just can't do it | small group joining

[BONERIPPLE]

— this thread takes place several days after bone has left shadowclan, her scent will be thoroughly clean and smell of loner lands.

"Hey, don't walk on your leg if you can manage it. Or let Wolverinefang carry you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, he is big enough anyway." The concern in her voice is clear as she turns to look toward her son. Burning eyes look at his leg that is covered in cobwebs, sticks tied tightly around his leg. It was the only thing she knew how to do...what she thought seemed right. But it's sloppy work, terrible compared to someone who knows what they are doing. Really she hopes his leg will be okay given how long he has been on his own with that limb like that. Broken and causing him immense pain. It is the reason why he couldn't make it back on his own and after what she told Wolve neither of them wanted to go back. Neither felt like it was their home after they found out just what their supposed clanmates thought of them. And neither did she. They tried to make due with what they had out there but as time went on Fogpaw's leg didn't seem like it was getting better but also she felt heavier and heavier. The weight of pregnancy became clear and she pummeled Wolve for it, because she was scared. How is she going to take care of kits out here? How are they going to survive out here with Fogpaw so hurt and herself heavy?

It seemed so unclear and her only thought is to go back. But back where? Not to Shadowclan. They were angry with her for trying to retrieve Wolverinefang and Fogpaw. So she talked to Wolve and she convinced him that maybe Riverclan is the next best option. Cicadastar. Maybe he will take a chance on her, on them, and let them live their in peace. Maybe that offer to become a Riverclanner is still there. The woman looks over her shoulder then at her large mate and smaller child before she sighs. "Almost there. It's just past these reeds. But we will wait here before going any further. We have trekked far enough into their territory." Truth be told she is tired. The extra weight makes it harder to move, harder to do simple things. It boggles her mind really at how it has already started to affect her. Sitting there now and sitting on the edge of the foliage of the land blanketed in snow she can see the river. It is frigid looking, rimmed with ice.

Puffs of her breath leave her, black and white form shivering just slightly and she can't help but lean on Wolverinefang for comfort despite her normal bitch demeanor. "I hope... I hope things go well. We need a home that won't betray their own. For us and these kits."​

 

[honeypaw]

cream paws carried the fluffy apprentice around the territory, searching for gifts to maybe raise some spirits within riverclan. leaf-bare was hard for everyone, and she knew she couldn't be the one to fix that, she could surely help, right?

she trotted all the way past the river to see an unfamiliar group of cats. her head tilted slightly. had someone joined and slipped right through her paws? she could change that, cautiously of course. at least, as cautiously as she could appear with a friendly smile and raised tail. "hello!" honeypaw greeted brightly. "i haven't seen you all around, anything i can help ya out with?" she added, fully ready to drop her task at hand to aide these strangers with whatever they needed. ​

[ ONE HAZY PANOPLY ]​

 

[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw is with another warrior, and she detests it, detests that she is the reason Smokethroat is teetering on the edge of life and death in Beesong's den. The rabbit had caused a rift, had lost Smokethroat his eye, almost his life, and her bitterness at having been sent back is still immense.

The small tortoiseshell glares at the outsiders, her breath puffing like a cloud. Honeypaw greets them like they're old friends. Iciclepaw gives her companion a sharp look. Had this fool never been to a Gathering? "Are you minnowbrained? That's Bonejaw, the ShadowClan medicine cat." She fixes the black and white she-cat with a frosty stare. "Why are you here? This isn't your territory."

- ,,​

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : prey was diminishing. he’d seen hide nor hair of life amidst the frosted leaves, not a breath or whisper of freshkill to keep them going. the river was cold — painful to the touch now and as he leads @leechpaw. through the reeds, ears ticked down just slightly. he’d not eaten the night prior and his stomach rumbled aggressively against the hollow whistle - whip of wind ruffling his bicolored curls, clearing his throat to hide it from prying ears. he’d never admit it. the icy claws of hunger that pierce at his lower belly ache and he grits his teeth against it, forces it into a small smile he casts towards his apprentice, “ now — vole are quick, hard to spot. look for . . “ leaves rustling. look for leaves rustling, he’s about to say and there’s a smell, there. somewhere amidst the waving cattail, loner - scent, something familiar. something familiar and not, faintly herbal — and injury.“ we have visitors. stay close to me, leechpaw. “ his tail lifts — loners. the man splits the reeds, flora waving about his slim form to reveal . .

“ bonejaw? “ shadowclan. shadowclan has come, and their alliance with windclan has him on edge immediately — but they do not smell of carrion or mud, and the woman stands aside two others he’d not seen before, “ honeypaw, run and fetch beesong, please. “ his eyes dip towards the friendly apprentice, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t to get her away from the three. he steps forward then, motioning with his tail for leechpaw to stay behind. his best friend, she looks weak, looks tired, he steps closer and his lips are parted — “ what happened, who’s this? are you — ” are you okay, but it seems he can’t get a sentence out today ; subtle milk scent meets his nose and icy luminaries instinctively dip, zeroing in on a distinctly swollen belly, heavy beneath her thin coat. despite the strike of fear that pulses through his chest — kits in leafbare. she’s having her kits in leafbare. — he releases a heavy, disbelieving breath. bonejaw. his friend, his best friend . . the ghost of a smile flits over his maw, dampened only by the sadness inherent with news this late into seasonal frost.

it’s quiet. it’s final. the tom at her side, he assumes, is the father — and his eyes move to him only briefly. calculating. but it is not the time, and he looks back to bone, close enough to speak low to her, soft, “ youre expecting. “ kits. “ and so far from home, why . . ? “ he’s worried, surely shadowclan would be too. beesong would be there soon.

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[BEESONG]

beesong recognizes bonejaw the minute he lays his eye on her. the back of his neck prickles with unease, the ever-present clenching of his jaw worsening. the last time bonejaw had come to riverclan, it had been to seek help for a kitten who'd already taken its last breath. this time, she brings with her two cats; a large, warrior-aged tom and an apprentice with cobwebs holding sticks in place around one leg. and at first, beesong assumes the injured boy is what bonejaw is here for.

until they draw closer, and realize that bonejaw does not smell of shadowclan. none of them do. she smells of uncharted territory, like that of a loner. and beesong pauses in their tracks, their eye narrowing as their mind spins. bonejaw had threatened to resign from her role as a medicine cat a couple moons ago. she'd inadvertently caused the exile of honeytwist, and then she'd continued to show her face at the monthly meetings like nothing had happened. like her wishy-washy nature hadn't been the downfall of a cat beesong had once considered a friend.

now, she's here, with no trace of shadowclan on her pelt. what the fuck is she thinking? she couldn't be thinking about leaving shadowclan with a child as their healer; starlingpaw had appeared no older than gloompaw! beesong didn't care for the swamp-dwelling clan, thought their leader to be nothing short of a lunatic... but to leave that burden on someone so young? he thinks she must be madder than her megalomaniac nephew.

and to make matters worse, her swollen stomach looks too similar to that of willowroot's. more kits to be born in leaf-bare. does anyone have common sense, or self-control?

"i'm here," beesong reports to cicadastar as they close the distance between themself and the rest. they keep their tongue reigned in and their expression neutral in cicadastar's presence, watching bonejaw for an answer to cicadastar and iciclepaw's questions.​

 

[wolverinefang]

♤ PALMS UP, CATCH THE LIGHTNING ♤​

Wolverinefang is too tense and irritated to give Fogpaw much of a choice, electing to just haul the youth onto his shoulders as delicately as he can with his short patience. In truth, he was a bit pissed at Fogpaw for kickstarting this whole thing. If it weren't for him, he'd be stretched out on the stump in the marsh right now and cracking jokes, but, after seeing how miserable the runt was, he couldn't stay mad. It's just extra irritating that he can't exactly get an answer from him for the justification of his actions and while Bonejaw seems to understand it all, he can't say the same.

He doesn't really understand why any of this had to be this way. Wolve might not have been the model Shadowclanner but he's been loyal his whole life so hearing that his clanmate's first response to hearing he'd been gone was to brandish him a traitor, hurt him more than he'd let on. He didn't even believe it at first but the more it sunk in, the more embittered the usually jovial tom has felt. As they stop to wait, the tom shifts his bulky shoulders and feels around for a little normalcy. "At least it stinks about as much as the marsh," he halfheartedly jokes.

As surreal as it is to have a life shattering experience happen in what feels like the blink of a newt's eye, that doesn't mean he's gung ho to be a stinking fish cat. He'd practically begged Bone to reconsider. If clan life could be so fickle, to hell with it. He could take care of them both, even with kits. He's certainly big and strong enough and at first he was sure of it but even someone with a skull as thick as his could see that luck would not be on their side come the coldest days of leafbare and the deepest darks in the hearts of rogues. It's not like Bone is lacking in enemies either and with Fogpaw suffering (whether he deserves it or not doesn't matter to his mother) became apparent. There isn't much they could do for him out in the sticks anyways.

"Mmmm, don't remind me. ," as though it's not been in the forefront of his mind for days now. It shouldn't be, he should be more excited and focused on being a father. That's what the rational part says. "Just play is cool, Bone."

Just then, a honey colored girl steps into view and Wolverinefang is almost taken aback by her politeness. He's halfway unsure how to respond. "... Hhhey." Oh yes, playing it very cool himself. Just then, another Riverclanner is in his yellowed sights and there we are. A bit of banter, that feels more like what he's used to.

Seeing all eyes are on his mate like her giant partner isn't looming pulls him to snort out gently, "Bonejaw and company." He almost feels the need to repeat it when someone he recognizes steps into view. Well, not quite recognizes from physically meeting, but from Bonejaw's description of him. The towering moggy pulls his lips thin but manages to maintain a look of neutrality, even though he doesn't like the way Cicadastar looks at his mate. He should be happy to see an expression like that. If he didn't care at all they'd literally up the creek but all of these vulnerable feelings at once are near overwhelming. They shouldn't even be here, damn it.

Figuring he can introduce himself, Wolve dips his head in a pensive but ultimately respectful greeting. "I'm Wolverinefang, Bone's mate." He gestures toward the injured apprentice on his back, turning slightly so they and another cat (who he assumes is Beesong), can see. "This is Fogpaw, her son. He can't speak so, well, Bone can explain it better than me." He's likely to get too emotional for that currently and the last thing he wants to look in front of this strange clan. That's the reality though, isn't it.​

GOD-LIKE ISN'T LIKELY — ♛​

 

[FOGTHIEF]

Fogpaw feels ashamed to be the cause of his mother's fearful expression. He's not used to seeing Bone look so out of her element and he knows that he dragged her into it. Wolverinefang too, since he bothered to look for him, even though they're not particularly close. His copper ringed orbs flick down solemnly, ghosts of breath peppering as he resists the urge to hide his face into the white striped tom's dense fur. He sets his bleary eyes on the reeds, almost afraid to look up even as a multitude of voices crop up around them. Fog just wants the pain to go away and he wishes desperately in that moment that he could make some type of noise. A wail, a weep, anything to release some of the anguish built up in his thin form.

Eventually he gathers the courage to smear his face across Wolve's back to look out at the Riverclanners. They're all blurry from the frustration dewing his sight but he makes a note of whose coat color belongs to each voice. The apprentice isn't as touchy about the subject of not returning to Shadowclan as the adults. He did run away after all. If anyone's a traitor here, it's himself. In fact, he'd be excited to see these new lands if he weren't reeling from his hardships in the wild and its consequences. Fogpaw finds the scents pleasant, like a refreshing sort of cold that only water not permeated with sulfuric filth can provide. He's never seen water that wasn't brackish black unless it was rain and he has the urge to try to see if it's possible to spot his reflection. That's swiftly given up as even trying to squirm his way off of the tom's back brings a silent hiss whistling through his tiny teeth.

He's caught unawares then when Wolverine presents him to the crowd and he's expecting him to say he's her adopted son but he's struck when he doesn't make that distinction. It feels nice, gives him an ounce of courage against his distress. Fog focuses back on the moment and why they're here. Tentatively, he wipes his eyes on his well wrist and noiselessly clears his throat to look more presentably towards the Riverclanners. Fog regards each with what he attempts to be an appropriate, polite time frame. The fluffed tom is surprised when the first two cats he spots are apprentices like him. He's not sure why that is. Of course another clan would have apprentices as well. It just feels strange, considering how isolated Shadowclan felt at times; at least until that Windclan rendezvous. Then to the leader, so spindly and Fog's brows furrow at his strange way of speaking that he can't pinpoint. At least he seems to regard his mom kindly which is something he can't say for many cats in his "homeland."

Lastly, his attention flickers to Beesong and he tries not to react outwardly with his surprise. He'd never seen burns before the night of the fire and his aunt's death. Since he was called for, Fogpaw assumes this must be who'll attend him-- if they allow it. If that's the case, he perhaps naively feels a little comforted that his affliction can be addressed. Only because, it's clear the other knows a thing or two about pain. Suddenly, on an afterthought, he offers a meek smile in greeting to the strangers but it only lasts a second.
​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

As the first Riverclanner springs forth with such energy she tries her best to give the same. To try for a smile but it's tiring to pretend that things are going well. It is a struggle already and she parts her maw to speak to the young one when another pops up. She tells who she is, title and all and it stings. It stings her heart and her soul but it is not who she is anymore. Her breathing tries to quicken at the question she is given, asking why she is here. Yeah, it isn't their territory, none of it is anymore and she flexes her paws against the ground in thought. "I need to speak to Cica— ah, Cicadastar." The nickname she gave him so long ago falls so easily from her lips and she pulls her ears back as she looks towards Wolverinefang. He still looks tense and she does regret making him come back when he was spurned so easily from his birthplace. But they need this. It is in their blood to be clancats. Not longers. So she forces herself to turn back towards the Riverclanners and then she sees him.

If she could wither more as she relaxes she would have. And if Wolve had not been there she would be on the ground. Her shoulders tremble from the efforts to keep herself in check and she leans up to gently touch her nose to the Riverclan leader's. "It's been a while, hm." She tries to go for something casual as a greeting, something that won't leak her pain but it comes out like dead weight. The Riverclan leader asks question. Wanting to know who the one beside her is, Wolverine answers for her and she nods in agrreance at her mate's words. "I've been better, Cicadastar. But yes this is my mate and son. I've brought them because..." She pauses then as she catches the way his eyes drop, the way he zeros in on her bulging belly. So fast. It makes her look away as if she has done something she shouldn't. It is leafbare after all.

When her best friend smiles though it warms the ice in her chest and she relaxes. Her own mirroring that of hid before she gives a small nod of her head. "Yes I am. Ah, Shadowclan is no longer my home and I am no longer their medicine cat. It's...it's been a confusing time but I can't see the home I was raised in anymore, Cica. They've changed so much and I've changed so much. Smogmaw attacked an apprentice just because she hit him on the nose with a branch, cut her face open and simply got a smack on the paw. They talk to each other like they are bitter enemies...I couldn't do it. My sister I know that is not the clan she would have wanted. But still...I was going to stay until..." The white stained woman glances up at Wolverinefang before she concedes to continue. "My son Fogpaw had ran away and Wolve knew how important he is to me so he said he would go look for him. They hadn't come back and I was worried. So I told them that I was leaving to find them. Starlingpaw would be left in my place, I was leaving but I had planned on bringing them back home. Yet I was branded as disloyal, that they left because they saw my wavering loyalty. That trying to find them was chasing dreams..... I'm disloyal for wanting to find and bring back two Shadowclanners who might have been hurt." And one was, badly. Her son's leg is a mess of sticks and cobwebs, it's all she had been able to do. She knows nothing about broken bones.

"So I changed my mind. Since these two did not matter to Shadowclan, neither should I. I left my rank to Starlingpaw who by now must have her full name. I'm here to ask for...I don't want to use you or my kits, Cica. But I need....will you have us? Make us into Riverclanners? I should have joined you so long ago when things split off but I'm asking now. My kits, I will make sure they are loyal only to Riverclan as we shall all be. Shadowclan will not be a thought upon our minds." She is serious with this. She dislikes so much about her own home and it all comes to a fine head. Her eyes flick over to Beesong for a short moment but she can't look him in the eyes. Shame is clear but she has done what she feels is right in this moment.​

 

[leechpaw.]

He went hungry too last night. And for the past couple of nights as well. The thinness of his face was beginning to become a little too exaggerated, not that he'd admit it. Whenever he ambled over the pile of prey, he could only find the scraps of old scales and tufts of fur ― such was the way of leaf-bare, he supposed. Not that he would let it show. Leechpaw trailed behind Cicadastar, already-dull eyes lacking whatever luster existed in the first place. Swallowing back his hunger, the dark-furred apprentice trained his focus fully on his mentor's words, willing to soak up anything taught like a wad of moss. He nodded along, setting his sights on their surroundings, ready to identify any sign of vole that his mentor pointed out.

Only to be robbed of Cicadastar's attention. Leechpaw blinked up at the bicolored feline, his determined expression falling back into one of neutrality. He couldn't scent the same source of distraction as Cicadastar could, trying to scent the air for so-called visitors and failing until the duo tread closer. By then, the three strange cats were already within view. Uncertain of what opinion to have, the apprentice perched himself beside the leader, tangled tail curling over his white-gloved paws. His ears flicked backward as the trio explained themselves. Shadowclan was disliked by many cats around him, reasonably wary of the overheard alliance with Windclan. And yet... strangely enough, Cicadastar didn't appear upset. Not fiercely snarling as he had during the Windclan skirmish. Nostalgia was a bizarre emotion, one he hadn't lived long enough to experience yet. He sniffled then sighed quietly through his nose, his thoughts returning to the dwindling fresh-kill pile if it could even be called a pile anymore. Icy eyes fell upon the other injured apprentice, narrowing into slits as he scrutinized him. He couldn't force himself to smile, only able to think of the fact that there would be more mouths competing for the last remaining traces of prey in the frozen landscape.​

 

[FISHFACE]

Fishface walks on deliberate, bubbly pawsteps. Every time his pads sink into the frosted powder capping the ground, an immense urge to shiver shoots through his entire body. Hence he strives to keep his feet above the snow as much as he possibly can, and his lanky limbs continue to spring from the terrain as though the earth below was bouncy.

He trails after Beesong, desperately seeking to inquire about ways to prevent numbing in this cold, cold weather. Nervous as he is, however, the tom retains a generous distance between him and the medicine cat, at least until he can muster the nerve to ask his question. It only occurs to him that the healer is border-bound far too late into his trek - but a hodgepodge of strangers along the territory's outskirts soon enthrals his attention away from all other matters.

ShadowClan, the skunk-striped she-cat says. While Fishface isn't up-to-speed with inter-clan diplomatic matters, an array of predispositions and stereotypes flood through his mind while she tells her tale of woe. Inklings of malice and incivility are among them, and yet she strikes him as sincere and self-assertive. What stands out the most, though, is Bonejaw does not smell of the swamp, nor does her partner and child.

By the time her story comes to an end, the oriental tabby still cannot figure out whether or not she had been exiled, or just ran away. With her being a former ShadowClanner, he knows better than to take her words at face value. A sympathetic sentiment within him conflicts with these doubts. She looks ready to burst from the kits inside her belly, and they couldn't just turn an expecting mother away.

He doesn't know what to make of the sire. Or the eerily silent kit for that matter. But, this matter is far above his pay grade, and thus he has no input to give.​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : the tom speaks before her. before his friend, who’s voice he’d longed to hear in the moons they’d been apart — his childhood friend, he felt their separation like a wound still, barred by their servitudes to starclan. bone and company, he says with a derisive snort and ice - laden eyes snap to him instantly, absent of any expression upon his steely monochrome face. slowly, his gaze drifts down the male, all the way to his tufted toes and then slowly, slowly, all the way back up. he meets his eye with a simple twitch of his whiskers before looking away, twitching a single ear in his direction, the only indication that he was still listening at all — until he says it, “ mate. mate? “ his gaze flits to bonejaw finally then, bewildered. he is not easy to impress, never has been, and the stakes for mating his best friend were high — and from the pointed look away from wolverinefang, he made no attempt to conceal the disdain that radiates from him. then, another surprise, in quick succession. her son. son. this was her child?

the man blinks widely at the silent feline sprawled over wolverinefang’s back, almost in awe. the unnaturally tall leader steps forward, remembers the tom, twitches long, curling whiskers in contempt, “ and a son. i’m . . happy for you, really. “ the but hangs above them, silent. then, bone begins and — his mind is blown even more, swimming with incredulity. the woman mentions her sister and he gives a frown of sympathy, but he cannot believe . . had shadowclan truly gotten that bad? the marshes were a difficult place to navigate, they both knew, had grown up amongst the mud and creek beds. but infighting? branding disloyalty? it sours him visibly, brow furrowing and ears lowering to pin, horrified against his skull. as close as they were to windclan, he supposed be shouldn’t be surprised — but what he’d known of pitchstar, the thought of him scorning his own kin, casting them out . . briarstar would be turning underground, surely. his aunt, her mate and their child — and in leafbare. chilling, frosted leafbare.

“ great starclan. “ horrified. he’s horrified, and for a moment, he knows not what to say. he doesn’t know what to tell the molly, and she is continuing on, asking for permission to join, to raise her kits as riverclanners and heavens above, his mind is still reeling from the newfound horrors across the acres he’d left only moons ago, “ i’d . . no idea. pitchstar is allowing that? and starlingpaw — she’s barely out of her kitten fur. “ it’s aloud, mostly to himself, thousand yard stare peering past her and into the frosted willows. the rosetted tabby had always been a little quirky, but he’d never imagined — then again, his mind pulls back to the moors. he’d never imagined sootstar would do anything she’d done thus far, but perhaps he could cut that up to simply not knowing either them all that well. and bonejaw’s apprentice — she was only moons old, in the clan bone dubs so dangerous. his heart rate ticks up, nerves biting at his paws and up the length of his limbs. shadowclan will not be a thought upon our minds. but it would be on his, he knows.

infighting. injuring apprentices. he thinks of pitchstar, younger when he’d last roamed the marshes, but briarstar had raised him with nothing but love — what a turn. his chest aches, “ im glad you got out, i’m glad you all got out. shadowclan is no friend to us here, and this behavior is abhorrent. disloyalty. pah! “ he snorts, vocals sloping heavier now, accent deepening with emotion, “ towards a medicine cat! after all you’ve done for them . . pathetic. “ cruelty. shadowclan was aloof, bitter towards the other clans, but amongst themselves? the man had always thought them so close, as tight knit as hare whiskers group has been, closer maybe with the family that wove through its branches. carefully he lifts his tail, a casual signal to his warriors to prepare to watch close — be on guard. keep close.

she words her regret on not joining upon the separation and he sighs, feels the burn of rejection pull beneath his ribs. he’d offered then, and suddenly, firm decision glints in the cool blue of his gaze, “ if your loyalty truly lies amongst the rivers, i will still extend my welcome to you and your family. i wouldn’t turn you away, bonejaw . . “ not with her expecting, full and round with kittens. he couldn’t let her out there, outside nursery walls, away from herbs and assistance. could he even turn a medicine cat away, former or not? would starclan frown upon them, despite her distance from the rank that had once kept her so far away? “ but i have more questions. later. “ alone, away from prying ears, he had to know more about shadowclan’s hostility. then, he aims to bump her affectionately on the shoulder with his muzzle, though he radiates stress, “ i regret the circumstance, but . . i am so happy to see you, meinem freund. “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
  
  
• 
• none.

​

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