no angst [PHASE III] SURVIVED THE WORST, BUT THE WORST IS YET TO COME | celebration hub!


It seemed as though the early frost had waned, if only for a moment. A rare warmth enveloped the moorlands, like an afterglow of summer's ardor, stanching the sorrows away for just one evening. As an unusual heat wafted over her pelt, Celandinepaw felt as though fate were granting them a break, of sorts. She reveled in how the autumn peered through the uncharacteristic weather, like a glimpse of faith through storm-cloud hues. The sunset glowed heartily in all its splendor, perhaps a mere bluff amongst the frigid clouds that cleared away for the day, as it still shadowed the albeit meager streaks of slate-grey along the rolling sky. Tangerines and ochres blanketed the plains, though this time the sun's gaze did not glare from its heaven-set perch, but instead draped over the clans as a veil would. The stress of keeping the clan afloat did not falter, only lie flat upon its belly as it conceded for this night. Sounds of chatter raveled into each other within the camp, like a cant unbecoming of what winter's wrath bred, though it welled not from spite but from consolation. The medicine cat apprentice had not heard her clan so raucous in a long while, as though the bitterness of the winds had not abraded their song entirely, merely keeping it hidden within a cage of their chords. Her clanmates would warble once more, this time with a bubbling sense of anticipation.

Now, Celandinepaw sat along one edge of the camp, with olivine eyes focused upon the strewn-about decorations of moss and ferns and feathers. It was not as grand or genial as what the workfolk were able to adorn the Horseplace with, but it would certainly do. "Good job, everyone! I'd say we made this place look pretty cozy. Maybe we should ask Scorchstar to let these stay up for a few seasons. As a good luck charm, of course!" Celandinepaw's face marked itself in unmistakable mirth, like red-blooded cheeks flowed in the pride of her found family, relishing in the resilience of the weeds that refused to die off. The wheat-toned molly had gathered an elite force of cats to aid her in this perilous task... Of course, the first clanmate she thought to ask was Silkkit, the meticulous and ever-pristine molly that she was. Secondly, she asked for Bilberrypaw - after she requested that he depart from Scorchstar's studies for a top-secret mission. Dimmingsun had volunteered next, and Celandinepaw appreciated all the help she could get in these festivities. Finally, came the assistance of Mallowtail and Scorchstorm, and asking the warriors for help in this essentially-menial task was a much more daunting task than she could have ever bargained for. Still, the cats had done well to fill the camp with various ornaments gathered within the wintry season. A wiser feline would have mused something of making merry out of misery, and creating candor out of calamity.

"Oh! I forgot, I have to announce this to the whole clan. Keep it up, everyone!" Celandinepaw purred as she turned away from the dream-team. She trotted near the Tallrock's base, pelt upon the twilight shine like a sunglow blossom, a quaff of good spirits upon the mire of changing seasons. Inhaling a long-drawn breath, she braced herself for this speech, for she had been thrust into the spotlight far more times than she could have ever imagined while a medicine cat apprentice. The molly always had the impression of a medicine cat being some wizened healer cooped up within a cage of their own instrument, but perhaps there was much more to this than she could have guessed.

"Windclan! We have, uh, hold on." Celandinepaw cleared her throat with a few coughs before continuing. "We have survived the incoming leaf-bare, as early as it came. Despite it all, we have stayed strong and true to ourselves. This is a time of celebration of the present, remembrance of the past, and hope of the future! I invite everyone to partake in whatever festivity you'd like; whether it is sharing stories of past battles, sharing tongues and meals with one another, or simply allowing yourself to unwind for the night. Thank you!" She had only recited that speech at least ten times... with the help of Cottonsprig to come up with it, of course.

  • OUT OF CHARACTER. WELCOME TO THE PHASE III CELEBRATION! Everyone is encouraged to make threads (open or private) that "branch" off of this main thread (aka, ones that take place within the same time period)! Have fun and congratulations to Windclan for keeping our streak for Phases I and II :)

    Also obligatory tag of those mentioned in the thread, but no need to wait for one to respond! @Mallowtail @BILBERRYPAW @DIMMINGSUN @SCORCHSTORM @Silk-kit @cottonsprig

    — MEDICINAL EXPERTISE: Celandinepaw is the current medicine cat apprentice of Windclan. Although she is quite new to her position, she also has much expertise with treatment regarding infectious diseases and basic remedies. As for anything more complex... you're better off asking a more experienced medicine cat.

    WOUNDS★☆☆☆☆
    ACHES★☆☆☆☆
    INFECTIONS★☆☆☆☆
    BROKEN BONES★☆☆☆☆
    CONTAGIOUS ILLNESSES★★★★☆
    CHRONIC ILLNESSES★☆☆☆☆
    POISONS★☆☆☆☆
    KITTING★☆☆☆☆
    TRAVELING★★★☆☆
  • jap5D3a.png
  • CELANDINEPAW & TRANS WOMAN & 14 MOONS
    —— Medicine Cat Apprentice of Windclan / Mentored by Wolfsong & Cottonsprig
    —— A shorthaired, wheat-yellow spotted tabby with yellowish-green eyes. Somewhat pudgy, though lean and able to hold her ground in the wild.
    —— Extroverted and unafraid to speak her mind, she is a friendly and affable face in Windclan. Though ditzy and somewhat cowardly, she tries her best to help her clan. She is prone to outbursts when spurned or stressed.
    —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.


 
➴➴ The hardworking decorating team had set about brightening up the camp, and Gravelsnap had merely watched as they worked. They have no desire to join in, their focus falling more on their mate and his well-being. Peri is prone to illness and overworking himself. With the early frost settling across the moorland, the black-patched warrior worries for their mate especially now. Keeping a close eye on him is important, because he cannot be trusted to properly take care of himself when the clan is struggling. Gravelsnap is just as aware as anyone else that their mate would gladly sacrifice himself for the smallest of reasons. But perhaps… this celebration could be helpful in lifting his spirits.

They wait for Celandinepaw to finish her announcement—it is heartwarming, hearing of WindClan’s successful day of hunting—before turning to search for Periwinklebreeze against the rest of the clan. Where could he be… perhaps he’s been dragged into another cuddle pile with the clan’s kits again.

  • ooc:
  • 84445298_uFbXRbLaVBwdYuz.png
  • GRAVELSNAP ❯❯ they/he, moor runner of windclan
    average-sized black and white warrior who seems smaller than he is. speaks rarely and quietly.
    mate to periwinklebreeze ; sibling to slateheart
    mentoring sheeppaw & thistlepaw ; formerly mentored thriftfeather
    peaceful and healing powerplay is allowed, but they hate physical contact & will lash out if not close friends / family
    penned by foxlore
 

Things are looking up. It's a little flame kept close to his heart, orange and warm. Sedgepounce has wandered the moor for too many moons to believe that things are really getting better—the meadow blusters with warm-tinged breezes now, but true Leafbare will strike them soon enough. He just...takes the good where he can get it. And it's hard not to feel a little spirit-lifted. After weeks of scraping by, it's almost like the hares and the grouse were throwing themselves at him all day, drunk on the brief, warm reprieve from the freeze. It's the third and final time he's hauled in a catch today.

Sedgepounce, with his pelt smoothed and littered with chamomile petals, drags a fat meadowlark in camp just as Celandinepaw's voice peals—then catches—through the fray. The thing is dropped onto an already well-stocked freshkill pile. The camp itself screams auburn and comfort. Celadinepaw's suggestion to share meals and celebrate looks like a genuine possibility.

It sparks an idea in him. Trading his lark for a vole, he passes through decorated fronds to drop the meal at the medicine cat apprentice's paws. "Epic speech, Cela. Couldn't have said it better myself," Sedgepounce meows. He bumps her shoulder good-naturedly, if only because ruffling the fur at the top of her head might warrant some complaints. He grins lopsided. "Let's eat, yeah?"
 

Dimmingsun seldom cares much for "decoration" — the concept itself feels fleeting, like you may as well retrieve it all by the time you are done averting your focus to something strictly aesthetic. They think the gorse and the heather do a perfect job of breaking up the monotony that is the moor. But of course, he has famously never been able to say no to Celandinepaw, and he is amongst the first volunteers when she voices her need for an extra set of paws. The warm seeping into the golden hues of his fur has put him into a good mood anyway.

He has learned it is futile to think much of fortune and misfortune. Akin to the wheel of time, they will continue to swap themselves out... sometimes sooner, sometimes later. Dimmingsun remembers hopelessness after every death and every lack of luck that come WindClan's way, but he also knows the strength that comes from preserverance in spite of it all. Today is one of those days.

"Right? Spoken like a true leader," he says, agreeing whole-heartedly with Sedgepounce as he goes to meet him and Celandinepaw. Perhaps the sight of a sun-kissed hide ascending the Tallrock may have helped his heart soar a little — not that she shares much with Sunstride outside of that. "I could eat for days right about now. That grouse you caught may be just enough for one of my teeth..." Humor comes to him as easily as breathing, and he sends Celandinepaw a mischievous look — would wink, if he still could, but that is decisively difficult with just one available eye.
 
Sheeppaw lounges himself on the outskirts of camp, where the knots of gorse and heather that encircle their hollow protects its denizens. He casts his gaze upon the medicine cat apprentice, as the wheat - hued tabby announces Windclan's successful day of hunting. Pale cerulean eyes flick to the decorations around camp, and pelts alike decorated with various nicknacks. The gorse and heather fitted perfectly around the hollow, with a soft warm - tinted breeze brushing along his dark pointed figure. He hums as he revels in the warmth the twilight veil provides him. The older apprentice was in a wonderful attitude tonight beneath the glow of the moon above.

After every death and misfortune brought upon the clan. The fire, Duskclan, various deaths, and... the departure of them. It's hard not to be fully relieved, after her poor catches of prey these days. It was troublesome. But, at least she caught a few mice and only one meadow pipit today, so it's better than coming home empty - handed.

When Celandinepaw finishes her announcement, it is heartwarming— the camp itself is full of comfort, with the fully stocked fresh-kill pile. Large ears swivel at the words of sharing meals and just celebrating. Charcoal - dusted tail sweeps along behind him as he rises to his paws with a yawn splitting his jaws. He might as well drag a hare out from the pile and celebrate with his family, it'll be nice to converse with his Mother, Father, and older sister. The black smoke shakes his downy coat before he's off — bounding away towards the fresh-kill pile to snag a hare with a smile gracing his maw.
EpC61GT.png

  •  
  • no ref yet </3
  • ( WHAT? THE FACE? ) ꕤ ‧₊˚. SHEEPPAW. ╱ windclan apprentice.
    CLOSETED GENDERFLUID ; HE / SHE
    CURRENTLY 12 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 29TH.
    undecided / not actively looking — mentoring none.
    a lanky, longhaired black smoke with high white and blue eyes
    thoughts ; "Speech, B9D6F2" ; attacks only
    may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
    smells like night air & windblown heather
    — all opinions are ic

    biography / @ on discord for plots
    — penned by calzone
 
꙳•❅* The day has been warmer than most, and Frostwind welcomes the gentle reprieve of a sunny day and a full belly. The camp has been decorated—Celandinepaw ensures that they all know they’re meant to celebrate it—and it leaves Frostwind with a soft feeling in his chest. He’d managed to catch a rabbit earlier in the day, noticing that many of his fellow hunters had also been successful. There truly is something grand to celebrate, he thinks.

"This is nice," he says, settling back onto good haunches with his meal. The presence of all his clanmates, enjoying their own prey and the surge of comfort, is enough to give the tom hope. WindClan will not suffer through another terrible winter. He and his kin will come out on the other side without more loss after Rattleheart.

  • ooc:
  • 53394272_1siaxxi8SpjpePX.png
  • FROSTWIND ❯❯ he/him, tunneler of windclan
    scruffy black and white tom with icy eyes. casual and friendly, but jumpy when threatened.
    son of scorchstreak and badgermoon ; brother to scorchstorm, luckypaw, rumblerain
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
    penned by foxlore
 


A smile as wide as a badger's maw had not left Sootspot since the start of the celebration, and for good reason. He had consistently brought large prey and materials that could warm even his sister's rigid heart. A clan could not run without its warriors, but against all odds, he had been the best of them. How many mouths had he fed? How many times had he braved the weather at the expense of someone else? It was too easy to picture himself atop the highrock, each decoration meant for him - and sure, they could pat their backs about how they'd redeemed the son of a monster, they could do whatever they wanted as long as they gave him what he deserved for this charity.

And yet, they didn't. Warriorhood was a thankless job, an expectation of perfection meant no praise for a good day and endless slander for a bad one. With a lashing tail as he circled around the camp, Sootspot hoped to rally his kittens to him, giving each of them a lick between the ears if they heeded his call. In a whisper to his little pack, he mewed, "They will not admit it, but this is because of us." He could admit, if anyone deserved the spotlight near him, it would be his kin. Six moons older and better than Cricketcry, not a high bar by any means, but it made the tom feel better comparing them to the first adult he thought of.

As he spoke next, he pressed a paw to each of their cheeks, one by one, letting them see his eyes, the sincerity behind the words. "You have all worked incredibly hard... harder than some of the warriors... harder than StarClan itself. This day, I am proud to call you my kittens. Gorge until you cannot no more, no one will deny you this victory."

[ interacting w/ @heatherpaw. , @NIGHTPAW and @bramblepaw - ]


 
( ⊱✿⊰ ) dusky blue eyes find the healer’s apprentice as she clears her throat, announcing to the clan that with the warmer day, a celebration is to commence. heatherpaw tips her head, thoughtful, calculating, wondering briefly if by applauding success on this day, the clan might bring on harder conditions the next. it’s how it always seems to go - delight one day, horror the next, on and on, with no end in sight. so it is with odd silence that the girl seeks out familiar pelts within the crowd. her father beckons her to him and she goes willingly, chest warming at his loving look, his tongue rasping softly across her head. “papa,” she murmurs to his greeting, shuffling in beside bramblepaw and nightpaw to gaze up at the tom - small though he is, she is smaller, although not for long, she thinks.

sootspot bends to cup her cheek and she leans into him, allowing the warmth of his paws to seep into her silken fur. “thank you,” heatherpaw says, and the meaning resonates in her tone. genuine and warm and loving, she grasps at her father’s love and clings to it. she has worked hard, harder than some of the warriors, and she does deserve this. so, even though trepidation clings to her heart, worry that days will turn for the worse, she accepts this celebration. “will you share with me?” sky hued eyes flick to her siblings, then back to sootspot, inviting all to join in the merriment.




  • // interacting with @SOOTSPOT, @bramblepaw -, @NIGHTPAW "#b2a0bc"
  • 85846967_tGjtqfhW8fJLBd0.png
  • HEATHERPAW ⊱✿⊰ SHE / HER, WINDCLAN TUNNELER. MENTORED BY DOWNYFUR. 6 MOONS, PENNED BY LAVS

    90819283_nPoksFEkVEJcmBD.png
    a longhaired blue lynx point with blue eyes. her body is cloaked in pale snow-white fur, a storm of blue flooding her face, tail, and paws. stripes of darker blue accentuate her eyes nose, and band around her legs. shining eyes stare out from the angular shaped face, a deep, faded blue color.
 
Perhaps anymore, Scorchstorm's affection for ornamentation is a little-known fact; a secret kept in the tattered blue butterfly wing in her nest. When Celandinepaw asked her to help Mallowtail and the rest of the council to decorate camp, it had been a welcome change of pace — something warm to match the gracious break in the weather. And when they're done, with feathers and moss wreathing the edges of their hollow, it looks... nice. Something kind sparks in the warrior's chest. It reminds her of being a kit again.

She curls at Frostwind's side without a word. It has been ages since she and her littermates have been this close — it's nice that, even though two of them are now gone from WindClan's ranks (she can still see Rumblerain's ice-chip stare, sometimes, when she closes her eyes; can still see the crook of Luckypaw's tail) she can still be close to Frostwind like this. So much loss, so much change.... Scorchstorm revels in the familiarity of this nostalgic warmth.

This is nice, he says. "It is," she agrees. It is.
u9a4dSL.png

  • ooc. mobile post!
  • SCORCHSTORM —— lead warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan

    a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
    demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 19 moons & ages every 1st
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
    —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats

    "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
    full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
 
Downyfur has never felt more lonely. They feel the distance between the Horseplace and WindClan's merry camp acutely, like the many tree-lengths of windplain had been folded up and squeezed into a shard lodged between their ribs. Are their parents aware of WindClan's streak of good fortune? Or does the Horseplace provide them with this much all the time? Would they come back and celebrate with her, if only she ventured out to ask? Or would it hurt too much, knowing Mallowlark wouldn't be able to partake?

As far as feelings go, this one is especially unwarranted. Celandinepaw's parents must be at the Horseplace too (but she and her littermates had chosen to leave them). Sedgepounce lost both of his to Sootstar (but his siblings remain). Scorchstorm and Frostwind had two of their kin turn traitor (but they still have Scorchstar, distant and beleagured she may be). Brightshine and Heavy Snow hadn't been taken by claw or fang or rotten ideology; they chose to leave. Downyfur is too grown to whine about it being unfair, but she can sneak furtive glances at Sootspot's little family and indulge in the little nostalgia she has.

She delicately lifts a meadowlark off the fresh-kill pile, searching for Pinkshine, but willing to settle for anyone else. "You aren't full, are you?" she purrs, tail waving good-naturedly.

ooc: they can be talking to anyone!
 
THE CORVIDS ARE CALLING
WARNING THE FOREST A PREDATORS APPROACHING

daisywatcher & 22 moons & feminine & she/they/it & windclan tunneler

Mystic%20Crows%20-%20Deep%20Cyan%20(Large).jpg
Despite leaf-bares early start, todays temperatures are much warmer - and spirits are high, as patrols return wth full jaws for once. Daisywatcher is proud to say she is one of them - rabbit clutched in her jaws, and for once her golden coat is only mildly dirt-streaked from her efforts. The creatures is fluffy with thick fur - if not the most plump, it has at least grown in a winter-coat to keep it warm, and mind wanders to one of her fellows- paws carrying her just as swiftly. " Share with me? I'm sure you could put the fur to good use after, " she offers - thinking back to the many times she'd seen the molly shivering even when the weather was far better then it was today,

actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes'

A M - I - I N - D A N G E R -- O R - A M - I - T H E - T H R E A T - ?

// flirting interacting with @Wraithwail
 
It had been some time since Bluefrost had left the nursery to do anything but chaperone unruly kittens, but Celadinepaw's fitful yowls and the Clan's warm, celebrating murmurs have drawn her from her nest. The sun is out, today, and she can almost imagine its warmth sinking caressing fingers through her silver-gray fur. She tilts her face toward the sky, inhaling the floral scent of the decorations pressed around camp. Her immediate instinct is to flee toward Thriftfeather, or even Cottonsprig, while the kits play, but instead she finds herself startled by another cat.

Had Downyfur actually meant to address her? Bluefrost half-turns, her green eyes round with readable surprise. "Oh — erm, that would be nice. Thank you." She cannot concede now — for if Downyfur had been talking to another cat, and she were to admit it, that would be the ultimate social faux pas.

Bluefrost keeps a respectful distance from the puffy-pelted warrior, but leans forward to take a nip from the meadowlark. The last time she'd shared a meal with anyone but her mate or ravenous kits had been... her eye snakes toward Scorchstorm, who lies beside her littermate... the meat stiffens in her throat, and she struggles, briefly, to swallow it.

"I know it has not been easy, hunting in this cold, but you have all done exceedingly well." She cannot be anything but what she is — stiff, formal, out-of-place — and especially now, knowing what her Clanmates think of her. "But it is nice to see your efforts pay off, is it not?"

  • ooc: interacting with @downyfur :)
  • 69334192_7vVwuq2U19bWMTh.png
  • Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
    — “speech”, thoughts, attack
    — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
    — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Brackenpaw.
    — windclan queen. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
    — mated to Thriftfeather.
    — penned by Marquette.

    lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.


 
Bluefrost's eyes shutter wider, pulling a glint of surprise into view like a star from cloudbank. They can't fault the queen for being startled by the approach, but their relationship had never been less than cordial. Downyfur sticks to what they told Sootspot a few sunrises after she and Thriftfeather returned to camp: that they wouldn't just sever the connection over an injustice that wasn't as personal as everyone seemed to make it out to be.

Privately, they still nurse the idea that her kittens at least should be turned over to DuskClan, lest they come hunting after them at one of WindClan's most vulnerable times. Nothing good would come out of saying that to her face though. "Of course," they say instead.

Verdant eyes stray to somewhere behind them. If they find it lingers there for just a bit too long, Downyfur would chalk it up to imagination. The conversation she tries to make is rigid, a banal topic propped up by formality, but she can't seem to come up with anything else to talk to the former princess about either. "Thank you; it sure is," they purr. There were more deserving hunters and defenders to thank, but Downyfur is content to take some of the credit. "Do you miss it? Hunting?" Being outside—freedom? They ask it casually, leaning forward to nibble at a wing.

ooc: interacting with @BLUEFROST !