pafp SEASONAL ACHE — annoyed

[GRAVELSNAP]

The black-patched feline sits just beside the gorse wall that separates WindClan’s camp from the outside world, shields the vulnerable inside—the wall that the last bunch of traitors tore through on their way out. The wall is patched up now, though if they look closely enough they can still see the evidence of its tearing.

They are tired and injured, and they feel… bad, in general. They had gone into the raid against RiverClan with what was too much arrogance, looking back on it now, and they paid the price for it. They feel like a failure; they can only imagine what their father would have to say about the sorry state that they’re in.

They can practically feel the burning of another’s gaze in their skin as they sit in silence. From the corner of their eye, they can see the familiar form of a cat, smaller than themself, and very annoying. They turn their glare upon the younger cat, eyes sharp in the light of sun-high. They are silent for a moment, simply staring, calculating. Then they give an irritated flick of their uninjured ear. "What are you looking at?" They snap, though their voice comes out… not quite as intimidating as they would hope.

// @BURNETPAW
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[BURNETPAW]

Molten-sun gaze stared at the results of war, of the darkness that encroached and filled the gaps of gashes and lesions, of the frayed whispers that enveloped the stagnantly-crowded air. It was curiosity that filled golden eyes with honey, that made her traverse a realm that her paws dared not to touch before. In truth, she had never been in the medicine cat den before. She didn't find it all too interesting. But she saw the soldiers marching home from war, heads bowed to face their cast shadows. The tigrine molly stood against the sun-high beams, the light brushing against sunset hues like metal glinting against harsh luster. She was destined to stand out in a crowd of sod-and-sullen cats, she figured. Burnet did not shirk even as Gravelpaw snapped at her with a tone of curt ire, for what kind of warrior runs from the fire of adventure, and what Windclanner allowed their pelt to be marred by the cinders and embers? Not she, who never backed down from what she had started.

"Wow, you got messed up really bad." Burnet stated as she bounced into the medicine cat den, almost poult-like in design, the way she waddled and wrested with her own almost-nonexistent body weight to reach Gravelpaw. She was still so young, and still she could not fully control how quickly her paws wanted to bound and caper about. The she-cat grew too slowly for her own intrepid soul, which threatened to burst from brittle bird-bones. Owlish gaze darted at every scrape and bruise that marred their black-and-white hide, with skin peering through what once was unbroken fur, much like the skin that she saw on her own pawpads or her nose. Was that what lie just behind vibrant pelts? Would her own fur look like that when she threw herself into the fray of battle? "You must've gotten your butt whooped out there."
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[GRAVELSNAP]

Their sense of shame does not last much longer, chased away by the voice of a kit who has no business being in the medicine cat’s den. If they’re lucky, Vulturemask will shoo her away before they have to hit her—she would be far from the first kit they’ve smacked, and surely wouldn’t be the last, either. Their annoyance only grows as the she-cat says that they must have gotten their butt whooped.

Their fur bristles all the way down their back, tail puffing out into a dark plume behind them. The nerve of this child—to assume that he was the one to be beaten! His opponent hadn’t fared much better, even if Gravelpaw was the one to retreat first. His lip curls, exposing one of his canines in a silent snarl. She knows nothing. While they were away fighting for their clan—fighting to avenge their uncle—the kit was back at camp, sitting comfortable in her nest, or doing whatever it is the useless children do when the capable members of their clan go off to battle. "I didn’t get anything whooped, you little twerp." A lie, made obvious by the wounds criss-crossing their face and body.

They know; they know that in the face of it all, they lost that fight. They lost to a RiverClanner, a fish-eating scum-lover. But to admit to it? It’s a blow to their pride that they can’t stand to think about. With a sneering scoff, the black and white apprentice glares down at Burnet. They gesture to her with their injured paw, flopping limply as they move it around. "What’s your excuse for looking messed up?"
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[SOOTSTAR]

ㅤ

SOOTSTAR

WindClan Leader
☆☆★★★★★★★

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HP:​

██████████

Loves:

Hates:

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Youth, always bickering! Always insulting each other! Could they not get along without a queen to babysit them? …Not that Sootstar wasn’t prone to verbal squabbles herself, especially when she had to entertain the other leaders, but still! The same rhythm of bickering in camp was tiring.

Sootstar chooses to mildly step into the conversation she had been passing by. ”Their wounds are a show of bravery and honor, Burnetpaw. You should think twice to imply shame.“ She corrects with a lash of her tail, exchanging a quick appreciative look with the wounded black and white feline. She was thankful they had been there on the battlefield and contributing to the clans victory. ”Try asking Gravelpaw for advice sometime, they’ll be able to give you lots of insight I’m sure on what a battle is like. One day you’ll be called to join the fray for your clan too.” Green eyes land softly back on the red tabby apprentice.

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[Addervenom]

Life doesn't discriminate

Adderpaw's attention is drawn to the conversation at hand as Burnetpaw points out Gravelpaw's many marks from battle. Smoldering amber eyes give the older tom a once over as Sootstar speaks. "Just about anyone here can bleed for windclan..." He murmurs shortly after his mother's comment, careful not to impede upon her wisdom. Because yes, it was true that it took a certain individual to charge into battle. But his inquiry lay elsewhere. Fixing Gravelpaw with a hard stare he lifts his chin a fraction higher. "Did you win against your selected opponent?" To him, that's what really mattered. Did his adversary carry more wounds than Gravelpaw did by the time their scuffle ended? ​

Between the sinners and the saints​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw's wounds are quite a deal worse than young Gravelpaw's, and he's been nest-bound for what already feels like an eternity. He takes thrice daily strolls about camp just to stave off the restlessness and insanity, and he observes the interaction between the elder apprentice and the youngest with a snort of laughter. Poor Gravelpaw has the worst luck with the youngest of the Clan.

Sootstar is quick to correct the fiery little tabby, and his son inquires about Gravelpaw's presumed victory or loss. Weaselclaw wraps his tail around his paws, careful to ease into each movement so as not to reopen any still-raw wounds. "No one wins every fight," he says. Adderpaw will learn that lesson the hard way, he feels. "WindClan won against RiverClan, and that's what really matters." It would be easy to say he had lost to Cicadastar -- without the aid of his Clanmates, he'd have died to that wretched cat's fangs.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

The next cat to join the conversation is much less irritating, and he is grateful for it. To Sootstar he offers a dip of his head, an acknowledgment of her position within the clan, and also a thanks for her defense of him. She is quite the intimidating presence, but at least she is kind. At least she agrees with him, as well, says that his wounds show his bravery. He can’t help but to preen a bit under the perceived praise, shooting Burnet a look that screams take that, you little rat. It is a victory in his eyes, and especially so when the leader suggests that the red-furred child should ask him for battle advice. He considers actually giving her some advice, albeit unasked for, but another small tabby approaches, already insulting.

Adder, a name well suited for the venomous child who stands before them now. The black-patched tom fixes the leader’s most obnoxious spawn with a half-lidded glare, debating whether or not they should even dignify such a question with a response.

He opens his mouth to spit venom of his own—I nearly took my opponent’s eye, would you like a demonstration?—but the child’s father steps in as well, battered and looking halfway to corpsehood. They dip their head to the lead warrior just as they had to Sootstar, taking in Weaselclaw’s injuries. They wonder—did Sootstar worry for her mate during the battle? Did their kits fear for the fate of their father? "WindClan was victorious," they agree, hazel gaze shifting pointedly to Adderpaw.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[Addervenom]

Life doesn't discriminate

No sooner did the words leave his mouth did the tabby witness a looming shadow cast over him. Adderpaw's gaze turns to fixate on his father, smoldering eyes taking in the deep lacerations raw but healing nonetheless. Good, Vulturemask seemed to be doing an excellent job helping Weaselclaw heal faster. A low hum vibrates within his throat, eyes hooded. He did not doubt windclan's strength as a whole, not for one moment. "Of course. However," His judgemental glare targets Gravelpaw again as the dual toned apprentice pointedly addresses him."I'll take that as a no." Adderpaw retorts, feigned disappointment bleeding into his vocals."Since you refuse to answer such a simple yes or no question." Their reluctance to answer gave him all the information he needed. With a minor click of his tongue he turns on his heels and heads off in search of Sunstride. (/out) ​

Between the sinners and the saints​

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[SOOTSTAR]

ㅤ

SOOTSTAR

WindClan Leader
☆☆★★★★★★★

---

HP:​

██████████

Loves:

Hates:

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The smoke ponders Adderpaw’s words. That was true, many cats who have since betrayed them spilled blood for their clan… Immediately she thinks of Hyacinthbreath, it’s hard for her lip not to curl at the mere thought of the lilac tabby. Yet surely being willing to spill blood and sacrifice your being for your clan still stood for something? If it didn’t, the leader wasn’t sure if there were many cats among her clan deserving of much honor. Nonetheless she doesn’t exactly agree with her son’s words, winning was ultimately the most important aspect of battle. The blood spill of the clan would be pointless if not for it.

With his wisdom, Weaselclaw informs their child that at the end of the day WindClan as a whole won, which is what truly mattered. She nods in agreement to Gravelpaw and her mate.

Alas, Adderpaw is a fiery one and still retorts back to the black and white apprentice. Before she can even conjure up something to say the tabby turns tail. All she can do is snort, ”Forgive him. He’s inherited his mother’s tongue.” She jests light-heartedly. ”StarClan honors your presence on the battlefield Gravelpaw. Don’t let Adderpaw convince you of otherwise.” Her eyes flicker to Weaselclaw, Sootstar likes Adderpaw’s fiery, he reminds her of herself. She’s not sure she wants to put his flames out, but is it going to get him into more trouble than good?

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[GRAVELSNAP]

The tabby tom doesn’t stick around for long, apparently having only stuck his nose into the conversation to insult, to degrade, to find a reason to think himself better than everyone around him. Typical, they think with a snort, eel-black tail lashing as they weather Adderpaw’s disappointment with ease. What does he know, anyway? He’s just a stupid apprentice, and they hadn’t seen him at the battle.

Glaring off in the direction that Adderpaw leaves in, they lament softly, "I should have hit him harder." It doesn’t feel so much like a betrayal to the clan, now, to admit his simmering hatred for Adderpaw. The leader herself seems to acknowledge how wrong her sharp-fanged and fork-tongued child is. Inheriting his mother’s tongue—they think back to the gathering that they’d gone to, watching Sootstar trade harsh words with the hare-brained leaders—it makes sense.

Turning his dull green gaze upon the star-blessed she-cat, he sits up a bit straighter beneath her reassurance. It isn’t needed, but validation has rarely come from his own father, so he soaks up what he can get from the other adults of the clan. "He couldn’t convince a hare to jump," he says, a wry grin sliding across his muzzle. "I didn’t win anything, but I didn’t lose, either. There’s nothing wrong with that." His own meager contribution may not have done much to turn the tide of the battle, but the final outcome is all that truly matters. The river cats had suffered.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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