pafp resurrection... ah, there's a word — present

[cygnetstare]

An ambling figure crosses the camp; perhaps cats shy from her or more from the grave-stink oozing in oily waves off of Cygnetstare's fur. While the enduring thunderstorm season continues, the high winds whipping about her pelt even in the camp's cover, the chimera instinctively lingers in the camp's shadows. She knows the shadow-spots as well as a slick eel knows the riverbanks, slinking along them, shying from the glaring agony of the sun. Lately, she's been safe from that; the gusts have apparently been making hunting difficult for the moor-runners, but Cygnetstare only knows the comforting darkness and clear scents of the earth; the cloud-cover of the storm is a benefit to her if anything.

The tunneler melts out of the shadows, momentarily framed as a single white leg and face, harlequined with dirt as always. Cygnetstare's face peers into the gorse-masked nursery, a clear white skull in the gloom, pinprick eyes like shiny shards of pink quartz enfolded in her skeletal form. They fixate on one cat in particular: a fellow tunneler, smeared in black and red and white instead of dirt (for once), a kaleidoscope of kits curled at her stomach; it's Scorchstreak. The pale beast enters in a hesitant tangle of knobby limbs, white hanging from their jaws, one slightly more yellowed than her own pinkish tones. Cygnetstare shifts on their paws; the nursery makes them uncomfortable at best, but they saw Curlewnose bringing Scorchstreak something a little while ago. She wants to do the same.

"I gotcha somethin'," Their Northeastern drawl emerges, raspy, as though they've choked on the dirt of her home. The tunneler sets down a rabbit skull. It's yellowed but clean, every bit of meat stripped off it; only a faint death-odor emerges, the sleek expanse of the skull shiny. Cygnetstare had braved the fearsome winds to wash the thing and leave it to bleach in the sun a couple of sunrises ago; a birth-present for Scorchstreak now, they suppose. It does not cross their mind that a skull is probably a wholly bad gift for a cat with newborns. That grave-dredged voice clarifies, oozing with accent, "For you an' the younguns, so they'll know the sightsa the tunnels."
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// @SCORCHSTREAK !!

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

Her longing for the tunnels grows by the day. She misses the familiar scent of dirt, dank and laced in some areas with the hint of decay. Gross, sure—but the smell of the tunnels is hers, always has been. Almost selfishly, she thinks that she could pass off her kits for another queen to nurse, just so that she could wander off into the tunnels on her own. But… there’s no way. She won’t leave her kits in the paws of another until they are weaned. Even now, they wriggle against her belly insistently, and she smiles gently at their tiny mewling cries.

The awkward, gangling form of her fellow tunneler does not darken the entrance of the nursery, not in Scorchstreak’s eyes. Cygnetstare is a welcome sight, a tunneler strange only to those who don’t care to meet them. They are a kind cat, as evidenced by the way that they approach her in her nest, bestowing upon her a gift.

It’s a rabbit skull, and clearly the other tunneler has taken the time to clean and bleach it; a soft smile crosses the calico’s muzzle. "Oh, thank you," she says, her expression genuine as she beams up at the other feline. "You’re too kind, truly. It’s beautiful." Idly, she wonders whether the skull is a relic found within the tunnels, or a trophy taken from a fresh catch. Either way, she loves it. It will remain in her nest until it crumbles to dust—perhaps she’s gaining a bit of a hoarding problem now, she thinks. The dirt that Curlewnose brought her still rests in her nest, scattered now but smelling the same.

"They’ll appreciate it as well, once they’re old enough." It’s a step in the right direction, teaching them of the tunnels. She has high hopes that her entire litter may turn out to be tunnelers. Even if not a single one becomes a tunneler—Badgermoon is a large tom, after all—they should know of the tunnels, anyway. An understanding of the land’s underground and a respect for the warriors who work tirelessly to keep the tunnels secure. Shifting slightly, the she-cat nods toward her belly. "I should introduce them. This is Luckykit, Frostkit, Scorchkit, and Rumblekit." She gestures to each kit in turn with a brush of her tail, and then turns bright eyes back upon the dual-toned tunneler.
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[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[cygnetstare]

The cat's pink eyes widen comfortably in the dimness of the nursery, setting down the skull and following the movement of Scorchstreak's tail towards each kitten and trying to remember it. Cygnetstare takes a seat in an awkward tangle of joints, looking down upon the kits with an almost childish curiosity. Her mew is gravelly but genuine, "They're beautiful," The chimera drawls, nodding. She recalls little of her own kithood; whenever her clumsily searching mind delves that particular tunnel, it's as though she hits a wall. She cannot remember much more than flashes, little feeling; clarity arrives only in shapeless dreams forgotten upon waking.

The tunneler stirs herself from the endless shaft of her thoughts and back to the conversation at hand, listing drunkenly to the side as she's prone to do. Cygnetstare picks her train of thought back up, mewing, "Ayuh, that's what I was hopin'. Not tryin' to be spleeny, but there's too many moor-runners without much respect for our work, these days," She half-jokes; Cygnetstare has little genuine animosity for the moor-runners, but more than a few have dulled knowledge of the difficulty of underground work. Her maw twists into a garish facsimile of a smile; despite her graveyard looks, the tunneler can be quite chatty when she's comfortable, "I'll have to meet 'em once they're old enough to talk and all. We're missin' you in the tunnels."

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[SCORCHSTAR]

The pale gaze of the tunneler sweeps over her kits in turn, and Scorchstreak smiles at the lack of distaste that she sees there. She’d seen it upon more than one cat’s expression so far, either disgust at the sight of such tiny kittens or irritation with their mewling, and that Cygnetstare thinks they’re beautiful means the world to her. The other tunneler agrees, too, that raising her kits to respect the clan’s tunnelers is a good idea, and Scorchstreak smiles.

She recalls the way she had fought beside Weaselclaw and Tigerfrost, each of them owing their lives to one another’s actions. Now it is just herself and Weaselclaw, who doesn’t seem to understand what tunnelers do but is supportive of his daughters nonetheless. But between such kind moor runners, of course, fall the ones who are not only ignorant but also rude. "The moor runners would do well to remember that we risk our lives on the daily," she murmurs, but there is no malice in her voice. She, too, harbors no animosity for their aboveground warriors; she simply thinks that there should be no room for divide in a clan that already has so many external enemies.

"Hopefully I’ll be returning to my regular duties as soon as these little ones can be left with a kit-sitter." She thinks, briefly, which clanmate she would choose to watch her kits while she’s out of the nursery. Redrumble, certainly, but Scorchstreak would prefer to take her tunneling partner with her whenever she’s out. Badgermoon could perform his duty as the father of the litter, but she’s hesitant to leave them well and truly alone with him. Perhaps she could ask both Curlewnose and Badgermoon to watch them—that’s certainly one way to trap the two together. Houndthistle is a father, and he’s sure to find ways to entertain the kits even from within Vulturemask’s den, but the tunneler is hesitant to leave her kits anywhere near the clan’s healer.

Of course, Cygnetstare is also an option. She trusts the other cat—even if they do smell a bit like death, it’s best for her kits to get used to strange smells if they’re going to be in the tunnels at all. But as with Redrumble, she would rather the chimera accompany her into the tunnels, especially when she’s to go back underground for the first time. She trusts Cygnetstare, believes they are quite capable despite their oddities, and she would prefer their skills be utilized in the tunnels rather than in the nursery. She sighs, wistful. "I’m missing the tunnels, as well. I miss working alongside you all."​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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