camp LUCK RUNS OUT [exhaustion]

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ Even more clanmates have fallen ill, and the entire clan feels the strain now. With Bluefrost tucked away, useless in the nursery, and Periwinklebreeze perhaps drawing his last breaths in the badger sett, the council feels more bare than ever. Slateheart's absence is missed only slightly—only Dimmingsun stands as a lead warrior, unhindered by any nature of illness, and he is far from the first cat that Scorchstreak wishes to associate with. He is also not a tunneler, and so the calico has no one else to delegate the welfare of the tunnels to. She trusts each and every tunneler to put forth their best efforts, but the absence of so many clanmates is getting to everyone. The duty of overseeing the entirety of her tunneling clanmates falls to her alone.

She had spent the first hours of morning traveling to the horseplace, singleminded determination driving her. Collecting the wool had been simple, and had taken no time at all. Her walk back had seen her growing tired, but she would not allow herself to flag when WindClan depended on her. Nests needed to be changed, and bringing back some sheep's wool for the nursery is necessary. Venomstrike's kits (at least, the ones who are still in the nursery) deserve a comfortable nest. Quickly, the deputy sets about changing nests, pressing moss into shape before lining it with the touch of wool.

The wool is soft beneath her paws, but the deputy's mind is elsewhere. She longs for softness, for simple comfort. She is tired—not only exhausted in body, but mentally drained. Her limbs feel too heavy, too sluggish. Her head swims, wavers. She stands, and her legs wobble, sending her stumbling a step forward to catch herself. "I'm fine," she attempts to say in a tone filled with confidence, but her voice only comes out a tired rasp. She takes another unsteady step, as though to prove that she is indeed capable, and her limbs only manage to move in jerky motions. The edges of her vision are beginning to dim, dark spots dancing like fireflies before her eyes. Lethargy washes over her, and for a moment her legs threaten to buckle—stubbornly, she manages to remain standing, but her breath comes in a sharp gasp. Sure, she slept poorly last night, but it is still morning. She should not be struggling like this.

You should lie down, comes a suggestion from somewhere in her periphery—from somewhere in her head? It's clearly Rattleheart's voice, the usual rasp unmistakable as her littermate suggests that she not push herself past the brink again. But Rattleheart is (an idiot, her mind shrieks venomously) gone. Besides, she hasn't even been working for too long, not yet. Scorchstreak's head tips loosely, gaze lifting to seek out the golden morning sunlight… and meets nothing. Disoriented, the calico's head whips in the other direction; the sun begins to set now, creeping toward the horizon, and suddenly the gnawing feeling in her abdomen makes sense. She's been working all day, it seems, but how could the time have slipped so easily through her paws? "Just… let me finish this." Her voice cracks, almost pleading, and golden eyes are wide as she turns to look at the clanmate who's approached her.

every love that i touch ☽♰☾ falls to ruin

• ooc: —
• 
• SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. stoic and stern, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to bilberrypaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
  ༄ penned by foxlore

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[SILKENPAW]

જ➶ The clan is suffering and it shows in the whispers that she catches in the dead of night. The worry that grows thick with each passing day. Personally she has not gotten sick and she thanks whomever for that. Maybe even Sootstar. The young apprentice is not sure but at least the disease chooses not to invade her body. Even now the shadow of the moor rests close to the exit of camp with eyes closed and ears pricked to hear anything that might be going on. She remembers hearing the deputy leaving and where the other went to she is not sure but her mind doesn't linger on it as it is typical to work early. Perhaps. Still as time drags on the pawsteps return, odd sounding but they are back. Her eyes slowly open, the shifting shade making her blink ever so slightly before she lifts her chin up. Muzzle parting she is a about to speak but her maw closes as she picks up the sound of rustling. The smell of wool invading her muzzle tells her something at least and she can only imagine that the wool is for someone's nest. Lucky. Still perhaps she can ask for a little bit for her own.

White graced black paws move then and the shadow makes her way toward where she thinks the depity is when she hears something off. A stumbling step taken. Her maw frowns as the woman tells on herself and claims she is fine. The strain of her voice making her useless eyes narrow just slightly. "Oh...." Though she is young yet she can sense the distress of another and she steps a little closer, thick frame shifting just slightly as she sniffs. Another step is jerky, like a broken down and worn fence ready to collapse with the ease of a well placed breeze and jaw tightens in consideration. Let her finish it. Finish what? Her mind goes back to the sounds, the fluffing and making of nests. "You....maybe someone else can finish it. You need to rest, you can't run yourself into the ground. Doesn't Windclan need you?" The girl asks simply as she reaches forward, feeling against the ground to try and tap Scorchstreak on her paw gently.​

 

[STOATSPOT]

The sight of the deputy stumbling in to camp after she escaped early morning is... A little more than concerning. Stoatspot stops, looking up from what she had been doing (which is admittedly nothing much, just late-greenleaf cleaning). It's not too unusual of a sight to be up early morning and coming back late evening, she knows this, but yet... She cannot shake the feeling that something could be wrong. I'm fine, Scorchstreak insists to a nearby cat. Stoatspot shakes her head, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she opens it wider to speak... And then shuts it, deciding that she'll only step in if needed. Their deputy seems to be a bit stubborn- not that Stoatspot blames her.

Just let me finish this. Well... Well, thats her cue, at least. Shes up from her previous position, ready to assist. They can't have their deputy fall ill or run herself ragged trying to do the work of four plus cats.

Silkenpaw reaches Scorchstreak before Stoatspot could, and though she approaches the situation with a little less humor than she would have, she speaks facts. You can't run yourself in to the ground, Silkenpaw is right. Scorchstreak stands there, wool in paw, bleary and- Oh, she catches herself just blankly staring and yet shes quick to speak up once she regains her focus. "Yeah- Yeah! I'll finish it, have it done just as good!" Stoatspot assures Scorchstreak in wake of Silkenpaws suggestion. "I promise." she tacks on sincerely, with as much conviction as her voice could muster up. A worried sentence lays on the tip of her tongue but goes unsaid. Are you okay? She bites her lip in slight nervousness, sniffing the air as a precaution: no rot, no scent of sick lingers in the air. A quick exhale of relief is emitted, but Stoatspot won't begin until two things happen: Scorchstreak releases the reigns and goes to rest.

𝖫𝖨𝖥𝖤 𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖣 𝖴𝖲 𝖠 𝖯𝖠𝖸𝖢𝖧𝖤𝖢𝖪 ‧₊˚🍎 𝖶𝖤 𝖲𝖠𝖨𝖣 𝖶𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖪𝖤𝖣 𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖲

• 
  ❥ stoatspot ʚ♡ɞ palomino
  ❥ cis female ʚ♡ɞ she/her ʚ♡ɞ 24 months
  ❥ windclan warrior ʚ♡ɞ mentoring n/a
  ❥ fluffy black / fawn tortie with heterochromia ʚ♡ɞ short, but pure muscle
  ❥ "speech, bfdb81" ʚ♡ɞ thoughts
  ❥ single ʚ♡ɞ pansexual
  ❥ smells like straw, fresh rainfall & soil ʚ♡ɞ home on the range
  ❥ penned by chuff

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ Each step is as soft as the wool her paws have carefully woven. His voice, strands of silk. "Scorchstreak," he murmurs. It would do the clan no good for him to admit worry in front of their faces. Silkenpaw and Stoatspot look upon her now, worry knitting their brows — his own as well, as he steps closer to her. The grief that had hounded them for so many moons had not slipped from the warrior's mind. Nor had it escaped his deputy's iron-clawed grasp. How pitiful of a creature he was, to worry so much of his own heart, his own loss, when Scorchstreak herself had been swept up in its tide. She had lost her mate and her sibling, and in such quick succession. In times such as this, resilience. . . it is less a blessing than it once would have been.

Resilience does not heal wounds. She treks on despite them, dragging her bloodied soul through its daily tasks as if their clan would fall apart without it. Should the circumstance been any different, Sunstar knows he would be angry about this. Berate her for risking her clan like this. If she fell, they all would. If weakness slowed her limbs enough for a claw to strike home, and their clan lost its deputy on top of everything else —

He thinks, briefly, that he could not forgive himself, but it was scarcely about him now. He lowers his nose to the flame-mottled molly, feeling the hot flush of overworked skin beneath the coat of fur as he urges her to sit down. To settle. The sun sets around them now. Patrols return. Their clanmates settle into nightly routines and share tongues. "We would not know what to do, if you did," he tells her quietly. "Your work has taken the jobs of many capable paws, but that is not your burden to bear alone." Sunstar turns his eyes to Silkenpaw, nodding though the blind apprentice cannot see him. "Will you fetch her something to eat, Silkenpaw? It will be good for us to rest a while. There are others that will do the work."

And his final words, a murmur to his most loyal warrior's shoulder: "You are not alone."

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞06.17⌝ 🟒ᨒ

• 

  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. —
  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove.

• "speech"

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[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ The unsteadiness that has seized her limbs does not abate as Silkenpaw approaches, although the calico attempts to straighten herself. Putting on such a façade before a blind cat is unnecessary, but the threads of her control are slipping from her grasp. She cannot let them go, not yet. The deputy can only cling to the final wisps as she attempts to save face—in front of an apprentice, no less. How… discomfiting. It feels wrong, and a flicker of grief crosses the calico's face before being smothered just as swiftly under the weight of icy stoicism. (Rattleheart would likely scold her for her stubbornness, but it would mean little coming from a cat who sacrificed her own life for a meaningless RiverClan runt.) "Silkenpaw, I'm fine," she attempts to assure the younger cat, who asks her: Doesn't WindClan need you? Her heart skips a beat, pounding erratically against her ribcage, and golden eyes narrow with disappointment. In herself, in her circumstances… simple disappointment.

Stoatspot joins Silkenpaw in trying to convince her to slow down, offering to do the work herself. The duo's optimism, their willingness to help, stirs the embers that lie in the hearth of her chest. Scorchstreak understands just how much of her clan relies on her, lionizes her. And they are watching her begin to drive herself into the ground. (Or, rather, they are now rising in an attempt to keep her from doing so.)

Reject this, her mind screams, refusing to become a hindrance to the clan that is meant to follow her lead. She is meant to be strong, unwavering; this weakness is below her. But then her name leaves Sunstar's mouth in a murmur, filled with care and concern. Her walls crumble, and the deputy's shoulders sag. Her stubbornness will be her killer one day, a pernicious thing that she must come to terms with before it takes her down for good. "Fine," she snaps, but the word is devoid of any true anger. There shall be no diatribe from her now, no invidious words falling from her mouth. Instead, she sighs, allows herself to accept his declaration that she is not alone, yielding to the offered support. "I do not need to be coddled. But… a rest should not set me back too far. And you… don't need to finish my duties for me," she assures the younger warrior—Stoatspot is certainly capable of performing such a task, but Scorchstreak cannot allow it. She had been the one to decide that it needed to be done. She should be the one to finish it.

every love that i touch ☽♰☾ falls to ruin

• ooc: —
• 
• SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. stoic and stern, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to bilberrypaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
  ༄ penned by foxlore

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