needle and thread | nursery repairs

[LILYBLOOM.]

It was a quiet day in RiverClan. Lilybloom had already spent her morning on a border patrol and had enjoyed a short rest since returning to camp. Feeling somewhat refreshed, Lilybloom had since turned her paw into gathering some supplies and fixing up the nursery. It wasn't in an overly bad state, but with a few queens and their kits residing inside, Lilybloom thought they might appreciate it if the den was kept in good condition.

Lilybloom was methodical and careful, making sure the reeds she used were tightly in place. When a few other cats approached, she was happy for the assistance. "Here, use these," Lilybloom mewed, flicking her tail over a pile of twigs and reeds. "Patch that little space over there. I swear I've seen some of the kits trying to chew their way out of it."​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovethroat was not sure what to do with himself the past few days. Ravensong was his de jure nemesis, but he was also the person that he spoke to most, and who occupied most of his thoughts. With Ravensong debilitatingly busy, dealing with a burgeoning crisis of plague in the clan, Dovethroat found himself—for lack of a better term—bored. He would never say that; it sounded crass to even think about, with how serious the illness seemed to be (and also that Dovethroat would never admit to missing Ravensong, or any adjacent feeling to it).

That made this offer of work, something ultimately simple and time-consuming with a bit of nostalgia to it, very attractive. For now, at least. Perhaps he would regret it later.

"I... r-right, yeah," Dovethroat hummed, looking over at the space that Lilybloom indicated. Taking his materials with him, he set to work.

[⋆]​

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[LAKEMOON]

LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
The fish stacked in her jaws had them aching by the time Lakemoon slipped back into camp, eager to drop her catches in the pile and let her maw close.
When it finally does, it is a rush of relief, but fleeting when Lakemoon picks up another fish to bring to her mate.
The tabby isn’t surprised to catch the sight of brindled fur lending a helping paw around camp, and wastes no time bounding over to her.
"Hungry from all your hard work, yet?" The warrior prompts as she comes to Lilybloom’s side, flicking a feather tail against the others as she’d place the meal in between them.
"What’re you guys up to?" While small talk was never Lakemoons “thing,” she knew she’d feel more awkward leaving Dovethroat out of the conversation when he was merely a couple tail-lengths away.

"speech"

tags​

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[SMOKESTAR]

He had not stayed in the nursery, part of him regretted it but the other part clung desperately to his comfort and privacy. He had not wanted to leave his nest in the leader's den and had made sure he was not pressured to do so, but the support of more experienced cats might have saved him some grief. Or it might have made him more anxious, who was to say. Smokethroat rarely dwelled on 'what ifs' if he could help it, there was no point mulling over possibilities that had passed when the future continued creeping closer. At least, that's what he believed.
The dark deputy strides over with his head up, curiously noting Lilybloom's paws moving with a skilled deftness to them even with her missing eye and a smile creeps across his maw as he remembers the conversation he'd had with Fernpaw; that it is something you can overcome with time and effort. In comparison to Dovethroat's more uncertain paws she came across as exceptionally skilled.
"Repairs is it? Good, I'm sure Willowroot will appreciate it when it gets colder." Smokethroat hummed thoughtfully for a moment, "I didn't realize this side was so bad, good catch. We'll need to be more diligent in its upkeep."
That lone orange eye swept over the trio, pausing briefly on Lakemoon who had assumedly come back from hunting, "How was fishing still?"
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[SALTSTING]

Like Smokethroat, Saltsting rarely finds himself ensnared with the possibilities and potentials of the world. All that truly mattered is what was, what is, and what inevitably will be. A careful, steady path will forge a future just as steady. Looking to other builders will only lead to misplaced stones. Or, in this case, reeds. Dark eyes zone in on the materials and the paws that lay them, as steady as any other's may be. Admirably so, in truth. He joins them to pass Lilybloom another reed and is otherwise silent as the conversation swells. This is not what he had come here for. In truth, it is very nearly enough to make him leave. Were Saltsting at all capable of awkwardness, it would show in how he sits now, intense gaze flicking between the conversing cats and his body otherwise deathly still. (Which is, in fact, precisely how he sits.)

Between speaking up to remain here and assist with repairs or manage an uncertain and all-too-obvious retreat from the crowd, the young warrior chooses the former. "That you have managed to catch anything at all is impressive. Soon these waters will be entirely dry, it seems. This season's kits will grow as drypaws– we will simply have no water." A dry hyperbole that many may take far too seriously.

 "𝘐 𝘋𝘖𝘕'𝘛 𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘌," 𝘐 𝘚𝘈𝘠, 𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘓𝘠, 𝘈𝘚 𝘐 𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘌 𝘋𝘌𝘌𝘗𝘓𝘠  ╱╱ 8.08.2023 ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  SALTSTING. FORMERLY UNDECIDED. HE - HIM OR THEY - THEM. YOUNG WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. SEXUALITY ﹖ PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ——
  
  
  ——  a black smoke with low white and dark brown eyes. his purebred father lent him much of his structure, with the oriental shorthair's characteristic angular features and large ears alongside a tall, lean frame, yet it is his mother's genes that rounded him out, adding strength to his shoulders and toughness to his paws. a kittypet and a colony cat, and saltsting is something entirely new.
  

  ✦ IMPORTANT NOTE. saltsting is touch averse and very vocal about it. icly, riverclanners should be aware of this. repeatedly touching him without the necessary comfort level will leave him with a poor opinion of any character.

• "speech"

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[dovethroat.]

More invested in his work than anything, Dovethroat nearly jumps out of his skin when Lakemoon so much as asked him a question. A creaky neck turning over his shoulder to observe, he let out a breath, restrained laugh. Something like a laugh. Even he was not so sure as to call it something that generous. "A-Ah, um, patching... patching up the, uh, the... the nursery," he explained, fidgeting with the materials he had been given. It takes him a moment to even notice that he has been offered food.

"Oh—oh! Oh, uh, th-thank you, thank you," he bowed his head, polite and courteous and doing all of that properly by the book. "It, ah, i-is—it j-just takes a while," he laughs meekly. "I... I could s-see it was getting a bit, uh, d-drafty. In here."

He clears his throat. Well. He feels like he has killed the conversation.

[⋆]​

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