camp KEEP GOING ♥︎ GROOMING&RTA

[DOEBLAZE]

The day is sunny and warm, green oozing languidly across SkyClan's barren landscape as if spilt by an errant hand. Flowers fill the air with heavy perfumes that sour in her nose, lilting birdsong shrill in her ears. Nature has marched on in her absence, unthinking of her little protests and prayers—and the warm air is a paw on her throat, making her breath catch short.

Still, with a watchful green eye trained on her kits as they caper and dance, days before their ceremony—when did moons turn to days, when did the little scraps at her belly turn into nearly full - grown cats? she hurts, she aches with the sight of her own neglect—she assumes an actual task for the first time in however many sunrises.

Her fur has become an issue. Moons spent limp in her nest, not caring to eat, to sleep, much less to groom herself; flinches and bared teeth when touched; too much sleep, not enough food—whatever the cause, soft locks of tawny have given way to tangles and knots. She needs to handle it before the kits are apprenticed, before she's expected to make a return to the world; and besides, the busier she looks, the less sideways looks and poking questions about how are you? and did you eat what I brought you? she can expect.

And that would be good.

Still, she can't help but wince when her tongue catches on the first mat of fur at her shoulder, worrying it with her teeth, grimacing. The little hurts, the tug of resisting knots and the graze of fangs against skin, are a sufficient distraction—a lesser prey for the monster that seems to have taken up residence inside her head. She doesn't know when it got there, or why it is the way it is—but she does know she has to tread carefully, that anything, anything might send it into a foaming frenzy.

And would continue until her mind eats itself alive, turning in an endless circle of my fault, of a hatred so enormous it consumes everything it touches, until she fades away in her nest.

She shakes her head, tugs another knot free with a sharp jerk of her head, uncaring of the tangle of fur that pulls itself free from her skin.

" speech "

​

 

[Radiopaw]

"wild hearts run"​

Radiokit was bored. Bobbie looked alone. Couldn't be clearer to him that she'd perhaps enjoy some company. He bounded his way over, oblivious to her plight, and grinned cheerfully up at her. "Hi Bobbie! What's up?" He saw her pulling at her fur, and somehow managed to brighten more. "Do you want any help? Statichaze says I'm really good at helping her!"​

° ｡‧˚⋅˚✧｡ﾟ･° ｡‧˚⋅​

 

[Howlfire]

It's quite sad to see the state Bobbie was in, though Howlfire can't say she doesn't empathise with the queen. Losing Blazestar had been so incredibly hard for many in the clan, including Howlfire, but she also thinks it must have been hardest for Bobbie who had been there when he died and was still carrying her kits at the time. Raising kits was a difficult task at the best of times, though trying to do so in the wake of your mate's death, knowing said kits would never know their father? Howlfire could only imagine how difficult it was.

Like several in the clan. Howlfire had come and gone in the nursery over the moons, checking in on her half-siblings and checking in on Bobbie. She would bring prey and try and get the other to talk, though wisely chose against pressuring her into conversations too much.

When she sees Bobbie sitting there, grooming herself quietly, Howlfire quietly approaches. She sits next to Bobbie, giving the queen a friendly dip of the head in acknowledgement, and smiling at Radiokit as he offered to help. "It is good to see you outside, Bobbie," Howlfire mewed, turning her head towards the queen so only she would hear her. "I was really worried about you."​

 

[Chickbloom]

Eggshellbloom’s relationship to Skyclan’s late leader was less straightforward than most. While the warrior had met Blazestar briefly, the vast majority about the other came to the whelp through whispers of great deeds and greater sacrifice. He would always be in debt to the departed for initially accepting him into the forest, but beyond that the boy was quite ignorant. As such, when faced with the problem of Bobbie’s grief, Eggshell approached it the same way he approached many things: by backing away.

It wasn’t as if the crybaby didn’t care. He did, dearly, but he was also painfully aware of his own limitations. Eggshellbloom possessed no skill with speech, and a perpetually petrified mood would be no help when it came to easing another’s burden. Deciding that he’d only make things worse for the widow, Eggshell had stayed away so far.

However, when amber eyes widened for a half-moment In surprise seeing Bobbie outside of the nursery, yolk-stained paws willed themselves forwards. Seeing the small group around her certainly helped, and the Scottish Fold hardened what little resolve he had, the former kittypet determined to be of use.

“It’s - uh - yeah, it’s n-nice to see you up and about” Eggshellbloom began, echoing Howlfire with a nod before flicking a buttery tail towards Bobbie’s fur. “D-Do you - er - w-would you like help?”​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Even if he had not liked Bobbie, Silversmoke was not so void of empathy as to disregard the awful time she had had since Blazestar's murder. There was a softness to his sharp eyes as he watched clanmates rally to the other's side, offering to help, offering affirming words that the Lead Warrior knew would sound stilted if they came from his own throat. Comfort had never been the spotted tabby's strong suit, not when he sought resolutions to most problems and struggled to see how talking could help in place of action. He feared it would sound hollow when his own morals stood so far from the lilac tabby's. Odd eyes, instead, committed to watching for a time as she did her best to clear the heavy matt that had developed these past six moons. The more the disheveled fur was worked, the more he could see underneath, his blinks incredulous at what he swore were bones pressing at the other's skin. Even in leafbare, she had not been like this. Almost immediately, he wanted to do something, no, had to do something, even if Bobbie didn't like it. Silversmoke cleared his throat and moved closer, hoping to grab Bobbie's attention.

'Do you still hate me?' He only tried to discern it for a millisecond, before he realised he didn't care either way. "I'm going to grab something from the freshkill pile, for when you've finished." It wasn't a question, Bobbie needed to eat, if not for herself or for SkyClan, then for the six children she still had. "Do you want a bird or a rodent?"

​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

// minor tw for mentions of not eating / mild weirdness around food

Radiokit's cheerful little voice and smile are undeniably spirit - lifting, even if only a little, and she finds herself appreciating the kit all the more for it. The tabby does her best to deliver a wavering smile in return as she works at a burr - like tangle of fur on her elbow, pausing between licks to reply, " I think I'm nearly done, thank you though, Radiokit. " She appreciates the offer, but lately, she finds that touch—outside of her kits, anyways—makes her skin feel like a den of snakes, squirming coldly. Another little loss for a cat once so free with shoulder bumps and tail taps, but maybe it's for the better.

" I was really worried about you. "

The torbie's words are both comforting and somehow not; comforting in the knowledge that Howlfire ( hopefully? wishfully? ) doesn't resent Bobbie for technically causing the death of her father—after all, if she had never come here, he might not have been in that hollow on that sunny day, might have been able to put his energy to defending himself instead of her, might have—. She cuts off the train of thought with the cold severity of a clawstrike; it leads nowhere good, and though pushing the memories of her beloved, the thoughts of how she could have done better, throbs like an old wound, she does it anyways. It's not great, though, to know she's been worrying Howlfire like this, not when the patched warrior surely has her own problems to deal with and her own grief to sort through.

" Oh. I'm—sorry. " she manages after picking over these thoughts with cold - blooded scrutiny, following with a soft sigh and words bitten out between laps at a gnarled tangle of fur on her shoulder. " I think . . . getting back to work soon should be . . . good for me. " She's not lying, actually; having that much more of a fixed routine, a concrete goal for each day, a way to serve SkyClan . . . she thinks ( hopes? ) it will be good for her. She'd promised to take care of the two things she had left of Blazestar, her kits and her Clan, and if she failed at the former she can at least succeed at the latter.

Eggshellbloom's approach is a welcome interruption, though another reminder of how seemingly apparent her struggle had been, how much she'd apparently worried her Clanmates without her knowledge, is a dull ache. " I've about got it, but—thank you. " the tabby murmurs in response to his words. She feels bad denying her Clanmates who clearly just want to help, but the thought of so many paws—so many touches—is frightening, if she's honest.

Silversmoke, however, does not appear prepared to be deterred. The spotted warrior is probably the last cat ( behind, maybe, Slate, except even he had expressed some mutated form of concern, which still shocked her; mostly she tried not to think about it ) she would expect to join the legions who kept . . . bugging her to eat more prey - slash offering to bring her some - slash demanding ( in the aforementioned lead warrior's case) that she do so. She could almost appreciate it if not for the way her belly coils like a slow - moving serpent at the thought of taking a mouthful ( she eats enough anyways, honestly, and probably more than she deserves ); it's clear from the tabby's tone, though, that he doesn't plan on taking no for an answer.

" Um . . . a bird, I guess. Thank you . . . ? " The tail of her sentence curls up into almost a question, betraying the surprise she's careful not to show on her face. She'd be more appreciative if she wasn't so baffled, she supposes ( later, when she's more composed, anyways; in the moment, she just thinks *what in StarClan?* ). Is it that . . . obvious? She knows she's lost a bit of weight, but . . . well, at least she's worked out the worst of the tangles. The tabby clears her throat and repeats more assuredly, " Thanks. "

" speech "

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