private OVER SIDEWAYS & UNDER ⸝⸝₊・celandinepaw

[dimmingsun]

-

Thanks to how early Sunstar had decided to hold a Clan meeting, the moor remains still and sleepy around Dimmingsun and Celandinepaw as they make their way out from the camp. For what it's worth, Dimmingsun did wonder if she would deem a trek through the territories at this hour too early, but she hadn't objected. That'd have to be good enough.

The crunch of renewed grass underneath his paws is familiar; he doesn't need to think twice about which way to turn. He wonders just how much of a sheltered life Celandinepaw had lived up until now: did she always use the cover of the barns' four walls when the weather got cold? At the very least he knows that she is no fool. Her and her kin helped WindClan when they were at their lowest, and such feat doesn't come from just anyone. Whatever her case might be, Dimmingsun is confident he can shape her into someone who fits right in.

"I'm curious," he starts, tipping his head ever so slightly to the side where Celandinepaw is. "Why did you pick the moor? There's all the lush forests, the rivers and the marshes, and yet you came here specifically." Perhaps it's just been the closest, or that short window into the period of war had been too interesting for her to pass up. "I know I wouldn't give it up for the world."

˗ˏˋ ᴀ ꜱɪɴɴᴇʀ, ᴀ ꜱᴀɪɴᴛ / ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ´ˎ˗ ᓚᘏᗢ 04.02.24

• 
• ✦ OOC @CELANDINE

• DIMMINGSUN ⸝⸝-- WINDCLAN -- HE/HIM -- 33 MOONS

  ✦ Large golden-brown tom with green eyes.
  ✦ Penned by ˏ 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙣 ´​
•  

​

 

[CELANDINEPAW]

The world still slept, and yet Celandinepaw stood awake among the tranquility. Golden pelt shone as though a microcosm of the molten sun, a flash of light through the mire, mirth of the morning a pearl through the miasma. Her body was still wracked in a somnolent fog, drowsiness still plucking at fae visage and twinges of whiskers, as though she couldn't shake the smoke except to blow them out with the great release of a good night's sleep. She blinked, rheum still clinging to the edges of her eyes, and a yawn streaked across her face before she returned her attention. Excitement overshadowed any sort of will to slumber, though. She would be touring the moors! She had always wanted to run to the ends of the uplands, if there was any end at all. Perhaps there was a point where the land and the sky embraced. The rosette-stricken tabby was awake and as alert as the moorfowl that flitted through the springing sedges. She followed Dimmingsum, perhaps clinging a little too close to one of the only felines of Windclan that she had been acquainted with. She had tried to make as many friends as she could, but many Windclanners did not preoccupy themselves with her offers of amendment.

"Well," The young molly started as she flitted through the rustling ryegrasses of Windclan's sea of plains. The molly glanced outwards, imagining fierce fighting upon where just ghosts haunted the battlefields now. Her picture of war proved incomplete, jagged almost, as a cat who had never seen such horrors before. She had only gazed at the aftermath, smelled the sanguine after it had spilled. Even that disturbed her. "Me and my kin helped your kin. Oh, I mean we helped each other, since I'm a part of y'all now. It was only natural that I'd help you back by joining the clan!" She chirped, as chipper as a junco drunk on millet, wheat-tinged gaze falling back on her golden-pelted mentor. Nose crinkled as she scented a stray scent trail, before it faded into the obscurity of the whispering wilds, like a loose feather from a flighted bird. Prey flooded from dens and mouths like there was no place for them anymore in the earth once wrested in winter.

"What about you? Were you born on the moors? Ooh, did you also choose to join Windclan? Tell me all about it!" The barrage of questions fell from velvet lips. Maybe Dimmingsum had been a cool assassin, or a former barncat just like her! Her imagination ran wild with those sorts of scenarios.​

 

[dimmingsun]

-

The closeness of Celandinepaw - to the point where their fur almost touched - hardly bothers Dimmingsun. He's always been affectionate, and with the knowledge that some of his Clanmates don't look at Celandinepaw with much kindness in their eyes, he is glad to be allowed so close to her. Early sun warms their pelts and he hums lightly under his breath as they trek along.

Her response is thought-provoking. So young and yet already familiar with the concept of giving back, of giving yourself order for a good cause. "I'm glad you did. I doubt the tight-knit community of a Clan could be compared to much else."

Dimmingsun allows himself a moment of doubt, just to try and see the world from Celandinepaw's view. She had been free, technically; he imagines should could go wherever her heart willed her paws to go, without the worry of hunting for the sick or elderly, without the wonder of what news would shake the Clans to their core at the Gathering, without having to quarrel over territory and prey. But that kind of life feels incomplete and aimless. There's no glory to be had, no mind-numbing relief after a series of unfortunate events.

"I thought I'd take you to the Outlook Rock first. You'll get to see more of the territory, and even some that aren't ours."

Celandinepaw wonders about him, and his ear twitches in surprise. "I did." Memories flood his senses like a breeze carrying prey-scent. He barely remembers Sootstar - just Soot, then - as she was, still admirable and a leader worth following. He feels like the first time he spilled another's blood was just yesterday, the strangeness of it confusing and alarming him. "I'm afraid it's not much more interesting than that. I lived in a colony that split into different Clans, and I chose the moors. I thought it'd free me- and it did."

˗ˏˋ ᴀ ꜱɪɴɴᴇʀ, ᴀ ꜱᴀɪɴᴛ / ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ´ˎ˗ ᓚᘏᗢ 04.02.24

• 
• ✦ OOC -

• DIMMINGSUN ⸝⸝-- WINDCLAN -- HE/HIM -- 33 MOONS

  ✦ Large golden-brown tom with green eyes.
  ✦ Penned by ˏ 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙣 ´​
•  

​

 

[CELANDINEPAW]

"Ooh, Outlook Rock sounds so cool!" Celandinepaw chirruped, as chipper as a songbird in a dew-drop morning. Toothed smile overtook sunshine features, as easy as bright rays peeked through the translucent curtain of cloud. These cats sure have such wonderful names for their places, she mused with a trill. All I ever had was the Horseplace. The barn was by no means a terrible homestead, though it was much more humble and grounded than an area called Outlook Rock. "I bet I could see the entire moorland!" Although her and Dimmingsun had just become mentor-and-apprentice, the former barncat had sunk her talons of friendship deep into the older golden tom, with wheat-hued eyes aglow in honeyed light. Already did the molly seem to cling to the other, like a bout of tangling ivy, as he was really one of the only cats that she knew at all. She had tried to make friends prior, though many glanced at her as if she had a piece of prey stuck to her cheek. Her mentor said that the tightknit community of a clan could not be beat, and perhaps that was true, though flighty thoughts contested it inwardly. I don't doubt it, but we barncats are quite homely and hospitable, too! Her brain had still not switched to referring to herself as a clan cat, like she had not yet earned such a lofty privilege.

"Wow, a colony! How many cats are in a colony? More than a clan, I assume?" The ginger spotted tabby prattled on, though with her prate she carried shimmering strands of hope and curiosity, as though it were interwoven with the very pelage of the insurmountable sun. Inquiries came like a round of bullets, though never to harm or draw red, simply to sate her own wolfish worldview. She was always hungry for new knowledge, especially of the world beyond the fence. She hopped about with her footfall as loose and light as young bird's pinion, and perhaps the pair had walked long enough to reach the Outlook Rock by now. Whiskers twitched as new scents ribboned all about her, lying gentle along rounded snout and raveling among the whispering wildgrasses. "The moors are pretty freeing, I totally agree. You could probably keep running and running and not reach the end!" Celandinepaw was about to be surprised by that notion, for she still conceptualized the wilds as a neverending confabulation, a twisting tail of a tale that she was so grateful to partake in. She still hadn't seen the borders yet, nor much of anything, really.​