MISFIT ANGEL 𓇼 GIVING AWAY FRESHKILL

[shellpaw]

the hills beyond twoleg bridge has begun to sprout with oddly placed thickets of greenery. it still reeks with a certain sooty odor that twists her nose, the smell of plant life blackened and rotting still on the regrowing stalks. it’s all she can see as her patrol approaches the far border of windclan, the sound of the falls voracious and all consuming as ever. she’d heard little of windclan since the gathering, which shellpaw figures was.. good, even if her belly turned ( did they find food? did they feed their kits? sunstar’s voice haunts her behind paperthin lids, painted baker-miller pink ) her nostrils fill with a watery mist, nearly blockading the blood warm lull of mole from wafting her nose before she spots it — burrowing just beyond a stretch of cattail, it’s black pelt stretched just far enough from a burrow of disrupted soil for her to watch it snuffling along the meadowgrass. shellpaw crouches, still too mindful of her body placement, not yet confident enough to drop and ready herself mindlessly. not as everyone else seemed to do.

her pounce is quick, splitting the tall stalks of swaying cattail to make way for a well - placed pounce. its neck breaks upon impact, landing squarely on the poor thing’s skull and cracking it noisily upon gnarled willow roots. shellpaw blinks, adjusts herself, bites it’s neck anyway to see if the strange feeling that roused would go away if she did. warmth radiates off of a decently - sized kill, pride reaching her eyes when fresh blood pools down pearlescent fangs despite the way that oddness remains. she doesn’t know if that had been cruel, but cruelty had been too common outside camp walls as of late ( did she know what cruelty really was? was being a warrior cruel? what deserved to die, what didnt? ) as if drawn by a terrible guilt, amber eyes lift with her head, hanging heavy with mole when she spots — something. a writhing something, splotched like an early sunset and cut with alabaster that reflects the water’s shimmering surface. shellpaw steps closer and mottled pads find the coolness of the bridge unthinking, cranes her neck, speaks around her catch with a voice drawn nervous with concern.

” um.. pinkpaw? “ her breath catches, ” what — are you okay? “

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ° 𓇼 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i. @PINKSHINE
  
  
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  SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

  
  

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[PINKSHINE]

She liked this part of the territory the most... Where the fire hadn't quite reached and river - cast water droplets make the air humid. It reminds her of WindClan before the fire... It reminds her of bright red berries, and through that, of Featherspine. It'd be silly for it not to remind her of RiverClan too, especially " Shellpaw! " At the sight of her friend, Pinkshine's tail curls excitedly behind her. Mismatched paws make for the twoleg bridge — but suddenly stop where grass becomes smooth, strange stone. She's not sure who really owns the bridge itself, after all...

She doesn't really get what she's asking. And in the excitement, she totally forgets that she's not Pinkpaw, anymore. " Am I... okay? Yeah! I mean, mostly... " she answers easily. Sure, they were a little hungry... A lot hungry compared to what Greenleaf should bring them, but its... okay. It's fineish. All the tunnelers were working hard so that things would be fineish. With Shellpaw is a vole, limp from her jaws. Pinkshine wonders if it might've wandered across the bridge, had Shellpaw not been there to catch it first... " I'm glad to see the prey's still good around here, " she mews. Maybe that vole had a family around here waiting to be eaten... And now that she thought that, it felt kinda wrong... But what if Pinkshine had a family waiting to eat, too? She parts her jaws for any scent that wasn't belonging to Shellpaw already... Hopefully that wasn't too rude to do.

OOC. SORRY THIS IS SO LATE

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[shellpaw]

” mostly? “ she echoes, casting a glance towards the still - growing moorlands — they sprout with bushels of thin, wiry greenery, no bloom of flowers or undergrowth nor river to keep them sustained. memories of sunblooded voice, thrumming low and desperate over the four trees gathering ; we remain on the cusp of starvation, the windclan leader had said, granted kits but diminishing prey, lean and dusted with ash. she thinks of eveningpaw, horizonpaw and twinklepaw — of how small, helpless they’d been. they’d never felt the pang of hunger, not once in their lives. shellpaw hadn’t, either, not that she can remember . . there had been a time of frosted waters and slow moving fish, but she’d been far too young to remember anything but her mother, and rogue - born bloodshed. a time when the water froze, or grew too cold to touch, rotting the eartips and edges from a cat’s extremities with bitter chill alone.

alabaster brows pull together, the mole cooling in her jaws with each tentative breath she takes — only remembers its there when bright eyes flick down, maw opens, breathing in the scent of fresh blood and . .

not for the first time, shellpaw wonders if she is bad. a bad riverclanner, a bad apprentice ; the waters welcome her with silken waves but sometimes, sometimes . . she cannot help a pang of pity. a pang of guilt, for the mammal scent in her nose when fish fin flick idly from the crashing waters nearby, taunting landbound clanners with their slick elusiveness. ferngill’s wild, guilty eyes and panicked voice, how it was an accident and how sunstar had said there was nothing to bury ( like her uncle, just like him ), and . . shadowclan. claws that seemed to catch gleaming moonlight, a wounded medicine cat, a clearing engulfed in sudden, tarlike black. starclan had protected them that night, nestled the clans in darkness until windclan made its leave, descending the highstones and disappearing into charred territory once more. tragedy after tragedy after tragedy . . ” is windclan still . . ? “ she trails off. if they watch over windclan the same as riverclan, why would she want them to suffer the way they did? the way every other riverclanner seemed to? with shrunken sides and dark, dusted pelts, eyes that glow hungry and tired at the sight of caught prey.

her sides flutter, huffing a noisy breath that ruffles mousy brown prey fur. if they were doing so well, what was the harm in sharing? to keep another cat, or a kit, from starvation? her throat clicks on a hard swallow, ” m — my moms just over there and, and they don’t like you guys near the bridge, so you should . . should get out of here. she says it, however, as though she means to say something else. hesitation, for only a beat longer — then feathersoft paws find the strange stone of twoleg bridge. glancing over a slight shoulder every few pawsteps to ensure no one had appeared, then looking back, pinkpaw is noticeably duller in comparison to their meeting beneath misting waters. glad to see the preys still good around here, she says, and shellpaw feels her heart pang ( is that what it’s supposed to do? ), ” this would, um . . rot on the pile, probably. most — most riverclanners prefer fish, but . . lichenstar wanted me to have the skill. for leafbare. “ she mumbles, nose wheezing every other word. lichenstar gave her space, trusted her with still - repairing trepidation to hunt herself . .

yet, once close enough, she deposits her catch at a windclanners paws. it isn’t much, and for a moment, she feels embarrassed — tucks her shoulders, tailtip flicking, ” take it. i want you to have it, but — “ breath growing suddenly rapid and ears angling wildly. theres rustling behind her. ” you have to go, like now. “ go now!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ° 𓇼 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i.
  
  
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  SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

  
  

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[PINKSHINE]

Pinkshine answers with a nod, a small smile affixed to her face. She didn't want Shellpaw to worry. She didn't want to worry either, and its easier not to when she smiles and says things are mostly alright. It was true, wasn't it? So long as kits and queens weren't starving to death, so long as WindClanners still had the energy to race the moors... She's proud to be a tunneler in this moment. When Leaf - bare came, or any other thing that scared off the prey, it scared them into the dirt more often than not... And it was up to her, cats like her and Scorchstreak and Rattleheart and everyone else to go in and scrounge up what they can. She doesn't want Shellpaw to worry, and yet she thinks that she kinda is, still...

Is windclan still...? Pinkshine tilts her head, not sure what she could mean... " It's okay, Shellpaw, " she mews. The grass would regrow... soon-ish. Come next Greenleaf, it'd probably be like nothing ever even happened!

Pinkshine blinks in surprise at the sudden shift in topic. Round eyes flick down to her paws. She takes a step back, eyes blinking wide. She's surprised when Shellpaw comes forward the same moment that she does, mumbling through the prey in her jaws. Surprise again in another blink, slow and not understanding. Rot on the pile. it's weird to think of a time that WindCLan could've let that happen... She listens, mews a low oohing sound, thinking its just idle chatter; sharing traditions that Pinkshine would never be able to learn about otherwise. But as Shellpaw comes closer, she never woulda thought —

" Huh? " she gapes at the quiet thump of vole at her paws. Starry eyes find Shellpaw's face, wide in wonder. Take it. Pinkshine doesn't know what to say. " Is that— " allowed? But Shellpaw wants her to have it, and maybe that was good enough. Shellpaw's urgency is contagious, a hurried mew that sends Pinkshine's tail high and alert in the air. " I – Okay. Okay, " she mews, and hastily, she would lean forward to touch noses with the RiverClanner. A curt, but appreciative purr buzzes between them. " Thank you so much, Shellpaw! We're gonna be friends forever, okay? " she breathes quick.

And in the next breath, she is snapping up the vole and waving in frantic goodbye with her tail. Mismatched paws are thrumming across the moor not a moment too soon.​

 

[PEBBLEPAW]

(☼) he enjoys patrolling with his sister. she is good company, and has made great strides in her training. he finds his own skills improve when shellpaw is around, for competitiveness's sake or some other reason, he doesn't know. still, it's always a delight when hazecloud assigns them to the same patrol, and this day is no different. headed to the windclan border, pebblepaw feels a fair amount of trepidation. the hunting over here is good, fresh thickets of fish pooling in the river before the gorge, and an abundance of skittery land creatures seeking out respite near the water from the heat that has overtaken the land. it's been several minutes since he's seen shellpaw, and pebblepaw will carefully scent the air, though it is made harder by the sparrow he swings in his jaws. his muscles ache from catching it, recalling the hard landing he'd taken after leaping up to snatch it from the air. lichenstar's enthusiasm for birds has not gone unnoticed by her son, and he feels a pride in the fact that he's caught one such creature for his mother. shellpaw's scent dances on the breeze, mingling with the fresh smell of the windclan border. wrinkling his nose, pebblepaw hustles towards the scene.

the windclan scent is fading by the time he reaches his sister, but the horizon is interrupted by a receding shape. pushing through a clump of ferns to join shellpaw at the bridge, pebblepaw deposits his catch beside him, moving to brush against his sister. "everything okay, shelly?" he asks, sunlit gaze following the sole figure until it vanishes over a hill. "windclan weren't bothering you, were they?" he swipes a quick lick over her ear.

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // mentor tag xoxo @FOXTAIL " #848DAE"
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  PEBBLEPAW ☼ HE / HIM, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORED BY FOXTAIL. 8 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a large blue tabby with low white and vitiligo. pale blue fur covers the length of pebblepaw's stocky body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, and his muzzle, paws, and tail tip are dashed with white.

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[FOXTAIL]

Foxtail's nose twitches at the ever so faint smell of soot— the greenery that once covered WindClan's territory will take a long time to heal, and eventually regrow. He pads near the border with his apprentice alongside him, and Foxtail remembers the generosity Smokestar gave to WindClan, if he closes his eyes he can vividly recall the dark plume of smoke that painted the sky. ...He understands the difficulties WindClan must be facing; prey must be scarce afterwards.... but their actions on the gorge, and later at the gathering, put distaste into the lead warrior's mouth. They have no one besides themselves to blame for the loss of their clanmate, The warrior shakes the thought away as the twoleg bridge comes into view, blinking as a silhouette comes into view.

He pads forward, blinking as he recognizes the form to be Shellpaw, and the lead warrior glances over at his apprentice. "I-It's your sister," He mews to Pebblepaw, his voice sounding.... confused. What was Shellpaw doing at the twoleg bridge? "Let's g-go check on h-her, okay?" They'll go back to what they had planned today in a little bit, this shouldn't take too long....

But as the lead warrior gets closer and closer to the twoleg bridge, his nose twitches at a second scent— a scent that does not belong to a RiverClanner. The WindClanner emerges, padding up to Shellpaw, but stays on the side that belongs to WindClan. He doesn't recognize the warrior, but their tail seems to swish with excitement.... and the two cats begin to talk. He can't make out most of the conversation, but he beckons Pebblepaw to fasten his pace.... the border isn't the time or place to catch up with friends. It can be... hard to understand when you're so young, but that friend can easily be an opponent in battle one day.

It's too late when the lead warrior steps onto the wooden bridge. "S-Shellpaw," He greets the young apprentice, his olive green eyes flashing with concern. His apprentice brushes his fur against his littermate, asking if she was okay, but his nose twitches at the scent of vole. ...Neither he or Pebblepaw caught a vole today, that must've been Shellpaw's catch— right? But, where is it? He glances over at the recovering moors, barely catching the WindClanner racing away.... with prey in their jaws. His gaze whips back onto Shellpaw, ears pinning back to his skull. "Did y-you give your c-catch to that WindClanner?" The lead warrior sternly mews with a lash of his tail, "That b-belonged to RiverClan!"​

𝐨𝐨𝐜 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭

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  credit to raphaelion (via da) for the artwork <3
  
• Foxtail

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  lead warrior
  22 moons
  warmhearted
  timid
  experience: trained
  backstory: [HYPERLINK]
  biography: [HYPERLINK]
  credit to trops for the chibi <3
  

  cisgender male [he / him]
  eyes: green
  pelt: cinnamon/chocolate
  fur length: long
  parents: dawnflower and redfur (riverclan npcs)
  

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[splashdance]

There's a confusing mixture of joy and trepidation that comes from joining a patrol with a close friend and... Shellpaw. Admittedly, the joy drains as soon as they are out of camp, the tom more apt to cling to his sister's side than entertain the black furred she-cat (something she tries to not begrudge him for.) If not questioned by the warriors, Splashpaw keeps to herself, trotting along as if she is unbothered by circumstance.

Hunting patrols don't normally err towards borders, but it seems that the movement of prey gets the better of them. Splashpaw remains aware, however, knowing full-well that she is not allowed near the borders. Not yet, anyways. Shellpaw disappears into the reeds and not long after them, Foxtail and Pebblepaw follow. Splashpaw holds to Lakemoon's side, blue eyes flickering towards her mentor in meager confusion. And shortly after, Foxtail's voice carries.

"Did you give your catch to that WindClanner?" His stuttering does not take from the situation. She is stunned at the accusation and does not revel in the idea of a Clanmate getting in trouble. Splashpaw's tail lashes once and she yields to Lakemoon, despite her curiosity negging her to find purchase in the conversation.

"Is Lichenstar nearby?" she asks, holding her nose to the air. "They should... They should be here for this." Not us, she doesn't say, but perhaps the way her gaze falls will say enough.

[ @LAKEMOON mentor tag! ] ​

 

[MIDNIGHTASH]

જ➶ Hunting is a trivial thing to her and often enough she comes back heavypawed and laden with prey. Honing her skills so that no one can look down upon her is easy enough. Always working. Sometimes it is a tiring thing and sometimes it is elating. Her muzzle is full with a vole now as she steps lightly across a tiny stream, glancing down at the rushing water before she hears something strange. Ears perk up at the gentle whispers that seem to come from near the twoleg bridge a place laden with issues in her mind. Windclan including. Stepping quickly she makes her way over silently and her gaze zeros in on something she doesn't want to believe. But the retreating form of the Windclanner is hard to refute. Them picking up prey that Shellpaw casually dropped blatantly tells her a story and her tail whips through the air. The woman clenches her jaw as Pebblepaw and Foxtail make an appearance. The accusation rolling out of the lead warriors tongue.

"It's obvious what she did. She gave away prey that would have fed the mouths of her own clan to one that backstabs and betrays our kindness. What trust can we have in you?" Her voice snaps as she looks at Shellpaw, her own prey forgotten upon the ground as she glares at the other. Though she knows she has felt bad for the other especially after that spar they had both had this here is unacceptable. That prey could have fed their kits, their queens, their elders. But now it will strengthen a clan that doesn't even deserve it.​

 

[EVENINGPAW]

Finally, Eveningpaw gets to patrol with all of her siblings. She revels in the greenleaf air, knowing that Shellpaw, Pebblepaw and Twinklepaw are all around her in some capacity, the big patrol moving as one across the soaked lands. It is much easier to keep learned things stored away safely in the corners of her mind when she has something fun to pair with said knowledge — namely putting her family's faces to Gladefrost's lessons, an easy way to break down such chunks.

She misses the moment Shellpaw breaks away, attention only swimming back to her alabaster form when Foxtail speaks. The tranquility of the moment breaks; is there trouble? Surely not... surely, Shellpaw just wanted a bit of space, or found something of interest over at the Twoleg bridge.

The accusation comes flying before Eveningpaw even fully catches up with them. She does not yet posses a trained enough nose to pick apart the wafting scents that the moors bring over here, but she turns her gaze just in time to follow Foxtail's... and sees a wavy tail disappear over the horizon. It does not mean much, not to her — but Foxtail evidently sees what's happening, or at least has the gall to interrogate Shellpaw.

Panic catches in her throat; Splashpaw suggests the reappearance of Lichenstar, and Eveningpaw worries. Leader and lead warrior, gazing down with such anger? This can't be good.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding!" she argues with Midnightpaw, desperate to protect her sister even amidst her own confusion. Yes, it's either that, or... or Shellpaw's got a reason. One that Eveningpaw is eager to hear — in case Shellpaw is willing to share —, but not in the company of agitated Clanmates.

@Gladefrost

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