duskclan SEVERANCE / thriftfeather

[RUMBLERAIN]

"I need your advice."

It is not a test, per se, but there's an expectancy in pale eyes which would hopefully keep Thriftfeather rooted to the spot as Rumblerain approaches him. A leader is meant to be able to consult with their deputy, they know that much; they remember, faintly, Sootstar speaking with the-then-Sunstride. They're sure they'd remember her doing the same with Badgermoon, too, if they searched the recesses of their mind, but any thought of their late father is stained with his exile.

Rumblerain gestures for Thriftfeather to follow, settling just out of earshot of their camp. It's still makeshift, a pawful of scant nests clustered together in a small hollow, no real dens in which DuskClan could reside.

"In a half moon or so, I'll be returning to Twolegplace." They say it as fact. Clearly, this is not what they want advice given on. Their demeanour dips into uncertainty, however, as they continue: "If I bring back more cats to join us, more warriors, we might be able to sustain ourselves better. I never cared for Granitepelt's mission: there are better ways to grow a Clan than stealing kits." Their tail-tip twitches, and they glance down at the motion. For the first time in moons, the absence of the butterfly wing bothers them. They look back up at him, expression slightly pinched. They do not mention Vulturekit, though they search his expression for anything that might help them narrow down the kit's whereabouts ... and find very little.

"... But if I bring too many, we risk having too many mouths to feed and not enough prey. And they must have some warrior's honour ... What sort of cat should I bring to DuskClan, Thriftfeather? Should any of our warriors come with me?"

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

• // @Thriftfeather
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Best behavior, Thriftfeather thinks in a voice he has not heard for some time as he follows behind Rumblerain.

He already knows how to play the part of the version of himself others expect to see; he doesn’t need to fake the way his ears tremble atop his head. The space Rumblerain has led Thriftfeather is quiet—it makes Rumblerain sound louder to Thriftfeather. He sits straight and attentive as Rumblerain speaks. Thriftfeather can play this game—he needs only to pretend that he is answering as a hypothetical, and to ignore the taste of ash over his tongue.

“You’ll want to find someone who is already capable of hunting and—and they should know the basics of fighting at least. They should be willing to give their all for the sake of DuskClan,” You should let DuskClan die its natural death after its short and unnatural life, “We can’t afford to spend more time raising kits or training apprentices. The sooner we can get experienced paws, the better.”

It is a lost cause. One cannot catch what is not available—the most experienced hunter in the world could follow Rumblerain back to DuskClan and still trudge back to camp with an empty mouth and a growling belly. Thriftfeather doesn’t bring this up; in a way, Thriftfeather suspects everyone in DuskClan is pretending about something.

“It would be a risk to travel alone,” Thriftfeather’s voice is near concerned—he doesn’t need to pretend for this, “Take at least one other warrior with you. Someone that can aid you.”
​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

"You're right." Rumblerain breathes, a vague nod accompanying their meow. Trained cats would mean that DuskClan doesn't have to teach them anything but honour. Rumblerain thinks they have it, giving thanks for every catch, but some of their Clanmates ... they remember Hollowcreek's brutal efficiency, and shiver.

"... Hollowcreek came with me last time. He knows the way." A trace of hope lines their meow, thoughts travelling fleet-footed to the other side of the forest once more. Guilt follows it, withering the supports from beneath Rumblerain's meow, pinching blue eyes shut for a few heartbeats even as their plan solidifies more. The nervousness that exudes from the skinny point hasn't been seen in some time, reminiscent of their first days beside the gently curled tail of Sootstar's chosen. Unsure of themself.

It's a long moment before they speak again, a leap of faith that they didn't foresee themself taking. The cat who looks at Thriftfeather is a moon his junior, a young warrior, seeking ... something, for curiosity's sake. Rumblerain doesn't know if they want reassurance or something else, but Thriftfeather would answer them honestly, right?

"D'you think StarClan abandoned WindClan, Thriftfeather?"

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Rumblerain isn't outwardly hostile but that doesn't mean anything to Thriftfeather. It could still be a trap. Even if it isn't, even if it never was, Thriftfeather cannot afford to treat it as anything but. A single slip up could be his undoing. He'll feel Hollowcreek's absence in camp and that alone is nearly enough for Thriftfeather to protest. He swallows that protest—if not Hollowcreek, then who else could Thriftfeather suggest?

"How long will—when do you expect to return?" If they were wise, Rumblerain would take this as a chance to vanish completely. They would return to Twolegplace or go elsewhere and they wouldn't return; they would allow DuskClan to assume their absence is their death. Is it duty or a genuine belief in this—in DuskClan—that keeps them tethered here?

Their eyes slip closed and Thriftfeather can imagine opportunity. He's killed for less, he thinks. He's killed for less than this and then DuskClan can gutter in the absence of a leader—but then Rumblerain's eyes open and the look they give Thriftfeather is enough to remind Thriftfeather that this is his friend if nothing else. His body untenses and his expression hasn't changed. When Rumblerain speaks, Thriftfeather doesn't startle as if coming out of a reverie even if he feels a jolt in his chest.

"StarClan?" Thriftfeather echoes before he can prevent himself. He doesn't know the right thing to say—he doesn't know what Rumblerain wants to hear. Doubt could bury Thriftfeather. In the absence of direction, it is honesty, or something close to, that leaves Thriftfeather.

"How could WindClan have been abandoned by StarClan?" His head swivels without his permission towards WindClan. He knows the direction by instinct, "They have the moors. It was Sootstar who rejected—she was the once convinced of their abandonment. I don't think Sunstar has those same qualms." If StarClan is a thing that could ever exist and if, after their death, they do truly care enough to look down towards the living at all. Thriftfeather knows the feeling of eyes on him; he knows what it means to be measured and judged for every movement. Never before has he felt such a thing on his crown or along the points of his back.​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 17 MOONS ✦ TAGS​