camp serenity ♡ intro

[rosewater]

Peace has been very lacking in the past moon, hasn't it? A double raid by Windclan, causes them to lose a beloved soul in the process. And then, to worsen the blow, the sunning stones were taken away by Thunderclan. Granted, Rosewater couldn't very well say, she knew peace now, did she? Peace would be the day her parents allowed their vain spirits to finally rest, and allow her and her beloved siblings to be free from the binding chains. That was a peace she longed for, so desperately, but it was still far away. Her parents were healthy, and still in love. If it was only surprising that they've remained together thus long. The turkish angora let out a silent exhale, watching the river rush by, the sound somewhat helping to drown out her thoughts. Perhaps she would never know peace, but that was fine. As long as she could make a clanmate smile, even if for a moment, that was enough peace for her. She had little skills when joining Riverclan with her family moons ago, and only a few now that she had to learn in order to be useful. Her parents weren't pleased, but they respected it, begrudgingly as they were. She knew to fish and swim. And perhaps, being in a river-residing clan, it'd all she'd ever really need. She did have one skill though, one she taught herself. It was a small, and perhaps, useless skill, but one that made her truly happy for fleeting moments. Flower crowns. Pretty decorations to wear on one's pelt made of pretty blooms. It brought her a semblance of what she could consider actual peace. Riverclan needed some peace, oh so desperately. And as such, she put herself to the task of weaving flowers. Pretty flowers would make the temporary camp more tolerable, yes? Given all the bad that had come since the flooding and their stay here, it would be nice to have a bit more good. Finishing the crown of soft colored blooms, sage green hues looked around before approaching the nearest cat and offering it with a sweet smile. "Here you go..." ​

[ fight fate or see it through — ♡ ]​

 

[Riffleheart]

In a turn of events which should surprise no one, Riffleheart was lingering by the river's edge. Despite the fact that he was much too old to have been born a RiverClanner, he sure looked and acted the part: a glossy pelt lavishly decorated with rich blues and grays, a plumpness to his figure when the prey was abundant, and a passionate love of water which surely marked him as destined for this place. Today the tall tomcat was by the water's edge ostensibly to catch fish, but - alas - no scaly treat seemed interested in falling to his fast, clever paws. Therefore he was perched upon the riverbank essentially without a task, merely watching the light play off the water with an expression of contentment. Rosewater's approach - and particularly her presentation of the elegant circlet of blossoms - took him entirely by surprise, and a delighted smile erupted beneath his verdant eyes. "For me? Oh, please, this is too much! I couldn't possibly..." he extended one paw and brushed a single toe against the flower crown, admiring its construction and the kindly face which proffered it. "Thank you, Rosewater." he dipped his head in gratitude. "This is very generous of you. I'm impressed - I certainly couldn't make something like this?" he paused, blue-tipped tail swishing, before mrowing thoughtfully, "Why don't we tuck this someplace where everyone can admire your work? Perhaps near Beesong's storage?" ​

 

[iciclefang]

RiverClan is known for its weaving skills, but to Iciclepaw's dismay it's the single practical skill she lacks. The tortoiseshell can hunt, fish, swim, and fight with the best of them, but her paws turn to clumsy stones as soon as they find a pair of reeds or stems.

She sees Rosewater, a demure and soft-spoken she-cat, offer Riffleheart some strange bit of craftwork. The apprentice edges closer and sniffs at the blooms. "Pretty, but a bit useless," she concedes. Perhaps it's too harsh for the calico; she tries to amend her statement with, "Better than I could do, though. And I'm sure Beesong needs something bright in their den after... everything." She neatly dances around the reference to their two recent losses.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[FERNGILL]

Much like every other facet of his arguable-in-existence 'skillset', weaving was not Fernpaw's forte. Until recently his paws had felt too big for his body, and even now they had failed to lose their inherent clumsiness. Within waters' depths he found his footing, ironically... the graceful way that he tread water was night to the day of his fumbling craftsmanship. Glimmer of turquoise, his gaze caught the splash of colour as it was offered to Riffleheart- an assortment of blooms, though the warrior seemed not to accept it for himself, bringing up Beesong.

His sister's as-always honest judgement brought a puff of laughter from the svelte tom's maw. "Not everything has to be useful," he hummed- sometimes it was just nice to look at something, wasn't it? His words held no ill-nature; just the fringe of humour. He'd always been a collector, flooding his own nest with a horde of trinkets... if anyone appreciated beauty, it was Fernpaw. Star-bright eyes flickered over to Rosewater. "It's beautiful! Maybe it can help Beesong in another way, like... if the flowers have healing abilities or something..." A far-fetched theory that involved destroying the object, but Fernpaw did not often think far beyond his own nose.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[✧ Stalkingpaw.]

˚⊹ COME ON MAKE ME FEEL ALIVE ⊹˚
stalkingpaw | 05 months | polygender | any pronouns | physically easy | mentally medium | attack in bold crimson

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Stalkingpaw has always liked things that are pretty. They're not a vain cat by any means, but there's just something so enjoyable about staring at something that is pleasing to the eye - be it people or items. Striking green eyes are wide with awe and clear admiration as she trails along after fernpaw, curious as to what the small group is chatting about. "That's so pretty! Can you make me one too? My nest is so boooring," she chirrups out casually, tail practically wagging in her excitement. She hopes Rosewater will - oh, and she hopes it'll be red. Stalkingpaw has always liked the color red.

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[BEESONG]

beesong does not weave. the precision required for such delicate craftsmanship does not come easy to him; his paws are suited best for unpleasant work, staining themselves crimson as they stanch bleeding and plastering poultices to swollen, angry wounds. however, he doesn't find a bitter longing for every little thing that he misses out on due to his line of work, and weaving places itself on that small list. unlike a majority of riverclanners, beesong also does not decorate. his den is filled only with things he deems important; herbs, moss, sticks, extra nests... the healer doesn't see a purpose for taking up extra space with decorative flowers and shells when he could use it for something he needs.

another trait that singles him out from the rest of the clan, he supposed. but he's content enough to leave the swimming and decorating to the rest.

beesong's single curled ear twitches, overhearing their name in passing as they emerge from their makeshift den. a small group has gathered around rosewater, talking about their den and how it could use something bright and beautiful, and the cinnamon tabby pivots on their paws to join them. riffleheart brushes something with his paw, a wreath of ornamental flowers arranged far more elegantly than beesong could ever hope to accomplish. they wouldn't deny that the flower crown's beautifully crafted, but a private part of them agrees with iciclepaw; pretty, but useless. fernpaw's suggestion, unfortunately, is far from the truth. there are no flowers that he could see weaved into the circlet that possesses medicinal qualities. they hum, shaking their head. "nope. nothing useful. it's just pretty to look at."

iciclepaw comments that beesong could use something bright in his den after everything. she doesn't elaborate, but he thinks he understands the meaning behind it... he doesn't understand why she's so worried about him, though. the medicine cat throws her a puzzled glance from the corner of his eye. gloompaw's disappearance and clearsight's death may weigh heavy on his mind, guilt clawing at his throat as he swallows around it. but this heaviness is his burden to shoulder alone. riverclan has enough to worry over, with the threat of war looming on the horizon like a nasty stormcloud. they don't need to worry about him on top of everything else. "you should keep it, riffleheart. it was a gift to you, right?" he wills away the tight line his mouth had created, pushing his expression into one of nonchalance—barring the perpetual rigid line of his set jaw.

they snort at stalkingpaw's enthusiastic pleading, jerking their head towards the eager apprentice. "or, if you really don't want it, you can give it to her." they jest, brow raising at riffleheart.​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclepaw smirks at Fernpaw's assertion that Not everything has to be useful. She quirks a brow his way and replies, dry as a WindClan riverbed, "Doesn't it? If something isn't practical, then by definition, isn't it useless?" She flicks an ear to take the worst of the sting from her words; some cats in the Clan are a bit more sensitive than others, she's found.

Stalkingpaw begs for one for her own collection, and Iciclepaw gives a single raspy purr. "You cats and your decorations," she says with some light exasperation.

The tortoiseshell's icechip gaze flicks to their small medicine cat, padding by from their makeshift den. Beesong appraises the object and crushes Fernpaw's dreams with, "Nope. Nothing useful. It's just pretty to look at." Iciclepaw resists the urge to shoot her brother an "I told you so."

But their medicine cat's demeanor changes, and the look he gives Iciclepaw is one she cannot read. Is he upset that she mentioned Clearsight and Gloompaw? The tortoiseshell returns his look levelly, unflinching, as though to tell him she meant what she said. Beesong is still a mystery to her, not that most cats aren't... though she supposes in a million years, she would not understand a medicine cat.

Iciclepaw is quiet in contemplation as the debate over who keeps the flower band continues.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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