camp PRESS TO START. cleaning & mossball

[GENTLESTORM]

I SEE A SONG OF PAST ROMANCE — He has returned to camp after his night out in the forest and he ducks into the warriors den apologizing to those he bumps into on accident, he begins to grab the moss and other materials that lined his nest. A quick glance over his shoulder before leaving a flower in the absent nest of Little Wolf, he makes no eye contact with anyone as he did that and departs from the warriors den. That was his final night there even if he hadn't slept in it due to his emotional "escapade" it feels as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders even if its brief, his paws already heading in the direction of the medicine cat den. He'd be taking the absent spot where Lichenpaw once stayed, slept, and learned from Berryheart. It feels unfair to do so considering how young the apprentice had been before they had passed away and he wonders if they had arrived sooner with lungwort if they'd still be alive now, he doesn't dwell on the thought for long.

A flick of his ear and he steps into the medicine den already getting slightly overwhelmed by the scent of herbs though his nose is more accustomed to it considering how he has helped Berryheart quite often, it's strange to know that he would be living here away from the rest of the warriors and a softer thought pressed at the back of his mind knowing that he would takeover the helm when his (now) mentor passed away. He swallows bitterly deciding that he wouldn't think of that, no, he'd focus on the present and prepare for whatever else he needed to be taught. A large paw begins to weave his nest carefully wondering if he could find feathers to add later, his dark gaze focused as a soft hum leaves his maw and rolls a ball of old moss. An idea pops into his head as he hooks it with a claw and he steps outside batting it over in the direction of a few kittens, Hailstorm offers a smile.

✦ I SEE THE SACRIFICE OF MAN; I SEE PORTRAYALS OF BETRAYALS

• 
  ✦ longhaired blue sepia tom w/low white and brown eyes
  ✦ amab he/him ; other pronouns used towards him will confuse him
  ✦ 49 moons old
  ✦ bisexual demiromantic; mates with little wolf
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✦ semi-difficult in combat; relies on strength, his large size, and wits
  ✦ peaceful powerplay allowed

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[Sunfreckle]

—————————————————————⊰☀︎⊱————————————————————
He's just returned to camp in time to see the move, normally moving from one nest to the other was a graduation of kits to apprentices, apprentices to warriors or warriors to queens. The last time a nest was moved into the medicine cat den it had been the young spotted tom and that felt like so long ago now. He remembers hearing him chosen, approving, mourning at a vigil...
"It suits you..." He blurts out, and then embarrassed pauses as he glances around awkwardly with a shuffle of his paws, "I mean, being a medicine cat. I think you're the best cat for the job." He thinks of poor Lichenpaw and wishes things had been different, he thinks of Little Wolf buried upon a snow encrusted mountain and wishes it even harder. He was sure Hailstorm never expected this role, he probably would not have taken it if he still had her by his side - but now the option of raising a family was gone and his heart breaks for the tom more and more every day. Sunfreckle thinks of a world without Rabbitnose and he feels cold, he is sure the pain is even more than his imagination can conjure up but he swallows down the unease he feels with a smile to his friend.
"Oh, I...got you a gift! I guess it's a promotion gift sort of?" His head turns and he plucks from his own thick mane several sleek black feathers that had been mostly hidden amidst red tabby fur, tucked in where they would not be shaken loose during his earlier hunt. The raven that had volunteered them was on the freshkill pile now, but he didn't have the appetite to eat at the moment; too many thoughts, not enough time to consider them all. He was full on worry, full on concern, full on missing his oldest friend still. They would have been cute together, he once thought, and now it feels bitter in his throat.
"I thought your new nest could use some decoration!" His green gaze wanders to the mossball tossed to the side for some kits, his whiskers quiver with a laugh, "You know, I didn't use to like black feathers. Thought they were ominous but now I don't. They might be my favorite colors."

——— ☀︎ light the fire, let it burn on top of you ——— ☀︎ breath again beneath the flames

•  
• 
  
  
  Sunfreckle
  —⊰⋅ Lead Warrior of ThunderClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Large red tabby tom w/green eyes and no left foreleg.
  

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[freckleflame]

” now that’s the biggest kit ive ever seen! “ the warrior hollers as she approaches from the sides watching the tom construct his pad of moss with delicate precision and pap it away like an overgrown youth. she knew that cleaning camp would take time ; more time than she thought she had, as sparse as the “ freshkill pile “ had been upon their return. pulling moss, discarding carrion and scraps that their unwelcome visitors had left in their desperate scramble for escape. her own nest had gone from a near lifelong comfort to a tatter of reeking grass patches and old fur. they were slowly adjusting back to normalcy, best they can — with the journeying cats back, they did their best to continue on despite the losses they’d faced.

hailstorm had gone through the unimaginable ; love was a foreign concept to her still yet. the warmth of reciprocation, of someone to mirror her smile. someone she could tuck her nose into at night, breathing in the scent and feel of their fur against her muzzle. she yearned for it, felt it now in the cool chill of oncoming leafbare night where she curls tight in her nest — an experience just out of paws reach. hailstorm had had this in little wolf, hadn’t he? what was it like, to have that connection severed? she wonders and feels nauseous at it, of what it would feel like to lose. she dreamt and wept and longed, but loss lingers in each sunrise. it always would, she’d been told. despite the tom’s quiet, despite his dutiful work, an aura shrouds him. widower. in his presence, freckleflame truly didn’t know whether it was better to love and to have lost at all.

so she does what she does best — with a trill of laughter and a single claw, the molly intercepts the moss ( sorry, kits ) and hooks into the greenery, aiming to swipe it back towards hailstorm with a wide, wolfish grin. a game, kitlike at it was ; a brief break from the monotony of reparations. they deserved this, all of them did — but hailstorm most of all.

sunfreckle is there, watching. she feels his gaze before he speaks — a loud, abrupt tone that pops her head up towards him. it suits you, he says, the freckleflame blinks back towards the ashen tom curiously. mossball suited anyone, she’d say ; even if the tom’s paw dwarfed where a kitten would struggle to hold. the questioning glimmer in her eye did not last long. i mean, you being a medicine cat, he continues, and the tortoiseshell suddenly doesn’t want to play as much as she had seconds prior. lichenpaw. she’d not thought of it, tried her best not to dredge up memories of sore coughing, the smell of reeking sickness emanating from the medicine den. she had cared for the mottled apprentice, just as her clanmates had. she thinks of berryheart and her chest hurts, a weak thrumming at her ribcage indicating something wrong. hailstorm would do well in lichenpaw’s absence — he would. it hurt, it aches and churned in her stomach, but he would do well in the tom’s absence.

feathers, then. a gift, he says. she says nothing. instead, the tortoiseshell focuses on a small bit of moss stuck to the end of her paw, feeling all too childlike for more reasons than their game.

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴 -`☀︎´- 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘠 𝘍𝘖𝘙 𝘈 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘓𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘞

• i.
  
• 
  
  
• 𖦹 . LESBIAN. SINGLE, CRUSHES EASILY. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK. FOURTEEN MOONS. NAMED A WARRIOR 8 / 3 / 2023. MENTORED UNDER WOLFWIND, PENNED BY ANTLERS !!!
  f. she / her, daughter of sunfreckle and rabbitnose. large cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. fire - forged, smoldering ; shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over a well - toned form.
  
  in warriorhood she has grown to full, hulking height ; unspecified maine coon heritage born of sunfreckle's kittypet background shows itself in large, round paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. freckleflame is broad shouldered and square - jawed, wild cheek fur like the blazing edges of a red sun — a hulking, thick - furred thunderclan warrior, forever blaze - kissed. a characteristic lack of personal space leads her to a slouching, touchy posture, often inclined to lean or bump against her peers, all while bearing a wide, bright - eyed grin.
  
  ——— ˙⋆ — prone to bouts of explosive emotion. all opinions are solely in - character and during these times, often untrue or said only in anger.
  
  

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[OAKFANG]

don't try to rush your enemies .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ah. Their new apprentice, older than Lichen, but still just as clueless, or rather—Oakfang grimaced, staring at the passing moss ball with a peculiar expression adoring a frosted muzzle. He had not been familiar with either, perhaps many of the ThunderClanners, but that was his own choice, his fault, as Sunfreckle gifts the other several black feathers from his own, Oakfang hummed. Ominous, no? He couldn’t help but think of Spiderlily’s ghostly form, shrouded in black and white. I suppose. He mused with a fleeting thought, instead focusing on the influx of kits seeping out from the nursery walls.

“I suppose a congratulation is in order.” He proposed from afar, glancing at Freckleflame before letting a gaze rest on Hailstorm and Sunfreckle, genuine in his comment. “Shall we begin a game?” He turned to the other warrior, a sense of normalcy amongst the grieving, he would hope. If not, a thrilling sight for kits to join and laugh. ​

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thought speech​