it thinks about you too ✧ shorter days

[SCORCHSTORM]

It's almost been a moon since they'd set off.

The knife wound of Badgermoon and Curlewnose's joint betrayal has become a dull ache; a memory like gnarled scar tissue. She can still recall Sootstar's desperate wail, can still feel the guilt and shame and anger and fear that had washed over her like a tsunami, can still taste the salt of tears as she'd torn away from her Clan to mourn cats that weren't even dead. But the exact words can no longer haunt her. Traitors, traitors, traitors, is all the ghosts of memory can chant at her now, and she takes it and compresses it in the pit of her chest until it shines like diamonds and is equally cutting.

It's been almost a moon since she's seen the moorlands. She had coaxed Mouseflight into a race, but her bones still ache for open fields; her body still misses the warm caress of golden grass. She is afraid that leafbare will be in full swing by the time they return. Would each rolling hill be white-capped as the mountains she treks now? She loathes the idea. She misses WindClan; she misses the taste of rabbit; she misses Badgermoon and Curlewnose and she hates them too. Would she even like the WindClan she returns to, now that they're gone? She isn't sure. They could be dead for all she cares. She wishes they would come back.

The sun retreats from the moon earlier now; earlier than Scorchpaw has ever seen it retreat. Maybe the sun, too, fears yellowcough. Maybe the sun, too, feels the urge to run across the whole sky until its muscles can no longer support its weight, and so it retires just to do it all again tomorrow. Scorchpaw hates the nighttime chill up in the mountains. Her short-cropped fur is made of fire but holds none of the same warmth. Again she finds herself longing for the moors, its warm sandy earth and cozy gorse-and-feather nests. Her blue butterfly wing shimmers in the moonlight as the group settles down to make camp until dawn.

Shivering, Scorchpaw rolls onto her back in the snow, stars reflected in her bi-color gaze. "This better all be worth it," she says to Silverpelt. This journey; this grief. Tell me Badgermoon's betrayal meant something. Tell me we will find enough cure for all of our sick. Thoughtfully, she closes her eyes. She speaks to StarClan and StarClan alone for a brief moment, her voice hardly above a whisper: "Tell me it will be okay." But when she opens her eyes, another cat has appeared. Embarrassed, Scorchpaw rolls onto her side and curls into herself as if to become smaller. Hopefully they didn't hear all of that.

/ for windclan's fall prompt event! ^_^ this got a bit long-winded at the start so tldr: scorchpaw notices the way the sunsets have come earlier and earlier and is currently stargazing / praying. any cat can be the one that stumbled across her!

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐈 𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐄 ✧ 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿

• 

• 
  
  — scorchkit . scorchpaw
  — she/they ; apprentice of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by giinya, signature by raphaelion
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[milkthorn.]

There was a longing in Scorchedpaws gaze that Milkpaw had noticed. A longing he too felt. These lands were all too close together of trees or ledges or dangers, that made him too miss the empty moors. The race he endured in as well was still not enough to really stretch out the windclanners muscles, but now they also ached from the climbing lengths they endured.

He had not yet forgotten about the obstacles even windclan was facing as they were facing their own on this journey, and he hoped they faired well. But windclan was strong. They only ever endured, just like the windclanners on the journey were doing as well. "I don't want to give you empty promise or anything, but I hope it will be okay as well," he muttered. He watched as she curled in on herself in the snow, and his ears flattened.

This bitter cold was no good, he hated it. The sun was beginning to lower sooner than he expected. The sun rose later, and the nights that were more bitter and sent him to chatter his teeth uncontrollably and body to quake and shiver. Icey hues would turn away from the tortie, staring across the distance to the horizon.

He hadn't really interacted with Scorchpaw. He distanced himself, and only assumed others thought what his sister spoke aloud. The troubled child just missed his own clans interactions, rather than interactions of strangers that did not know him. But his own clan barely understood him.

However, he didn't even understand himself.

​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ OH HOME, LET ME COME HOME ❀❀​

---

periwinklebreeze & 14 moons & demi-boy & he/they & windclan moor runner ​

---

Leaf bare is coming. The nights begin to creep by at snails pace, the days fleeting and rabbit hearted. Peri does not know know whether to rejoice, or to cry. He is no stranger to the cold - a child of the snow, he'd spent more of his life in the cold than without. But... thy were still not home. It meant that windclan was still short of pws, and prey would soon be running low. He can only pray that no threat has belied their departure, that no hawks have coming swooping in like before.

a sigh slips past his lips, ears pricked as voices join the still night air. Scorchpaw sounds distressed, but really - he's the last cat anyone would want to speak such certainties. As blue eyes stare overhead at the stars, blackened paws tuck tighter beneath his frail form. Silverpelt is cold and cruel - he does not understands why they seek comfort in stars that only wish to make monsters of them all.

"W-we'll make it b-back with th-the herbs - you'll see," he says finally, though he cannot bear to look at the two younger cats. "Starclan is g-g-g-guiding us," he doesn't trust it, but he says it anyways. Empty platitudes for younger ears. It should be a comfort, but it is not. Perhaps, were he still a kit in the nursery, milk-scent upon his pelt, a happy family even despite their flaws - maybe then, he'd find the lingering nights and stars to be a good thing.

But he is no longer that kit.

— home is wherever I'm with you ❀

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a lithe figured black and white tom with a false-pointed pattern and clear blue eyes that gleam periwinkle in the right lighting. he seems perpetually worn and exhausted, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and a slouched posture. he has a speech impediment which leaves him with a stutter and sometimes even completely non-verbal, and his fluffy tail is adorned with carefully woven daisies.
  
  — physically medium && mentally easy && pacifist
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ccccff]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[LUCKYPAW]

┌─────────────────── ☽【❖】☾ ───────────────────┐​

With all the walking they've done, all the empty days filled with nothing but travel, you'd think it might be hard to lose track of just how long they had been out here - and yet, with all the setbacks they've endured, least of all the time spent underground, the passing days aren't exactly at the forefront of Luckypaw's mind. Maybe he just doesn't want to face the truth, that they've been gone for such a time and still haven't found the cure; that while they're wandering around out here, scraping by best they can, life is moving forward back at home, too. With far too much time on his paws, he's spent hours wondering what everyone is up to, who else has fallen ill, whether they have snow like this back at WindClan, how Rumblepaw and Frostpaw are doing - that it's been almost a moon now is both shocking and all-too unsurprising at once. While his siblings and the rest of his family consume his thoughts much of the time, it's hard not to think of Badgermoon, and Curlewnose, too, worrying over that day over and over until it's etched into his memory forever. They might all return with the lungwort, might reunite with their loved ones, but his family's return will be hollow as it is relieving.

The days are shorter now, he's noticed, even if at first it seemed like some sort of trick of his imagination. Somehow, Luckypaw still manages to be surprised at that, even after everything the journey's thrown at him thus far - like forests, and rivers, and the snow. Out of all of it, he thinks he likes snow the least, not counting the things like bridge-crossing and getting trapped within mountain caves. It was nice to look at, in the beginning, bright and clear and shimmering in the light like fallen stars, but as the temperature quickly dropped he found himself longing for the days before he knew of snow, before the sun stayed low and the moon became more familiar than ever. Even now, the sun halts their progress, forcing them to stop earlier and earlier, and each day it feels like a rock in his stomach when they've made less ground than days before. How long would this continue on, he wonders? Will the sun ever go away entirely, neglecting to show itself for nights on end? It feels unnatural, even as it's happening before his very eyes; he prays that once they return home, it will go back to normal, even if it's the only thing that really does in the end.

Already shivering in the moon-touched air and snow-laden campsite, he finds he's not quite tired yet - well, perhaps that's not the best way of putting it. These days, he'd be hard-pressed to go a moment without feeling tired, without feeling the aching strain in his paws of walking endlessly. No, it's not that he isn't tired; rather, it's that he doesn't think he can sleep yet, not without finding Scorchpaw. They've had moments apart since the rockslide, of course, no matter how much he wished to stay by her side during every fleeting moment, but Luckypaw finds that he can't quite settle, can't truly relax, until he knows where Scorchstreak and Scorchpaw are. Weighed down not just by the snow clinging to his pelt, he wanders aimlessly until finally he strikes true, rounding up on flame-kissed fur just as she's murmuring something, some message to the stars. Milkpaw and Periwinklebreeze offer words of comfort, of hope and of belief, but he says nothing, only settling down at Scorchpaw's side, muzzle tipped up towards the stars where she had just been looking. They really are beautiful, in their impassive, glittering expanse, he thinks - the days growing shorter is concerning, sure, but if it means getting to see the stars a little more, then maybe it's not all bad after all.​

i'm falling into place, but still the timing's not right (☘) yeah that's a fire i just can't seem to light

• OOC: --​
• 
• 
  - Luckykit Luckypaw
  - He/him (AFAB)
  - 6 moons (Ages on the 1st)
  - Kit Apprentice of WindClan
  - Small blue tortoiseshell with white spotting & green eyes
  - Art by myself & meghan respectively! <33
  - Minor powerplay allowed!
  - Penned by Hijinks​

 

[hazecloud]

At the start of their travels, Hazecloud had strongly believed the WindClanners participating would behave just as unruly as they had any other time she came face to face with them. Camp ransackers, kitten-kidnappers, blasphemous dripping from their maws.It was hard to imagine them in any other light, though that was what they proudly painted themselves as. StarClan's favorite she had heard one say once, and now it was laughable.

As Hazecloud stood now, behind the gathering of four young cats, she felt... disconnected. These were not bloodthirsty killers before her. These were not cats with claws that itched for battle and tongues that demanded blood to spill. They were really no different than some of her own Clanmates back home. Scorchedpaw reminded her of Sablepaw, Milkpaw resembled Pikesplash sometimes. Periwinklebreeze's ability to let things roll off his back and enjoy his time made her think of Mudpelt most. Luckypaw, so quiet like Dipperpaw.

It was strange how she looked at them now with little defense yet, if anyone were to still ask her opinion of RiverClan's moorland neighbors her opinion might be the same. Did Sootstar happen to only send her most cooperative, then? Or maybe she had used the journey as a punishment. The ashen leader made little sense to her anyhow.

"You've gotten so far already, haven't you? We can't give up hope yet, not when we're so close." They've not only reached the mountains, but have now rest in them. Before their trials, even that had felt unfathomable.​