lullaby for a dead man | intro

B

beethorn

Guest
A little hunting escapade earlier left him out of breath and slightly disoriented as they shoulder in to camp with a rabbit held taught in their jaws. Who knew traversing the moor was this difficult? The rabbit had escaped from his sightline after a quick tumble through the wrong tumble, thus leading him out in to the sun scorched grass, where he had ultimately caught it but damn was it bright outside! She had given herself near no time to adjust to the brightness and now shes reaping the sorrows of her harvest as she near trips over a conveniently placed rock near the entrance.

"How annoying! Ugh.." comes his whine as he shakes his head to clear the dizziness, letting the rabbit tumble from their grip as they let the vertigo subside. Curled fur bounces as he shakes, a pout gracing his lips as he can finally see normally again. "Now where are they...?" he searches for either Sootstar herself or one of the other queens, picking the rabbit back up. It might as well go to their dearest leader or those nursing their youth, yes? Yes, he was sure Starclan would favor this choice... Now all she has to do is find one of them.
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"speech"​
 

The sun, the sun.. What a wretched thing it was. It's radiance keeping the darkness at bay with it's wicked rays. Terrible for one such as he, who thrived in the deep dark of the earth. He stood in the shadow of the tall rock, out of its blinding glare.

He could see just fine in this sickening light once his eyes adjusted. He would not seem weak in the gaze of the sun. No, he was the shadow that dwelled in the light. Nothing could dissipate him.

This one, though, was struggling in the light. Eyes squinted, practically blind. He couldn't fault him, it's why Molewhisker usually came out at night. The moon and stars were light enough for him.

Would he step in, help his fellow tunneler to his destination? Nay, he would sit and watch as one would watch a worm squirm. He would squiggle to his destination eventually!
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TAGS — She'd recently awoken from a power nap, having been weary from her own tunneling exploits and in need of a booster. Her eyes are still a bit heavy-lidded as she swipes her tongue over her forepaws, bleary from both sleep and the sunlight; it's a common problem among cats of their ilk, evidently. Especially during leafbare. Does the long list of the season's downsides ever end?

Eventually she stands and stretches, ready to begin her daily chores, though it's not long after she starts ordering each task in her mind by importance that a familiar face catches her attention. Beethorn, stumbling about. Icepaw isn't close with the warrior, but he's a recurring figure in her life by virtue of their shared duties underground. There's an inherent, unspoken kinship that she feels with all of the tunnelers, regardless of how well she knows them — they're part of a very unique sphere, connected by the shared dangers they face day after day in the moorland's winding labyrinths. Camaraderie is imperative in an environment where one wrong move can spell disaster. "Are you okay?" she asks, trotting up to the curly-furred feline with concern in her gaze. A small, respectful dip of her head accompanies the words once she reaches them and stops.​
 
GOT GUMMYWORMS STUCK IN MY TEETH
shoelace | 20 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold red
The ragged feline that is Branchfall has never been beneath the ground, and she is certainly in no hurry to change that. The tunnels here remind her to much of the city sewers - subterranean tunnels home to darkness and monsters, damp and dank and dirty. And while she's not necessarily opposed to getting her paws dirty, the... well, dirt isn't her favorite substance to do so.

A wicked grin on her face and a violent gleam in her eyes, the tattered she-cat is quick to bound over to join the fun, eyes roving over both beethorn and the prey clasped in their fellow warriors jaws. Licking their lips with a long swipe of pink tongue, she grins frightfully - manically. "Nice catch! Must'a been a real hard chase, you look like ya' might just keel over where ya' stand!" she says, a sharp giggle slipping past her lips as though she wants nothing more than for that to happen - and perhaps she does/ It'd certainly be funny.
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Oh, he couldn't imagine traversing the tunnels! Little dens for ghosts and creatures, likely lined wall-to-wall with skeletons... he'd long given up the privilege of fitting through them, forfeiting it apparently to be the size he was. Growth had found him well, at least! He was much bigger than the majority of his family- if he ever ran into his father, he'd probably be able to crush him with a single paw! The tunnellers baffled him in that regard- what was it about them that made them so little? Had they made some ancient deal- some blood-pact that prevented them from growing too large for the networks? Or did they just get lucky?

Face dressed with his ever-present grin, the tar-toed tom trotted over joyfully, not bothering to hide the fact that he was openly laughing at Beethorn's stumble. His eyes oppupied the majority of his face, so wide-set in his skull as he stared and stared, not letting the peals of laughter leaving him flinch his eyelids, let slip his eye-contact. Beethorn had to know he still meant well- eye-contact was the best way to show friendliness. Extra eye contact made extra friendliness. "Sun must be melting your eyes out here, right?" he asked through the giggles, amused by the image. He could imagine the rivers of tunneller eye-goop, if such an outcome could happen...​
☺PENNED BY PIN​
 
Ah, someone is around. Bee raises his head, quizzical expression on their face as a blurred figure just barely appears from the shadows. Who is that? The rabbit comes tumbling from their mouth once more. "You there," I should feed you to the gorge for just standing there! "Do you know where-" but before she can finish, she hears a familiar voice that has them cocking a small smile. Icepaw, fellow tunneler, and though now Beethorns apprentice he feels pride in the young one all the same. Especially after the feats of their abilities came to fruition after the raid on Skyclan. "I'm fine, if it weren't for that one." a huff, childish, swinging his nose to point in the direction of Molewhisker. Embarrassment prickles beneath his skin, and frustration causes a hateful feeling in their chest. "Y'know, I could find it perfectly fine without you!" he huffs once more, staring as Molewhisker as if he could explode the other with his mind.

And after all of this, after he finally goes silent, he finds his vision has finally fixed himself, adjusted to the harsh light from above-ground. "Aha! Another win for me," he raises his chin high. "Starclan still has their eye on me after all." but theres a giggle that causes his head to snap towards them. "Oh, no, nothing too hard for me." were they making fun of him?! His ears twitch irritably, he wants to get out of here. "The sun does not melt something so trivial," he responds to Mallowlark, meeting the others eyes as a shiver makes its way down his spine. "Why would it spend time melting my eyes when it can melt yours? After all, most of Windclan spends their time above the land." he shakes his coat out, speaking so matter of factly. Weirdos! But unbeknownst to him, its hypocritical thinking. Perhaps he may have laughed if he was not so defensive.
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"speech"​
 

He seemed defensive- fearful. It entertained him, that dash of fear that thickened a voice! What did they have to be scared of in broad daylight? There were no such things as ghouls that lurked in the rays of the sun- no, they only crawled in the deepest of shadows. And, oh- how the moon thought for itself, the sun apparently did too! Choosing where to direct its fire- what to melt and when. Beethorn claimed it would not waste time with him, though- why would it waste time with either, if it could pick and choose?

"I'm immune," Mallowlark hummed matter-of-factly, grin growing as the roots of his fangs were exposed. And if the mind of the sun was as sharp as the moon's, dictating the world below it... choosing where to place its pawns and playthings... "And I think it'd choose a victim less likely to resist it." As if the implications weren't enough- a night-dipped paw motioned Beethorn's way, punctuated with a sharp cackle that flooded like blood from a gash out of Mallowlark's maw. Oh, he didn't joke like this with Clanmates often! Strange looks were so often cast his way- joy lit an argent dance in his eyes.​
☺PENNED BY PIN​
 

A giggle escaped Molewhisker as Beethorn pointed him out. Why, so accusatory! He was just sitting in the shade! It's not his fault Beethorn couldn't see at the moment! Blame the sun, not him!

Others came to their side, being far more useful than he was. He didn't really care, it wasn't his responsibility to. Beethorn was safe in camp, he would find the pile easily enough.

Mallowlark however, was a funny guy. He was different than the others here. Not that he minded, but they shared a strange sense of humor. The sun melting your eyes? It sure felt like it sometimes, that's for sure.

He could speak, converse with his clanmates. But instead, he winked at Beethorn and stuck his tongue out with a grin.


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GOT GUMMYWORMS STUCK IN MY TEETH
shoelace | 20 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold red
A frown and a pout tugging at her lips at the others snappish remarks, the brown toned feline simply shrugs in disinterest - this strange little cat is no fun, no fun at all. A yawn splits her face from sheer boredom, and she surveys the group with burning gaze for only a matter of moments. No longer interested, she only waits long enough for a new pastime to strike her mind like a match and a flame before grinning cheerily and wandering of, humming merrily all the ways.

// out
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