camp MIDNIGHT — prompt

[EELPAW]

What exactly was she doing? She knew better than to leave the camp alone and yet here she was, standing at the entrance debating whether she should continue (even if just for a moment) or stay back. Paws dancing beneath her, she'd turn to look at the stillness of camp. Riverclan's camp in the twilight hours was peaceful, and she found herself wanting to sit beside the river to soak it all in. She couldn't understand why apprentices were unable to leave camp by themselves. They were old enough to be an apprentice right? So why couldn't she leave camp? As it was night time, she wasn't expecting many of the warriors to be awake to scold her. If she slipped out of camp just for a moment, nobody would notice right?

prompt: getting caught doing something she shouldn't, Eelpaw makes up a lie on the spot to save her skin! Is it a good one?
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[pricklepaw]

If asked later, Pricklepaw would likely say it was by the grace of StarClan that he had woken up and drifted, ghostlike, Eelpaw's way. An important omen meant just for him. In truth, Pricklepaw had woken from a dream and had noticed an absence in the apprentices den. Curiosity, rather than divinity, had brought him here. Sleep had plastered his scruffy fur to his face unevenly, giving him the impression of being flattened on one side. His crossed eyes were still bleary.

"So?" Pricklepaw says, louder than necessary. He hopes to startle Eelpaw, "There's a wide world out there, and you're just going to watch it from a break in the reeds, friend?" Go on, he thinks, in a tone far harsher than he had spoken in, go out there, see what happens. ​

RIVERCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ BLUE LYNX POINT ✦ 4 MOONS✦ TAGS​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

As is true almost every night for moons, Cicadapaw wakes before the sun has even begun to blush the sky peony-pink. Whorls of blackened twilight still dance across the sky, the marbled scattering of Silverpelt tossed carelessly like kitten toys across it. He only clicks his fangs when he wakes gasping from a nightmare; waking in silent terror is so common it has become routine. He drags himself from his nest, stepping clumsily over sleeping bodies, out into the brackish air.

He has no intention of leaving camp. Iciclefang would give him the cuffing of a lifetime, for one thing; for another, Cicadapaw is intimately familiar with the dangers posed beyond the safety of their camp's sandy borders. He doesn't want to be the next corpse found drifting down the river, ragged hole torn in his neck and cushioned in a nest of bloody foam. He glances at the swollen moon above, nearing full—his sleep-rumpled curls belie the fact that he is coldly, wildly awake.

Which is why, when he hears the soft sounds of a voice and scraping paws, he lurches towards it, a palace of bone and sinew tottering in the darkness. "What are you doing?" He mutters with another soft snap of teeth and a pulse of pain deep in his temples. The sight of Pricklepaw's ugly, half-flattened mug goading Eelpaw isn't exactly encouraging, either. "Yeah, go ahead, get kicked back into the nursery for another moon."

His voice is harshly bitten and cold, and Cicadapaw is already half-turning to leave this unpleasant company as he adds, "Not my problem."

"speech"

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[Bounceheart]

✧ ✧ (=˃ᆺ˂=) Being bound to divisive lines was a culture shock to Bounceheart when she had joined RiverClan. There was a greater purpose that drew her here, one more fulfilling than a life of plunder with a family of rogues. Warrior code and clan culture gave them an identity and an opportunity to become part of a new family.
The warrior code was easy to follow; the rules so far would benefit all. Beyond that, she thought of what felt right before acting. Times had come where she, too, left camp under the veil of midnight. But not as a child.

They had tried to settle back down for a wink longer of sleep. Curling tighter into a ball did not fight away the cold, and continuing to roll around could wake the rest of the den.
A breath of fresh air and walk around the camp.. maybe a gaze at the stars. Those were the options, unless one was sent on a night patrol. Leaf-bare brought caution to the most lion-hearted warrior.

Sight of apprentices congregating in the night would draw any sensible warrior in - and she approaches them warily. Cicadapaw is already pressing the young scrap about her apparently suspicious lurking in the reeds. Why would a kit want to leave the camp?
"Don't blame Eelpaw for her imagination," there is a natural hush to her voice - it is late, or early, time is lost at this hour, "as long as she doesn't get herself in any trouble." Expectantly, she looks to the dappled apprentice.
Thinking about something you wanted to do wasn't a crime; only foolishness.​