- May 31, 2023
- 187
- 55
- 28
The greenleaf season has been kind to them so far, though other clans have not been. Scorchkit languishes in the sun, letting it absorb through her charcoal-burnished pelt; she learns new calls of new birds over the moors; she takes cover in the nursery when summer showers meander above them. What she does most often, though, is watch bugs with keen bicolored eyes; each flutter of the wing; each twitch of the antennae. Something has infected the WindClan youth with a need to hunt whatever they can see, and young Scorchkit is no different.
Today the ember-forged girl stalks along the sandy basin in which WindClan makes its camp. For each sunrise, she finds that the itching in her claws grows harder to tolerate; she will be an apprentice soon! She still can't see over the twisting knots of gorse and heather that encircle their hollow (and she may never be able to), but with each patrol's return they bring a gust of the wild air outside back to her: heather as far as the eye can see, wisps of rabbits just out of reach, nutty golden wheat that smells like sunshine. Of course, she gets her fair share of wildness, too. In fact, that is what she is chasing-- butterflies far above her. She sticks out sorely against the taupe dust beneath her, but butterflies are not as discerning as the prey her mother or father catch, thank StarClan. Each step is quiet and careful, though, as she tries to emulate the more practiced skills she has seen only in passing. She has the makings of a good warrior within her.
A salt blue set of wings flutters just out of her reach, menacing her with its beauty. This is the ultimate butterfly, she is sure. It must be a blessing from StarClan themselves that it should catch her eye so that she might chase it and make it hers; and she does just that with a mighty leap from strong, flame-licked haunches. Scorchkit swats the thing out of the air and towards the earth, landing squarely over it, trying to avoid damaging it any further than her initial strike. Its wing is chipped; the glimmering blue scales rub off just slightly onto her cream-soaked paws; and yet it is still beautiful, and now it is hers. There is a certain precision to her paws as she carefully dissects the wing away from the newly-turned corpse, a coroner in the making, and sticks it behind a tall orange ear for all to marvel at. She has never cared much for beauty, but she can't deny the appeal of the accessory. Then, an idea strikes her:
"Hey!" the girl chirps, bursting into the nursery with a wide and sparkling gaze, a rare display of her excitement. Scorchkit finds her siblings and urges them out with a wave of her whip-tail. "Come hunt butterflies with me!" And she is gone, racing after a new flock of the things, orange and green and blue and any other color under the sun. They'd only dispersed slightly when she'd struck her own blue morpho out of the sky, but they seemed reluctant to leave camp entirely-- a strange and rare treat, she supposes.
/ @RUMBLEKIT @LUCKYKIT @frostkit ; no need to wait to post!
Today the ember-forged girl stalks along the sandy basin in which WindClan makes its camp. For each sunrise, she finds that the itching in her claws grows harder to tolerate; she will be an apprentice soon! She still can't see over the twisting knots of gorse and heather that encircle their hollow (and she may never be able to), but with each patrol's return they bring a gust of the wild air outside back to her: heather as far as the eye can see, wisps of rabbits just out of reach, nutty golden wheat that smells like sunshine. Of course, she gets her fair share of wildness, too. In fact, that is what she is chasing-- butterflies far above her. She sticks out sorely against the taupe dust beneath her, but butterflies are not as discerning as the prey her mother or father catch, thank StarClan. Each step is quiet and careful, though, as she tries to emulate the more practiced skills she has seen only in passing. She has the makings of a good warrior within her.
A salt blue set of wings flutters just out of her reach, menacing her with its beauty. This is the ultimate butterfly, she is sure. It must be a blessing from StarClan themselves that it should catch her eye so that she might chase it and make it hers; and she does just that with a mighty leap from strong, flame-licked haunches. Scorchkit swats the thing out of the air and towards the earth, landing squarely over it, trying to avoid damaging it any further than her initial strike. Its wing is chipped; the glimmering blue scales rub off just slightly onto her cream-soaked paws; and yet it is still beautiful, and now it is hers. There is a certain precision to her paws as she carefully dissects the wing away from the newly-turned corpse, a coroner in the making, and sticks it behind a tall orange ear for all to marvel at. She has never cared much for beauty, but she can't deny the appeal of the accessory. Then, an idea strikes her:
"Hey!" the girl chirps, bursting into the nursery with a wide and sparkling gaze, a rare display of her excitement. Scorchkit finds her siblings and urges them out with a wave of her whip-tail. "Come hunt butterflies with me!" And she is gone, racing after a new flock of the things, orange and green and blue and any other color under the sun. They'd only dispersed slightly when she'd struck her own blue morpho out of the sky, but they seemed reluctant to leave camp entirely-- a strange and rare treat, she supposes.
/ @RUMBLEKIT @LUCKYKIT @frostkit ; no need to wait to post!
