PSYCHIC READ MY LIFELINE | introduction

[AGATEHEART]

Agateheart had seen a terrible beast drive his home into the shadows. It had moon-glow eyes like the monster, saliva-soaked fangs like the wolf, and a terribly-hooked snout like the badger. It was unlike anything the tom had ever seen before, in all of his life living within the blanketing expanses of the pine forest. He knew it by the accursed name - a bear. What did it want with Shadowclan? His home was tenacious and pervasive, like the very umbra that trailed behind the sun. Though they did not revel in the ambrosia-steeped sun nor swim in the afternoon-spirited streams, they did know the gloam as though it were etched on their paws. That was admirable to him. Still, anything like this strange occurrence was enough to chill the heart of man, no matter how many tragedies he had bore before. There was no creature who was truly desensitized, just as there was no jewel that was truly and fully cut. There was always another tragedy to shoulder, and another blade to cut.

The tabby tom heard how the monsters bellowed overhead, how their woebegone dirge rolled overhead, like a baleful tempest that foretold nothing but catastrophe. He had hardly been able to sleep with how loud the monsters insisted on being, and he was tempted to give them a piece of his mind, though he doubted that such mephitic beasts knew the language of cats. Agate could see the eyes of his clanmates glow with a fearful glint, as if fright had taken hold of their flesh, and shaken them down to their very core. That was what fear did - expose the bone and bear thyself naked for the world to see. Well, just because the clan was in a pitiful state did not mean he had to be. Agate decided that he would not stand here and allow his peers to bathe in their own sorrows. At least, he wouldn't be. "... I'm goin' out to take my mind offa thin's. Someone needs t'join me. The more, the merrier." A tired smile filled the crevices that it was so used to occupying, like sunlight flitting into the dust-speckled corners, slowly roosting in twine and thread.
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[loampelt]

Loampaw's ears twist Agateheart's way before his head follows, curious in a decidedly idle way. There is something about being in the dark, about every breath coming in stale, about the back and forth rumble of monsters overhead. It would be overwhelming even without the threat of bears lurking around every proverbial corner — Loampaw suspects he's hit some kind of limit for anxious thoughts, and that his emotional state has finally given way to apathy.

"Nothin' says getting your m-muh-mm-mind off it like walking into eh-eh-it," Despite his words, Loampaw stands and stretches himself into something presentable. If Agateheart wants to risk getting eaten by a bear to sniff some flowers and wander about, Loampaw wants to watch, "Any grand ideas or uh-uh-are we just fucking walking?" This, in the very least, is said without a drop of malice in his tone. ​

tags ∘ shadowclan apprentice ∘ solid black with hazel eyes ∘ curled front foot ∘ 12 moons​

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[Needledrift]

A walk to take their minds off of everything. It was a good idea in theory, though Needledrift doubted that she could free herself of the little rain-cloud that had followed her around since the ursic destruction of their camp. But still, Needledrift could never say no to an outing with her uncle. Agateheart had earned his warrior name well, a kindness flowed through him like water - his heart beat golden blood, of that Needledrift was sure. She blinked at him, a silent approval and acceptance of his proposal.

Loampaw pipes up, proposing his own question to the ordeal, and Needledrift can't help but agree. What would they do, if not just walk? If asked (if she felt up to pressing down on her jaw into a speaking position), she would have to say that she'd like to hunt for a snack. There were very few snails or worms down in the tunnel and she was absolutely starving!​

she smells like lemongrass and sleep​

 

[smogstar]

When constrained to such an enclosed, if not claustrophobic environment, nigh on everybody was on the hunt for a chance to escape. An untold amount of proposals for walks - or something or other - have passed by the deputy's black-capped ears, and every time, they were met with his blasé dismissal. His presence was not needed beyond the tunnels' bounds, as comfortless as they were; moreover, sloshing around in the leg-deep waters of petulance and self-pity happened to be his favoured pastime. If one excelled at something, then deviating from it solely served as a needless distraction.

Agateheart's words resound from the concrete ridges of his new home. An invitation, it would seem, to voyage a less rocky patch of sea, metaphorically speaking. Regardless of where the older tom opted to migrate to, the waves'll come crashing at his ankles—with monsters making a habitat out of ShadowClan's home, its territory is naught but dangerous, uncharted waters.

Smogmaw rises in a painstaking stretch, releasing all the tension and need for nautical symbolism from his joints. Sluggish, trudging footfalls carry him in Agateheart's trajectory, until he'd settle in the company of Needledrift and Loampaw. A sprinkling of sidelong glances are then imparted onto his clanmates. Do they too sense the danger that hangs in the air outside the tunnels, or has their longing for a getaway rendered them blind to it? Nonetheless, after pondering the idea for a moment longer than intended, Smogmaw concludes to accompany them on their little escapade.

"Let's keep our eyes peeled for funny-lookin' plants while we're out n' about," he'd meow, walking on long strides to match whatever resolve carried in his voice. "I don't know squat 'bout herbs and the like, but I do know that Starlingheart's runnin' a little short."​

 

[AGATEHEART]

His clanmates were less enthused about it, it seems. Agateheart understood - walking into the lion's den and not expecting to be mauled is a fool's game to play. The man's refulgent optimism was like a lone star upon the sea of the nocturne, a spark of light upon the dark of the tunnel. He figured that just because they lived in the shadows did not mean they had to embody it. Loampaw spat without venom, Needledrift bayed herself next to his side, and Smogmaw entered in with his piece as well. He knew all of them, especially his niece Needledrift, whom he was glad to see join him. The feline flashed a toothy smile to those that were brave enough to venture the roiling tenebra.

"Well, I was just plannin' t'get some fresh air. But seein' as Starlin'heart needs her leaves, I wouldn't see why we couldn't go scoutin' for 'em." The orange tabby let out a hearty chuckle, like the rumble of a distant thunder, the comfort of a purring tempest. Agateheart's size and musculature seemed to conflict with his gentle and gracile demeanor, like the yonder beauty of the storm. Pawsteps moved forth into the great unknown, moving slow so the rest of his clanmates could careen alongside him. Keen senses stayed alert for any beast of the night, for any low growl from the twilight-hued forest, and for any glint of damning malice. He would protect them if it came down to it, surely... He only hoped he could put his claws where his mouth was.
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