camp Rusty Cage (questions)

[Wheattail]

An unusually anxious mind had found itself drifting as of late, thoughts returning to the snow-covered plains of its homeland more often than before. Usually they were confined to the moments right before sleep’s embrace, but now it was practically every other waking moment. It wasn’t nostalgia, though. It was an anxious tug at the collar, more cold responsibility than warm recollection.

Wheatpaw didn’t want to leave yet, but that damned yellowcough had thrown a wrench in things. The unwilling apprentice was planning on disappearing once a route back was firmly in place in her head, but now each day spent sitting risked the somali lookalike being laid low with sickness. Maybe she was already ill, and guilt was just one of the symptoms.

It hurt to know she couldn’t talk to anyone about this. Part of Wheat wanted to blurt out the truth, ‘I have been planning on abandoning all of you this whole time’. It would surely get her exiled, but maybe that was for the best. Removing the decision to leave from her paws was easier, at the very least.

“What if you were a bird?” she asked a nearby Shadowclanner suddenly, amber eyes much harder than one would expect, given the question. “You can go anywhere, but must start from a single nest. Do you fly far, eventually building a nest of your own? Or do you return to where you began, indebted to your origin?”​

 

[scalejaw]

—————————————————【 she/her | menacing 】————————————————

【◈】Exile was something that was taken seriously- and came with good reason. Scalejaw's ears twitched as she settled down with a piece of prey finally. Her bones ached after a long day of patrolling and hunting, and she was lucky enough to have snatched a bird from the freshkill pile. Wheatpaw's words suddenly interrupted her, and she lifted her head, glowing orange eyes shifting towards Wheatpaw. Well, it was a little ironic that what sat between her paws half-defeathered was a bird.

"... This is a strange question." Scalejaw rumbled, her head tilting gently. It was a strange question, and with the cadence of Wheatpaw's voice matched with her hard look, the warrior shifted a bit uncomfortably. She didn't want to dwell on the thought of deserters, especially with the journey on the horizon. Almost literally. "I guess it depends on the situation of the nest I'd be leaving." Her answer seemed so simple, turning her head down and pulling free a strip of meat from her prey. When she spoke next, her ears were twitching.

"I don't think I could leave a nest I chose, though. That nest would become home." The older tipped her head towards the camp. No, she didn't know that was what Wheatpaw was talking about, but it was what Scalejaw herself was talking about. Her tipped head indicated Shadowclan as a home. As much as she complained about mud or algae between her toes sometimes, she was comfortable here in the shadows that the clan provided to her.

"yuh"

[penned by dallas].

​

 

[HONEYJAW]

"Indebted, huh? Interesting choice of words." Honeyjaw's eyes are tired and fuzzy-distant, not quite focused on Wheatpaw even as he joins in on their conversation. So too is his smile weak and a little bit uneven, without its typical charm. Dragonflypaw was sick. ShadowClan as a whole was sick– though he was lucky not to be among them just yet, he does not expect to remain healthy for long. They will do what they can to save those of their clanmates who could be saved, but even in Honeyjaw's short few moons here, he has learned all too well that death and disaster haunted this clan. Like Wheatpaw, he had not been born to these marshes. Like Wheatpaw, he'd chosen this place more out of convenience and curiosity than anything else. It was for Dragonfly, no suffix for her at the time. Once she'd been all healthy and grown, maybe they would have left. If only he hadn't gotten so attached. Maybe the apprentice could still be saved from such a fate.

If only he could convince himself that it is something one should be saved from. That it truly was a bad thing. It didn't quite feel like it. Even now, when they were all suffering and his eyes were filled with worry and exhaustion. "That sort of burden would make it hard to fly at all. A bird could end up grounded, carrying a weight like that. I don't think I could make a decision until I put it down."

﹥ˏˋ  OOC NOTES ╱ REFERENCE ╱ 07.02.2023  𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘔𝘌 𝘏𝘖𝘞 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• honeyjaw ╱╱ 36 moons old ╱╱ he - him - his ╱╱ warrior of shadowclan.
  ──── a former loner who joined the clan approximately six months ago (give or take).
  ──── named for the deep honey-brown of his pelt as well as his too natural charisma.
  ──── has an apprentice-aged kid he joined with, def scared of watching 'em grow up.
  ──── bisexual- kinda flirtatious yet never seems to really pursue a relationship. single.
  
  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected, with a salt-and-pepper dusting around his jaw and muzzle.

• "speech"

​

 

[Wheattail]

Wheatpaw didn’t know what she hoped to gain by asking her question. Advice? Clarity? The she-cat’s mind is foggy as she listens to Scalejaw, feeling slightly guilty for interrupting the other’s meal. Still, autumn-leaf ears angled towards the warrior and drank in the different perspective, only to be met with disappointment.

‘You should always return to your starting point. All journeys need an end, after all. Where better than home?’ Something like that, so matter-of-fact, may have satisfied the she-cat. Or maybe it would have made her mad in a whole other way. “Becoming attached to a nest built on a rickety branch is foolish indeed. Take a nap on a windy day and you will wind up on the ground. They are tools, nothing more.” The retort was a little more intense than it needed to be, and Wheatpaw’s voice was loud, like she was trying to drown out more than just the two who’d approached so far.

The apprentice’s eyes sparkle with annoyance at Scalejaw’s tilted head, not appreciating the implication that her thin analogy had been seen through (even if it hadn’t). “I only ask to pass the time” she grumbled.

A scoff and subsequent internal resolution that the warrior was a fool brought Wheatpaw’s attention to Honeyjaw, who’s own statement brings autumn fur to bristle. “‘Interesting?’ Your - the bird’s - origin is its home. No matter how comfortable or how far away the nest it builds might be, home will always be where it started.” While the ironically-named warrior didn’t know it, his train of thought still ran counter to Wheatpaw’s entire ideology, and she took it as insult.

If the words so far had been like a slap in the face, Honeyjaw’s sacrilegious notions of shedding weight were akin to unsheathed claws across her flank. “It is not a burden,” Wheatpaw growled, long tail thrashing against the ground like a whip. “It is a responsibility! Family is the bird’s home, and it must go back to them!” Even when clearly enraged, she was still sticking to the pretext of a simple hypothetical. A liar to the end. ​