Looking for air // Sharing stories // Badger set

[Quietcrow]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ Quietcrow wasn't a fan of being underground for so long; he was made to run the moors under the endless sky. This felt wrong. When he awoke in badger set, he was beyond confused. He was told he had yellow cough, and now this was his home until he felt better.

Not that the Wolfsong and Celandinepaw hadn't been trying their best to keep them comfortable, but he really wanted to go outside and run. The wheezing when he breathed reminded him that he wouldn't get very far. Plus, he was still worried about getting other cats sick; how many had he infected by neglecting to go to Wolfsong as soon as he felt ill?

So here they were, trying to pass the time with stories. "The dandelion's seeds,,, got stuck to the fur on my face I couldn't see,,, I called for help,,, and cats ran over, thinking I was in danger." Quietcrow chuckled; it didn't feel that long ago. The black warrior rubbed his crusty nose before continuing. "I think that had to,,, be my most embarrassing moment." He still felt like that young, scared apprentice, but he had bigger things to worry about than dandelion seeds. His throat hurt from talking so much, but it felt nice to talk with everyone. The smile on his face remained even when he put his head down to rest on his paws.

ooc Information

• ooc: — A chill thread for sick cats/ visiting cats to get out their feelings out and share some stories
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  Quietpaw — ･ he/him ･ moor runner ･Windclan ･ PENNED BY @Ghostunes!

  A timid mostly black tom with white markings on his chest and back. Note: often has short pauses in his speech when he talks. ​

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[BUCKFIRE]

Similar to Quietcrow, Buck is not made for standing still. He would much rather be exploring his new home, familiarizing himself with the territory and partaking in the duties that were now expected of him. The brown tabby wanted to pull his weight and prove that he could be a clan cat too, but for now, he was one of Wolfsong's patients... again. Would he just keep getting sick or injured?

As much as it was dull and boring within the confines of the Badger Set, Buck enjoys passing the time with conversation and getting to know this group of clanmates more. There was nothing else to do anyway, right? Listening to the WindClanners speak of better days, of their daily lives and problems, was interesting to the brown tabby tom. They had led very different lives compared to him. "I'll do y' one better." Buck chirps after the black cat concludes. Not that Quietcrow's tale wasn't the least bit embarrassing, but maybe he would feel a little better about himself if Buck regaled everyone in the den with his own story.

His orangeish gaze, a little dim and weary compared to normal, brightens a tiny bit as he fixes his attention toward those who were listening. "Back in the day, when I was still growin' into my stripes, I was hankerin' for a snack. I chased this mouse all 'round the yard until I came barrelin' into the barn. I didn't notice that I nearly ran head-first into one of the goats." Buck only assumes that the WindClanners knew what goats were, as well as other livestock animals. He was always used to them being nearby, whether roaming wild or on a farm. "This thing charges toward me, lickety-split— conk! Next thing I know, I'm seein' stars. Luckily, I came to my senses before it could try knockin' me out cold." The former loner gestures toward his forehead illustratively, giving a shake of his head as memories flood his brain.

If this story wasn't embarrassing, then Buck didn't know what was. He couldn't really sugarcoat it as anything else — he had been about as dumb as a nut, sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Not that he necessarily grew up to be the more careful sort, considering he tried riding cows for fun, but he had some more experience under his pelt at least. "I'm thankin' my lucky stars that I can still think straight after that day." He mused aloud before clearing his phlegmmy throat. "Moral of the story? If it's got horns, steer clear." Even a thrill-chaser like him knew better than to get caught up in those things if he could help it.

𝐈 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐈 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄

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  a horseplace loner, buck is thirty moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips.　✦

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[SCORCHSTORM]

There was a time in Scorchstorm's life where she had yearned to melt into the shadowy black of WindClan's tunnels. She had wanted to be just like her mother — had always wanted Scorchstreak's approval, her skill, her passion for her work. It should have been an honor to be apprenticed instead to WindClan's moor runner deputy (her own father, at that), but it had crushed her at the time. Now, she could not imagine her life any other way. The badger sett is claustrophobic, a cacophony of snivels and wet coughs. The walls are too close. The light is too little. It is hardly a comfort to be housed here — and StarClan, she knows it should mean something to her, but all she can think about is the way her pelt burns in equal parts fever and shame.

She is sick after all. Her clanmates — one new, one not — discuss their most embarrassing moments, and Scorchstorm is tempted to chime in with the one that had landed her in the badger sett. I chased a rabbit that never existed. But really, she has many streams to fish from in this regard. So many embarrassments, time and time again. Maybe she should start in the present and work backwards. She is embarrassed to think of her imaginary rabbit, or her imaginary relationship, or her imaginary father. Bluefrost's name still sits on her tongue like bitter ash. Badgermoon's betrayal never fails to unearth hot globs of resentment and shame. I wish I had not spoken up for you, she thinks, I wish.... But the thought dissolves into deep, phlegmy coughs.

Scorchstorm's auburn ear twitches as two of her new denmates prattle on about their greatest embarrassments. She is not particularly eager to join in. Blinded by dandelion fluff; charged at by a ram. Easy, calming stories — as if nothing is wrong, as if they are not housed in the same den where many of her clanmates had gone to rot before. She had not seen Weaselclaw waste away, but she knows that he had perished in this very den. Had Frostwind shuddered here and watched him go? Had Rumblerain? Rattleheart?

Fever-spiked suspicion sends the soupy meat of her brain into an electric fit. Scorchstorm shuts her eyes tight, forcing her breaths into some semblance of regularity. She does not like being here. It scares her. But maybe if she joined their normalcy, that fear would not torture her so badly.

Scorchstorm rolls to face the gabbing cats. "I hunted a rabbit that did not exist," she shares. Her tone holds none of the same warmth or nostalgia as her peers' voices. She resents the moment, but in the spirit of sharing... she supposes it is okay to retell. "That is how I realized I was ill." She had not realized the truth of the matter until Wolfsong had told her upon waking. Hopefully her blunt brevity does not kill the mood.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc.
  
• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 16 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

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[BILBERRYPAW]

Beneath the ragged sound of the rise and collapse of his chest, Bilberrypaw's ears twist to find noise. His face furrows and he shifts as if to pull himself from where he lays, but that doesn't happen. He fails to stand, or he forgets he was ever going to, and the moment passes. The pressure behind Bilberrypaw's eyes doesn't change and yet the distant voices seem uniquely terrible to him. He moves again, this time to press a white paw against a black ear in a feeble attempt to drown out some of the noise.

Still, the stories continue on.

"I know what dandelions are," Bilberrypaw sounds petulant to his own ears—he doesn't mean to sound petulant. Slowly, his chin rises from the dirt. Something like an apology sits on his tongue, but no matter how unintentional his tone is, he truly is in a sour mood.

Buck's isn't any better. Something about a mouse with horns. Bilberrypaw had closed his eyes against the light, or against the noise. Normally he would listen. Normally he would ask about how a mouse could get horns, or he would catch that it wasn't a story about a mouse with horns at all. Instead his eyes peel open with a slowness that comes only with blinking awake and turns his head towards Scorchstreak—isn't it Scorchstreak?—and frowns.

"I think I got you sick," It makes since, doesn't it? "That's what I'm embarrassed about. I didn't want to be apprenticed anymore and it made you get sick."​

windclan apprentice | black and white harlequin | six moons | tags​