camp sea and punishment / intro

[goshawkheart]

It's not been even a halfmoon since he'd been made a warrior. Late. But it was better late than never. Perhaps his parents, Willoweye and Paleroot, had been the happiest to see him go from Goshawkpaw to Goshawkheart. He had valued their support but he couldn't shake the guilt from his fur for the way he'd treated them the last few moons. He'd been irritable and snappy not only toward them, all cats really, because he hadn't been able to get around and move like he used to and well...everything honestly. He'd made a recovery so miraculous it was as if Starclan themselves had mended him with their own paws but he did thank the medicine cats for all their hard work, too. Finishing his last moon or so of training was awkward after the accident and the last few moons hadn't been too nice to him, his formerly large and muscular body now more wasted away than it had ever been. But things would get better, or so he hoped. He was looking forward to something new.

This early morning was colder than the last. For once he was thankful for his longer fur, while it usually was wetted with mud from the dampness of the territory, it was very convenient for battling cool weather. Goshawkheart walked to the freshkill pile near the midst of camp on autopilot, his pawsteps silenced by the layer of snow that covered the ground where pine needles usually lay scattered. He settled next to a clanmate who was also up this early, brushing against them friendlily as if to offer them some of his fluffy coat. He felt groggy today like he still needed sleep. He took nothing from the pile to eat. It was already so small as is, so he simply convinced himself wasn't hungry. "Bad weather again today? The cold is making it hard to get any decent sleep," his complaint had a certain amount of levity to it, as if he were trying to lighten the mood of the grim situation of not only the harsh weather but also the difficulties Shadowclan currently faced.

// @open​

 

[Quartzmask]

Quartzmask's ears perked to the sound of his brother's voice. Since Goshawkheart's warrior ceremony, Quartz had only uttered a single word to his kin- "Congratulations”. However in the middle of camp and in public, he felt he could make some small talk.

The grey and white tabby tom laid nearby to the freshkill pile eating his breakfast. A small and partly plucked black bird was claimed between his forlegs. He gnawed at one of the defeated avain's wings before lifting his head. His icy blue eyes glanced to Goshawkheart. "C'mon don't be so negative. I slept fine last night. I'll look for something to add to your bed while out on patrol," the brother offered, spiting a dark feather off his chin.

The recent cold weather had been bitter. Winter was unkind to ShadowClan. He knew every cat was dealing with it in there own way. His long coat could still feel the snow beneath him but he couldn't let the cold get to his face. So, the warrior kept a lukewarm smile upon his maw. "The snow this morning is kind of pretty. Just look at that perfect smooth land," he continued, now speaking to the sparse group of warriors gathered about the kill pile. "Can't wait to get out there and tear it up." Soon the morning snow fall would be marked with the paw prints of ShadowClan's morning hunting patrols.
​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

The tortoiseshell had hardly noticed the new cats' warrior ceremonies in the light of Betonyfrost's punishment, but she had noticed how crowded the warrior's den had become later that evening. Flickerfire is not a cat who likes to cuddle -- unless it's with a certain ThunderClan she-cat -- and she emerges from the den with a face set grouchily from lack of sleep.

"I think you're both frogbrained," she declares. She looks at the spot where their fresh-kill pile should be and anger darkens her expression. "Is it possible for you two to stop gabbin' and help me put something on this StarClan-forsaken pile?" She knows how fruitless it will be to trek out into the snow storm, but it's also her job. Her detested, dreaded job.​

 

[smogstar]

Next to enter into the picture is none other than Smogmaw. The mackerel tabby's demeanour is comparable to that of Flickerfire's, characterised by both displeasure and frustration—though, he typically looks like this, so his expression isn't anything to fret over. With all the dissent amongst ShadowClan's rabble, alongside their ongoing scarcity of food, there isn't much in life to rejoice over at the present time. Like his pelt, everything is dull, dreary, and grey. The brothers' simple naivety shall wear off in due time, he is sure of it.

Rather than engage with Goshawkheart or Quartzmask directly, the ashen tom shoulders his superior's ridicule. "Give 'em a break," he suggests, pussyfooting through the snow on bitter paws, "even supposing there was prey out and about, neither of 'em would put a dent in the pile." Tedious brown eyes then trickle over to the two younger warriors. They haven't done anything in particular to garner his ill will, and in all fairness, no one really has. Smogmaw is a true believer in equality and thereby regards everyone with equal disgust.

"Keep an eye out for bits 'n pieces in the snow, if you're heading out," he then warns, the disgruntlement in his tone morphing into reproving consideration. "Got a tidbit of the twolegs' barbed wire caught between my digits the other day," continues the tabby, glancing towards the paw in question and turning it. Some blood yet remained on his fur, but the metal has since been removed. He'd cut up the inside of his maw something nasty doing that.​

 

[goshawkheart]

The sound of a familiar voice made his jaw drop long enough for a stray snowflake to dissolve on his tongue. He was an open book. Unable to hide his widened eyes, the way he struggled to catch his breath or even gather his voice all because Quartzmask showed up. They didn't talk and he didn't want to talk to him now.

Because Quartzmask was a walking, talking, breathing reminder as to why his graduation came later than others and why he'd spent too many moons recovering his ability to walk in the medicine den.

"Oh–you, " but his voice became bitter. Not quite as bitter as the two older warriors who had joined them. Goshawkheart didn't quite have the disapproval for life that they did. "Don't bother, Quartzmask. I'll sleep fine this coming night," he'd say with less conviction than he wanted to and with words that were spoken too quickly. The worst thing about becoming a warrior was joining Quartzmask in the warrior's den. At a time, he had thought he'd be happy for the two of them to move on from the apprentice den together, but that was before things had become complicated, before Quartz had betrayed him outright.

His icy eyes fell on his brother's near identical ones for a moment and he opened his mouth to speak again, but instead he addressed Flickerfire or Smogmaw or anyone else really,"Might as well try to find prey, two-leg things beneath the snow or not."

Not keen to allow Smog or Flicker's slights or unfortunate anecdotes to make him feel any worse, he stood with silent thanks to Starclan that his legs didn't shake either from cold or his rather recently healed injuries. Since the prey shortage, prey was all many could think about and many busied themselves tirelessly with hunting. Perhaps he'd try his own paw at bringing back something for the pile soon as the dawn broke. Smogmaw was correct that he may not be able to bring back anything near enough, but he had always been naturally gifted at everything he did and hunting was no exception.
​