camp MAKE IT WHITE ↷ [ open ]

[smogstar]

A lonely snowflake pirouettes pathetically from the veiled skies.

It is an unloved snowflake, no friends of its kind to keep it company, destined to melt alone and forgotten. Spiraling, twirling, prancing at the gentlest gust, its downward dance is a solitary one. Might it be an ambassador of the coming Leaf-bare? Or merely a slip-of-the-paw by the clouds above? Not even the snowflake knows.

If it had a mind, it would prove too small and finite to conceive an endlessly pointless existence. But the lonely flake did not have a mind, and could not give itself care to know what it was.

It fell, obviously oblivious to the territories and clans that have rooted themselves there, given how freely it forayed into the marshlands. If it had a nose, there's no question that it'd wrinkle up at the stench below. Even a measly, insignificant fleck would be unprepared for ShadowClan stink.

Considering its choice of landing, it is a very stupid snowflake, too. Too dumb and ignorant to remain in the sky's safety, but perhaps more dumb and ignorant to settle upon Smogmaw's nose.

There it lays in its final resting place. Embedded on the black-tinged flesh, glistening. It shall never know mercy, not least from him, because the deputy is too preoccupied with some familial tragedy or something or other to notice. He simply plods across the hollow, teeth chittering in the late season cold, utterly unaware of the particle between his whiskers. And like the stupid snowflake it is, it forgets to even melt. ​

 

[Wheattail]

There was something she was supposed to be doing. Gathering moss, grooming ticks, some insignificant chore that required her attention; but as amber eyes caught the pale white speck pirouetting through the sky, all was forgotten.

Wheatpaw followed the fragment, immersed in its trajectory. There were a few moments where the apprentice briefly tore her gaze away - glancing fervently at the clouds to see if the solitary snowflake was an emissary of a blanket of white - but settled back to the dancing crystal as it became clear it truly was alone.

An amber pelt shivered, but not because of the cold. Snow was nostalgic for her, and this was the first time Wheatpaw had laid eyes on the substance since leaving home. It reminded her of adventure, of harsh times, and of family.

And as the spark found its way to the nose of Shadowclan’s deputy, the Somali lookalike had to hold back a smile. Where once a hateful scowl would appear on her face with ease, now Wheatpaw could only muster an annoyed frown. However, even that was lost as the silly sight was laid bare before her, and a giggle sounded from across camp as the apprentice padded forwards.

“Why does the snow not melt against you?” she wondered aloud, flicking a crop-like tail teasingly towards the deputy’s nose. “Perhaps it feels a kinship with you, you are both quite cold, after all.”​

 

[FLINTWISH]

This is Flintpaw's first winter. Truly, she is not sure what to expect; much of leaf-fall had already been lost on her when she'd fallen ill, and now the cold weather seems to blow straight through her. But at least she is alive to see it. Poppypaw and Pitchstar had told him as much when he'd still been under the sway of fever. It's not time for you yet, they'd assured, and now Flintpaw still walks where other warriors had perished. He thinks of Halfshade each time he sees the late warrior's mate out and about camp; thinks of their kits, too, wherever they might be. For all its earnest efforts, the whole of ShadowClan seems perpetually weaved into doomed tapestries. Flintpaw supposes she should be grateful that she'd found a happier ending, but she is keenly aware of the many worse ones that had come to be because of it.

Wheatpaw's chuckles shoulder some of the tense air that has fallen upon their clan. Flintpaw's ears twitch and they glance over to the small mite of ice stuck to Smogmaw's muzzle. They don't laugh– they are not quite inclined to such a thing –but the corners of their onyx lips do twitch upwards slightly. Their own pearly teeth chatter quietly in the frigid cold; they are not accustomed to this weather by any stretch of the imagination, and their short-cropped pelt certainly doesn't help them to face it. He pauses, taking a moment to really examine the thing, dual-toned eyes glinting with curiosity. If this is what one flake of snow looked like, he is curious to find out how they would blanket the swamp in the coming months. Not that he particularly wants to put up with more of this cold, though.

A small, acetic puff billows into a cloud before him at Wheatpaw's words. "Maybe it's waiting on orders," he muses, tufted tail flicking.

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[smogstar]

Lo. An audience. Two apprentices, a soft-clawed tag-team, cluster before the clan's deputy with enthusiasm painted into their eyes. It should feel contradictory in how they observe him—he's in a humdrum state of being, boasting no standout features save for the darker-than-usual crescents that shadow his gaze. A tail-flick, and he routes his focus in Wheatpaw's trajectory. His brows pinch together by the slightest margin while he tears apart her words in search for meaning. Snow? It's chilly, yes. Yet, he cannot see a lone trace of the white powder she refers to. Perhaps it is a rhetorical question. A jab, as it were.

"Funny," he drawls humourlessly. Paws creep to a stagnant pace, then to a stiff halt, shoulders held taut within the cold's grasp. "Didn't take you for the metaphorical sort, Wheatpaw. Wha'sat make you then, friendly to the clouds? 'Cause your head's up there with 'em." He says this, all the while unconscious to the snowflake sitting prettily on his schnozz. Just outside the margins does his nose-tip hide, and it's there that the delicate frost makes its home.

Flintpaw lends a paw to his fellow apprentice's mirth, and Smogmaw can only grow more disturbed as a result. There's an entity now. 'It', she had said. "What do you mean?" the tom asks, a tremble to his words. How he loathes being left in the cold to others' knowledge. Vision narrows around Granitepelt's eldest, her cryptic message repeating like a mantra. "You're scaring me." ​

 

[Garlicheart]

Garlicpaw has never seen this funny little white things fluttering down from the sky. She looks at the few snowflakes with wonder, and as one does with every unidentified object, she jumps to catch them in her mouth. There's no flavor... But they're cold! She pushes down the sudden pain in her chest at the thought of her siblings not being here to experience this with her.

She hears others talking, and notices that Smogmaw has a snowflake resting right on his nose. She trots over with a big smile. "Will this stuff keep falling all leafbare?" She asks.

She listens to Flintpaw say that the flake is waiting on orders. She knows its a joke, but it would be funny to give it orders anyways!

"He means you have to give it orders!" She says. She has not realized that Smogmaw does not see the flake on his nose.... She is just here for fun!!​

 

[newtpaw]

Wheatpaw's teasing and the jovial atmosphere has her especially delighted. "Wow!" It's gasped, and she's unable to suppress the wiggle of excitement that passes through her at the sight. The cold chill in the air has been notable for a while now, has her pink nose twitching and numb and her digging deeper into her nest at night. The snowflake on Smogmaw's maw has her wiggling her own nose subconsciously, in both good humor and amusement. She's working very hard to suppress the laughter that is threatening to spill out. "Now you have to see if this one melts fast!" It's delivered in a hushed tone, as if they're on the verge of a discovery, completely giving away the presence of another snowflake.

She takes Flintpaw and Garlicpaw's prediction to heart, gasping out a gleeful: "I can I do it?" Too enthused Newtpaw doesn't wait for an answer: "I order... More!"
​