mountains out of concaves [ ✩ ] bluepaw

[Cricketchirp]

( ✩ )　 Starlightpaw hates it here. So, so deeply. SkyClan was bad, yes, but this? She eyes the freshkill pile with nothing but disgust and contempt. Birds are no fish, but they are a necessity at times, he supposes. In the winter, when things get too cold.

Frogs and rats are a different matter.

All of ShadowClan's prey is slimy in all the wrong ways, even the furred things. Hunting in carrionplace. A clan of filth and rot. Starlightpaw should be so far above all of this. To be brought down to the likes of ShadowClan, feasting on meals only befit the half-dead, when she should be eating like a king -- it's humiliating. And yet, she has to eat. Starlightpaw's trek to the freshkill pile is a reluctant one, displeasure evident in every slow step, stiff legs moving as though unwittingly pulled by some invisible thread. He'd rather face the rogues again; at least there was some semblance of glory in that, when they weren't just running for their lives.

LATELY I'M FEELING LIKE ✩ A BIG BANG ! 【 10.15.23 】

• // @BLUEPAW
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• "SPEECH"

• ✩ 　⁺　₊ 　⋆　STARLIGHTPAW.　APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN.　HE / SHE / THEY.
  4 MOONS & AGES ON THE 12TH.　PENNED BY SATURNID.
  
  

  

  ✩ — A WIRY, CURLY-FURRED BLACK SMOKE WITH CLOUDED BLUE EYES.
  

  
  SMOKETHROAT xx CICADASTAR. LITTERMATE TO BEEPAW & CICADAPAW.
  
  MENTORED BY PETALNOSE​

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[BLUEFROST]

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XXXXXHer own belly roils with the idea of eating yet another frog, but the only other thing in the fresh-kill pile is a scrawny rat littered with bald spots. If I eat that, it may poison me from the inside out, she thinks with a low chuffing noise of disgust. Bluepaw knows she has to eat to keep her strength up—her mother is weak, now, recovering from an onslaught of rats that she bitterly blames the other Clans for. WindClan must not weaken any further, herself especially. She, as Sootstar’s daughter, should have pick of the fresh-kill pile—but a spindly little thing with dark, smoky fur ambles too close to the frog she’d been eyeing.

XXXXXBluepaw’s lip curls. This is an apprentice, she knows—a young one, but an apprentice nonetheless, or else she’d be in ShadowClan’s putrid camp with the rest of the kits and queens. The gray she-cat all but rams her side into the RiverClan cat’s, teeth lowering to snap at their paws threateningly. “I was going to eat that,” she says with a smirk. “And in fact, I am still going to. Step aside, RiverClanner.” She tilts her head, cheek fluff falling becomingly to her shoulders. She’d seen her mother pull the same maneuver many times. Those strongest and most deserving ate first in WindClan, after all.

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