idaho * intro & return from training

[SMOKESTEP]

TAGS — Smokepaw squints at the setting sun when he finally surfaces from the tunnels. He ought to be used to the way the light can blind him by now, considering he's been tunneling for nearly five moons- but he's still got almost eight more to go. Not that he minds. He feels at home underground, away from the eyes that pry into him and get under his pelt, capable of ripping him apart. Most of all he likes not being able to see in the inky black- the ability to forget the scars that coat his forepaws, the ones he'd received thanks to Firepaw's stupidity some moons ago. Part of him thinks he shouldn't keep holding onto the vendetta, but a bigger part of him doesn't listen, so he holds onto it anyway.

The apprentice slinks through the heather tunnel, his ebony-striped pelt illuminating him starkly against the pale grasses. The difference is especially apparent now that it's Leafbare and the vegetation has lost its splendor. He can feel the way he stands out (perhaps in more ways than one), but the small tom settles into camp regardless, finding himself a spot that would effectively shield him from the harsh winds the moor loved so dearly. He smells like earth. There's even a few clods of dirt in his fur- but he doesn't notice, or he doesn't care enough to get rid of them. After all, he'll be at this again tomorrow. Maybe someday he'll learn to appreciate his breaks a little more.​

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[Badgermoon]

Badgermoon had never been eligible for the role of a tunneler: his broad shoulders had always made that clear, and that suited him fine, as he couldn't imagine a more horrifying existence than one which was separated from the wide-open sky. The entire reason he was a WindClanner in the first place was because of the moor Clan's openness: the expanse of rippling grassland or shining snow beneath the endless sky...it had possessed him utterly upon his first encountering it, and its grip had never once loosened. The black and white tom was now, in fact, almost certain he would never stop loving the freedom the moor granted, and so he had the utmost respect for those who served their Clan by diving into the depths and toiling interminably in the dark earth. It made him shudder just to think of it. Besides, personal preferences aside, it was a very different but crucial set of skills, none of which he possessed - so he liked hearing about the tunnelers' work, whenever they were inclined to share.

Though he had noticed that those who worked beneath the ground tended to be a little ... quirky.

"I wonder where you've been today." the two-toned tom joked as he approached Smokepaw, having spotted the dirt-flecked apprentice from where he had been seated near the entrance to camp. It wasn't someone he knew well, he realized - Firepaw's brother, if he wasn't mistaken? - and he was sitting alone. Surely he'd appreciate some company. It was one of Badgermoon's goals to be on good terms with everyone he could, a goal which had increased in importance since he had been named deputy. If his Clanmates didn't at least know him and perhaps even like him, how could he expect them to obey him, to respect his position? He would of course work to earn their good graces, but...well, being sociable couldn't hurt, could it? "It's Smokepaw, right?" the yellow-eyed cat tried to confirm, offering a little grin. "My name is Badgermoon - I don't think we've met properly before." ​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Like Badgermoon, Mallowlark had never a hope of being a tunneller. Him and his family had once lived out of the tunnels, but eventually he'd had to settle for sleeping outside as fitting in there became less cosy and more suffocating. Last thing he wanted to do was drown in dirt- what a horrible way to go! He'd much rather fall off a height, or- or be hit by debris from that stick that'd killed Sootstar. Something quick, something-

Mind led astray by the smell of earth and darkness, his owlish gaze stirred from the mist of distraction and sipped toward where Badgermoon and Smokepaw sat. Beckoned by his curiosity, the visage of the smiling spectre descended upon the two, even more wraithlike in the pale veil of winter. As if his head was a little-too-heavy, it lolled to the side- though neither his paws nor frame swayed with his skull, balance kept perfectly upright and yet impossibly sideways. "Is it warmer in the tunnels than out here? Bet you're freezing half to death in this!"

Having not encroached the underground for a while, he couldn't quite remember if it was in the leaf-bare or greenleaf that the tunnels held the heat best- but either way, this apprentice sure was a little one! Probably wouldn't take much cold to kill him... ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 It seems a great burden to Wolfsong. He is small enough to make use of the tunnels himself, unlike Sunstride (though he imagines it briefly, and recalls Rampaw's incident with the hole; Sunstride would be stuck much the same, head and shoulders lodged tight with the rest of him squirming). It isn't the dark that bothers Wolfsong, nor the enclosed space, but that the role of tunneler isn't intended for battle. They will not be at the very forefront of a skirmish, a place where Wolfsong means to stand whenever the opportunity arises. He was not raised to fear the clash of teeth and claws but to relish it.

And it is not his fate to die lost or crushed below the weight of the earth.

Wolfsong joins Badgermoon and Mallowlark on silent paws. The pair of them couldn't be more different in mannerisms and temperament. Does anyone wonder the same of Sunstride and I? I think we have spent too much time in each other's company to be so mismatched.

His one-eyed gaze shifts to the young apprentice, named Smokepaw by Badgermoon. "Would you regret your size if it is warmer?" Wolfsong's eyes glint teasingly. "This would only be one of the first daybreaks of leaf-fall where I am from."
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[WEASELCLAW]

His mate is built for the tunnels that race beneath their territory, but Weaselclaw is not. Even glimpsing her fluffy backside disappearing into the mouth of one of those underground traps sends the fur spiking along his spine. He's terrified every day that one of his Clanmates will be caught in a collapse -- or maybe they'll just be lost and never able to resurface...

The tabby can admit his own claustrophobia. He was built for speed, for galloping across hills of heather under an open sky. He admires the work the smaller cats do, but he's never once had any inclination to join them.

"Probably more prey under there," he murmurs. In this weather, the bitter cold with snowdrifts blowing in on them from every which way, all the prey must have taken to the underground. He gives Wolfsong an appraising look. "If this is light for one of your leafbare storms, I don't want to see your homeland," he says bluntly but truthfully. His pelt is thin and windblown -- he's not built for leafbare, that's for certain. He's already looking forward to curling around his expecting mate and sharing her warmth.​

 

[Irispath]

Yewberry had been avoiding mostly everyone the past few days, but he couldn't help but give his input when tunneling was involved. It was his life, basically, and he enjoyed it. So, when he heard Mallowlark ask if it was warmer in there, he padded over to join them, giving them a bright, but tired smile.

"It's not as cold, since you're shielded from the wind and snow, but it can still be chilly if your fur is thin!" He said.

Wolfsong mentioned where he's from, and he couldn't imagine more snow than this. What was that like????

"Really? How did you handle the snow? What was it like?" He asked. He was genuinely curious. He liked hearing about other parts of the world.

He didn't look at Weaselclaw though. He wasn't deliberate about it, but he wasn't acknowledging the guy even existed.

Normally he wouldn't have even come over at all, but something was brewing in him and he couldn't tell if it was courage or spite.


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[SMOKESTEP]

TAGS — Smokepaw looks up at Badgermoon when he approaches, and his posture straightens imperceptibly, a subconscious reaction to being in the presence of the new WindClan deputy. Maybe Badgermoon doesn't know him, but even though Smokepaw spends most of his days underground he's very aware of the tom's new rank in the clan- very aware of what that means when it comes to impressing him. Very aware of the tragedy that had befallen Duskfire, too, though he doesn't want think about it for long. The wisp-black tabby's fiery gaze skirts his own pelt, finally realizing the dirt clods that have made a home in it. With a free paw, he tries to dust them off as Badgermoon introduces himself. Maybe Badgermoon would be surprised to know how blindly Smokepaw is willing to follow his word. It's Smokepaw, right? "Um, yes," he confirms, nodding, making no mention of his (frankly embarrassing) littermate to confirm or deny his inner curiosity. "Hi, Badgermoon."

Really, he'd quite like to continue his conversation with Badgermoon (as sparse as it is), but Mallowlark waltzes towards them before Smokepaw can form any other insights on his tongue. To be honest, something about the way Mallowlark carries himself makes Smokepaw's stomach twist, but he can't put his paw on why. Maybe it's the way he acts like his head is too heavy for his spine, or the moon-bright smile he wears so often. Still, the young tunneler tries not to let his discomfort show. He's above the childish insults his sister so willingly doles out. Respect is more suiting for a cat their age. "The tunnels are nicer, since there's no wind," he replies, a sentiment that Yewberry echoes once he arrives. For a small moment, Smokepaw pauses to contemplate whether or not he's freezing currently. "Um, I guess I'm pretty cold up here, yeah. Not gonna croak, though." At least, he doesn't think so.

The last few toms seem to approach all at once, though Wolfsong is the first of them to address him directly. Smokepaw's sun-spark gaze flits appraisingly over the golden tom. He's larger than Smokepaw is, but not so large that the tunnels would be inaccessible to him- but his fur is thick enough to withstand this leafbare chill with no problems. At least, he thinks so. He meets the other's one-eyed gaze, simply blinking as he's teased. "No," he decides quickly. "I'll always be a tunneler, so I don't mind being so small." He says it with perhaps more gravity than he's given anything else, but it's the truest he feels about anything he's said so far. Tunneling is what's meant for him. Even if it injured him when he was younger, even if he can feel the chill aching in his forepaws now, he'd never turn from this path as long as it made his mother proud. As long as Sootstar and Badgermoon and all of the other warriors would be proud of him, too. Still, his ear flicks as Wolfsong elaborates that this cold is only half as bad as his homeland's. That sounds just awful, he thinks to himself, but lets Weaselclaw say as much out loud.

Yewberry speaks, and Smokepaw listens, nodding in agreement. He voices his curiosity about Wolfsong's home, but seems to ignore Weaselclaw's musing. He doesn't read into it. Smokepaw instead turns his gaze to the oak-furred tom, blinking. "Rabbits are easier to catch in their burrows," he confirms. Although, he deliberately omits the fact that he is a bit of an ineffective hunter on the surface regardless of the season.​

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[icebreath]

TAGS — A large group of clanmates isn't typically Icepaw's preferred setting, especially when it's comprised of her seniors; she's not the best conversationalist and the warriors are always daunting to chat with or even be around, save for a select few. Fortunately, a lot of these cats seem to comprise this collection; only Mallowlark and Weaselclaw put her off to a degree, the former for his... everything, as much as they hate to say it, and the latter for how intimidating she finds him. But even then, she still tends to worry about making the best impression she can on the safe minority, even those she especially likes, always treading carefully. It's the sight of Smokepaw among the gathered cats that gives them the final needed boost of courage; he's one of the few they feel largely at ease around. There's never any pressure with him.

They make it over in time to catch Wolfsong's last remark, upon which their pale eyes widen. She has so many questions about him and Sunstride, really; they're such an interesting pair. Stopping to stand beside their friend, upon which they offer him and everyone else a little acknowledging smile, they subsequently direct their gaze to Wolfsong. "Yeah, that's crazy," she mews in addition to Weaselclaw. "Is that why you left?" It doesn't feel sustainable.
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