OF THESE CHAINS | reveal

[FERNDANCE]

It had been a rough half-moon for the ticked tabby she-cat. More than usual, she had found herself feeling the emotions of those around her, the stress of lost kits making her nauseous to the point of losing her breakfast most days. Anger had presented itself in more frequent passive-aggression, sadness had prevented itself with hours spent hiding between the marsh's reeds - both had been remedied by Ferndance by expanding her hoard of valueless things to the point where it spilled into the other warrior's nests with reckless abandon. Moving out of the shared space took more effort than usual, fatigue biting the tabby as she adjusted to the light of the sun piercing through the canopy. Sitting down in camp, the former Lead Warrior lifted a paw to groom her belly, eyes bulging at the sight of it. Her stomach didn't look normal, it seemed wider, as if she had gorged on one too many frogs. Ferndance knew that not to be the case, ShadowClan was not prosperous, she kept to its rules most of the time; there was no reason for her to have gained weight when the others all looked perfectly fine. Instinct told her something was wrong.

Or, something was perfectly right, but happened in such a way to make the realisation weigh uncomfortably on Ferndance. A stolen toad, mangled legs of prey whom she'd declared to be a weird fish, a silver tom who had engaged her in the right sort of strange to make her fall head over heels for a time. He had made her forget about ShadowClan and she had loved him for it, still loved him for it, she realised. A small smile appeared on her muzzle, joyous in spite of the distance between them now. She was staring at the consequences of her actions, she was staring at her pregnant belly. "Oh..." StarClan, she needed to tell Needledrift and Dogfur! At some point, she would need to tell him, suddenly, the idea of sharing did not seem so exciting. The gathering was not too far away, she would just have to hope the sire was there. "How many do you think I will have?" She asked, refusing to add context. Most would know, or they would think she was joking; either way, she didn't care. This was her happiness, she wouldn't let the reactions of others take that away.

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[Needledrift]

Needledrift had thought she was ready. She had gotten Wheatpaw to groom her, to hype her up, to make her look nice. She had repeated the words again and again in her head, tinkering with the phrasing and the facial expressions. She had wanted to pull from the easy sort of love that Hailstorm and Little Wolf shared - they had been friends before their short mateship... right? Just like her and Ferndance?

But then.... but then Ferndance waltzed back into camp and all of that hype and fake confidence melted away. The cinnamon tabby had passed on by with Needledrift clamped up tighter than a clam. Stupid, stupid!

The summer-storm in her head threatened a downpour, but it was okay.... it was alright..... Little Wolf give me the words to say and the courage to do it...

She would try again, right after Ferndance's nap (she was taking an awful lot of naps lately....) she would go right up to her and say: you're my best friend, I love you, I want you to be my forever, will you have my -

"Kits?" All of her words, all of Little Wolf's courage, died in her throat. Ferndance was having.... kits? With who? Why? Since when? She hadn't factored this in as a possibility to talk through! Wheatpaw hadn't combed her tail for kits?!

"Three- uh - six - uh - hold on! Who's? Quick, heedless, confused: Needledrift's tongue twisted over itself to share three concepts at once. Oh no, oh no, oh no, this was not how anything was supposed to go!
​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Most Clan cats revel in the news that the nursery will gain first one new occupant, and then many, but Granitepelt finds himself indifferent. In truth, ShadowClan is a dreary place to raise one’s young. His own kits had heard disparaging remarks about their father since their ears had unfolded, and even the youth are not free from scorn, from scowls, from sarcastic quips made at another’s expense. His own kithood had certainly showcased enough of that. He truly believes Smogmaw’s missing daughters will receive a more positive upbringing in WindClan; if Ferndance were only half as frogbrained as she pretended to be, she’d have a similar realization and give them to another, stronger, more unified Clan, too.

Still, Needledrift’s surprise and Ferndance’s apparent pending motherhood need some Clan reaction. Granitepelt observes the two she-cats impassively before dipping his head to the ticked tabby queen. “Well, isn’t that a surprise. Congratulations.” He, too, wonders who the sire could be, and his brain flicks over cats who fit the bill. Sabletuft? Skunktail? He shrugs. Perhaps it does not matter. There are few, if any, who would improve a ShadowClan litters’ constitution.

, ”​

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[Starlingheart]

Some may not see it, but there is beauty to be found in the marshes - though only if you knew the right places to look. It can be found in the soft evening sunlight filtering between the pines, in a frog singing its heart out as it laments the loss of what was meant to be an easy dinner. There is so much to admire about the way that life goes on, even here and usually, Starlingheart would find the news of new kits to be a brilliant thing. Something to celebrate and revel in. Life would not end for the colony that had established itself moons before she was even a thought in her mothers mind - it would continue through new generations, through the obstacles and challenges that had presented themselves these past moons. But when she lays her eyes on Ferndance, when shadowed ears flick to words uttered. 'How many do you think I will have?' the cinnamon coated molly asks.

Immediately, her mind is drawn to the answer, as much as she does not wish to believe it. All she can see when she looks upon the warriors figure is a she-cat who had once stood before her and had offered the brilliant idea of doing away with all of their sick. Joke or not, it had been cruel and it is not the first time she had thought the molly possessed the same level of common sense as a toad.

All the same, she presses her lips together in a thin line as she comes to stand beside her mate, who offers words of 'congratulations' and she cannot help but wonder if he means it. Her gaze lingers on his form, her pelt brushes against his, for only a moment and then it settles on Ferndance and Needledrift. The corners of her mouth upturn into a soft smile. Who knew, maybe this would prove to be a good thing... "Such a-a thing is typically considered rude to ask" she says to Needledrift when she blurts out the very question that had been upon her mind as well. A queen had a right to privacy though no matter who they were. "My-my guess is on two" She would pray for a small litter, any more than that and she is not certain about their survival rate in the coming harsh moons.

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[ROOSTERSTRUT]

Roosterstrut could fully admit that this had caught him off guard. "Wow, uh," Ferndance had always been on the... quirky side of things, so to speak, but Roosterstrut certainly would have never expected a pregnancy to come from the older she-cat. She had claimed a random kit as hers before ( to this day he still cannot say for certain if this was true ), but this time there was absolutely no denying that she was expecting a litter of her own. Roosterstrut blinks the disbelief from his eyes, wanting to open his maw and ask so many questions. Starlingheart's words served as a reminder of proper manners, though, so he held his tongue — did Ferndance trust him enough to confide in him, or would the sire remain a mystery?

Either way, these babies would be cherished and loved by ShadowClan... or at least by him. Roosterstrut had been beyond giddy when Betonyfrost's brood was born, and now he could not wait to have more little faces to dote upon.

Roosterstrut chirped with a growing grin, "Congrats, Ferndance. I can't wait to meet them." Leafbare would be a tough time to raise newborns in; he hoped they would make it to newleaf alright.

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

If Ferndance is nothing else, she is random. At least she near - perfectly random, not like Smogmaw— who would discomfort her with rationality between the nonsense. Too much thought, too much thinking, to discern what is the ramblings of sad old man, and what Sharpshadow ought to listen. She is left with no choice but to hang onto every word, just in case. To stick close, just in case.

Yeah, at least she can reliably ignore Ferndance, though. She plans to do just that, until Needledrift suddenly asks, kits? When Granitepelt chimes in, Sharpshadow learns, apparently she is the crazy one here, for not vying to give Ferndance the time of day. For not having a slice of her mind to translate the nonsense into meaning. Sharpshadow is near stone - like. A twinge.

Well, she is immediately wondering the same as Needledrift. Who in their right mind— full stop, it could not be someone in their right mind that would have kits with Ferndance. It is news to her, that wanting to know is rude. Because why would he know? And he supposes, he typically would not care, but here– when it is nonsensical in every sense in the word, is when he would very much like to. My-my guess is on two. Yes, yes... Right, so ther ewould be less little mouths to compete with her children's.

Or, well— Sharpshadow would have said hopefully, Ferndance was so stupid that she was in fact wrong, and real answer was none, because they are on the cusp of Leafbare. And because who knew what traits were genetic, and which weren't.

Completely lacking any other comment to make, Sharpshadow speaks her mind, slowly, as if it would help Ferndance understand better. " It's— it's nearly... Leafbare, " he says. His eyes flit elsewhere, but his frown is unhidden.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

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• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 17 moons old as of 11.12.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

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[Skunktail]

—————————————————————⊰☆⊱————————————————————
"Promise its not me." Skunktail commented immediately to Needledrift's question and unintentionally answering Granitepelt's silent consideratins, there were very few eligible single toms in the clan and even less who would put up with Ferndance's level of stupid. He wanted it clear immediately this nonsense wasn't associated with his family and Starlingheart can shush cats all she wanted; it needed to be said, he was also deathly curious which tom decided to make the worst decision of his life. For a moment he is briefly horrified at the idea of Frostbite being the one and then he remembers the white warrior's stint in the nursery. Right, he could carry kits. That eased his concern significantly. Very few cats worth pursuing in this clan and he'd not lose one of the decent ones to this daft furball of a molly.

There is a crisp breeze and he feels himself shudder at its reminder of the approaching snow. He never did like it, some cats were made for the cold weather but he'd never been a big fan. Roosterstrut and his sister may have congratulated her with grit teeth and smiles but he is considering being a little more pointed in his commentary when the newly named Sharpshadow approaches and says what they were all thinking, or probably all thinking, and he bursts out laughing, "I can't wait to starve to death because of Ferndance's idiocy. I bet she did this on purpose now that that law was put in place." His voice pitches upward into a shrill falsetto, "Queens, kits and elders first for food? Better get some kits in me!" ShadowClan had enough problems when it came to keeping their prey pile full without this added to it, "Thinking of taking it easy during leafbare are you? Going to be nice and well-fed while your clan struggles? Very nice. Congratulations. Here's hoping you only bring one mouth into the world to burden us."
Between her and Sabletuft the lead warriors of the clan who didn't die were starting to become more of a dead weight than the ones who did. Flings with ThunderClan leaders, kits during leafbare, acting fools in front of ThunderClan, mocking ThunderClan's leader, having sordid affairs with outsiders...disgraceful. All of them. He was hopeful at least Frostbite and Granitepelt could act right.
His great plume of a stripe tail rises up and he turns to take his leave, his clanmates might humor this folly but he certainly wasn't going to.

☆ ———— promise me she's not your world ☆ ———————— 'Cause Andy, you're a star

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  Skunktail
  —⊰⋅ Warrior of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Black & white tom w/spearmint green eyes
  

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[smogstar]

Well then.

Splinters of truth can be broken off from the brittle slate that was Skunktail, if one's willing to dredge through such an unpalatable, from-the-hip tirade. Sure, bearing a litter during Leaf-bare's onset isn't the most opportune arrangement, not when the prey pile is drained to its dregs amid the harsh cold. To suggest Ferndance had wittingly gotten her belly infested for fear of starvation, though a wild accusation, may not be as far-fetched a theory as some may surmise—the molly's shrewd methods and means would certainly allow it.

But, unbeknownst to the aptly-named warrior, these things simply happen. The easiest explanation supercedes the grandiose conspiracy in practically all cases. Ferndance is pregnant, and that's all worth knowing in the current moment. What deserves closer scrutiny is identity of whomever made dirt in his fresh-kill this sunrise. "I'd agree with him, but then we'd both be wrong," he muses dryly on approach, striving to jostle Skunktail's shoulder with his own. Toms from his calibre were the reason so many ShadowClan litters had faceless fathers. At least Smogmaw can simulate integrity when circumstances deem it necessary.

"Anyhow, I'm happy to hear of it Ferndance," the deputy drawls on, though his regard refuses to stray from her swollen belly. Tacking on to Needledrift's sputtered query, and the ensuing guess put forward by Starlingheart, Smogmaw dives into the theoretical to calculate how many young ones were marinating in there. Admittedly, his frame of reference for these matters is somewhat narrow. "Mmh, I'm guessin' seven," he mews, albeit with less conviction than the medicine cat. ​

 

[honeymoon]

sweet like honey
———— ( ☀ ) ————

Honeypaw had known something was amiss for a while. Trailing behind Ferndance every day leant the apprentice some knowledge about some of the machinations of the eccentric molly. Today wasn't much of a day for training, and Honeypaw had no qualms with taking yet another lazy day - while the apprentice had aged slightly out of shirking her duty, she didn't always take everything as seriously as someone her age should've. Right on the cusp of warriorhood, maybe Honeypaw should be pushing herself to make sure she'll be able to pass her assessment. But that wasn't fun and without her mentor dragging her out for it, she had no drive to do such herself. Honeypaw loitered vaguely around Ferndance in various parts of camp, just in case her mentor was struck with the sudden urge to hop to her paws, but she seemed much more preoccupied with grooming herself. No fur off of Honeypaw's pelt - Ferndance had been a bit touchy lately, aggression edging the outskirts of her sentences and sickness preluding her mornings. Honeypaw had written it off as the stress the Clan had been under lately, between hosting all the other Clans in the grotto of the burnt sycamore and now the two missing kits that had vanished without a trace.

Well, it was kit related, but not in the way Honeypaw was expecting at all. Tufted ears perk up to attention as Ferndance speaks up, copper eyes widening. Reactions were mixed, from Needledrift's excitement to Sharpshadow's critque of timing. Well, Honeypaw didn't care about the season. She was also a leafbare kit, born in the darkest month - but she survived! Now she'd get to help raise those born after her. How exciting! "Kits!" Honeypaw almost squeals, bounding over to raise herself up on her toes. She pushes down the thoughts about whether she'd have to take a third mentor to finish her training; her selfish tendencies were redirected to wondering whether or not Honeypaw would be an established enough warrior to mentor her own mentor's kits one day. "I hope there's three," the sunkissed molly rumbles a purr as she slows her pace. Her enthusiasm sputters out in her throat as Skunktail makes his grand tirade, brows knitting slightly.

She can feel the shift in the air, watches as Smogmaw deliberately steps against the tom. Yuck. Honeypaw huffs, turning her attention back toward Ferndance. "Ignore him, he's clearly never shared a nest with someone. Prolly wasn't licked much as a kit, either. Maybe that's why he never learned compassion." Although her words were in a conversation for Ferndance, Honeypaw's voice was raised and eyes slid to the side to watch his retreating form to make sure she could speak loud enough for him to hear. Whether he had sympathy for Ferndance's predicament or not, it was no reason to act like a - a - ugh! "What a loveless whiny loser," Honeypaw huffs in frustration, much quieter as her face contorts into a deep scowl. How dare he! Whether he liked Ferndance or not, how could he just - Ugh!!!

Honeypaw forcefully drags her attention away, briefly seeking out Roosterstrut and allowing his familiar expression to wash over her, to mimic it and return to a peppy smile. "Leafbare can't be that bad, I didn't die. I won't let yours, either!" Honeypaw alone had no control over that, but she wouldn't be convinced otherwise. "Do you have any name ideas? Uh, who's - wuh - when?"​

 

[sprucepaw ✰]

Ferndance was not her mentor. Not her mother, barely a friend, hardly an authority figure after everything - yet the black tabby enjoys watching the tan femme in all of her crazed idiosyncrasies. Some days it's fishing shiny twoleg droppings out of piles of muck, others its complementing the outrageously small size of the fresh-kill pile. Ferndance provides a bright (but, truthfully, diffracted) light in the midst of their dark and dreary home.

The conversation is far beyond the young apprentice. Numbers are being shared, some are mumbling of the season whilst one pitches his voice up so high, Sprucepaw might've thought that his tail was chomped in half. She joins the crowd of cats, curiosity brimming at the seams, before she pitches a happy, "Fourty-two! What are we talking about?" to everyone around.​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Pupils expanded as Needledrift approached, smiling serenely as she expected her friend to be happy for her. Instead, Needledrift seemed confused. The other's feelings were shared with others who circled the cinnamon tabby - she twitched her ear in amusement, her tail curling and uncurling as if wrapping around the branch of a tree. As for whose they were, well... "That is a very good question." One that did not have much of an answer, but her emerald eyes remained assured. ShadowClan's romantic prospects were limited by the air of death that hung over them (and the air of nastiness from any tom that she wasn't friends with). She nodded towards Starlingheart and Roosterstrut in acknowledgment, offered a quick look to Granitepelt, then, her attention lay solely on Needledrift. Her heartbeat soared and butterflies began trying to escape her stomach, it felt impossible to believe that they had not already tore the lining of her belly with how hard they fluttered. "They are yours." Ferndance grew so quiet that one could hear a pine needle drop. Her muzzle twists into a serious frown, wide eyes displaying an urgency that sincerely believed that Needledrift was biologically capable of siring kittens. StarClan was a miracle maker for all but her marshland home.

There was no magical stork that had given her these kits, nor a StarClan messenger; she wasn't particularly sure she would want there to be, either. Her RiverClan friend had been funny, endearingly awkward yet still respectful, having the same level of social grace as Ferndance, but with different flaws. StarClan would've never made the sire so beautiful and imperfect. "If you would like them to be. We can be moms together," she breathed, moving a step closer towards the other, seeking permission to groom Needledrift's pristine fur (was it normally so shiny?) Co-moms would be a step above the friendship they had shared for moons, a step below where she wanted them to be, but boundaries were things she did not want to push when she was responsible for... One? Two? Forty-two? Seven? A number of little ones. Regardless, the rest of the world was drowned out, her senses numb to the passersby. This was hers and Needledrift's moment, two souls brought together by chance, bound together by a bond that had survived an immeasurable distance apart.

This was hers and Needledrift's moment.... until it wasn't.

There was a humming in her ear that couldn't be ignored, the buzz of a fly that thought it had found mousedung instead of a tabby who did not wish to be scorned. Her mouth parted, a quiet 'oh' escaping her as she realised the insect was addressing herself, sharply, she turned her head towards Skunktail. "Excuse me." A warning, one matched by unsheathed claws and a glare that could've disintegrated the tom if looks had such power. He continued, his words admonished by those around him; it was a rare kinship she felt with her home when Smogmaw and Honeypaw stood against Briarstar's least favourite son. "I am not 'taking it easy', I am raising a family. I don't need a creep to look after me, I need you to shut your mouth." Did it on purpose? Kits in her? Mocking her voice? The cinnamon tabby shuddered, she was all about making others uncomfortable, but this seemed to stretch beyond a laugh and a joke. She decided there and then that he must hate she-cats - there was never a good time to be a good mother in ShadowClan. Before long, Skunktail left and Ferndance looked to her apprentice, maw twitching in amusement.

Right... she didn't need to think about him, she had cats in ShadowClan that loved her, no matter how her insecurities nagged at her for her isolation. "I want to name my kittens after all the things I have seen since I came to the marshlands," she mewed, a slight shake to her voice as she wrestled to control her emotions. "Blood, fleas, death, worms, carrion... so much carrion." Her tone left little room for jokes, these were things good and bad she associated with being a warrior, these were things she wanted to name her brood after. Sprucepaw arrived remarkably late to the conversation and the she-cat went slackjawed. "I have to think of forty-two names?" A glance to her swollen belly then back to the apprentice. "I'm having kittens, Sprucepaw."
​

 

[SERPENTSPINE]

the tom approaches at the tail end of conversation, brittle mouse femur stuck clattering between pearly teeth. click, click, click of calcium against calcium, exposed bone against exposed bone. he comes up alongside skunktail, brows held high and faux - impressed by the bite of attitude ferndance was in the process of tossing his way. serpentgrin aims to wap him with his tail along the flank, as if encouraging him to look — to look at the spectacle he’d created, unsheathed claws and narrowed eyes. his head, widened sunset eyes and lidded them again in something silent, something teasing : she’s real mad, huh? the bone topples from his maw to the dirt, kicking sparse grass over it until the molly calms down enough to speak.

i want to name my kittens after all the things i have seen since i came to the marshlands.

makes sense, the tom thinks. briefly.

as she continues, he finds his smile growing. growing. blood, fleas, death, she says, worms, carrion. carrion — it does him in, collapses his chest into something guffawing. upon his birth, his father had been less than pleased — he’d come into the world writhing and too - long, too - sleek. serpent, he’d named him. serpent, crouching in the grass of their lives from the moment he’d taken his first breath. serpent. an unwelcome visitor, destruction. evil. it had been his attempt to bestow him with strength despite the gleam of disgust ever present in his eye, the suspicion he threw at he and chilledstar’s mother as his white spots grew, developed into alabaster dappling all about his lengthening body.

laughter dies down slow, too slow to realize the serious tinge to ferndance’s voice until he is blinking tears away. he blinks again. ferndance is not laughing.

he thinks of of own father : snakelike. snakelike.

bland, he says, ” youre not kidding? “

𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘 ☻ 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙊 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐

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  SERPENTGRIN HE / HIM, YOUNG WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. JAGGED xx SHADOW, YOUNGER BROTHER TO CHILLEDSTAR. 15 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE PLANT ROT & MUD. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  lanky black tom with ghost rosettes and blood orange eyes a preening thing, he is named for an ever - present, needle tooth smile, smarmy and just short of elegant ; a nonchalant slouch to angled shoulders, slim bodied with a flouncy sort of grace to long, dark - ribboned limbs. a spiking plush of raven and white mane cushions his thin neck down to midspine, leading to a lengthy, snaking tail — unusually elongated and quirked at the end in an old, unset break. serpentgrin holds himself with a dreamy confidence ; a tittering, easy - going thing, sly and charismatic as a shadowclanner should be, always standing with a flourish to the tail and a sway in long, bounding strides.
  
  

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