PINK CLOUD SUMMER | chittertongue

[Needledrift]

He hadn't been among the headcounts. They had counted once, twice, three times, again and again. The number kept coming back wrong. Chittertongue had not been among them. He had not been back at the camp when Sabletuft and his patrol had gone. He wasn't there. It was a simply unacceptable reality for Needledrift. Chittertongue and missing were two words that did not belong in the same sentence as far as her limited lexicon was concerned.

Common wisdom in the clan now was to lay low. With bears on the run and the winds tugging at their pelts, calling them all to winds unknown, the cats of ShadowCLan were likely to picked off or picked up by a howling night's gale. They all were much better inside the tunnel, safe. Contained. But despite Chilledstar's wishes and woes, Needledrift could not sit by while one cat was not among their ranks.

Chittertongue was a wandering soul, a collector by trade, a collector that required a stash for his oddball knick-knacks and tchotchkeys. The only obvious place - where they hadn't already looked - would be the Carrionplace. A stinky hovel of a place... she wrinkled her nose as she crept under the silver-mesh barrier that separated the Carrionplace from the rest of ShadowClan territory. She could feel the grime surrounding her; she couldn't imagine why Chittertongue liked this place so much. Still, she pressed on, a soft chuka-chuka-chuka noise emanating from her mouth as she sniffed for her friend. @CHITTERTONGUE​

she smells like lemongrass and sleep​

 

[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ Such a strange thing to have their home torn away from them again. To be taken to that same place as he is sure that is where everyone else is. Yet he has been cut off from them, further in the opposite direction. To his kingdom of trash. Solitude amongst the rats. His breathing is slightly heavy as he rolls along on some large wooden board. A part of him is thinking and wondering when he can leave here and return home. Though he loves this place the camp he had been born in, that place is home. Sighing roughly he pauses in his rolling and shifts himself to look around, laying on his side. His injured shoulder is not very nice to look at but his sister has patched him up well enough. Slowly he pushes himself to his paws and he slips his way down from the mountain of trash, eyes wide and smile apparent. His muzzle twitches and he knows that scent. He thought he caught it before but now he is sure of it. He slips along a hollow tube and appears just behind the woman that is seemingly searching.

The soft noises making his ears pull forward and a smile pull wider across his muzzle. "Needledrift, you came all the way out here? Aren't those things still roaming? You could have been hurt, kahaha!" His laughter splinters his sentence, triggered by his nerves and worrh as he steps up closer to the other. Just a few breathes of her scent tells him that she is unharmed snd he bresthes out slowly. Trying to force himself to relax. Yes. She is fine. That is good.​

 

[Needledrift]

Chukachukachukachuka. She noses at her, snuffling his face and his fur. He smells as dirty as the carrion he presides in, but the stench of blood or sickness is thankfully absent. Needledrift breathes a sigh of relief, the air whistling out of her partially open mouth. There is no need to speak with Chittertongue - not here or now or for any reason. Her jaw still aches from hitting the ground. It aches from when she wrenched it open to whisk away Emberkit. It hurts from talking after a year of stationary silence. It aches and it hurts but she sets it aside and rests her nose against her friend's fur, allowing her scattered thoughts and feelings to come together for a moment of peace.

Chittertongue is safe. Chilledstar is alive. Everyone is okay. Everything is okay.

She steps back after a moment, green eyes wide and expectant. She blinks once, silently asking for explanation, for a reason why she had to go all the way out to a junkyard to find him. There are no words that she can spin for him to make him understand her concern, her worry, no words that she cares to attempt. She just waits and stares, her head tilted to the side as if to impart "I'm waiting!"​

she smells like lemongrass and sleep​