camp MADE MYSELF MYTHICAL | ✿ daffodil prompt

[laurelpaw]

LAURELPAW

SHE/THEY WINDCLAN APPRENTICE

She tells herself that it's a simple task, fit for an apprenticeship that draws closer to its end with each sunrise, but — well, she can't help but feel a little slighted by its bestowal upon her. Laurelpaw has felt herself fill with dread each time she dares a glance at their camp walls, for it seems they droop and sag lower with each passing day; with the turn of the seasons comes storms, and though they are named for and honor the winds that race down the plains, their camp certainly doesn't agree with the weather. On one particularly breezy day, one section of gorse finally collapses, defeated, and Laurelpaw finds herself tasked with weaving fresh stems through to patch it up once more.

The tortoiseshell thinks she would rather pick ticks from the furs of the elders of all the clans than handle even one more of the thorny plants, as another hooks into the pad of one paw and requires her to stop and carefully fish it from the flesh, lest it tear and cause her an injury actually worth seeing Cottonsprig about. She and some others had gone out earlier that day to gather as much of the prickly material as they could bear to carry back, in varying amounts — and while Laurelpaw wouldn't say that she had, perhaps, picked off more than she could comfortably handle, the stinging snags littering the skin beneath her short coat spoke loudly enough. (She thinks she's gotten all the thorns out of her fur, but… maybe, she hadn't?)

Her frustration coming to a peak, she rips a cluster of yellow blooms from the plant she's handling, just a small spark of anger taken out on the delicate things as they are flung to the ground.

ooc:

prompt: The wind has blown away some of the gorse covering the camp's walls! Y/C must band together with others to patch up the wall.

offering daffodil!

accordion

Laurelpaw is a Windclan tunneler apprentice. She is short and compact, perfectly suited to spending her days in the dark tunnels beneath the territory. Flamelike patches of orange flicker across the soot black of her pelt, with splashes of stark white interrupting the burning, most notably across one side of her face. Her eyes are a dull green, not unlike the moor grass, entrapped in a delicate face that is starkly unbefitting of her. A set of claw scars mars her left shoulder.

snakehiss x berrysnap / sibling to rowanheart, wasppaw, viperpaw, privetfrost
mentored by saltstone / mentoring none
15 moons old, ages on the 17th

penned by vesper

 

[Doekit.]

"Hi, what are you doing?"

Doekit approached the older feline with an ever-inquisitive gaze, green eyes vibrant with a youthful zest for life. She always coveted the apprentices, especially elder ones like Laurelpaw—The tortie so close to warriorhood and the true freedom that Doekit, at her tender age of four moons, already craved. Being an only child was terribly dull, even with her den-mates to play with, it wasn't quite the same as having blood-bound friends to grow with. She longed for the camaraderie that training in the apprentice den would surely bring; she'd heard stories about kits being apprenticed earlier before, and even though these stories were 'bad', she wished she had been born sooner and could have already started to prove herself as a moor-runner.

The collapsing of the campground's barrier of thorns felt almost symbolic; like the camp itself was trying to free Doekit and unleash her into the world. She eyed the weakening structure everyday, hoping to find an easy escape, longing to taste the air of the moorland properly and maybe even chase a rabbit before sneaking back in. Laurelpaw seemed frustrated in her task to repair it, though, and Doekit felt a little bad. Maybe she would be allowed to help? Mewing hopefully, she said, "Do you want another set of paws?"​

 

[BABBLEKIT]

BABBLEKIT

You're totally not faster than me!

With nothing to do the young kit finds herself running around camp and trying to find something for herself to do. Though most bat her away with mild annoyance she is ever eager to take it all in stride. Someone must need some kind of help, surely! So she keeps at it, wandering around and kicking up dirt as she hops around the paws of older cats. That's when she spots Laurelpaw and also Doekit near the camp walls. Those bright orange eyes of her sees the sudden motion of bright yellow being torn apart and she almost instantly knows what she must do. With a surge of energy she quickly races over, almost stumbling over her own paws as she comes over. A bright smile is wide on her white freckled face as she looks between the two an dhten down to the flowers. "Aww, those were so pretty! But it's okay we can find more right!?" Honestly she doesn't read the frustration rolling off of the apprentice and instead when she hears Doekit offer to help she gasps sharply.

"Oh me, me! I can help too right? I can do that, I can put those things in the wall, promise! Can I help too? Please?" Even with how small she is she can totally do that much. She has small paws and she can fit them in the small parts, and pull things through, and make it look nice, and also do some other stuff too. She wants to be helpful or she'll did of boredom and she knows no one wants that.[/b]

ooc

Ooc notes go here.

 

[MARROWPAW]

Marrowpaw watches from the other side of camp, his single eye tracking the small group gathering near the sagging camp wall. Laurelpaw's frustration is evident in the sharpness of her movements, the way she yanks flowers free and flings them to the ground. Doekit and the other kit—what's her name again? Bubblekit? Babblekit?—practically bounce in place, their voices bright and eager, oblivious to the older apprentice's rising irritation. He tells himself it's none of his business. Laurelpaw is more than capable of handling a few overenthusiastic kits, and it's not like repairing the camp walls is his responsibility. He could go back to what he was doing—though, if he's being honest, he wasn't really doing anything to begin with.

Still, he lingers.

Marrowpaw doesn't particularly like helping others. It puts him in a position he hates—one where he's either expected to accept thanks or, worse, be perceived as struggling alongside them. But watching Laurelpaw struggle with the gorse, watching the kits press in with all their excited energy, he feels a flicker of something else. Maybe it's sympathy. Maybe it's just the knowledge that, if he doesn't step in, the kits will probably end up getting themselves tangled in the thorns and wailing for help anyway.

With an exasperated sigh, he finally moves. His gait is slightly uneven, his depth perception making it difficult to navigate around stray roots and tufts of grass, but he doesn't let it slow him down. By the time he reaches them, he's already regretting his decision, but it's too late to turn back now. "This isn't a game," he says bluntly, eyeing the kits. "If you mess around, you're just going to get pricked all over, and then you'll be crying to Cottonsprig about it." He flicks his tail, glancing at Laurelpaw before looking at the gorse. "You're not gonna get this done on your own if you keep working like that."

It's not meant to be rude—at least, not entirely. But he can already see the gaps in the weave, places where the wind will slip through too easily, where the structure won't hold. If she's annoyed by his words, well, she can either ignore him or let him help. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't at least halfway willing to assist. He sits down, his claws unsheathing as he carefully starts untangling a section that had been loosely placed. "You have to weave it tighter," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Then, after a pause, he adds, "If you two really want to help, grab some of the smaller stems. The thinner ones are easier to work in between the gaps." His tone is gruff, but there's no real bite to it.​