private ROOK'S REST | privetpaw

[SOOTSPOT]

Black clouds stained the sky a dreary colour, the promise of rain on Sootspot's whiskers, its timing still beyond the Tunneler at that point. He moved across the unclaimed lands with the confidence of one who had done so multiple times before. He did not doubt rogues and predators would try to attack him, but WindClan's blood ran through his veins no matter how sullied - nothing could catch him. Still, charteuse eyes settled upon the stretch of territory with caution. Sootspot was better for it. It did not take long to spot another figure heading in a different direction to him, southward instead of northward, a collision course inevitable if one did not veer away. Snakelike movements began to slow as the creature came into view, a young cat, one likely moving towards WindClan's borders. It did not take a genius to figure out who this cat's allegiances lay with, though, pride plucked his heart to life all the same. The feeling was shortlived, marred by the ego of one who realised that the apprentice likely did not who he was. Anonymity could've been a great blessing, instead, he felt offended.

'Then again, if they knew of me, I doubt Granitepelt would be their leader.' In Sootspot's absence, the half-kittypet had fostered himself as Sootstar's son instead, the idea as nauseating as it was insulting. What was worse, he realised now that his mother must've approved of it in life. He watched the black-and-white youth move towards him and, in a pacifistic gesture, reclined on his haunches, curling his tail over his paws. A smile stretched upon his muzzle, uncertain whether it was caution he detected from the other, or a thinly veiled desire to attack him... or both. "I am on my way to see my brother, nothing more," he called as if it were to be a pleasant family reunion. After the other's threats, disguised under politeness and forgiveness, he would soon rather reunite with yellowcough. Tufted ears twitched in thought. "You may know him as Granitepelt."

@PRIVETPAW
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[PRIVETFROST]

Greying skies portended only storms to come, as though the inclement weather had only roughened up the welkin, scarring and scratching at such a heavenly surface. The taste of approaching rain had rested upon the apprentice's tongue, heralding its appearance so that it may wash the lands clean, absolve it of any sin that swelled to the surface. He should have been heading back to the camp by now, so that he may avoid muddy paws and drenched fur, but something still compelled him to move forth. Upon the day, Privetpaw made his way towards Windclan once more, with footfall just as troublous as what brewed above him. He found his expeditions to the frays of the verdant fields a bad habit at most, a duress acted on from obsession, and yet he followed that thread to its end every time. Had the clan alerted Sunstar and his ilk to his shadowy presence upon their land? The boy tested his luck every time he ventured farther than the scrublands. He stopped suddenly. Quickly did his head snap upwards at that familiar curdle of moorland scent, like gusts that fouled the very air it occupied, a poison that dwelled upon the space just beyond his whiskers. It seemed that his fate had come to meet him, instead of him seeking it out, as though the consequences of his actions had only burgeoned back to him. He glanced backwards for a split second, contemplating whether he should make a run for it and alert Rumblerain. And yet, hislegs remained glued to the earth that would bury him.

Privetpaw moved ever closer to the cinder-hued feline, though he only rested on his haunches in some sort of strange display (to Privet, anyhow), as if serenity had swallowed up any sort of inhibition that would be found in an unfamiliar country. Easy smile curled along the stranger's countenance, of which unsettled Privetpaw, like he had been expecting the tomcat all along. He mentioned Granitepelt, speaking with such fondness wrapped around his words, though perhaps they were nothing but a nicety to assauge the fact that he was out of his territory. "Granitepelt is dead. There is nothing for you here, then." Privetpaw plainly mewed to Sootspot, as though there existed no grief that boiled over into blusters, and no stirrings of the heart for his old leader's passing. Granitepelt was weak, after all. Rather, he had grown weak due to his own repurcussions, as destiny would close in on him, like the jaws of the predator clamping onto gossamer throat of its prey. He tilted his head in perplexion, only at the thought of Granitepelt having kinship within Windclan, and moreso than one of Granitepelt's own would choose to stay within the land of false kings and brazen traitors.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• SORRY FOR LATENESS AAAH
  
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  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

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[SOOTSPOT]

Granitepelt is dead. His eyes widened. "Truly?" The shock in his voice was sincere, his heart momentarily stifled in its calmness. There was an emotionless to Privetpaw that made him question it for a moment before he realised how foolish it would've been to lie. The half-brother he never knew, the thief of Sootstar's love, the foxheart that had accused him of worse... now no more than history, a moon-long nightmare that wouldn't surface again. It was freeing, and with the weight lifted off his shoulders, Sootspot used his newfound strength to avoid smiling. 'I am the only one left.' A sobering thought for some, but to the chimera it was a point of pride. Time and time again he had been overlooked, but he'd shown them all that he knew how to survive better than his siblings, that he had the potential to carry nine lives and not waste them as others did (or would have done). Sootspot's surprised stare grew intense as the apprentice tilted his head, revealing a confusion that took the tom a moment to realise that he had caused. Before the crocodile tears could even fall, he sensed opportunity, and swallowed a faux lump in his throat.

"He is with our mother now in the Stars beyond the Stars, where true warriors roam." He hoped the stars burned his skin for an eternity, he hoped he would never know peace... and he hoped his mother felt regret at daring to overlook him for a kittypet. Ears drooped in concern - even if there was nothing for him beyond the borders, he would try and make something. "Still, I cannot imagine our mother will be happy to reunite with him, she had made him Deputy of WindClan after all. Now, there is no legitimate challenge left to the usurper." He hoped Privetpaw would connect the dots and figure out just who their 'mother' was, and at even the slightest hint of evidence that this was the case, Sootspot would raise his head in pride. If the world would not forget his heritage, then let it be a weapon for him to get what he wanted. The Tunneler opened his maw to speak but, upon feeling a sincere blockage that time, moved his head to the side to quietly cough. When he turned back, he rose to his feet. "Did he tell you much, young one? Or were you kept in the dark?" 'As I was?'
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[PRIVETFROST]

The stranger seemed to feel sincerety (or, at the very least, surprise) for the news, as Sootspot's searing stare had only bled onto the rest of his features, like a crape crimping at monotony and order. Not many mourned the former leader of Duskclan, as though a ruler's passing had been nothing more than a turnstile of which they merely passed through. A ghost of a man, in life and death, who met his end not in glorious battle but at the dregs of the Carrionplace's hunger. Granitepelt now rested upon the Stars beyond the Stars, as though a victory belying spurious weeds of fate, gnarled and growing where he did not expect. What does he mean by Stars beyond the Stars? Must it be a resting place for Sootstar and her followers...? If there was another place beyond Silverpelt, then surely he would have known of it by now. The thought burgeoned in his mind for only a minute, conviction swaying like a cypress frond dissembling upon the undercurrents of wind, as though his world rested upon the shivering leaves and boughs. He wondered, briefly, if Granitepelt would watch over his creation or if he had forsaken them like the rest of the world, abandoning them upon the refuse and the rot.

Our mother? Fern-green eyes pooled into Sootspot's stone-hued coat, like the stranger's pelt glossed in the foggy inflections of his kin, playing quietly until the falsehoods revealed the truth buried within its cavity. That must have meant that Sootspot was related to Granitepelt and Sootstar, that there was more at stake for him here than upon heather-laced fields. Hawkish gaze burned into Soot's grey pelt, so similar to his former superior, like a mawkish reminder blustered into his face. Privetpaw's gaze only darkened at this Windclan cat that had the gall to waltz onto his border, doling out stories of mournful brothers and woebegone mothers, as though any feline that wore the scent of the enemy was any friend of his. Any cat could lie and any cat could cobble together a halfway-convincing story. Whiskers twitched as Privetpaw began to speak, for he would not allow himself to fall victim to the clutches of the opponent, for he knew the starved buzzard always kept a keen eye out for an opportunity to feed. "Kept in the dark? I was not kept in the dark about anything. I know the story of Sootstar and Granitepelt very well. Do not try to deceive me, Windclan scum. I will make sure you do not leave without a reminder of your trespassing." The wine-dark tomcat growled lowly, paying little mind to the fable that he perceived to be a mere feign, shoving it aside as easily as the moor-cat weaved through the wildgrass. Still, Privetpaw did not make a move nor act upon such big words for a feline so spindly and scranwy. Tell me more, his emotionless face seemed to shout at Sootspot, even as mulberry-hued nape began to stand up in nettles.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• pretend this isnt ungodly late
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

Though the apprentice saw himself as a hawk, Sootspot saw a robin, something territorial and fierce, yet as fragile as any soft-boned bird. There was a wealth of experience between them and, though the chimera was seldom a fighter, he did not truly feel threatened by one young enough to be his child. On occasion, his tail would wrap around his paws, his limbs would tense - all performative, all to make the other feel as if they had more power than they actually did. It was only those had truly had nothing to lose that snapped like twigs between a badger's teeth. Privetpaw told him to leave, but his tone told him to stay, and a cat so conflicted posed little threat to the Tunneler. He smiled in faux sympathy, noting how quickly he was called scum, how easy it must have been for Granitepelt to poison his brain.... how easy it was for any of the next generation to be contorted to fit what the elder ones wanted. It worked both ways, Granitepelt and Sunstar were not the only two who could tell young cats what they wanted to hear.

Sootspot tilted his head softly. "Do you?" He was confident Privetpaw did not know 'the truth', whatever that may have been within DuskClan. . ShadowClanners and kittypets were born deceivers, when the two were merged together, well, he could not think of a tale spun by a more poisonous spider. Truth did not reach the chimera's heart either, but his lies had always been safe, a means to rebuild rather than to destroy. Whatever he told the little apprentice would be fuel to remake WindClan in an image befitting their closeness to the stars, motivation for his ancestors to pay attention to what he did and what he had to say. If he felt any remorse for twisting his brother's death so quickly into his favour, then it did not show on his face nor within the very chambers of his heart. "Then tell me what you think you know."


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