere. Avoidance comes easily to Thriftfeather. He can face anything, but instead, he faces away. Instead, with stone-heavy shame weighing down his chest, Thriftfeather recognizes his own need to survival, his own need to not splash already turgid waters, and he finds that he has nothing more to say. ​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 15 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Disgust could not help but twist onto Privetpaw's angular features, as though even the twines of whiskers upon his face screwed into spirals, spirals and spirals of pure envy. Hatred, as pure as a shimmering crystal, was present in all adolescents. Privet did not allow his hatred to emerge out of him, rather it would fuel his ambition as the hearth ate at the firewood. He tilted his head down to gaze at the rather scrawny thing before him, and the name of 'Hungerkit' fit the stranger quite well, as though the moniker writhed to replace whatever name she had been given at birth. Her mother had died, apparently. Had she given them a name before that? Had she died before she could even utter such a thing? Morbid curiosity crept upon sable limb, though he managed to push it back down for the sake of decorum. White-tipped tail lashed behind him in annoyance, like Ebonylight's serpentine tongue had slithered into his own crevices, melting into bile and such nasty things to expel. It was the utter cheeriness that set him off, blasé manner of speaking that would surely get them killed. It had not, though, and that was what irritated Privet the most.

"That is a strange name. Why would you wish to have your name serve as a reminder of famine and death? Though, I suppose it befits your tragedy. Consider yourself privileged that you have even been gifted a clan's name at all." Privetpaw did not move even as Thriftfeather rested his tail upon the little kit's back, with only a grimace that held no comfort in its gapes present upon him, for he would not waste his time with those that he felt did not deserve it. Fern-green gaze, discerning and sharp as an icicle carved by wintry hand, stared at the russet purls and the mangy body that it belied. Such an unwieldy body would have much trouble weaving through the labyrinth of the sagebrushes, he mused. With a snort, the wine-dark tomcat turned on his heels and trotted away, as though there were little else to do but to simply take breath in that crowd. He had better things to occupy him, grander things to aspire to, and the blood of his opponents to spill. He would not mourn those of the outside, those merely plucked by the gracious talon of a widower with nothing else to occupy her time.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC: ic opinions </3
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 6 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

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[GRANITEPELT]

The charcoal warrior returns, a smile splitting their face. A scrap of fur trudges alongside her, ruddy-colored, like the afterthought of a bloodstain. Granitepelt's face is like stone as he pads closer, slender emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully against his cheekbones. "Hungerkit," he repeats. Hunger, hunger for what? For vengeance? For survival? He blinks, slowly, to show he approves of the name, of the arrival. Thriftfeather and Privetpaw hover nearby, the first welcoming, the second wary.

"Fear not, Privetpaw." His voice is calm, smooth as water flowing silkily over rock. "Hungerkit will make a good addition to our cause one day." Granitepelt's tail flicks behind him, and he purses his lips, wondering about the fate of the bedraggled kit who'd been brought into their ranks.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

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[GRAVELPAW]

Ebonylights shrill voice rings through the little place that Duskclan roams. For a second, growing fear begins to crack the mask they have carefully curated until they let their hackles fall, chin tipping up. It just seems that Ebonylight found another poor soul to be chucked in to the Clan and immediately do their words cause cats to begin gathering.

A flash of jealousy at Thriftfeathers warm welcome jolts through their heart, burning, angry, upset- they exhale to calm themselves, sounding more like a sigh than anything else.

"Hello," their voice is soft as they greet the other kit. They ignore Privetpaw, pretending that he had not been there at all- as she had done before, as she has done. It's easier that way, easier on their heart, on their mind. "Hello." they sniff the other, cautious, trying to discern the scent that sits on the others pelt. She's pretty, with pale eyes and a russet coat. She's vastly different than Gravelkit and yet now they are siblings because in their short while of being here, they know Ebonylight had staked their claim over them. And now Ebonylight will do the exact same thing to... Hungerkit. Granitepelt, their leader, even seems to chastise Privetpaw (though she knows in her heart it is not the case, he is just stating the obvious).

They swallow hard, their paws yearning for elsewhere.

Something protective in them awakens, staring at the kit brought here. Her mother was dead, they're almost cut from the same cloth, brought to the same clan under the same guise of empathy and parent-like love. "I'm B- Gravelkit. I'm Gravelkit." they almost speak of Baby, but Baby was far behind them, now. They extend a hesitant paw and gently pat the top of Hungerkits head, in the only comforting manner that they know of. Ebonylights comfort was harsh. They want to be soft. They want to tell Hungerkit that they're going to be okay but nothing comes out.

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴, ˚⋆｡°✩₊🦇 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂

• 
  ❥ baby ,, gravelkit
  ❥ demi-girl ,, she/they ,, 03 months
  ❥ duskclan kit ,, adopted by ebonylight
  ❥ black/blue smoke chimera with high white and blue eyes
  ❥ "speech, 9d9adf" ,, thoughts
  ❥ too young to be interested in anything ,, single
  ❥ smells like heather and pine needles
  ❥ art by woodlandpest ,, penned by chuff

​

 

[HUNGERPAW]

࿔*:･ﾟ༄　Harvest's paws drag forwards in a daze. Her ma is gone, she's said her goodbyes. It all happened so suddenly - too fast too fast too fast. She wants everything to stop for a moment, so that she can breathe. She is pinned, caught in a trap. All she can see is red red red coating her mother's body.

She blinks, and she is somewhere else. She does not remember the walk, but her legs ache. The split-eyed cat leads her far, far away from her home. Far from her ma's cold body, far from the only place she has ever known. There are other cats here, and they keep staring at her. A thousand spotlight eyes, all staring at Harvest and waiting upon her word. The cat with the smile like a serpent curls their tail around her. "A new name? But I like mine..." She says in a daze, and has the sudden creeping feeling that it was the wrong thing to say. She is granted a name regardless of her meek protests. "Hungerkit...? Um." She doesn't like it. It feels wrong, twisting the knife of her mother's death by taking away the name she called her.

There's too many cats. They're all staring at her. She shrinks away. Ears swivel towards the dark-furred one with piercing olivine eyes. He questions the name, as if it was her decision. She wants to protest. "I don't..." The words trail off. I don't want it? I didn't choose it? He says she should be grateful, and so she is quiet.

There are two, less frightening than the rest. The first, speaking of similarity. She is too overwhelmed to respond, to process - merely blinking up at him and holding his gaze among the rest. The second, young and quiet. Her head turns to blink at the younger, working her throat for a moment. To this one, she speaks kinship. "Uh - " her throat feels dry. "Your name's like mine," is what she settles on.

It takes a moment for her own words to register; her body moves without input. Mine. Is that what Hungerkit is now? All that she was feels ripped away. She is a shell, hollow. As skin-crawling wrong as the name is, she supposes it's not entirely unfitting.

‎‎┌── BUT THEN THE DOVE OF HOPE ⸙ BEGAN ITS DOWNWARD SLOPE ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
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• 
  HUNGERKIT　⸙ 　she/her, kit of duskclan, four moons.
  ➳ a large, fluffy molly with russet fur and blue eyes.
  ➳ cautious, people-pleasing, and cowardly. easily impressionable.
  ➳ scarecrow x npc; former barn cat.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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