pafp KILL ON GOD'S COMMAND ↺ [ war ]

[MOORBLOSSOM]

[ CW: mentions of death ]

Forevermore, her perspective corrupted.

Juniperfrost's body, oozing with lifeblood and torn to tatters, sprawled out smack-dab in the centre of camp for all to see. That harrowing sight lingers in her subconscious at all times. How the warrior's eyes hung open even after death petrifies her. He could not see, yet he watched—and he watches still. While she sleeps, while she plays, while she prays, she's kept under the surveillance of his frigid eyes. Moorkit wishes it'd just been a bad dream. You could forget bad dreams. There's no forgetting this.

Why her mother so eagerly beckoned her to see Juniperfrost escapes her. Was she supposed to look at a dead body before becoming an apprentice? Did everybody in WindClan go through this process? Not much is clear, barring the fact it was RiverClan's fault, and even that she struggled to understand. Maybe, they're just evil. Cats aren't supposed to like water, and yet those buffoons lived in it. Maybe, that's what her mother sought to teach her in the moment.

Moorkit has taken up a more reserved disposition since then. She prefers the comforts of the nursery more than the hollow's open air, and if the she-kit dares to step beyond the gorse margin, she strays from where the body had been.

But with this newfound aloofness, it has become increasingly troublesome for her to process her own emotions. Anger, especially. Anger swells up in her throat like a knot. When it crosses a certain threshold, she unleashes it all in one go, and typically on an unsuspecting passerby.

Today, Whitekit happens to be the object of her ire. Her denmate finds sanctuary from the sun, taking up space near the nursery's exit. Coward. The sun isn't going to eat her, or anything.

"Raaagh!"

The battle cry rings through the air, and her charge is equally fierce. Moorkit flings her full weight into the other girl's form, attempting to push her into the daylight. Regardless of her success on the initial attack, Moorkit comes to a skidding halt, before unleashing a flurry of swats into Whitekit's face. "This is what you get, Riverclan!" she cries, swatting of course. "This is what you get for killing Juhn-perfrost!"


// @whitekit ​

 

[whitedawn]

Since the death of a warrior, tensions were high in Windclan, and maybe emotional tensions were higher for the kits who had been encouraged by Sootstar to see the body of the late Juniperfrost. Whitekit, on the surface, seemed rather, neutral, and went about her usual. When really, it was something she didn't really, want to think about currently. She had been lingering by the nursery's exit, watching the bustle of the clan through sleepy eyes when she felt a sudden weight crash into her, knocking her outside the den with a startled squeak. She was dazed for the briefest of moments and had only enough to register Moorkit's ebony pelt through squinted eyes, before an assault of contrasting ivory paws pelted her face. Now, usually, Whitekit had no qualms with the occasional play fight with her denmate, it was normal. However, Whitekit was sleepy and didn't usually play during this time. So decently stunned, both by being in daylight and the constant swatting into her face forcing her eyes shut, she responded the best she could for the brief moment. She wailed, hoping it would distract her denmate for a slight moment before she made her best attempt to swat back at the contrasting-hued molly. ​

[I'M BREATHING]​

 

[TIGERFROST]

Tags and Information

---

He should probably step in, right? He was a Lead Warrior, a figure of authority. But... as he sits there outside the medicine den, observing the sudden attack, he can see that there is no torn skin, no splatter of blood. It was... play, he supposed. Even if Whitekit seemed stunned by it. Tigerfrost flicks his tail, watchful as the youths batter one another. He knows Whitekit isn't very active during the day, so she was probably tired, and half blinded by the bright sunlight. Well... if she was to grow to become a Warrior, tunneler or not, she'd need to learn how to adapt. And quickly.

"WindClan's enemies won't care if you're tired, or if you can't see very well." He comments simply, directing his vocals toward the fight. Call it tough love, perhaps, but Whitekit needed to learn how to handle herself, and this fight was relatively tame in comparison to a real battle. What better way to learn? "Moorkit has you at a disadvantage. What are you going to do about it? There's no mercy in a real fight." Tigerfrost won't make decisions for her, simply offers nudges in the right direction. Whitekit was at a disadvantage, so she'd have to rely on her brain to work out a way to either adapt and overcome, or somehow shift the battlefield so that it benefited her, and not her opponent. They'd be apprentices soon, both of them. This would make for good practice.​

 

[Firefang]

She doesn't disagree with the fact the kits were permitted to see Juniperfrost's body; they needed to see the reality of being a warrior and it was better now then later it shouldn't be a shock. Yet just because it wasn't uncommon didn't make it feel any more normal, she'd never get completely numb to seeing the husk of a clanmate dragged into camp - she's still so young hasn't lost the luster of innocence regardless of the fact she's gotten her paws wet with blood. She's morose, most Windclanners are but they still continue continue to go about their day after paying their respect as if Juniperfrost was still walking among them. Many are numb, they have seen such violence dozens of times far more then she has. This gratuitous violence of a life gone too soon was far more normal to them then it was to her. Her heart would freeze like theirs one day, she wouldn't get as rattled and hold the visages of the death-masks of her peers in the fog of her nightmares anymore they'd jus fade out become nothing more then fleeting visions far too many of them to fully soak in the grief and disgust anymore.

She doesn't understand death any more then the kits do; there was nothing to comprehend about it other then it just was beneath the veneer of kind words and promises he was with Starclan now. It didn't soften the stone cold fact he'd been murdered, head bashed into the stones by a Riverclanner who once bore their scent. It'd been vicious and personal, Hycanithbreath had sent a message of just how far she'd fallen - like a rabid animal she needed to be put down.

True vengeance hasn't been achieved, she finds it hard to rest - it's hard to think about anything else but the feeling of righteous anger. Yet the days soften the blow of tragedy, she returns to her duties but she wouldn't pretend nothing had happened. It was impossible to forgot; Periwinklepaw was a reminder that her blood and filth still thrived here, Spiderbloom wouldn't be quick to let any cat forget the father of her soon-to-be born kits, and the sounds of chatter and kit mewls she overhears always stray towards the topic of Riverclan and what they'd done.

Her ears swivel at the sound of Whitekit's wail and like Tigerfrost she would come over and give the two her attention though she draws closer, nodding to the wise words of the lead warrior. Her gaze would fall on Moorkit amusement lighting in them; how funny she still held so much in common with the kit violence too was her primary way of dealing with whatever bothered her as well. Without battle training to work out her anger she often felt restless and more agitated then usual. She can't get away with pouncing on her clanamtes like the kits can sadly. ❝Dun' be a crybaby Whitekit❞ she warns her gaze shifting to the pale she-kit a grin crossing her muzzle ❝You're playin' the role great though! all Riverclan does is cry and whine you got that part down❞ Starclan Cicadastar had done plenty of that at the gathering along with many of his wet-rat looking clanmates. ​

( ✦ )

 

[curlewnose]

"leave those snails alone, they've got problems of their own"​

Curlewnose was of the firm belief that kits should be kits for as long as possible. His clan did not agree, so he kept quiet, but his heart broke for the kits shown Juniperfrost’s torn body. Vigils were one thing, but a warrior still bloody and beaten…

Curlew loved his family and his leader, but he didn’t have to always agree.

And here were the consequences: kits play-fighting at war. Tigerfrost and Firefang weren’t helping, encouraging their fake battle. Curlew wanted to step in, to explain to these kits that their enemies were protecting their homes and families just as Windclan did. He wanted to tell them that the life of another was precious, that taking that away was something that haunted you.

He wanted so much for these kits… and yet his paws remained still. The tom knew what happened when Sootstar was challenged, even if it was only meant to be a discussion for the greater good. All he wanted was the best for the clan. He hoped one day that meant kits could laugh and play up through apprentice-hood; right now, it meant Curlew could only pray as the kits tumbled head-first into a war of their own making.
​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[MOORBLOSSOM]

Serving as Whitekit's instinctive response is naught but a shrill cry for help. Kudos to her for that, she's playing the role of RiverClan rather adequately. A white, rogue-flung paw then collides against her snout, a move which ushers a brash "Ow!" from the aggressor. Nevertheless, her victim's pitiful defence hardly satisfies Moorkit's bloodlust. If anything, the flames of her passion are kindled further by the impotence of the other kit, in tandem with the backing of Tigerfrost and Firefang.

In the moment, she does not see her denmate, the one with the thin-furred ears and off-toned eyes. She instead sees an adversary. An enemy. Hence, an ensuant offensive launches then. The girl rears back, outstretched a frost-tipped paw and releasing a rhythmic eruption of wallops towards Whitekit's helpless head. "TAKE THAT, RIVERCLAN!" she howls amidst the onslaught. "TASTE THE PAIN! TASTE THE PAIN!" Her strikes are enacted with reckless abandon, and the amok movements may not even reach their mark. All that matters in the end is teaching a lesson. Weakness cannot survive in WindClan, and if you cannot beat it, it ought to be beaten out of you.

"I'm guhn' kill your head right off!" comes another battle cry. A warning cry, more like, for her next attack is ever imminent. Hesitating for a flicker of a moment, Moorkit propels herself from the sand and attempts to tackle Whitekit into the ground.​