camp little thoughts | small apology, open

[Lionsnarl]

"LIFE DOESN'T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS"​

The small kindnesses of Deersong and Huckleberry had touched him, though if he were asked, he would never admit to it outright. However, they did... spark something in him. He still wanted nothing to do with the clan's bratty youth, but he supposed that he should attempt to apologize to the girl. She was a useless, craven leaf of a thing, but perhaps she didn't quite deserve to be tossed.

He would not apologize for the cuff. If a cat were scared of being cuffed over the ear, maybe they should just be a mouse instead, but the shake... that might've.... might have.... been a little rough. Of course, her mother would never allow such a thing - he had an idea that if he even looked at the girl, Daisyflight would rip out his eyes and feed his irises to the unruly beasts she called her children. Awful creatures. Brats and worms. She seemed to think them all special little flowers, all - .... hm.

The ginger king would disappear from camp after his epiphany, returning far after most of the apprentices had left with their mentors to train or patrol or hunt, a bright sprig of little white buds held delicately between his teeth so as not to ruin the flower. He peered into the apprentices' den with his gift, relieved that the girl was nowhere to be found, and placed the sprig in the nest that smelled the most like her.

He would leave camp again after placing his gesture - he had no interest in dealing with the leaf or her mother or her disgusting siblings or friends, but at least (in his mind) he had extended his own form of humility to set himself at ease. @butterflypaw​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[butterflytuft]

The girl had been avoiding Crimsonbite ever since the incident, more-so than she always did. At least before, she would only receive scowls and growls from him when she stepped a little too close or if they happened to meet at the fresh-kill pile at the same time. But never had he touched her before, laid rough paws upon her and thrown her to the ground. She recalls the feeling of teeth in her scruff and being yanked off the ground, the force of gravity having drawn a cry of pain from her. She flinches at the memory. He's become something akin to a boogeyman to her. A terrifying monster that resides in their camp. She can try to run, but she'll never be able to fully escape a monster who's also her clanmate.

She returns to the apprentice's den late in the day, after another climbing lesson with Blazestar. She didn't get very high...again. The memory of falling out of a tree has been holding her back some. Sleepy, she picks her way into the den before she arrives at her nest. But she doesn't collapse into it as she normally would. Instead, the tortoiseshell peers curiously at a flower that sits in the center. Had someone left it there for her? Daisyflight, maybe? Or Twitchpaw, or Fireflykit? Nose twitching, Butterflypaw leans down to give it a sniff, and immediately recoils. The scent causes a shiver to run down her spine. It is teeth in her scruff, it is a snarling, malformed face, it is scarily angry eyes, it is a rough, shouting voice, it is the feeling of hard dirt upon her shoulder.

She hiccups, taken aback and fearful. After a moment, the pansy of a girl leans down to clutch the stem of the flower carefully in her jaws before moving outside the den, where she swiftly deposits it. With wide, frightened eyes, she glances around before retreating back into the den, away from the boogeyman-scented flower. Shaken, the coward curls up in her nest and wraps her tail tightly around herself, remaining wide awake.​

 

[ThistleBack]

The world was cold outside of these plant dens, like walking on jagged stones blindly and having hope it’ll smoothen out. We live this life, blow by blow, willing our skin to harden rather than bleed us out of our dreams and goals. Some, let their whole bodies form a callus- unwilling to let things hurt them anymore but it manifests itself into something like Crimsonbite, one can imagine. Thistleback figures the man, a husk of anger and resentment. Maybe that didn’t stem from anything traumatic but we all carry our bullshit in different ways.

Thistleback, had never been able to properly distribute his trauma, but it didn’t make him an angry bastard. If anything he was just, neutral with the capability of chaos. The thought of physically reprimanding a child for simply being scared- was beyond him. Rumor got around, he had crinkled his nose to it. Butterflypaw needed to toughen up, but one should be careful with youth. You either break them, or make a monster out of them. That’s why Thistleback kept a firm but patient approach with Coyotepaw.

Returning from patrol, the piebald strolls through camp at a leisurely pace. Movement at the mouth of the apprentice’s den catches his idle attention. A wild-eyed Butterflypaw spitting out a flower on the ground, looking shaken before retreating back.

The purple collar wearing brute chews on the inside of his maw for a moment, padding toward the den carefully and lowering his nose to the abandoned blossom. " hm" he retracts his skull and steps across the threshold of the den, spotting the lantern-eyed kid.

" too proud for a proper apology, is he? " he carries his voice into the fern den with a shallow sigh. Chin curved down to the floor of the apprentice den entrance as he carefully considers his words. " good on you for not accepting it " he adds. He nods silently now, not having anymore words to share- he hopes someone better would come around to comfort her. With a flick of his tail he turns on his heel to leave.

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Thistleback | thirty-two moons | cis-male
  — daylight warrior of Skyclan | leaves rarely
  — bisexual | fallen for Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring Coyotepaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes. Wears a purple collar with brass clasp.
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[grizzlyridge]

Trauma had been the whole of him. He took it like poison from a wound, or a bristly burr from thin fur. Though it would sting his own mouth, he takes it and puts it away– that is what he finds himself so enamored with. The reality of trauma. The absolution of it. But others did not know how to put away their troubles. Grizzlyridge would walk beneath the pale moonlight and leave his troubles in his wake. Each print on the ground, a sorrow. Each step forward, a breath of fresh air. Those unlucky souls that could not let it go...they turned it on others, more often than not. No excuse could soften those blows that they left, no breath of fresh air could chase out the bitterness of pain they left in their wake. They did not clean poison from wounds– they exuded it. That, it seems, is the truth of Crimsonbite. The pride is understood and felt, but the terror he sees in vibrant eyes is answer enough to that. Too proud for a proper apology, is he? Thistlebite's low voice feeds back out into camp, and with his blue eyes still on the flower, he follows them.

It's only when Thistleback leaves that he offers his own appreciation, an assurance that he spoke well hidden into the dip of his head. But where the black and white tom offered his kindness and left again, the thick puff of Grizzlyridge's fur enters the apprentice den with no intention of leaving so quickly. Instead he settles himself down outside of their nests, his own thick tail tapping across his paws. "You seem afraid." He will make no judgment without facts (after all, when is the apprentice not afraid?), yet worry still laces his voice. "Do you want to talk about it? About who left that flower?"

☾  OOC NOTES INFORMATION ☽

• 
  ooc: —
• GRIZZLYRIDGE. world-weary warrior of skyclan.
  ──── uses he - him - his, may accept they - them - theirs.
  ──── about four years old.  a former pine group member.
  ──── homoromantic homosexual, but this may develop.
  
  a large, broad-shouldered highlander cat with lightly tufted curled ears and large paws made larger by extra toes. a solid seal point with only a small white marking on his muzzle and deep blue eyes.
• "speech"

​

 

[butterflytuft]

Butterflypaw lifts her head suddenly, spotting Thistleback in the den entrance. She stares at him, owl-eyed, for a moment before a slow nod is given in response. Too proud is a good way of wording it. But the apprentice is glad for the lack of pride, in that case. She wouldn't know what to do if the scary tom approached her. He praises her, which does comfort her enough to offer him the slightest of smiles, before he slips out. Grizzlyridge is the next to arrive, seemingly catching onto his fellow warrior's attempts at support. He settles in beside her and begins to talk. His voice is comforting enough, and the tortoiseshell blinks from him down to her paws. "....A scary cat," She finally murmurs, like a frightened child who had just woken up from a nightmare. She's a coward. She's a coward and she knows it, but she can't stop it. She will never be able to look frightening warriors in the face and tell them off like Basilpaw or Twitchpaw or Snowpaw or Quillpaw when they defended her from him. She will never be that cat.​