LEAVE ME \ foxpaw

[BLUEFROST]

It feels almost insulting, to have to perform the same chores as moor runner apprentices. When she’d first started her training, Sootstar had taken her time letting her learn the ropes before their first descent underground, but now? Now Bluepaw is familiar with the different types of silt and clay beneath the earth, knows which sticks will and won’t hold up tunnels. She’s far from an expert, but she feels like her skills are best utilized below… not picking ticks and scraping away used bedding.

The cat she’s tasked with helping is a bit older, though not by much. He’s bigger, his fur mostly white but lined with sunny gold. Bluepaw rolls the bits of moss she’s scraped away into little balls, green eyes narrowing as she perceives him. Houndthistle calls him his son, but she doesn’t know if that’s true. They don’t look even remotely alike to her. More likely, this was some outsider kit Houndthistle brought into the Clan, she decides airily.

“Aren’t you bored, doing camp chores?” Her voice is soft but enunciated with effort. “Or perhaps this is more your speed than moor runner training…” Her smile is small and lifeless. Colorless claws sink into the moss, ripping away more—it makes a sound like skin tearing.

@FOXPAW !

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

​

 

[FOXGLARE]

( tags ) Bluepaw's current companion worked quietly beside her, brows furrowed with the focus befitting someone performing an intricate work of craftsmanship as opposed to the menial labor of replacing old bedding. So far, the two of them had been working in (assumedly) comfortable silence, Foxpaw wasn't the most skilled conversationalist and Bluepaw seemed to not be the type to have to fill the air with chatter to avoid feeling awkward. He doesn't notice her watching him briefly, gaze lowered towards the clumps of moss between his paws, rolling them into neat spherical balls and adding them to their shared pile, slowly but steadily growing.

Bluepaw breaks the silence first, which is a surprise, he was starting to expect that they would finish all of their chores without a word being exchanged between them. He glances up briefly, grey meeting narrowed green, before returning his focus to a particularly stubborn piece of moss clinging to the bracken of the empty nest. Foxpaw is silent for a beat, long enough that she might have assumed that he took offense to her flippant question. "I mean, sure it's borin'. S'not like cleanin' up moss is my passion or somethin'," he answers honestly, completely oblivious to any attempt at a dig Bluepaw may have attempted. The verbal jousts that Foxpaw's peers were prone to engaging in went right over his head, the boy said what he meant to say and assumed the same was true for everyone else. "But bein' bored means you're not starved or fighting, means you're safe. So, I don't mind it too much. Besides, we might have 'nough time to get in some training after." he explained with a shrug, even if they took till sundown he doubted it would take much convincing to get Jaggedclaw to agree to a couple rounds of night-time sparring. Foxpaw had spent the majority of his short life in survival mode, so as irritating as it could be to be stuck in camp, he had an odd appreciation for getting to feel bored every once in a while.

Freeing the difficult piece of old moss at last, the largeish tom watched her work for a moment. She was a small cat, and carried the unique damp soil smell he'd come to know was attributed to the tunnelling warriors that spent their days underground. Spending all day in dark, stuffy tunnels seemed claustrophobic and didn't appeal to him at all, but he was curious. "You're a tunneller, right? What's it like down there?"

"SPEECH"

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Curiously, Foxpaw does not take offense to Bluepaw’s queries. The ginger and white apprentice spends a few heartbeats considering his answer, and though his accent is harsh on her delicate ears, Bluepaw understands he is either ignorant or choosing to let her barbed words roll off of his back like morning dew. She studies him, green eyes narrowing with shining curiosity. “I doubt it’s anyone’s passion,” she responds. “Though with the way some of these apprentices misbehave, you would almost think it could be.” She thinks of cats like Milkpaw, banished to the nursery, and Snakepaw, who loves to sass his mentor—the deputy of WindClan, no less.

Foxpaw’s comment about starving causes her brow to quirk. She grasps the admission. “Are you referring to when you lived as a loner?” Bluepaw’s smile is hard to interpret if one is not well-versed in mockery. “What was that like? Life before WindClan, I mean.” She’d never gone hungry a day in her life—even as a kit in the cooler moons, Bluepaw had been well-fed and protected. She has never had to consider genuine hardship, and it is not that she asks after now. Bluepaw wants to know, but she also wants to rub Foxpaw’s face in it again that she is Clanborn, the leader’s daughter, and he is of the lowliest stature.

He still seems earnest enough when he returns her line of questioning, though, asking her about her days under the earth. Bluepaw pauses, stroking a bit of old moss with her claws. “It is…” She blinks, ears flicking forward. “It is an honor to be a tunneler. My mother is one, you know.” Whether he notices the answer is a touch robotic or not, she continues working, humming tunelessly under her breath.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

​