misfit toys & den reinforcing

[SMOKESTAR]

He'd never be good at weaving.
Confined to the camp for another day he had been attemtping in his idle time to force productivity in the only way he knew how, working on the camp itself. The dens would need to be enforced even more with the rising river and he worried as he watched the chilling waters creep ever closer to the camp's border; would it overtake them in their sleep before any cat could react or would they be able to wade out of the frigid waves to safety? He thinks about the nursery, full of newborns who had not yet begun to learn to swim and whose tiny bodies could only take on so much cold before they gave out entirely. Its was this horrifying thought that made him pick up a mouthful of reed stock and work his way over there first to attempt his sloppy efforts. It was a finess thing, one needed delicate and trained paws to be able to bend and push the pliable fibers into a neat tangle without breaking them; he was too forceful at times and not forceful enough at others. Later he could send some apprentices to collect flat rocks and shells to reinforce the bottom, but he would sit here and make as feeble of an attempt as he could to get something done.
His first crosshatching of the plants was pathetic and he sighed in annoyance before discarding it to the side to untangle later and try again, another set was grabbed and his breath escaped in a burst of cloud as he managed something decent for once.
He'd just never been a very delicate cat, his paws were for stealth, his paws were for hunting, his paws were for killing. If you had asked him when he was still named Ember if he intended to be some kind of nest maker in the future he would have scoffed in your face and implored you to bother someone else; yet here he was. The dark tom once would consider this sort of menial labor beneath him, but as RiverClan had grown so too had he. He used to wonder if this change was good or not, but now he knew he had made the right decision.
Tongue sticking out slightly as he focused on not snapping another reed, he was faintly aware of pawsteps behind him and his ears twitched lightly though he did not look up from his task, "Dont judge me I'm trying..." Smokethroat muttered to the shadow falling over his back.

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : the nursery. small rivulets of river just outside its well - woven borders, meant for the queens to lead their young towards its calm, sun - warmed waters. early swimming lessons, desensitizing little, clumsy paws to the low waves. now, its little more than a slowly rising threat, lifting to lap lazily at thistle branches and old, snow - rotted flora. the blizzard was drenching what it did not freeze, and the waterlogged, frosted reed was all too easier to snap in inexperienced paws. its why the sound draws him — swivels a wide ear, the familiar clicking of attempted weaving and his cold gaze drifts finally away from where the waters rise.

it takes only a few pawsteps to find him — hunched over a clump of reed and cattail, beautiful face set into hard lines of irritation. despite it the lanky leader quietly draws near, lets their fur brush as he closes the distance, makes to crane his neck and peer over a broad, inkspill shoulder at his work. or, thats what he would say if his proximity questioned. don’t judge me. he hums, resists the urge to press a windbitten nose into his warmth, “ oh, i would never. “ comes his low murmur instead, a teasing smile dancing over dark lips, words ghosting dark fur with an already - dissipating fog. with a delicate - boned paw he makes to adjust a small knot of reed from around a working paw — a small adjustment, but to hopefully make the crossing tighter.

“ im sure clayfur wouldnt mind showing you a few things, “ the man says lightly, dipping his head to add a soft, sly, “ . . if you find the patience for it. “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[HAILFROST]

Trailing after Cicadastar, the tabby watched the two quickly intertwine, and at once she felt reduced to a third wheel. Despite it, she analyzed the lead warrior's work, icy blue eyes trailing over his handiwork. It wasn't bad, just inexperienced. As she had spent the vast majority of her time in Riverclan in the nursery, she had helped with its upkeep before; in fact, she much preferred being busy with her paws instead of reduced to idle motherhood, nothing more than a warm body curled around her son to keep him alive. Seeing the nursery again stirred up the same feelings she felt back then, and she gritted her teeth. She thought of all the time she had spent there and how miserable she had been, nursing that reminder of her mistakes. At least she hadn't abandoned her son, unlike his father.

Pulled back to reality as Cicadastar suggested patience, Hailfrost sat. "You're doing fine," She breathed, gathering reeds to assist Smokethroat. Despite her personal dislike of the nursery for what it reminded of, she understood how important it was to Riverclan, and how important it apparently was for Smokethroat. She had taken him as a stoic, battle-scarred tom who would be caught dead doing this sort of work, but she realized how the clan's needs had to rise above their own. In this sort of connection, she found a sense of belonging. Turning to the two, she couldn't help but think are they mates? Did I miss that? She didn't comment on it at all for her lack of information. "I'm worried about the rising water," She finally added, offering a rare moment of vulnerability to the lead warrior and her leader. "I hope the nursery stays safe," Hailfrost murmured.

———————————— .°✧
​

​

 

[Pinepaw]

"nothing but pain on the edge of a knife"​

Pine watched from the corner of his eye as the one-eyed warrior worked on the dens. Smokethroat wasn’t doing much better than the young tom could, despite his lessons from Ravenpaw. Perhaps his smaller paws would be helpful, though. Cautiously, Pine approached the warrior, making sure to make noise so he’d be aware of his arrival. ”Maybe I can help?” he mewed, nervous. ”I’m not much better, but my paws are smaller.”​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[Sablemist]

In every situation you give me peace

The ominous loom of the blizzard kept the girl hidden away within the nursery most of the time and just along its woven walls she could hear the crackle of ice skirting up the river. She'd noticed the diligence on everyone's paws, the determination in their faces as they set to work keeping camp as safe as possible. This fuels her resolve and the ebon child is soon standing to her paws, long limbs toddling through risen snow to grasp a broken reed. Bending down to clench it betwixt her jaws Sable turns, making her way over to where the group gathered. With a huff the plant stock she'd been dragging is dropped as her attention snaps to Hailfrost. Tapered ears fall against her head as the warrior voices her concerns about the rising river and the nursery, finally prompting Sablekit to speak up. "The river won't flood the nursery...will it?" She inquired, voice quivering at the very real possibility.​

Don't gotta be afraid because you're in the lead​

​

​

​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclepaw has to admit she's relieved to see Smokethroat out of Beesong's den, living among his Clanmates again. The half-blind old fool has even taken to attempting to be useful, though even with both eyes, the black-pelted warrior hadn't been much of a weaver. She sits beside Cidadstar, her pale eyes glinting with amusement. "Takes delicate paws to weave effectively," she intones less than helpfully. "Delicate paws and good vision."

She shifts her attention away from the light teasing of Cicadastar towards her mentor, away from Pinepaw, who comes offering his own paws, to Hailfrost and little Sablekit. Her features harden like the frosting river, thoughts churning. The snow continues to fall, and it's piling up all around them, both in their camp and throughout their precious riverlands.

"It won't," she says to Sablekit. "The river can't get that high..." She gives Cicadastar and Smokethroat a curious look as she trails off, "...can it?" Some of the confidence drains from her voice.​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

He's sneering or trying to, its hard to remain stoically bothered when the warmth near his back and side were not entirely unwelcome; he debates biting the paw that offers gentle assistance, considered sinking his teeth into the long dappled forelimb for the teasing being pressed upon him and the sound of Clayfur's name is almost more than he can handle in that moment.
"Stars above, no, I don't have the patience for it and if he puts anything weird in his mouth while showing me how to weave I will lose my temper." Absolute idiot that tom was, had a death wish that didn not include the glorious bloodshed of battle like Smokethroat himself had. The dark tom would not mind falling defending his clan, Clayfur was fine falling while shoveling sand into his stupid mouth. The dark tom is once again reconsidering biting the leader, the tom knew his lack of tolerance for the other was slim to none and his chiding though soft was obviously some attempt to pick at him; the urge has not quite faded when Hailfrost speaks, her words carefully guarded but kind and her worries quite reasonable. He shared them, after all, he would not be doing this if he felt it unecessary. Smokethroat is mulling over his response, wanting to not throw the brutal truth there so openly when so many young cats were around but also not wanting to shield them from it entirely either so when Pine offers his assistance he stalls in his reply by sliding a bundle of the reeds outward to the young tabby with a curt nod, "Perhaps you've a better eye for it than me. I've only the one." And it focused on murderous things over crafting. Murderous things and the spotted bastard perched next to him.
He is still unsure how to address Hailfrost's concerns when a kitten voice rises in a pitch nearby, joining them and revealing one of Boneripple's children.
Sablekit's question is met with a wary silence and he offers Cicadastar a careful stare with his good eye, unsure of how to reply to it initially. Iciclepaw makes a noble attempt to be reassuring but even she looks to the two of them for some degree of comfort at the worry of it all.
"I'll be honest, I don't know. I've never seen it rise too high but, its something we should be mindful of either way." Smokethroat would like to think the river would not try to claim them back to join their watery thralls; drag them to the abyss where night is black as the sky and the stars would rejoice in their rejoining.
"It does not hurt to be safe. I'd rather waste the time working on it now than realize it was needed later and not have."

​

 

[hyacinthbreath]

♚ "Last I saw, Clayfur had trouble weaving whatever he was weaving." Hyacinthbreath remarks as she wanders over, eyes narrowed in amusement at her friend. "It's not much, but I can reinforce dens. What materials do you use here?" She asks softly, trying not to intrude too much. She still wasn't fully welcomed here, but she was trying. What mattered was that she tried her best.

// short i am so sorry​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞