camp IN THE DANGER ZONE — intro

[GRAVELSNAP]

There’s a certain silence to the winter that Gravelpaw hates. This is their first winter—their first time seeing snow, their first time huddling up against another apprentice for warmth, first time being hungry. Their stomach rumbles at the thought, and the bicolored tom scowls. He’s not used to this, to waking in the morning and not being able to grab breakfast from the prey pile. He’s not used to being hungry, being cold. But he’s a WindClanner, and he’s tough. He has to be. No weather is going to make him weak. The apprentice scrubs at the dirt with a pale paw, ignoring the way that it shakes slightly. They aren’t nervous, they’re just hungry.

With their grumbling stomach in mind, Gravelpaw stands. Something in their back tugs; they have to twist their body slightly to stretch it out, releasing an annoyed huff. They don’t exactly want to ask for help, especially from someone they aren’t totally comfortable around, but they also can’t stand the feeling of cold food in their mouth. So the apprentice shuffles over to the nearest clanmate and mutters out, "What’s the best place to catch prey?" Somehow they manage to seem annoyed simply by asking the question. Hazel eyes remain fixed on a loose rock between their paws, narrowed as though the pebble has done something to irritate them.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[icebreath]

TAGS — Icepaw knows the feeling — all of it. The season's brought some excitement, for sure; playing in the snow's fun, and it's neat to feel safe and relatively camouflaged above ground with white fur that would otherwise mark her out like a beacon among the vivid grass. But the annoyances kind of outweigh that — her small stature and short pelt aren't ideal for this weather, and even with her winter coat it's never too long before she longs to snuggle up and get warm and cozy in the camp's burrow's. She hates how distractible it makes her; any threat to her motivation is concerning, so she just tries to push herself harder to snuff out the urges.

She's grooming herself and trying to decide if it's worth it to head back out to the tunnels (which it probably is) when Gravelpaw's question interrupts her. It reminds her of another winter-specific annoyance, although maybe that's too light of a word for it: the prey scarcity. It makes their job as a tunneler feel a lot more important, though — it's nice to feel needed, which cats like her definitely are during the season where everything retreats underground. She's honestly ridden the high all throughout her apprenticeship so far, so imagine her pride now that her skills are so intrinsically valuable. But on the flip side, it's so much pressure...

"Above ground, I'm not entirely sure..." she replies, sounding a bit sheepish. It feels silly to admit for some reason, even though the reasoning behind it makes sense, and the irritation coloring Gravelpaw's tone isn't helping. "Buuut I bet I could drive some rodents out of their nests if you wait outside them; we could tag team it."
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[slatepaw]

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slatepaw
6 moons - windclan apprentice - speech​

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ───────────────── ☾ ───────────────── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮



slatepaw was no bigger fan of winter than his brother was. his fur was too short, his ears too big and thin - the open moor's winds seemed to chill right into his skull. though, unlike gravelpaw, slatepaw wouldn't let himself be found huddling up to another apprentice. wouldn't let himself be heard complaining about it, either. in fact, he was mostly stone-faced through every chill that bit his skin. he wouldn't let his father see him act so.. soft and weak. even if he longed to warm up next to someone else's fur.

he was sat next to gravelpaw, only about a tail-length away when his brother abruptly stood up, seeming annoyed. he watched his brother with a growing frown. slatepaw was about to open his mouth to answer his question until icepaw quickly beat him to it, and he clamped his jaws shut with a slight sense of defeat. he wasn't asking me.

slatepaw glanced away, returning to his common 'stare into nothing and pretend i'm not here' stance while he listened to the other two apprentices talk next to him. for a moment, he thought about offering to help, but he wasn't sure what his to-do list looked like today. either his father was going to train him for hours, or he'd be busy isolating himself from the outside world.


╰── ⋅ ⋅ ───────────────── ☾ ───────────────── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

༶•┈┈⛧┈★ just a castaway, an island lost at sea

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[MALLOWLARK]

Whose apprentices these were he was not sure, but since they were in WindClan's camp it was his best guess that they were some of theirs! Joyful to hear them having a little conversation, wasn't it- and about something so helpful! Despite the madness that some were driven to atop these moors, it was always a heartening thing to be reminded of the fact that there were apprentices who really did care about WindClan. Not everyone wanted to escape, not everyone ran or were ejected before they could try! His moors, those that he had known all his life, were in good paws.

Grin ever-dressed, wide as every, the black-footed spectre of a tom made his way over, a giggle glittering behind his fangs like a grasshopper's chirp. "If you guys want help tracking down some prey," came the preface of his offer, joyfully given in the typical discordant song of his voice. Mallowlark's head lolled a little to the side, as if its weight was slightly too heavy for his shoulders- but his pupils, fixated within starlight pools, moved not an inch. "I'll help. I know some good spots." And even if they ended up bad, he'd be able to fake it pretty well! His nose didn't often fail him. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

Their question is answered with swiftness. Icepaw isn’t sure where to find prey above ground. "Above ground," he echoes the tabby-striped apprentice’s words. Ah, of course, because they’re a tunneler, aren’t they? He envies them for their stature—he’s already been discounted as a tunneler based on his size, but still he looks upon his tunneling clanmates with something like disappointment. It settles heavy in his chest; a crushed dream, before it even got the chance to grow. It’s just first of many, he supposes. "Working together… that could make it easier. We would just need to find a nest, then." In his mind, there are already colored pinpoints dotted around the crude shape of WindClan territory. Prime hunting spots, or areas he hasn’t tried yet.

Gravelpaw turns to ask whether their brother wants to join as well—only to see that Slatepaw has ignored them, avoiding eye contact. Their eyes narrow and they call out to him, their tone softer with him than with most others, "You should come, Slatepaw. You’re a good hunter, we could use you." It’s stated as fact—because, Gravelpaw thinks, their brother should be more confident in his abilities. He’s a WindClanner, and their father’s son, and he can surely get the job done when needed. Gravelpaw would sooner hop into a foxhole than insult their brother, anyway.

The black-footed tom who approaches next is unsettling in appearance, but Gravelpaw has grown used to Mallowlark’s strangeness. That blinding grin, so full of teeth, once frightened them, but now only makes them snort. He’s harmless, this one. The warrior claims to have knowledge of some good hunting spots, and even offers to come along. "That would be appreciated," Gravelpaw takes care not to look him right in the eye—he may not disturb them as much as he once did, but there remains a line between comfort and discomfort, and this tom certainly stands with an inky paw on each side of it. "What prey can you track?"
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[Badgermoon]

Apprentices, apprentices everywhere; three just in this little clump of cats! The broad-shoulder warrior shook his head, a little dumbfounded, as he trotted towards the quartet of WindClanners. It was hardly a bad thing to have a lot of young cats eager to learn (surely they were all eager to learn?), but it did give Badgermoon a bit of pause. If a battle broke out, would they be disadvantaged? Would young lives be snuffed out due to a lack of experience? Mmm...the idea worried him, and he had a brief, unpleasant vision of Gravelpaw, Slatepaw, and Icepaw's bodies smeared with blood. The bicolor tom shook the thought away and put up a smile, listening in as a discussion of a joint hunting mission flowed around him. "If we're careful, we might have some luck by the gorge." the black and white warrior contributed thoughtfully. He glanced at only other warrior in the group, the ever-smiley Mallowlark, and added, "But I don't want to steal anyone's thunder. I'd love to come along, if I can be helpful." joining an impromptu hunting patrol sounded like more fun than trawling the moor on his own in pursuit of prey that wasn't there. Plus, there was talk of involving the tunnels, and he was endlessly fascinated by those cats who were able to navigate and hunt in the close, earthy dark.​