private shattered glass in flower beds // thriftpaw

[LUCKYPAW]

Even with a cure discovered for this so-called yellowcough, Luckypaw still can't help but feel uneasy around camp where so many other cats congregate, the words thrown around about how deadly this new illness is and the death its already wrought weighing heavily on his shoulders. Sure, Wolfsong knew how to make the sick better now, but what if it's not foolproof? What if he were to get sick, and even with whatever ThunderClan had told them, still didn't get better? And, even if it didn't kill him, he's also not particularly thrilled at the idea of being sick in the first place, not with how weak and drained the sick who are still living have seemed. More than anything else, the tunnels seem safe, and besides, there's plenty of work to do down there, work enough that he's managed to avoid interacting much with the sick and healthy alike these past few days, though today he finds himself once again within the bounds of camp. Even without the threat of illness looming heavily throughout the air, camp seems so...empty today, cats either cut down by yellowcough or finding somewhere else to be, and that atmosphere alone is enough to make him want to turn tail and take shelter in the nearest tunnel entrance. But, they'd been down there for so long lately that Cygnetstare had insisted on at least a short reprieve, and if he were to be honest, Luckypaw has been starting to get a bit tired lately, long hours felt keenly in the ache of his paws.

Truth be told, he hasn't exactly been keeping up with his other clanmates lately, especially the moor runners, and he feels out of the loop - all the apprentice really knows is that none of his family has fallen ill yet, thank StarClan, and that whatever Scorchpaw and Rumblepaw and Badgermoon have been up to must be just as effective as hiding away in the tunnels. The thought of any of them getting sick is terrifying, and the thought of the illness getting passed between them all is worse yet; so, even if he isn't checking up on them like he feels he should, Luckypaw tells himself that it's okay, that it's good, that he's helping to keep it contained. If he were to pass yellowcough to his family, unknowingly or not, well...he's not sure how he'd be able to forgive himself, or how anybody else would, either. Thoughts of doom and gloom like that aren't uncommon, scenarios in which siblings and parents and friends fall victim to such horrific circumstances coming unbidden at the most unsuspecting of moments, and it feels worse when he's lounging in camp, no work before him to serve as a distraction. Should he find something to do, he wonders? Cygnetstare had said to take a break, sure, but would they really mind if he found some easy chore to assist with?

The place is practically deserted, sure, but there has to be something that needs doing - preferably nothing that involves using his paws too much, though, so fixing up the gorse wall is probably out immediately. Anything with the elders or the queens seems too risky, since they're probably the ones who would suffer the most from falling ill, which only limits his options further. Gathering moss then, maybe? For nests, if Wolfsong needs any, or maybe to bring some water for the sick to drink. Plus, Luckypaw doesn't even need to stay in camp for that, which - well, actually, Cygnetstare probably wanted him to stay nearby, didn't she? They probably wouldn't mind too much, he thinks, but since she's not actually around to ask permission from, perhaps it's not the best idea. Back to square zero then, he supposes. Maybe he could just...help somebody out who's already doing something, even if it meant potentially getting up close and personal. As his gaze begins to swing around camp, it's not any chores or tasks that catches his eye first; no, it's a light, fluttery movement through the air that draws his attention. Is that-? "Oh!" he exclaims reflexively, easily recognizing the butterfly zipping about.

Instinctively, he searches out Scorchpaw, but - not here, clearly. She's always the one who had loved hunting the creatures, not him, and a dual pair of wings, one green and one blue, comes to mind quickly. Of all the bugs out there, butterflies certainly aren't the worst, and he has to admit it was fun chasing them down; maybe it's for Scorchpaw, maybe it's for himself, but Luckypaw finds himself tracking the creature's movements, dancing along after it even if it's already got a head start. What it's doing, he has no idea, but he feels hopeful as it begins to drift downwards to a much more obtainable height. So focused on the insect itself, he hardly notices that he's no longer alone until the butterfly has almost descended upon his new companion, the apprentice following right behind. "Oh! Thriftpaw! Look - look, it's heading your way!" The warning is called out with much more excitement than he's felt in some time, the sheer lightness of the words drawing out a spurt of laughter as he hardly slows his pace, trying to close the gap. Thriftpaw is someone he's not particularly close to, someone who's been close to someone sick, but all that is left behind as he focuses in on the flapping of such dainty wings in the air.

// @Thriftpaw​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​

 

[Thriftfeather]

There are times, precious few and far between as they may be, where Thriftpaw loves the moor without the self-chastising thought that he is supposed to. Sometimes the blue sky is clear in a way that feels inviting rather than daunting, and the ever present wind carries the pleasant scent of sweetgrass rather than an acrid lavender. His tightly coiled chest eases in such a way that tells Thriftpaw he'd forgotten what it means to truly exhale and for a brief moment Thriftpaw exists as he was meant to be: carefree and a little bit in love with the world.

WindClan is fractured, full of a spiderweb of lines that Thriftpaw has been told not to cross, but this moment is one where Thriftpaw's forgotten that he's supposed to be worried — Luckypaw's voice calls out, delighted enough that Thriftpaw shares in that. Thriftpaw doesn't stop to ask Luckypaw to remind Thriftpaw of just who his kin is, Thriftpaw merely stands on his hindlegs, back straightened like a groundhog looking over grass, and swings his outstretched paws at the butterfly. Four wings move in near perfect unison, and Thriftpaw's head is clear of all thought except for how happy he'll be to catch this butterfly, and how nice the warm sun feels on his ears.

"It's too fast!" Thriftpaw calls back as if he is rejoicing in the fact. He doesn't stop swinging his paws until the strain of balancing topples him. He doesn't stay down for long; in an instant Thriftpaw is on his paws again, shaking sand from his pelt like a dog shakes water, "Get it!"​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[LUCKYPAW]

Thriftpaw catches on almost immediately, swatting at the butterfly, and for a moment Luckypaw's sure he's got it - and yet, the creature somehow manages to slip away, fluttering just out of reach at the last moment. For once, it's not disheartening to see it escape, not with how close golden paws had been, and especially not when Thriftpaw doesn't immediately give in, folded limbs scrambling back up for the chase even after he slips to the ground. Half a mind to stop and make sure he's okay, Thriftpaw's encouraging cries spur him onwards instead, nose tilted up into the air as he races forward and toward the retreating form of the butterfly. If the taller of the two hadn't been able to swat it from the air, then did he have any hope of being the one to lay claim to it? Still, though, it's as though the pool of enthusiasm is not only split between them, but also amplified, and he darts alongside Thriftpaw, never looking away from his target even as the ground is spit back out behind his hurtling paws. Maybe he could catch it, maybe he couldn't; either way, he certainly wasn't giving up just yet, not when it was still possible for one of them to catch it, at least.

It was coming back down again, haphazardly floating along with the wind, and suddenly, Luckypaw sees his opening - not gracing the ground beneath them, no, but close enough that he's pretty sure he could leap for it. As though all his training has been for this very moment, building up to this catch, his muscles bunch together and then then uncoil, sending him leaping up into the air, perhaps farther than he's ever been. It's like he's flying - like he's leaping after a rabbit, he thinks, but this feels much lighter than that had been, less pressure to succeed. In an instant, it's over; outstretched claws meet delicate, leaf-thin scales, and then he's sprawled out, having forgotten entirely to pay attention to his landing. "I-" he calls out, uncurling from his catch just to reveal - "don't, got it?" But, he had been so sure he'd plucked it straight from the air. Eyes lift to the sky, and there it is - no longer dancing as it had been before, having had one of its wings grazed by razor-sharp claws, but floating onwards and away nonetheless. "I clipped it!" Luckypaw throws out as he's clambering to his paws, somehow feeling much less graceful than Thriftpaw had seemed, before returning to the chase, invigorated rather than discouraged at the tumble.​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Luckypaw is close. He leaps higher than Thriftpaw had expected him to be capable of, an upright pillar in the air, and then in the next moment he is in a haphazard self-pile on the soft ground. Thriftpaw laughs without malice or judgement, and he doesn't stop to consider how long it has been since he's been so carefree. He has a singular focus — as Luckypaw climbs back to his paws Thriftpaw is moving again. They've both tried and failed with reckless swinging.

There are a countless number of times in such a short span of time that Thriftpaw feels his muscles instinctively clench. He needs to stop himself from leaping; this is something that requires a precision that Thriftpaw would fear he lacks had been able to dwell on it. Watching the frantic wingbeats of the butterfly now, the only thing Thriftpaw can think is that he needs to be careful. There isn't room for anything else.

When Thriftpaw does finally leap, it is in mimicry of Luckypaw's form. The butterfly darts in front of his face, but Thriftpaw anticipates it. He twists and brings his forepaws together in the air. Thriftpaw lands hard, but he lands on his feet, breathless.

"Got it," Thriftpaw laughs again, soft and disbelieving.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[LUCKYPAW]

The chase continues on, neither side daring to waver, and as he darts after his golden companion, Luckypaw can't help but wonder if they'll ever catch up to the butterfly. If it were clever enough, it could just fly up and up and out of their reach, guaranteeing its safety, but it doesn't; just like them, it keeps on going, hardly straying from such manageable heights. Does it feel the tug of the chase, too, even when it's the one being hunted? Does it know something that they don't, something inevitable? No, it's more likely that it doesn't know anything at all - so small, surely bugs don't have much in the way of brains. Probably it doesn't even realize that they haven't given up yet - it only seems to swerve out of the way at the last second, anyways, and it's not really trying to avoid them, either. Maybe he's not much better than the butterfly, though, because even as he's tracking its colorful movements his thoughts have slowed his paws, any ground he had hoped to gain on Thriftpaw vanishing just like the insect had slipped right out of his grasp. Well, Luckypaw certainly wouldn't give up, not after such a spectacular hunt, but it seems like the other apprentice is now their sole hope of catching their prize, unless a lucky turn of events caused the butterfly to halt its progress.

But it's not luck, he notes, as Thriftpaw launches himself up into the air again; at least, not entirely luck, not with the way he calculates his move before making it. If he had done that - had taken more time to think, and to size up the situation - would he have caught it instead? Probably not, he thinks, since even Thriftpaw had missed his first try; Luckypaw just wasn't cut out to be a butterfly hunter, is all it is. The one he'd caught with Scorchpaw and his other siblings? Just luck, just his namesake. Still, as Thriftpaw twists through the air, he grows deadly serious for a moment, nothing else in the world daring to draw his attention away from the two, until - Thriftpaw hits the ground, and for once, there is no butterfly tearing away. The sound of laughter tickles his ears again, and this time he's quick to join in, all smiles as he paces closer, finally closing the gap between them. "You got it!" he crows, head held high and chest puffed up with victory. It had been mostly Thriftpaw, sure, since the other apprentice had been the one to actually catch it, but he had least felt the breeze through his fur, the moors under his paws - that had to count for something, right? "You got it," he echoes, a little softer, and he leans in close, trying to get a better look at the fragile form that had put up such a brief fight.​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​

 

[Thriftfeather]

His white paw lifts delicately from the butterfly to better show Luckypaw, but he cannot help the small frown that twists his mouth. It had been fun in the moment, but now the butterfly is dead, and it is such a shame for something so pretty to be dead. But it could only be Thriftpaw who is sad about killing a bug — he offers Luckypaw a small smile to replace any growing ill feelings, and corrects, "We got it. I wouldn't have seen it if you hadn't, uh, if you hadn't called attention to it."

Thriftpaw's excitement returns, subdued, as he continues, "And the way you — you jumped higher than I could! I was just doing what you did."

It's almost disappointing that he'd caught the butterfly. Thriftpaw hasn't had fun in a long time; he feels like something held tight around himself has finally shaken loose. He's lighter, somehow, even as his earlier joy fades into — contentment? Thriftpaw watches the butterfly as if he expects it to start fluttering once more, "What do we do with it now? We could — oh! Here,"

Thriftpaw pulls one of the butterflies wings loose as gently as he can manage with his teeth, and doesn't mind so much when he bends on of the others in the process. He presses the wing to Luckypaw's flank, and finds that he likes giving gifts, "For you!"​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[LUCKYPAW]

Wonder sparks in his gaze, as though this were the first time he'd ever seen such a sight, though it was brought forth partially by their own labor; even if Luckypaw had caught such a creature before, when he was younger, there wasn't such a grand chase, no racing across the moors. It's still lovely, he thinks, even so still - so much stiller than butterflies ever were in life. Other things aren't like that, he's pretty sure; a rabbit isn't beautiful up close, strewn across the freshkill pile, and certainly cats are far better off full of life. These, though? These really are a sight to behold when their wings aren't flapping frantically, carrying them away from you. Broken from his thoughts by the sound of his companion's voice, his curious expression quickly grows to mirror Thriftpaw's, though it's accompanied with a little duck of his head. "Yeah, I guess we did both get it, didn't we?" Thriftpaw had been the one to actually catch it, of course, but the other apprentice isn't wrong, either; Luckypaw had still played a role by starting the chase, even if that didn't quite sound as important in his mind than finishing it. As Thriftpaw continues on, complimenting him, he feels his fur start to heat up slightly, a solid, warm glow in his chest."You - you really think so? I mean, it wasn't all that special or anything - I just, jumped after it, you know? I didn't want it to get away, not after all the effort we put into it and everything..."

Despite his attempts to downplay his own actions, he can't do anything to hide the pleased grin at the other apprentice's words, and quite frankly, he finds he doesn't want to hide it. He'd rather bask in this feeling of accomplishment a little longer, as though he were relishing a sun-warmed pelt. "I mean, your leap was pretty good, too, I think, since you caught it and all," he offers back, even as the pair's attention begins to drop back down to the butterfly. Thriftpaw begins to offer a suggestion as to what they should do with it now that the chase is over, and Luckypaw's interest is piqued as the other apprentice suddenly interrupts himself, busying his paws with...something. When he comes back up, wing in tow and paw pressed to his flank, he's almost startled, though it quickly dawns on him what the idea was. "Oh!" he repeats, studying the way the wing curves against his side. Instinctively, he thinks of another set of wings - one green, one blue; one tucked safely away amongst the moss, the other worn proudly for all the world to see. After another moment of thinking, he'll turn back to the remaining wing, a slight frown tugging at his mouth when he notices it's slightly crumpled, but all the same, he'll only try to smooth it out slightly before gently settling it alongside Thriftpaw's flank. "So we can match!" he exclaims brightly, laughter bubbling up once again.​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​

 

[Thriftfeather]

All of those bright and easy feelings dissolve as Luckypaw presents Thriftpaw with his own gift. His face doesn't fall, he isn't nearly so improper, but for a brief moment his tail bushes to a nearly comical size before smoothing once again. A gift is something that can be taken away or — remembering his company, Thriftpaw forces his twitching ears to still — replaced. Thriftpaw shouldn't accept it.

The problem is that Thriftpaw likes things. He likes feathers and butterfly wings and shiny pebbles. Other cats exist with a ring of baubles around their nests like acorns around an oak, and Thriftpaw wants that too.

"Ghostwail might not like..." Thriftpaw starts, but it feels like too big of a thing to explain. Thriftpaw shakes his head as if dismissing a thought, and then meets Luckypaw's eyes with a smile, "I mean, I'm not so good at holding onto things. Maybe — maybe I'll wear it, and at the end of the day I'll give it to you, and then you'll — you'll keep it hid — you'll keep it safe?"​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[LUCKYPAW]

┌─────────────────── ☽【❖】☾ ───────────────────┐​

If Thriftpaw is suddenly less eager, as though the excitement has drained away, Luckypaw is slow to notice, focused solely on the mirrored placement of their butterfly wings - the wings that they had surely earned, and now had the chance to show off. When Thriftpaw starts to balk at the shared gift, his head tilts curiously, a confused frown trying to tug its way onto his face. Did Thriftpaw...not want to wear the wing? He thinks of his own, tucked away in his nest, again, and finds that yes, that's certainly a reasonable explanation; accessories just weren't for everybody, and sometimes prizes didn't need to be so blatantly flaunted about. Sometimes, the memories are more important than keeping the thing with you, or at least, that's how he feels, anyways. Another, more insidious thought creeps - maybe it's not that Thriftpaw doesn't want to wear the butterfly wing, maybe it's that he doesn't want to match with Luckypaw, not after he'd pointed it out so easily. Walking around with the wings woven into their fur, it would pretty quickly be obvious that they each possessed a half, and maybe Thriftpaw doesn't want that association with him - why, he has no idea, but it could very well be true. That, or he's jumping to conclusions, ascribing meaning where there isn't any; this, he really, really, hopes is the case.

The mention of Ghostwail brings a puzzled look to his face, nose wrinkling as he tries to figure out how the intimidating she-cat is relevant at all here, but Thriftpaw corrects himself, and Luckypaw is more than happy to go along with it, to pretend that it was just a meaningless mention, odd as it is. He says he's not good at holding onto things, and that's familiar - at least, in a way. One of the reasons that he hadn't joined Scorchpaw in decorating his pelt is that he was worried that he'd lose the butterfly, or that it would get damaged when brushing up against a tunnel wall; no, he surely can't blame Thriftpaw for sharing those same worries, even if he still says he'll wear the wing for the rest of the day, and then he'll pass it off to Luckypaw, to keep safe. "Well, if you really don't want to, I mean - you don't have to wear it at all..." For the first time, uncertainty colors his words, uncertainty that, just maybe, Thriftpaw hadn't had as much fun as it had seemed, that he didn't want to associate himself with Luckypaw for some reason. "I can keep it safe in my nest, if that's what you want - I'll put it right next to the one I caught with my siblings. I don't like wearing it around, either, since I might scrape it or mush it in the tunnels or something," he admits, hoping to reassure both Thriftpaw and himself. It's not like he knows for a fact that Thriftpaw doesn't just want to keep it safe - after all, even if he had acted a little weird, he'd still offered to wear it for the day, right?​

i'm falling into place, but still the timing's not right (☘) yeah that's a fire i just can't seem to light

• OOC: --​
• 
• 
  - Luckykit Luckypaw
  - He/him (AFAB)
  - 5 moons (Ages on the 1st)
  - Kit Apprentice of WindClan
  - Small blue tortoiseshell with white spotting & green eyes
  - Art by myself & meghan respectively! <33
  - Minor powerplay allowed!
  - Penned by Hijinks​