PEACE AND QUIET | snakepaw

[BURNETPAW]

"C'mon! Hurry up, slowpoke!" Came the spry-tongued tone of Burnetpaw, as though she embodied the radiant nature of the springtide, the cleansing of a new breath. She was far too young to remember anything but. The snow had come and infested the land, but the molly hardly remembered how the cold bit at the toes and tugged at the faces. It had hardly made a dent on her, after all. She was new-leaf's daughter, sprightly and peart. The tigrine-pelted Burnet bounded in front of Snakepaw, almost shoving past him in youthful impatience, as if she would die if she didn't continue moving. It felt like that sometimes, with the ardor of juvenility ailing her every step. The moorlands seemed to stretch beyond even the horizon, as though it was where the sky and the land met, where the blue bowed to the endless green. If she traveled far enough, she was sure she could climb upon the clouds. The thought sort of scared her, in honesty. In times like these, she was glad she was made a tunneller. At least the winding labyrinth of the underground seemed less daunting than a limitless landscape. The tunnels had a finite end, a map. How was she to traverse a plain with no walls?

"Uh, what were we supposed to be looking for again? Moss? I'm not sure where to find that..." She turned back to the sable-shadowed tom, golden eyes perching upon that lone white blaze upon his chest, like a lone lily-of-the-valley cast upon the pitch night. She barely remembered Snakepaw in the nursery before he became that exalted position of apprentice, before he seemed to move on from her earthbound place in the nursery. She knew she would join them, but the days seemed to yawn into eternity when it was all that she knew. Burnetpaw figured they could at least become friends with this assignment, even though the other tom had quite the abrasive personality. It made her wince, at times, but she tried not to let such scathing insults burden her pelt. Who was she to let the fire burn her fur when it had already claimed its stake upon her stripes?

( @SNAKEPAW )
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[SNAKEHISS]

❪ TAGS ❫ — If Burnetpaw were a radiant sun, a bundle of newleaf flora, the epitome of springtime then Snakepaw was menacing shadows, the coiled form of an adder poised to strike, and the bitter taste of bile laced upon one's tongue. Both youths possessed opposing auras about them, and yet here they were, paired to complete a mundane task together. Snakepaw hadn't necessarily thought anything of it, just something boring for the warriors to occupy them with. Burnetpaw was a newly-made apprentice, someone who he doesn't know at all due to their gap in age. Already, she's turning out to be a bit much for the devious tom.

Slowpoke, she calls him as she brushes him out of the way and bounds into the open, and Snakepaw nearly scoffs for it. She was the tunneler apprentice, was she not? The obsidian apprentice hurries after her, almost opening his maw to claim that he was the fastest cat in WindClan, when Burnetpaw casts her golden gaze back at him. They were large and bright yellow, almost reminiscent of an owl's. He's become momentarily entranced by them, so much so that he loses his train of thought and instead snaps back into reality when she inquires about their mission. "Moss grows on rocks, mostly. Sometimes trees." Snakepaw informs Burnetpaw, unsure whether she's aware of the fact or not.

After a moment of thinking, Snakepaw's emerald eyes lit up with an idea. "Follow me." He instructed, beckoning with his thin tail and heading straight through the moorlands.

---

If Badgermoon knew that Snakepaw was out here without an adult's supervision, he'd be crowfood for sure. The Gorge was a dangerous place, even for the most seasoned warrior. A plunge into its mighty depths would suck a cat under and swallow them whole, and spit them out over the roaring waterfall downriver. "This is our border with RiverClan. Fish-breathed dogs, I can practically smell 'em from here." Snakepaw explained to Burnetpaw, standing near (but not directly on) the gorge's edge. A narrowed stare fixes onto the foreign territory ahead, scanning for any RiverClanners on the horizon. It would have been exhilarating to badmouth them from across the water, but for now, Snakepaw would reserve his fun for another time.

He cautiously leans forward and spots some crags leading down the face of the gorge, with plenty of moss thriving on the walls moistened from the river's spray. "There's some moss down here. We just... need to stick close to the edge." Snakepaw instructs Burnetpaw, glancing over his shoulder at her, before crouching low to the ground and slinking toward the rugged cliff.​

 

[BURNETPAW]

Following Snakepaw, the tigrine-pelted Burnetkit waded through the moors, more-than-often glancing at the sable-and-alabaster tom besides her. In her words, he seemed as prickly as the flowering gorse that lined the Windclan camp. He was a snake fang, a glimmer of cold steel, a pocket of winter's night. Still, she couldn't find it in her to hate him for that. Perhaps his tongue was as inviting as the thistlebush, but it was of no matter to her. Any cat that was willing to adventure with her was a worthy companion to her!

Wind-torn sedges and rushes brushed against a thin pelt, as though they aimed to drag her back with sharpened talons of thorn and spine. She tried to pay them no mind, but itches of irritation burdened her more than the moorland flora did. No such disturbances could be found in the comfort of the tunnels, where the smooth walls did not impede, only allow. Well, she tried not to show such vexation to the moor-runners, for they took their pride very seriously. Besides, her mother always told her it was rude. Golden gaze darted about for any rocks or trees where the moss might lurk, looking around for any sort of thing that resembled the nests of the nursery. Now, she slept outside, but did miss the comforts of the nursery, whose warmth drifted about her coat like a milky sea.

They stopped at the edge of the gorge's maw, and she was careful not to place her paws too close to the ends, lest the great monster of the ravine wish to swallow her whole. Still, she stared at the distance, where such tall trees lie in wait. "Ew, Riverclan. I'm glad we weren't born in the clan of the fish-eaters. I couldn't stand eating something other than rabbits or birds." She chuffed. She then felt her heart drop as she stared down at the stomach of the beast, a stray pebble tumbling down until it was lost, to be digested and spat up by the cruel machine of the waters once more. The mere thought of drowning was enough to fray her nerves. It was unlike the tunnels - an oppressive force, an air without air, a barbaric thing allowing no solace of breath. How the Riverclanners could stand it was something she would never fully understand. The molly turned her attention to the strings of moss along the edges of the walls, the spray seeming to nourish them, just as the rains blessed the moorlands. "Woah... That's so scary! How are we gonna get there? What if we fall and crack all our bones and die?" She couldn't stop the fear from permeating a sprightly voice, though she tried her best to shove it between the spaces of peppery words. Still, she followed.
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