natural as the moon | cleaning

[sheepcurl]

// cw: depictions of decay
To be honest, Sheep doesn't quite remember the last time she has truly zoned in on something. Since she had gotten back to Skyclan she had put herself in to autopilot, only coming back briefly to chat with Blazestar before going back on. Now, though, she had been up since sunrise, since it had split the sky to many colors bleeding in to blue. Honestlyt shes not even sure how she got herself in to this, all she remembers is not being picked for a patrol and the next thing she knew, she was scraping at her nest. With the moss replaced, and flowers woven back in, she had almost called it a job well done and almost then just went back to sleep.

A burst of energy had led her to the clearing in camp, outside of the warrior den and to the freshkill pile. Now she picks through it carefully, sniffing for potential rot, mold. Theres a sparrow that she pulls out from beneath the other, a measly thing, that smells too strongly of death to be eaten. She stares, her stomach curdles, worms breach the skin. Something moves beneath feathers, and she doesn't even want to know what it is, but morbid curiosity gets the better of her. She draws her paw closer until it rests on it, a beetle skitters out from beneath, causing her to yelp in surprise. Something infests her mind, the sparrow feathers turn to various pelts of her friends, dead and broken. She thinks of Centipedepaw (poor kids body left unfound), of Haze brought in the camp covered in his own blood, of Leopardcloud dying in her nest. Her gaze slightly dulls, shes been thinking of them more than she wants to admit these days. She's been thinking a lot, actually, and finds herself missing Thistleback and Daisyflight even more, even if she was not extremely close to the latter.

She only draws back, quick, before she picks it up, curled ears pinning back as a haunted expressions falls easily upon her features. She's not sure how this level of decay had gone unnoticed, but she assumes with the heat its excusable. She better go dispose of it...​

"speech"​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Who is Sheepcurl to him? Why, he doesn't really know. Did he think her an acquaintance? A friend? He had known of her long since he's ever come to the forest. He may teeter beside her contently, finding familiarity in time spent, rather than anything else. Did you not naturally become friends with those you spend so much time with? Regardless of whether they make your skin crawl or not? He himself has grown soft— softer. He wonders how They look down upon him, smiling as he sways. The two of them– were they proud?

Favorable the mood; favorable enough that he rounded the warrior like a chirping bird despite the death scent that wafted from her. Why, she's the luckiest little thing that he does not run to the high heavens, screeching of her status as something sick. Oh, she looks it; mouth and ears pinned down, down. Dawnglare blocks her path abruptly, before curling 'round her side. If the rotting thing would ever get to close, he would flinch away with a chittered eep!, smile growing stressful, more than anything else.

" Sheepcurl, " he says it strangely, as if testing out the word on his tongue. Had he ever said it– ever thought it? He remembers a Churrodream from somewhere... Oh, when had that happened? The Medicine Cat's face scrunches, something between disgust and a smile. " So glum. How come? " he wasn't sure how much he truly cared. He weaves to and away from her oddly, as if he could not make up his mind on whether to approach or not; but in the end– well, it's obvious what prevailed, isn't it?

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: —

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

​

 

[M. MOUSER]

Death had lost its meaning to Mouse– or maybe it'd taken on another one entirely. The older he got the less it weighed on him. The less weight of it in general. Death was as part of life as anything else. Not something anyone can avoid, and not something worth trying to avoid. The clan cats have told him of StarClan, and those that wait for them once they go. He doesn't know any of them. Maybe there'll be time when he finally goes. But in the meantime, there're more down here to get to know. He stretches tired paws, aching old bones, and treks around camp like lugging something dead. He'd meant to grab something to eat. Could've asked an apprentice to fetch him something; decided he'd needed the exercise again. He hadn't prepared himself for Dawnglare.

Of all the cats in SkyClan, the medicine cat is the only one he's prone to avoid. What good's medical care for bones like his anyway? Without the twolegs, his health is fading. That's all right. It's no failing of the strange herb-scented cat, or anyone else here. Maybe one day Sheepcurl would find the same measure of peace. "Mourning the sparrow?" he guesses, but knows it's off the mark. Instead he paws over a mouse for himself, mouth quirked at his own joke over that, and settles down. "Doubt there's anything you could've done for it."

˗ˏˋ《  OOC 05.06.2023 》´ˎ˗

• 
  ooc: —
• 
  ──── monsieur mouser, casually known as mouser.
  ──── elderly shelter cat. dmab male, and neutered.
  ancient as he is, life alone is a miracle for mouser. but when one takes in the extent of his scars, it becomes even more so. his dark, silvery-tinged fur is broken up by heavy scarring along his back leg and tail, with one bright yellow eye turned glossy with blindness.
• "speech"

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