camp in the saturday rain — refuse sorting

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── //lil cw for slight descriptions of prey remains if that bothers anyone

As greenleaf lingers and casts aside the traces of budding newleaf, Wolfsong knows it is time to prepare. He has carefully tracked the moons since he was a child, freshly bereft, determined that he would not forget to honor his mother (and tempted, at times, to honor his father despite the cowardice at his end). It will be the first time Wolfsong endeavors to guide an offering into WindClan soil. He is not certain that he should. She was not born here, nor buried (with what little there was to cover with earth), and she was not one of StarClan's— perhaps he will simply disturb her undying peace, calling to her from so far away.

But it feels worse still to do nothing, and so he prepares. There is time yet before the anniversary truly arrives, and he needs gifts. He begins by sorting through the remnants of finished meals, scraps of fur and bone scarred by teeth. Later, he will find feathers, flowers, stones— now he searches for intact claws of rabbits and bird skulls. If he could, he would present a dog claw to her. Perhaps she would forgive the disturbance if he did, but he does not have the means this time. Nor any other, in truth; he will change that one day.

The birds here sing more sweetly and cast fewer great shadows, but I hope they will bring you amusement. At the very least, they will prove my loyalty to your memory. He will have to bury his chosen bones for a while, allow the soil to strip them clean(er), but he is not yet done choosing.​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

The phantom had never been one to give any mind to the cats that had come before her. Her siblings, her parents, her ancestors, are nothing but skeletons in the ground by now, their bones being picked clean by worms. There is no solace in calling out to them and even as her belief in StarClan flickered into a flame, her piety only extended as far as it suited her leader's means. If Sootstar were to completely denounce the institution, the phantom of WindClan would also cast aside her beliefs in favor of whatever else.

Ghostwail can not say that she understands what Wolfsong is doing - collecting bones and fur and scraps - though there is a touch of interest in her burning gaze for the gristle. She had always been fascinated by the inside, the cages that protected vulnerable flesh and viscera. "Are you taking notes?" Is the monotone question from the albino beast, all creeping joker-grin and intensity, laser-focused on the scattered discards. "A sort of investigation for future assignments on acceptable test subjects?"​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[Bluepool]

Much like Wolfsong, much like many of the cats in WindClan actually, her own mother and father are buried somewhere else. Somewhere made inaccessible to her by invisible lines and boundaries. Claws and teeth would surely be ready to meet her if she ever tried to visit them, but that is alright. She had never known her mother and she had long since made peace with her father being gone as well. Then again, she knew they were watching over her from the stars and that brought great comfort. To know with absolute certainty that she would one day see them again took the sting out a little bit. She could not imagine what it was like for cats who didn’t have such a luxury.

She watches curiously as Wolfsong gathers oddities, something she could only really imagine the strange cats of the clan like Ghostwail doing. Why these cats seemed to flock to WindClan of all places she would never understand. How many more of them must she endure? Perhaps, like with Mallowlark, one day she would awaken to find them gone. What a great morning that would be huh?

Still, she finds herself drawn in and despite her lack of a desire to be caught anywhere near a cat like the alabaster molly, she comes to stand by Ghostwails side. "What are all these things for?" she asks, her tone suspicious. Hopefully he was still in a right state of mind and whatever disease Mallowlark had once possessed was not finally catching…

​

 

[cedarbark.]

❝ I DON'T WANNA HURT EM' ✧°.☀ ————————————
Bones and offering. Something that Cedarbark hadn't ever attempted, not in his moons. He hadn't felt loss like the other's. Something in his stomach was cool, iron-akin, at the thought of death. These days, they went to Starclan. In days past? They were returned to the earth, where they were all borne from. Cedarbark's ears twitched as he padded back into camp, a piece of freshkill hanging from his jaws. A sizeable mouse, but nothing to go nuts over.

His vision skipped over those gathering about the medicine cat in training. Ghostwail- who had been on patrol with him recently- and Bluepool. Both questioning the poor soul who was busy. A huff left him as he settled his catch on the pile, moving towards the gathering group of interested cats. To say he was uninterested would be a lie, of course. It was.. piquing his interest. But he wasn't going to outright ask and disrespect- after all, the look on Wolfsong's face was telling enough. Cedarbark spoke quietly, towards Bluepool. "Perhaps his own business." He suggested, sitting down a respectable distance away. A licked paw, swiping at his own muzzle to clean it of the prey's blood.

"speech"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ BUT I DID, I'M IN A FIT OF RAGE ❞ ​

​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

Rattleheart's relationship to their parents had always been a distant one, far closer to their siblings rather than the two felines who had brought the litter of them into this world. That wasn't to say the tunneler didn't care for them at all - they wouldn't be here without their parents, and that was enough for them to care at least somewhat. Still, probably not as much as Wolfsong cared for his mother, demonstrated by his careful and deliberate actions in sorting through filth just to find trinkets worthy of calling to her. Not that Rattleheart knew what he was doing, a confused expression on their face as they slipped into camp not long after Cedarbark. The scent of the Riverclan border was still clinging loosely to their pelt, a sharp stench that made their own nose wrinkle even as they tried to somehow shake it off. They'd have to visit the Sun-Warmed Pool soon, but that could wait until their curiosity was satisfied.

They didn't prod at Wolfsong immediately like the others, instead looking over the bones that the lead warrior had picked out thus far. Even not knowing what they were for, Rattleheart could tell that they were the most intact ones that the blonde tom could have found. Their head cocked over to one side before the finally opened their muzzle, one paw gesturing towards what he had already. "Is there any chance that we can help? It's your business, like Cedarbark said, but if you're looking for anything in particular... I've sometimes buried bones down in the tunnels." Often out of necessity, when a piece of prey fought too hard and ended up damaging itself in the process. They likely wouldn't be of the best quality, but maybe there were a few intact skulls or so.
​

[ PENNED BY EO ]​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── At the pale moor runner's approach, Wolfsong cocks his head slightly, face raised from his work to watch her with his lone blue eye. She speaks of test subjects and experiments, though the interest in her gaze as she stares at the various states of decay at his paws does not seem clinical. I can respect pursuits of knowledge, but many of these strange WindClanners seem to have other goals in mind. After a moment, he hums in the negative. He wonders why she thought to ask about future assignments— he was not aware lead warriors had such responsibilities. Even Vulturemask does not seem inclined to such proclivites. "No, nothing of the sort."

He means to elaborate, but is distracted briefly by a particularly sharp rib of what he believes was once a vole. In that time, Bluepool joins, and she sounds understandably wary. Far less interested than Ghostwail. He would not expect her to be, and he considers how to answer her question in a way that does not seem...outlandish to StarClan's faithful.

Cedarbark, watching from the periphery after returning from a hunt, defends Wolfsong's apparent eccentricity. He smiles, scars tugged upward by the shift of muscle, and the darker warrior is joined in speaking on his behalf by Rattleheart. RiverClan and SkyClan would think of us as little more than rabble bound by Sootstar's madness, but there is true camaraderie here. "It would take far more to offend me," he says, to reassure Cedarbark and Rattleheart both that he does not mind— and with a warmth of gratitude he hopes they catch.

To them all, he finally explains. "I know it is not the way of StarClan, but I mean to honor my mother. Her spirit is far from here, but I would not shame her by neglecting an offering in her memory." His gaze shifts to the last tunneler, inclining his head to their darker figure. "And I would be grateful for that. I have a bone of song"—he touches the bird's skull—"and a bone of bearing." His paw smooths across a rabbit's leg. "I would like something that communicates...physical finesse." He meets Rattleheart's lea-green gaze. "Aspects of my mother's, but also things I'd like to keep her company."​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

"Physical finesse." the woman echoes, a soft sort of contemplation settling over her skullish face. The concept of exaltation - or even remembrance - of one's family or ancestors is foreign to her, but the collection of sacred items, an occultist's game, gives her pause. It is interesting and new, novel compared to the dogmatic faiths of the clan cats. She, of course, was a clan cat now, but there was no-one in StarClan waiting for her. There was no expectation to carry on a spectral legacy that others could not. To find solace in the macabre, taxidermical, wholly earthly nature of bones and other assorted brickabrak... well, it was something that did not garner snideness from the phantom - a rarity, indeed.

"Perhaps snake shed.... or a rattle from a dead adder. Infrequently, I see their corpses along the Thunderpath." Flattened, near one with the hot cement, but harvestable if a cat is bold enough to brave the odd monster rolling past.​

- you call for peace when it suits you​