PERFECT, PERFECT, I'M PERFECT [✦] skipping lessons

[SCREECHSTORM]

Snow crunches beneath his paws, a stark white in contrast to the shadow of the gait that guides him.

His day has been booked — a dual scheduling of cleaning the nursery and training. As much as he wanted to skip cleaning the nursery, Screechpaw knew Briarpaw would be after him again, would sit down beside him and make sure he completed the chore, should he have strayed from it too early. Even in its completion, Screechpaw had rushed it, had put less effort in it that he probably should. It still looked nice though! He made sure of that — made sure it was adequate enough to not have his sister wandering after him as he left camp. He actually is late this time, though, and Chilledstar is expecting him.

The path is set out before him, a walk to the Burnt Sycamore he is tasked with learning. It's simple enough, he thinks — Screechpaw's probably paid more attention to the scenery on this walk with the leader than the lessons that had followed it.

His need to rush wanes as he beings to draw close to the training grounds, an uncertain dread approaching at the thought of another long lesson ahead of him. One of hunting crouches he'd been born with the knowledge of (it was the rogues that prolonged his streak of successful catches, the snow that followed their demise), fighting moves he'd mastered in kitten-led play-fights (he'd sunk his teeth into skin once, had won many a war in the nursery). Does he really need to waste more time at the Burnt Sycamore, when he could be off on his own, wasting his time to his own accord?

The training grounds are in distant sight when he stops, whiskers twitching as snow-frost sinks into his paws.

Chilledstar is busy anyway. Chilledstar has a clan to lead. Chilledstar has Applepaw to train. Perhaps it's better for the both of them? Yes, it must be. This'll save them both time. Screechpaw doesn't give his decision a second thought before he turns away, sun-shaded form bounding off in the opposite direction, his lesson tossed aside for something better. ​

✦ ABOUT

• // set before the fox attack!
• 

  SCREECHKIT ‣ SCREECHPAW
  ── Apprentice of ShadowClan
  
  ── Forestshade x Vulturemask
  ── AMAB; He/Him
  ── A black/red tabby chimera with mismatched green eyes.
  ── Mentored by Chilledstar
  ── "Speech"; Attack​

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[SERPENTSPINE]

its a foolish mistake, believing oneself alone in shadowclan territory. pelt like night itself moves him along the outskirts of hard - leaved undergrowth, brambles slipping through the sleek of his pelt without tagging, without breaking his onward stride. his sibling had two apprentices now, now that — an ear twists backward, fleeting glimpses towards the dark culling his negativity before the shadows could take latch of his insecurity. chilledstar had two apprentices, and today, he aims to attend their training session. slinking through without a sound, without a sight. an intention to come through the back side of the burnt sycamore, where the fires had charred life away but for a single thicket of undergrowth. a surprise, an extra set of paws set against them in their pretend combat.

serpentspine had no apprentice himself, and he supposed it was a good thing. they were unruly, parentless things more often than they weren’t ; the apprentices of shadowclan caused trouble. it was a warriors job to put them back into line, but serpentspine was just fine getting along by himself for now. he could ride the marshlands, feel the mud splay beneath webbed toes. starclan guides him forth into the fetid swampland and he listens, entranced.

the sycamore crests the horizon, cutting through the sky like claws. he is very nearly there when a sound perks batlike ears : a crunch. a brief scuffle, a turn of rapidfire paws out into the bushel of needle and pine leading away from the sycamore. serpentspine nearly sits up, ramrod straight to watch and call out, but merely narrows his eyes against the bramble and spots it — spots him, screechpaw, skipping away from his assignment. the warrior is dumbfounded for all of two seconds before he turns, ignores the snag of thorn against his skin as he shuffles in the undergrowth, follows backward the way the child had come. with luck, he could round in front of him, stop him where he ran off to. the thought of running to get his sibling registers only briefly, but he could only assume they’d come looking once the black tom did not arrive for session.

annoyance flutters in his chest as he stalks after, spider limbs creeping slow through the sharp leaves once again. the wind howls low, and once he hopes the apprentice is sure he’s alone, does he speak — ” chilledstar will have your skin. “ the creature says, hollow from the bushes where he suddenly crouches, sharp bladed shoulders set back. the warrior side - steps, adjusts his placement so screechpaw couldn’t discern his location immediately, ” if whoever is leaving our little gifts doesn’t have it first. id say you’re about rat sized. “ the thought it horrible, but it must be said ; he thinks once again of gored freshkill, strewn intestines over muddy rocks. his stomach turns, but he moves to let sunset eyes stare from a gap in the bushes before him, unblinking. what a fool, ” where were you going? “ instead of practice, instead of safety, instead of following orders their leader had bestowed. to show up a mentor, the clan leader — he’d never understand apprentices these days ( and he didn’t quite want to ).

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 . ⊹ . ࣪ ˖ 𓄒 ࣪ 𝙄𝙎 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒

• i.
  
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  SERPENTSPINE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𓆦 HE / HIM, YOUNG WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. JAGGED xx SHADOW, YOUNGER BROTHER TO CHILLEDSTAR. FIFTEEN MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE BRACKISH WATER & COPPER. PENNED BY ANTLERS ---------
  skeletal black tom with ghost rosettes and blood orange eyes. oil - slick rot & buzz of hungry horseflies crowding sloughing meat, he is born of his surroundings, forged black like the writhing insects that permeate his homelands. shaped in strands of shadow, long and bony ; a coat of scruffy, rosette - splotched obsidian feathering messily over his gaunt form. maned like a viper in shades of salt and pepper, splintering fur cast in a mock hood along a slim, vertebrae - bumped neck. his name has suited him since birth, eased into the world a long, writhing thing, with limbs of stretching shadow pawing blind at the shadowclan muck. his ears and eyelids are thin - membraned, thick - veined and stark against the darkness of his face. a strange, spidering thing ; broad - shouldered and tall in his maturing age, poor posture bringing his serpentine muzzle to a low, drooping hang.
  
  

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[SHARPSHADOW]

Pure coincidence, is what it is, that Sharpshadow catches the stumbling of miscreant paws while out on a hunt. The land is dangerous. ShadowClan land always was, even when frost wasn't nipping at your feet. Even when the beasts lurking about were merely beasts, and not a traitor of a cat (maybe traitors? The both of them?) prowling the forest with vengeance on her mind. Her brother had never stopped at apprentices. Why would he, when they had vision the same way a warrior might? All you had to do was see the wrong thing. Say the wrong thing...

When Sharpshadow peers toward the noise, she sees Screechpaw, and she hears... an ominous ringing. Midnight quills are picking their way along her spine. Was he already being trailed? Watched by a stranger that would prefer to stay that way, and he and Sharpshadow both would be lain in the ground, if she stepped forward now? Her ears strain. With the enthusiasm of a ShadowClanner, she steps closer to Screechpaw. Something - something, unity, have each others backs... What an idiot he was, that he'd die for this headache of a clan.

She sees him then, Serpentspine, and his voice rumbles in scolding, not for blood, or anything of the sort. She blinks in surprise, though he tries not to show it, at what words flow freely from him. Creeping feeling mirroring that of the corpses Siltcloud had strewn across their territory. Sharpshadow's gut dips into something envious— he supposes Serpentspine could afford to say these things, with his leader as sibling... A face lingers too - long, on him. He wasn't even— It was Screechpaw, he should worry about. Emboldenedd, perhaps. " Where's Chilledstar? " he asks without eye contact. That would be saved for the surrounding wilderness— for any beasts, cat or not, that may be lurking...

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 Mentoring Halfpaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 18 moons old as of 12.19.23 / 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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