private JUST TO LEARN THAT YOU NEVER CARED —— privetfrost

[ROWANPAW]

Rowanpaw wouldn't have traded their occupational path for anything else, as much as Father always dreamed for his children to pursue the path of a moor runner. Their destiny was to serve WindClan as a tunneler, an esteemed rank and one that they would embrace with pride. However, it was not an easy task, watching denmates graduate into warriorhood moons before they could. They longed to possess the respect and privileges of a warrior because they felt that they were ready for it. Rowanpaw acknowledges that they still have some things to learn from their fellow tunnelers, but the idea of moving dens and having their special name only grows more appealing by the day.

The chimera especially longs for freedom when they are stuck carrying out undesirable chores. They are at least afforded the privilege to roam the territory independent of their mentor, as long as they bring back wads of moss like they'd been instructed to. Dark green chunks of spongy material are gently held between their teeth as they stalk along the border, though they quickly tumble into the grass as Rowanpaw's jaws unhinge in a snarl, "You,"

Stars, Rowanpaw nearly took the tom for Father, with those calculating green eyes and the white locket against a dark chest. Instead, to their displeasure, they find the very DuskClanner who scratched their eye. Staring daggers across at the black-pelted rogue, the tortoiseshell gives an irritated lash of their tail and wrinkles their nose. "You possess a lot of nerve, daring to stray this close to WindClan's border." They remark icily. "What do you want?" They don't suppose that there's a reason, truly. Or, perhaps, he was trying to gain intel about the moorlands. Rowanpaw would see to it that he didn't and that he would leave swiftly to wherever hellhole he crawled from.

𝐈𝐌 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ✹ . + 　 　˚ 　　　　 · 　 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐓

• @PRIVETFROST

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  a tunneler apprentice of windclan, rowanpaw is nine moons and is mentored by swiftshade they are the child of snakehiss and berrysnap. split directly down the middle, their right half is solid black and their left half is tortoiseshell patterned. they also have amber and blue heterochromia. ✦

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[PRIVETFROST]

The margins between his life and that of the enemy had only frayed since his first arrival to the moorlands. Privetfrost stalked along the wildgrasses of Windclan's wilds, like a ragged beast that straddled at the gutter, the bogeyman that haunted the hinterlands beyond the fields. He always made sure to cover his tracks when traversing beyond the scrublands, always much too careful for his own good. There could be no cat alive that could know about his frequent visits, as if he betrayed part of himself by even daring to allow himself to step upon tainted land. The Duskclan warrior had not accounted for his stealth enough, and a strangely familiar snarl erupted through the greenery, like the suture of security had been ripped apart. You. Misfit eyes blazed through the murk, searing through the satin veils of night. It was the same Windclan cat, of the same age and build as he, that he had faced on that fateful raid. The flame-and-flint feline approached him with lips drawn and teeth bared, with all their fury unravelling like it purled unevenly through their face, great fire that he recognized as righteous anger. It was the same feeling that he felt when he faced the tyrants of the moorlands, inflicting the pain of his forefathers onto those most deserving. Privetfrost would have respected it if the blade were not drawn at him, if his throat were not at the end of the line.

Fear, that unrepentant and unfettered tear through his beating heart, scorched through his chest as a crispate scar. It was brief, enough to flutter through his magpie-colored pelt, a slight bluster to befall him. There seemed to be no other cat alongside the lone stranger, and unless they had trained enough to best him in a fight, then there was not as much to worry about as he presumed before. The wine-dark warrior composed himself as he stood up straight, disavowing his own ire to bleed through the seams, like roseyed wine through the sewn cloth. Wiry whiskers twitched as he turned to truly face Rowanpaw, their familiarity a stain upon their mismatched face. They seemed so similar to him, in a way that he could not weave into words nor logic, and the thought irritated him. "I have no obligation to tell you what I was here for. Right now, there is nothing for me at Windclan. You're lucky that you met me again so close to home. I won't be so kind to you the next time we meet." The tomcat's voice hung on the cusp of his pride, like the waxing gibbous moon upon a meniscus of shadow, moonlight of his arrogance threatening to brush beyond the smarter course of action. It would be so easy to strike for the eyes or the neck, so easy to kill her like he had done to the lily-white apprentice not so long ago. He bayed his claws, still.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
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  —— PRIVETFROST / He/Him / 9 Moons
  —— Warrior of Duskclan / Formerly mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

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[ROWANPAW]

The stranger is quick to shed any lingering surprise from Rowanpaw's abrupt confrontation, wrangling an equilibrium that allowed him to steadily meet their ire and fiery demeanor with a coolness. His words are precise yet sharp like a blade's edge. Rowanpaw curls their ivory claws into the ground as he issues them a thinly veiled threat, a promise that he will inflict much worse upon them next time. A phantom sensation pricks at the thin, faded scratches along their eye; a reminder of what this tom had nearly taken from them.

"I'm not afraid of you." The apprentice retorts, ears pinned, though their confidence wavers if only for a moment. DuskClan were savages, brutes who possessed no honor to speak of. Maybe next time the dark tom would rip into them like prey and deal them a swift end as Granitepelt did Sunstar. Maybe next time there would be an entire patrol of them, crouching in the shadows and awaiting an attack like a wolf pack. Next time, Rowanpaw thinks, they won't be alone out near the borders. Not until they've finished their training, not until they know they could handle a senseless rogue like him.

They remain squared, anticipating the worst and keeping a safe distance as they snorted, "I don't believe a word you say. You're probably looking to steal our kits like the thieving scum you are." That could have been why he was snooping around the moorlands. Vulturepaw returned to us, and thank the stars he did. DuskClan didn't deserve to strengthen their ranks with WindClan blood.

The mere thought of those kit-stealers made Rowanpaw's blood boil. Perhaps it would have been wiser to turn tail and report back to camp immediately, but the chimera wanted to exchange words with the rogue before he had the chance to slip away like the slithery reptile he was. "You and your kind are roaches, clinging onto the ideals of a disgraced tyrant. A dead one, a that. Pathetic. Have you no self-respect?" Rowanpaw spat, a personal inkling of hurt coiling around their tongue like ivy. Snakehiss had nearly followed Sootstar to his demise, instead barely escaping her iron rule with his life and living as a shunned outcast because of it. Their mother ( apparently ) had also died a loyalist, forever known as a traitor to WindClan.

Sootstar and everything associated with her had ruined their family. DuskClan's existence insulted them, and they would see to it that they would wither away and die just as their queen had.

𝐈𝐌 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ✹ . + 　 　˚ 　　　　 · 　 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐓

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  a tunneler apprentice of windclan, rowanpaw is nine moons and is mentored by swiftshade they are the child of snakehiss and berrysnap. split directly down the middle, their right half is solid black and their left half is tortoiseshell patterned. they also have amber and blue heterochromia. ✦

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[PRIVETFROST]

"If I wanted to steal kittens, I wouldn't take them from your nests. Your kind is weak, naive, and foolish. I could sooner train a hare to kill than your own." Privetfrost sneered at Rowanpaw, as though the margins of the magpie-colored warrior's face curdled in glacial rime, lining the ends of wiry, coarse coat. Of course, his clanmates seemed to think that it was the perfect revenge to steal away the next generation of those that had expatriated them. Privet did not find himself tethered to such grievances, as though his circumstances of birth had allowed him to surpass such worldly desires. The Duskclan cat simply stayed his position within the shadows, as though the gloom coagulated like darkest sanguine wine along his pelt, leaving only his eyes to peer through the murky veils. Keen eyes noticed that Rowanpaw did the same, and he dug his claws into the autumn-chilled ground below. Tension tightened at his nape, hackles rousing ever-so slightly. He could have run off with his tail between his legs, but his own arrogance kept him rooted to the Windclan border, like it were an antiseptic state of mind of which he allowed to drive his every action. He would not allow himself to show weakness, and never to submit to the opponent.

He flicked one white-tipped ear. Rowanpaw spoke of Duskclan as roaches, nothing more than leeches to a dying light of an ideal, seeping into the emaciated carcass of vulture's keep. Hypocrisy came easy to the unfettered, weak-willed tongue. "And you are no different?" The verse came like a curious question, though poisoned in the blood that he had drawn, steely taste lapped upon the lips. Fictitious eyebrows raised themselves ever-so-slight, as though he raised the challenge like a blade to his estranged sibling's neck, tip of the sword upon delicate pith of under-neck flesh.

"You worship the dead as if they can give you any further guidance. You sit on your haunches and wait for the stars to grant your every little wish. And what happens when you cannot get what you want? You blame fate instead of your own doing, like a petulant child who didn't get their favorite piece of prey." Perhaps some of Duskclan still gazed upwards to the sky, like they gleaned some semblance of words from icy winds, though he found little sense in deciphering the tangles of chaos rather than focusing on the tangible and nonpareil reality. There were no words to pick out from the grasses, the clouds, the heat. There was nothing but the here and now, the actions one took and those that they did not. Only satisfaction or regret.

"I am not the same as you nor Windclan. If I want something, I work until I can seize it for myself. I don't wait for permission from rotting corpses. I do not subscribe to Sootstar herself - no, she is long gone now, with maggots and mold devouring at whatever remains of her now. I listen to her ideals, what she had to say. Even if I explained to you what she aimed for, you would never let yourself listen to the enemy." In that regard, we are one in the same.

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ☽ ◯ ☾ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖ ⋆ 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

• wtf is young sheldon saying
  
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  PRIVETFROST & HE/HIM & 10 MOONS
  —— Warrior of Duskclan / Formerly mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

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[ROWANPAW]

Rowanpaw nearly scoffs at the dark tom's swift rebuttal, claiming that WindClanners were not worthy of being DuskClanners. While the chimera would never support the notion of those thieving rogues stealing kits from the moors to raise as their own, Privetfrost's discredit of WindClan is equally as insulting. They are better—leagues better—than DuskClan would ever be! Who did he think he was?

They dip their ears back as their enemy challenges them, claiming that their reliance on StarClan's guidance made them weak, reduced to none other than yellow-bellied followers who lacked conviction outside of their own beliefs. Rowanpaw could not deny the fact that some of their clanmates relied on StarClan more than others, their devotion to the dead steadfast and unwavering, but she is not like them. He had her wrong. "My father abandoned his own clan—his kits—because of his obsession with StarClan." Venom laced with bitterness oozes from their tongue. The subject of StarClan had always been troubling for the apprentice — belief in them and their influence had been forged into their brain from a young age. Their mother and grandmother hunted among the stars, Snakehiss had always said, watching Rowanpaw and their littermates from above. However, it was because of StarClan that Snakehiss betrayed WindClan and sent himself into exile. Rowanpaw would not follow his path of blind lunacy.

Their tortoiseshell pelt prickles with mounting irritation coupled with their heated opinions surrounding StarClan. "I do not doubt the power of our warrior ancestors, but I determine my own fate. I do not let my faith blind me, weaken me, make me into an ignorant fool." If her clanmates had brains, they would feel the same way. Their beliefs could only carry them so far, but at some point, they had to make decisions for themselves. Snakehiss accused Sunstar of being a curse and WindClan for defying the ancestors' will, his self-proclaimed rank of StarClan's "messenger" sealing his fate, a mistake that he could never turn back from. He was out there now doing stars knows what; he might be dead, in fact. Rowanpaw prevents themselves from thinking about it too much, about reminding themselves that Snakehiss was still their father and the man who had helped raise them despite everything.

Disgust coils on their patched maw as they glare forth at the wine-dark feline cloaked in shadow. They lash their ginger tail before stating icily, "You are exactly right. Sootstar nearly destroyed WindClan once and she will never be able to do so again." Whatever "ideals" he claims to subscribe to, they will surely fail DuskClan just as they had WindClan. "Now leave if you know what's good for you." Rowanpaw issues a warning, final in nature, and gauges a reaction from the tom. If he would not listen, if he would bear his arrogance proudly and test their limits, then they would make him regret it.

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐃 ✹ . + 　 　˚ 　　　　 · 　 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍

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  — rowanpaw / ten moons / they/she pronouns
  — windclan tunneler apprentice / mentored by swiftshade
  — snakehiss x berrysnap / littermate to rosepaw, viperpaw, and privetfrost
  — sh black/tortie chimera w/ blue and amber heterochromia, scratches across right eye
  — click for tags

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