development SALVE TERRAE MAGICAE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ first catch

[SCORCHSTORM]

The setting sun lights the moorland on fire. Pinks and golds rip through each strand of grass that dares lift its head too far; deep, watery indigo stains each shadow cast. But slowly, quietly, something cuts a path through it all on small, white-dipped paws. Scorchpaw moves in a crouch, each limb delicately placed so as to not alert her target. She never raises herself above the grass, never dares to be more than another stalk in the field; to make herself different would be to lose her soon-to-be catch. She feels the sleeping earth beneath her paws; she allows the wind to assist her, carrying scents on the breeze and rustling the golden waters of the moor so that they might cover up any noise of her own. It is the end of a long day of training, but her senses are as sharp as flint. Her bicolor gaze locks intensely on the mouse mere tail-lengths in front of her. She's almost there, she's almost ready to pounce....

Except she has miscalculated. Her paw snaps through a particularly sturdy stalk, and the mouse alerts to her and takes off in one breath. But Scorchpaw is tenacious; she will catch this thing, and she'll catch it today. The apprentice is quick to give chase, her frustration metabolizing into adrenaline to pump her muscles. She tears like gales across the moors, broad, ember-streaked shoulders catching the orange sun. The wind at her back, Scorchpaw is emboldened by its assistance; she speeds her chase, hungry eyes never once leaving the small brown streak ahead of her. She presses her hind paws into the earth and leaps--

--and she can see for miles above the flaxen ocean, the sun shining down on her back, the dewy purple of the heather foaming about the golden sea, the wind holding her gently above it all--

--and her cream-soaked paws come down on the mouse at last. Scorchpaw is quick to deliver upon it a killing blow; she does not so much as wince as the small bones of its neck succumb to the pressure of her milk teeth. It is not the first time she has tasted blood, for Scorchpaw has been weaned off of her mother for some time now, but it is a new and invigorating flavor, to have caught it herself. The girl feels a swell of pride in her chest. She'd done it! She'd caught her first prey! Somewhere in the moors, Badgermoon is watching her, and surely coming to congratulate her, too-- she casts her gaze across the fields, and she doesn't see him immediately, so she returns her focus to her catch. Thank StarClan, she thinks, studying the rodent, frozen in its path to safety. Just a few pawsteps away she sees its goal: a small hole in the earth, no doubt a den where it would have been safe. Silently, Scorchpaw's gaze flashes acidic, but it fades just as quickly-- she'd succeeded, after all, and that was all that mattered.

Scorchpaw picks up the thing in her jaws, hoping to find Badgermoon nearby. Surely he could tell her what to do with it now. Should she eat the heart of the creature, as Wolfsong had eaten the heart of that hare? No, she resolves, the heart of a mouse is far too cowardly.

/ obligatory mentor tag: @Badgermoon but no need to wait for him to post. also serving as her 50th post milestone! ^_^​

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[HEAVY SNOW]

While the other creatures of the moor relied on speed to make their catches, Heavy Snow relied on patience. He was too big to fit in the tunnels, and all his extra fur and pure white coat did not aid him in endeavors to stalk or run prey down. Instead, he needed to find burrows where the scent of rabbit was fresh, strong, and then he would perch himself above them, waiting until a rabbit would poke its head out of its den. That is when he would strike. As fast as he could he would reach out with a paw and snag the creature. Momentary bursts of speed were what he was good at, not tests of endurance like his clanmates.

He is in the midst of sniffing the air when Scorchpaw returns to the rest of the patrol with her catch and he pauses to offer the mottled she cat a warm smile. "Good catch." he says, his already rumbly voice accentuated with a purr. "Was it your first?" He still remembers his first catch like it was yesterday. But that had been back in the snow-capped peaks he and his family had once called home. Back where a pelt like his made hunting easy.
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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw has taken @HOLLYPAW. to their borders and taught her about badgers and hawks. He’d taught her the importance of observation, of watching the skies. But it’s Scorchpaw, so recently apprenticed, who secures her first catch on this patrol. The tabby watches with silent interest to see the girl’s patchwork pelt move swiftly through the flaxen field. Once the creature dangles from her jaws, he pads beside Heavy Snow, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Very good,” he tells her. “That’s a plump mouse.”

He turns to his apprentice, a shadow on the moor. “Can you tell me what she did right?” He prompts her. There’s no judgment in his gaze—he knows Hollypaw will be bringing in rabbits before long, as long as she internalizes what it is she’s supposed to do. “Rabbits and mice are different, too.” He looks at both girls now, his tattered ear twitching. “What do you think the difference in hunting them is?”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

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[LUCKYPAW]

If the sun is setting above their heads, Luckypaw hardly knows it - down in the tunnels, he's not yet learned to estimate time, each blackened hour passing the same as the next bar any bright exits they may pass. It was strange, at first, and he has to admit that it's still strange, not being able to see the sky above him, or really anything else around him, but it's at least not quite as shocking as it had initially been. Other senses have started to adjust, touch and hearing and even smell compensating for what his eyes can't see, and by now he's learned to step carefully, yes, but confidently, too. Ears held high, he follows in the pawsteps of @cygnetstare attentively, listening to whatever lesson his mentor has for him that day, until another sound cuts through. It's not necessarily uncommon to hear voices down in the tunnels - there are other patrols down there, after all - and Luckypaw strains his hearing, trying to pinpoint first where it's coming from, and then perhaps who it is. This time, it doesn't seem to be a fellow tunneler, conversation carrying from a nearby tunnel entrance, and he nearly sends a glance towards Cygnetstare before realizing that they're still in the tunnels, still in the darkness only just sliced by the distant light.

"Can we go see who it is?" he asks, curiosity building. Judging by the orange-touched glow, it's late in the day, probably close to time to return to camp, anyways, and so he hopes that she'll indulge him in this. Waiting until he hears an affirmative, Luckypaw slinks towards the exit, eyes squinting at the change in brightness, and then he's standing upon the moors, shuffling forward to allow his mentor room to follow. The scene laid before him is one of teaching, it seems, judging by the tail end of Weaselclaw's words directed at Hollypaw and Scorchpaw. Something about the difference between hunting rabbits and mice - something far outside of his skillset thus far, he's certain. Learning to navigate the tunnels is hard enough; learning to catch prey as well is something better left for later, when he's more confident in barreling down pitch-black pathways. It's in this moment of consideration that he finally notices jaws clasped around a small, prone form, and the pieces start to connect. The exclamations that had first caught his attention, the lesson on mice and rabbits - it all stems from none other than Scorchpaw, standing tall with a kill.

Her first kill, surely, though the gears in Luckypaw's head aren't quite done turning; more aptly, they've ground to a halt. Her first kill? Scorchpaw has already had a successful hunt? They'd hardly been apprentices for a moon! How had she managed a feat like that so quickly? Maybe Badgermoon had decided to focus in on hunting first, but - hadn't they also been working on combat training, too? Wide eyes don't know whether to fall onto Scorchpaw or Badgermoon, and so instead they find a middle ground in the bloodied form of the mouse. Was Scorchpaw just that good that she'd picked up on everything so far? Hot jealousy runs through his fur, and this time he can't bring himself to stamp it down, suddenly so conscious of himself and everyone else around. What does he have to show for his training, other than stained paws and bitter feelings? No matter that what he's learned of navigation would be no easy feat for other cats - surely, if Scorchpaw had been a tunneler rather than a moor runner, she'd still be running circles around him, skilled as she is at everything else.

He's not aware of how long he's stood there, dumbfounded, but eventually sense begins to kick back in, and Luckypaw straightens, trying to blink away the sight of blood droplets beading up on fur. "...you caught that?" he finally speaks, hesitantly, aiming to meet her gaze. How had she done it, he wonders? It's no rabbit, but that doesn't mean anything in this moment. For all it matters, she could have caught a particularly tenacious bug (and how she'd done that, too, during their kittenhood-) - he's still left in the dirt, with nothing to show. No catch but the dirt clinging to his pelt, cobweb-strewn whiskers, and the discontent thrumming within him. Still, though, this isn't his moment - it's not his first catch, and no matter how his heart twists, she's still his sister. "Nice - did it give you a good chase? I bet you're gonna be fast enough to catch rabbits soon." It's weak, but Luckypaw's feeling drained all of a sudden, weighed-down. What of Rumblepaw, or even Frostpaw? Had they caught anything yet, either? For once, he almost dreads returning to his nest, returning to his siblings - had they all passed him up, just as Scorchpaw so clearly had? The thought is like claws to his heart, and as he sends a smile towards Scorchpaw, the edges feel brittle in the face of her achievement. ​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​

 

[HOLLYPAW---]

☽༺♰༻☾​

scorchpaw had caught a mouse today. her mentor said it was very good, a plump one. tufted ears twitched slightly. she quite liked scorchpaw, nearly her whole kithood had been spent alongside the tortie. but scorchpaw was younger than her, had one less moon of training. yet, there she stood with a 'plump mouse' to parade before them all. hollypaw stood empty-pawed,

"good job, scorchpaw," hollypaw compliments the catch because that is what she is supposed to do. the warriors before her did it, sulking off in envy would only make her appear as a jealous kit. she wasn't. luckypaw approaches, questioning his littermate. it gives her an excuse to slip back to weaselclaw's side in wait.

a question for her idle ears, luckily hollypaw had observed the way scorchpaw secured her kill. the way she was but a sliver of a flame prowling through the grass, each step calculatingly soft as it landed. "she was quiet. stayed low to use the grass as cover." her brow knit slightly as she imagined the events once more, but her answer was clear with no sign of wavering.

another question, the difference between hunting rabbits and mice. hollypaw hadn't done either, but she had watched the way weaselclaw had coasted down the face of a hill after a rabbit. it was nothing like how scorchpaw stalked and pounced. although not addressed to her alone, she was quick to jump at an answer. "for mice, it seems like stalking them until you're close enough to kill is better." did she really know that for fact? no, but it was working well enough for her fellow apprentice.
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[cygnetstare]

♱—— luckypaw trails behind her in the timeless dark of the tunnels, listening attentively to the lesson she imparts today—scent work, mostly—until the sound of voices drifts in from an entrance lined in orange, the smell of mice and prairie wafting into her nose from the distant entrance; the tortie turns to her, requests that they go see who it is, and she nods affirmatively, accompanied by a gravelly mew, "ayuh, go on." their apprentice slinks quickly out of the nearby exit, the bony chimera following shortly behind with her own curiosity piqued by the odd voices of moor-runners, not necessarily uncommon but still interesting. it's a small cluster of their fellow warriors, those who run the moors, gathered about her own charge's sister—scorchpaw stands proudly with a mouse in her jaws, and cygnetstare tips her head in congratulations, "nice catch. like luckypaw said, you'll be catchin' rabbits before ya know it."

the mingling voices of weaselclaw and hollypaw's teaching moment, of heavy snow's own congratulations, drift into the background as pale eyes settle on her apprentice in the dusky glow. worry creases her muzzle at luckypaw's dumbfounded face and weak mew; she herself had not grown up under the competitive spotlight of windclan's fragile hierarchy, hadn't had expectations settled onto her shoulders like luckypaw. comfort is not exactly her thing, though, and she's not entirely sure how to boost up her apprentice. the pale cat settles for leaning over, for mewing in a low tone meant for the tortie alone, "don't you worry, luckypaw. you oughta remember scorchpaw doesn't have to worry 'bout gettin' her ribs broken by the prey she hunts." she offers him a fragile grin, one that lightens her unsettling face, and adds, "trust me, they'll all be damned appreciative of ya come leaf-bare. that's when the moor-runners depend on us."

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┏━⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ OOC ☽ ◯ ☾ INFORMATION₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆━━━━━┓ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☄. *. ⋆♱･ﾟ:

• ooc: sorry for late post but i wanted to get in cygnet mentor moment <3
  

• 

• ♱ cygnetstare — for their downy kitten-fur and perceptiveness (or uncanny gaze) she/they ; afab gender apathetic — windclan — tunneler — 34 ☾s —— cygnetstare is a corpselike chimera, split between long albino fur and a short black smoke pelt; their eyes are an unsettling pink. her creepy demeanour distracts from a strange fascination with death and an obsessive loyalty to windclan. —— smells like grave-dirt and blood ; sounds like vc tbd ; speech in #BF959C, thoughts in #000000 —— peaceful / healing powerplay permitted ; attacks/contact in underline ; will start fights ; won't flee unless ordered ; won't show mercy ; will kill or maim —— pansexual panromantic monogamist, single, not looking ; open to friendships, enemies, casual interactions, long-term romance, plotting ; not open to unplanned battles, flings penned by dejavu— desklamp9 on discord for plots

• battle stuff goes here for fights

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[SCORCHSTORM]

The first cat to notice her achievement is Heavy Snow. Good catch, he tells her, voice warm like igloo interiors; was it your first? "Yes," she answers around the scruff of the newly-made corpse. Blood still dribbles from the fatal wound; weaves through her newly-permanent teeth; drips shyly into the molten gold grass. Scorchpaw's gaze flicks over him briefly; his white pelt sticks out sorely on the moors, an icy thorn among love-warm greens and purples. If he were smaller maybe he'd hunt better in the tunnels, she thinks, where it is too dark for even his pelt to alert prey. But she does not know of his particular and effective method.

Really, she may not know an effective method at all; though she's caught her mouse (and StarClan does she soak up Weaselclaw's praise!), Scorchpaw's success may have been more of a fluke than anything she can replicate soon. Her mind replays the sloppy mistake of scaring the mouse before she could pounce. Sure, she has it in her teeth now, but it could have easily been lost-- she dreads to feel the disappointment of a job poorly done again. But those thoughts fade as more congratulations pile on; and, more importantly, when her brother arrives to meet her.

She turns her cutting gaze to his pale, mottled face, his jaw just barely parted with surprise. And pride, she hopes, though truthfully she doubts such emotion courses through him. As she stands before Luckypaw, she feels her chin tilt gently heavenward; she feels a sword of primacy pierce her heart. He may be down in the tunnels where she had yearned to roam, but she is the one that is successful despite the challenge. Scorchpaw's tail flicks as he asks her questions about the mouse, the process of the kill. You caught that? he asks, his voice subtle. She shoots her gaze into his. "I did," Scorchpaw confirms, heavy like iron. But she softens, perhaps against her will, as Luckypaw prods her more; she tries to look away from the clods that litter his pale pelt, and the cobwebs that bind his white whiskers. "... yeah, it was a good chase." The wall crumbles. She cannot keep herself from her brother much longer. "I don't know about rabbits yet, though."

And it's true. When Weaselclaw poses his question to the two moor-land apprentices, Scorchpaw is not sure how to answer. Hollypaw takes the lead, and the young tortie is silently grateful, though after a few moments pause she offers her own answer as Weaselclaw had requested her to: "Rabbits are much faster and bigger than mice." And I'm much too small for rabbits. She's seen peeks of the creatures through the flaxen grasses before, but never has she given chase on her own. Badgermoon is good at catching them, though, and so is Sunstride, she knows. She hopes Weaselclaw will be pleased with her knowledge, though she figures Hollypaw gave the smarter answer, and silently she is jealous of the fact.

Finally Cygnetstare follows after her apprentice. Scorchpaw dips her head in thanks to the woman's praise, tail flicking. She murmurs something to Luckypaw that she does not quite catch, and so Scorchpaw turns her attention away, back to tearing between Weaselclaw and searching for Badgermoon's beaming face.​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw gives his apprentice a nod of approval. “That’s right. You must step lightly when hunting mice. They will feel your steps coming before they see your or hear you.” He looks at Scorchpaw next. Her answer isn’t wrong, but it’s not what he would’ve said. Still, he certainly won’t presume to mentor the deputy’s kit and apprentice for him. Badgermoon surely knows how best to teach the young tortoiseshell. “Either way, I’m glad you got to see Scorchpaw’s catch, Hollypaw. It’ll give you more motivation for when you make your own.”

From a nearby tunnel opening, Luckypaw stumbles out, followed by Cygnetstare, his mentor. Both cats’ pale fur are covered in dust. Luckypaw looks so different from his longer-legged sibling now that they’re both training in their respective terrains, and Weaselclaw is reminded of Bluepaw and Cottonpaw beneath the earth, fur clotted with mud as Sootstar’s often is at the end of the night. “She’s right,” he tells Luckypaw after his mentor reassures him. “We would go hungry in leafbare without tunnelers.” He may not understand their proclivity for the tunnels, but he holds respect for what they do.

After a moment, Weaselclaw gives Hollypaw a nudge. “Let’s go. Perhaps we’ll get your first kill in today, too,” he says, dipping his head to the other warriors as he takes his leave.

// out

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​