live a life you will remember / intro

[FLOWERFOOT]

He ran with the wind at his back and the sun grinning at him through gaps in the deciduous trees. Breaths grew heavier with each passing second, but on and on the former kittypet pressed, his mission taking priority over all else: get to camp, and tell them the news. A patrol was passed on the way, and Flowerfoot narrowly avoided jumping into them, shouting an apology as he skirted past a particularly dense patch of bramble. The grumbles fell on deaf ears, for no sooner did he almost barrel into them, did he see a clearing up ahead, a sandy ravine holding dens he'd come to learn about these past dozen moons. They still weren't old news to the tom, no matter how many times he passed the same old structures, perhaps because they went egregiously unexplored. No apprentice meant he couldn't look in the Apprentice den, no kittens means the Nursery was off-limits to a nosey visitor, no pressing matters meant the leader's den was just a fever dream. He imagined wonderful things in each, big beasties to defeat and trinkets the likes of wish were rare to even Twolegs. Before he even knew it, Flowerfoot had burst through the entrance of his home, skidding to a halt before he bumped into a group sharing tongues.

"'Sup?" He flashed a toothed smile towards them, smiling around a bundle of white fur. Sky-blue eyes stared for too long before he suddenly dropped his prize onto the floor, spitting out strands of fluff that had gotten caught between his teeth. The purebred had caught a squirrel, fur as stark as the snow he'd trampled through - this was his important mission, to show off a cool catch to anyone who would give him the time of day. Luckily, the creatures before him did not have much of an escape route, not that he'd notice if they were getting frustrated with him. "I almost didn't see it, y'know, 'cause the ground's white. But then it made a little noise like, 'hey buddy, you can't kill me', then I said 'that's where you're wrong.' Then I chased it, now it's dead. But it looks cool, right? D'you bet it tastes any different?" Saliva smacked against his teeth from the temptation, but Flowerfoot knew the rules: kittens first, warriors later. The Leafbare had thinned out his form, but he was not hungry enough to forsake his morals.

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[Martenmask]

Sharing tongues with Martenmask was not, necessarily, the easiest task in the world, simply because there was a great deal of Martenmask to groom. This was because he was both a large cat and an unusually fluffy one - a sharp contrast to his smaller and shorter-coated Clanmates, including the mottle-pointed warrior who now bounded up to the group. Flowerfoot: a tom Martenmask knew well, quite possibly his closest friend and confidant. Their energetic personalities played well together, and their shared kittypet origin meant they had had things to bond over. Now they were well-accustomed to one another's quirks, including - for instance - Flowerfoot's energetic interruptions of ordinary Clan activities.

Martenmask shot to his feet, glancing apologetically at whichever of his Clanmates had been trying to sort out a knot from between his shoulder blades before focusing on the white squirrel his friend had brought. "A white squirrel! I've never seen one of these before!" the Ragdoll exclaimed, clearly fascinated. He bent down and sniffed intently at the snow-pelted prey, bright blue eyes practically sparkling. It didn't smell any different than a regular squirrel, and his stomach grumbled appreciatively at the scent of fresh meat. "This is fantastic. What was it doing? Did it act like a normal squirrel? You said it made a noise?"​

 

[skyclaw]

Skyclaw didn't have much issue with the former kittypets amongst them. Emberstar was kind enough to allow them in and let them learn the way of a Clan cat - something that he was born into, unknowingly still with blood just as muddled as them. They were... eccentric at times, but he supposes if he came from a life of rabbit droppings and twolegs, a measly squirrel would excite him just as much.

The faux-tortoiseshell tom wanders closer, ears folded back. He'd not admit it so loudly, but a pure white squirrel is a curious find. He can't help but quip, "If it talked to you, Flowerfoot, then I think you should see Gentlestorm," to the pointed tom. Martenmask entertains the other more than he dares, but Skyclaw lingers, allowing a spot of curiosity. ​

 

[nightbird]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ nightbird's ears flicked to martenmask's exclamation, head swinging fluidly to look at flowerfoot's catch. a squirrel was sat limp on the ground, pale white fur sporting a few speckles of blood. as strange of a sight it was, it would be eaten all the same. she wouldn't waste time fawning over it.

an amused huff passed her nose at skyclaw's remark, it certainly was an interesting claim to stake. the idea of prey speaking was absurd, they made pitiful enough sounds when trapped beneath a warrior's paws. she doubted anything a mouse or squirrel could muster in their last moments would make a compelling argument. "it's a nice catch, don't know how you saw it against all this snow."

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎┌── AND TIME IS RAGING ⋅⋆⋅ MAY IT RAGE IN VAIN ──┐‎

• ooc ↛
  

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  NIGHTBIRD ✩ she/her, lead warrior of thunderclan, 30 ☾'s
  ⭃ a small black smoke molly with a single white paw and pale silver eyes.
  ⭃ mate to raccoonstripe / / mentor to palepaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by vayle ↛ @vayl3 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Tybalt [Stagstrike]]

Tybalt gazed down at the white squirrel. It was an impressive catch against all the snow, even if Flowerfoot's excited chattering sounded like nonsense to him. A catch was a catch, and a white squirrel would fill bellies just as well as your standard brown one. Lowering his head, the wavy-furred tom gave the prey a curious sniff. It smelled normal enough, so it was probably fine to eat despite it's unusual coloring.

"Well caught, Flowerfoot," he rumbled. And then, still gazing down at the dead squirrel, he added, "I've never seen a white one before. I didn't know they could be white." Had it turned white when the snow came, the way some hares or stoats did, or had it been born white? Either way, it was an interesting sight.