jack frost — small slip

[DUSTBREATH]

. . . there is a sullen silence over camp. there has been since the return of that damned hunting patrol, all bitten tongues and long, sideways glances. morningpaw’s death and subsequent gathering had taken a toll on all of them and dustbreath, for one, had been spending as much time as he possibly could outside of camp to avoid it. call him selfish, but the dead - eyed, sullen shells of his peers would not get them through this leafbare, not like this. freshkill was getting sparser by the day, and though he spent the majority of his days traversing the trees in search of a lingering squirrel or burrowing, sleeping bird, he says he returned with anything substantial was getting slim — but it kept him busy. it kept him running, kept him from slipping into the same thousand - yard stare that had overtaken so many of his clanmates. his chest aches for them, but his stomach aches even more. though he would never speak it aloud, mourning would not fill their bellies.

it’s why, as he’s creeping along a thick, low hanging branch, he spots movement — and crouches immediately. a finch, just ahead, scrawny and slow moving. sick, maybe, but the thought does not cross the former stray’s mind. the bird it just within reach, if he could just time this leap right, he could —

suddenly, a single misstep.

the ice built up along arching, bare bark provides no traction for the claws that scrabble, desperate to find an unfrozen shred of pine to grip. but the dying limb is crusted with a fine layer of frost and all he can do is use the force of his slip to turn rapidly before he lands squarely on the length of his spine, snapping wildly in attempt to grab the fleeting end of its tail as it takes to startled flight. he manages to right himself — but has no control over the unfortunate luck of a poor warrior passing under the towering pine, who earns nothing but a half - bitten , “ watch — ! “ before his body is colliding with theirs and paws are flying to catch himself, ending up with a mouthful of fur to boot. dust sputters wildly, shaking the snow from long whiskers as he pushes off of the unfortunate warrior he’d landed on, hoping the snow underfoot broke their fall “ foxdung! “ the man spits, vitriolic into the chilly air, spatting out the remnants of feathers he’d caught with the force of it. they taunt him, dark against the frost. damn it. damn it all! the tabby stands for a moment, livid, defeated, his chocolate coat gathering a fine dusting of ivory the longer he stares towards the heavens where the finch had fluttered off to.

it’s only then that his reality finally seems to catch up with him — wide dandelion eyes snap downward, curled ears suddenly tipping downward, concern painting oaken features despite the devilish, playful grin that pulls lopsidedly upon his maw, “ im so sorry, but did — but did you see that? ugh. i was so close! “

— out of character ( ⠀general information ⠀) visual reference —

• ๘ ♱ ಎ : ⠀⠀ DUSTBREATH⠀⠀ —————— ⠀⠀dead - eyed ghost boy
  m. he / him, warrior of skyclan. a dark chocolate ticked tabby with vibrant honey eyes and curled ears. he is coltish, thin and whiplike, with a thick chocolate ruff riding around a broad, lean chest. he is mostly fluff ; oaken rivulets ticked with mocha ends that deepen towards the extremities, brown backdrop making dandelion gold luminaries even brighter. his ears are tufted and lightly curled, and behind him a large, billowing tail.
  
  − twenty seven moons, ages realistically. smells like fern and elderberry.
  − bisexual, single. apprentice to be decided, voiced by andy biersack.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
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  to be added
  

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[ThistleBack]

A workhorse’s heavy trot did not go unnoticed, especially with the muffling press of winter on the forest. All movement is caught with watchful eyes, the mourning of Skyclan wails in the eyes of Blazestar’s children and Morningpaw’s close friends. Much like Dustbreath though, Thistleback buried his nose to the grindstone.

Sadness couldn’t grip him, he wore his dead friend’s collar and that was as far as woe would take him. No strings of emotion to lynch him, fur under his eyes as dry as the air. As spiritually dark as a moonless sky, but as restless as the worker bee.

Thistleback traverses onward, knuckles driving deep into the snow as he hovers his maw above the ground. Scenting nothing but freshly laid skyclan paw.

The flutter of frantic feathers pulls his sights to the sky in time for a warrior’s torso to eclipse his vision, falling fast and issuing a short warning. Blunt collision sends an instant ache through his shoulders and he kneels fast to the snow. Hocks thudding, ribs flat against the frost. A bitter curse hits the air, it comes from Duskbreath because only a baring of teeth is peeled onto the lead warrior’s scowl.

" Left your wings at camp, have you ?" Thistleback pulls himself back up, violently shaking out his urchin black fur. The chocolate warrior ticked and striped, with his curled ears and focused face. A fall from the pine hardly effected him it seemed.

" no need " he waved off the apology, the man was hardly delicate even though his wound was still dressed and mostly healed. The tolerance of accidents was nourished by his hyper children. His steely greys point back to the slightly wagging branches, disturbed by the failed hunt. " I’m afraid not- but…luckily you weren’t at the top, or I’d be peeling you off the ground " his own smirk dances on the edge of his lips.

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OOC INFO REF

• — ahhh his voiceclaim and your writing <3
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
• 
  
  

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[TWITCHBOLT]

Toward him hurried the rustle of leaves- furiously burrowing its way into his ears, and the crash of bodies. Oh, he was sure something bad must have happened! The trees- the forest, it didn't make that sort of sound by itself. So through the treetops, unknowingly putting himself through the same tightrope ice-rink that Dustbreath had fallen victim to, Twitchpaw raced. As carefully as you could race, at least. Bundle of bristling fur brushed through with the colour of snow and a couple lumps of actual snow at last befell the sight- Dustbreath, breathless, having crashed right atop Thistleback, the two of them brushing themselves off after the accident. Maybe- maybe it'd be best if he made a descent.

So down he came, a couple of jumps venturing downward until his earthen paws kissed the forest floor once more. Still his gaze was wide-shot, jade eyes wobbling slightly with worry, a dithering form making slow approach. They- they weren't bleeding, at least- "What were- what happened!? You just- f-fell, or something? You're not..." A vague gesture was made with his ivory gloved paw, voice trailing off. He knew not what exactly he was checking- hurt, injury, pain... they were all sort of different things, weren't they? In pain- injured- hurt. All different levels. Maybe he'd get an answer simply by not finishing his question- or maybe he'd just get a weird look.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Pumpkinpatch]

It was a fact of life that a cat could only really comprehend so much sorrow at once before they broke and that their feelings were minute and limited to close relations at most and kinship at best. She could feel pain for her new clanmates and their loss, she could sympathize and she could understand, she could offer a shoulder or consoling word but she could not feel their agony as they did. Pumpkinpatch was empathetic but she was not all-knowing and her empathy was not all encompassing in its existence. It did not let her feel the same grief, though that was not to say she could not feel bad for Blazestar and his family, what befell them was truly horrific. She just didn't know them that well yet, she didn't know Morningpaw, she only faintly even knew the cats who had been on said patrol at the time. Her moon her thus far had been spent studying and learning, seeking to better aclimate and socializing was a bonus she often didn't indulge in enough but she was now. It did her no good now, but she could carry her feelings and do what she could in response; like Thistleback and Dustbreathe she focused on the daily tasks to help push the clan forward rather than lament in the past that drew them back. She was out hunting herself when she heard the deafening crack, the cry of voices and impulsively she was moving forward onto the scene.

"ARE-uh-ARE YOU OKAY?" She had seen the tumble at a distance, but by the time she got close enough to see what was going on they had already disentangled themselves and both toms seemed to be perfectly fine if not a bit bumped about. "Oh, thank goodness..." Pumpkinpatch trotted forward to stop alongside Twitchpaw to share in his incredulousness that neither cat had been seriously hurt. She was pleased, but surprised-it had been quite the fall though perhaps she saw it at a far more merciless angle and the drop seemed much further from where she'd been or maybe in the moment she hadn't processed anything but a fall.
"D-Dustbreathe, my word, you uh..." She giggles, breathlessly amused, "...should call us GroundClan at this point, huh?"

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