camp sky full of song 𓆟 music

[robinheart]

bingo slot: chub!

Robinheart finds herself seated just outside of the nursery, citrine gaze fixed upon the slow rising smoke and flicker of distant flames. Controlled, concealed flames unlike the kind that had swept across WindClan not that long ago. She’s grown accustomed to the scent of char and ash - the occasional undertones of burnt sugar and savory meats that floated on the breeze as well. Twolegs were interesting creatures… dangerous of course… but their actions still intrigued her.

They always had, even when she had been trapped within one of their nests moons and moons ago.

The tortoiseshell queen swallows hard, shifting with phantom discomfort of a collar long ripped from her neck. Her ears flit back as not only does the breeze carry twoleg scents but noise as well. A twanging strumming tune, not entirely unpleasant. However the voices that join in are… less than enjoyable. Robinheart was never fond of twoleg language; the coos and rumbles of illegible words and vocal pitches that irritated her sensitive ears. Her twolegs used to command mechanical devices to play such tunes… music if she can recall the foreign word well enough. At least she can take solace in knowing these words weren’t directed at her, the music meant for them and not the cats of RiverClan.

The twolegs who settled in the campground continue a singsong back and forth among themselves, sometimes punctuated with laughter and cheers and clapping. “Do they rejoice in the trouble they are causing? Or could they be so ignorant to the harm they’ve done to us?” She ponders aloud to herself with a slight shake of her head as another tune rises above the voices and laughter, music filling the evening air.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[shellpaw]

the sound of celebration rings over the still evening air, the putrid scent of twoleg's contained smoke and charred meat fills her wheezing nostrils on each wet inhale. their croons carry far down the river, boisterous and pin sharp, enough to flit ears back on each sharp twang of a wail - howl they insist on letting out. beneath it, twining lazily in tune with the rumbling of emerging cicadas, was something almost metallic in sound ; something unlike anything else she'd heard before. a firm sort of rhythm, like the flit of birdsong filling the canopies grown purple and hazy with dying daylight. the girl lies along the shore, tucked away from the smattering of blue - grey pebbles that lead towards lapping shallows to watch where twolegs mill across the way. there was little more they could do than this.. to watch. to wait.

robinheart is peaceful company. a meek, soft - tongued queen cleaved near in half from grief --- sewn together again by kits still needing a belly filled. when she speaks it is sad no matter her tone, her words. saccharine eyes drift her way when that songbird hum emerges, as gentle and solemn as she'd come to know the molly as. do they rejoice in the trouble theyre causing us? she asks, and shellpaw supposes that if they did, they must have plenty to celebrate. still, fishbone - sunken shoulders lift and fall in shrug, heavy breath falling from her maw in the form of butterfly - beat sigh, ” they act like they.. don't even notice us. “ her gaze sways back downstream, towards where citrine flame coils and licks like a lounging dog at smoke - ridden air. a bout of laughter fills the air, a strange - sounding and coughlike thing from ugly, open maws, ” and.. and some cats live with them.. did you know that? " of course she had, though shellpaw was nonethewiser to robinheart's heritage, and so she continues quiet as the still air around them, " how could anyone stand it? are they all this.. this.. “ cruel. self - indulgent, self - involved, over engorged on fish they'd stolen and more they'd sent back filled with sharps and plastics. were they all this frustrating? this uncaring? this.. ” loud? “

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ° 𓇼 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i.
  
  
• 
• 
  
  SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENTAIL ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENTAIL, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

  
  

​

 

[DIZZYPAW]

"FATE IS A SUNDRESS" ˚୭ .ೃ⁀➷ tags ── DIZZYPAW ALWAYS FINDS herself thinking that the smoke from Twoleg camps that curls and sprawls towards the sky is some sort of guttingly beautiful. It bears as a reminder of the inherent danger - the serenity found is not a permanent thing, instead a tangible and shifting one. The sight captures her attention, and Dizzypaw sweeps long tail over her paws as she sits amongst the others to watch.

She listens, then, to the conversation about her. Quiet quips about Twolegs habits, musing over their thought process. It's something she thinks about herself - something she would want to know more about, if she could. They are different from her, but how might they be similar? Surely, in some way... Dizzypaw thinks too positively. But when the sound of laughter touches her ears, it reignites the thought process. Surely...

"Maybe they don't know they're being inconsiderate." Dizzypaw immediately feels it a brazen thing to say; a rush of embarrassment courses through her stomach. "Maybe their customs are different. Maybe they don't have any." She shrugs, as though it's a lesser thing to say. Hazel hues blink closed, and ears swivel towards the sound of disjointed voices and a melodic chant. There are similarities... if they could be called as much.​

​

 

[salmonshade]

Salmon is just returning from a hunt when she hears the comment Robinheart makes, throwing the fish on-top of the pile as if nothing at all was ever wrong and everything was fine in Riverclan- she lingers there, for a moment, and then she makes her way over to listen to the noise Robinheart had been talking about.

It's crude to her ears. "I don't think they care. About... The harm they've caused. This is probably a celebration." bitterness and loathing coats every word, agreeing with Shellpaw- but she looks down slightly at the comment about cats living with the twolegs. Robinheart had been Robinpaw when she had returned to Riverclan after being caught. Salmonshade had been the one to fetch Cicadastar. She had been the one to guide little Robinpaw all the way back home. How did Robinheart feel about them now...? Perhaps there is a certain soft spot for them, but Salmon dares not ask. She's being... judgy, when she knows she shouldn't be.

"Doubt that they have any customs or code to live by. They're lawless creatures... All they do is take," she shakes her head at Dizzypaw's comments. There is no possible way that these monsters have any rules with the recent misgivings... "And besides... They sound terrible." she couldn't resist the comment.

𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 ଳ⋆｡˚ 𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚁

• 
  ❥ salmon ,, salmonshade
  ❥ cis female ,, she/her ,, 39 months
  ❥ warrior of riverclan ,, mentoring riverpaw
  ❥ fluffy & dainty chocolate tortie smoke with white, blue eyes
  ❥ "speech, fd9367" ,, thoughts
  ❥ lesbian ,, single
  ❥ smells like warm flowers & freshly cut grass
  ❥ chibi by pin ,, penned by chuff

​

 

[valesight ➶]

⸙͎｡˚⋆ ⍋ ѧѦ ѧ⍋ ⸙͎｡˚⋆

Out of habit he finds himself drawn to coal-ember fur... a safe place in a world that descends into madness at any given moment. Valepaw is already increasingly aware of how his easily over-powered will has found him in trouble more often than not... knows it's something he needs to grow out of. Needs to control. His sun-summer eyes fixate on the rising billows of smoke, following the gaze of the young queen with hardly any sincere interest at all... he is safe within the confines of camp, even if the cause is really his own doing.

Shellpaw and Dizzypaw deposit their own frustrated imaginings and even the silk-soft molly Salmonshade seems infuriated by their existence in the distance. Their hatred is so intense... but how can one be angry at a creature too stupid to understand what it's doing? They are no different from kits in that sense... which his friend now has several of. As if remembering them, he blinks and turns towards Robinheart, "Will it wake the kittens?" It is of utmost concern that they do not stir and wail again... it will only add to the ear-splitting noise.​

​

 

[CRABPAW]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 Will it wake the kittens? asks Valepaw, but it’s already too late to consider that possibility. Crabkit parts a bundle of reeds that sprouts amidst the camp, his little orange paws stamping exasperatedly against the ground. First Eveningkit had woken everyone in the nursery up with her weird twoleg thingy, and now those ugly hairless upright birds—twolegs—are making so much noise he can’t sleep. The kit had whined his mother’s name, but when he initially got no response, he’d marched his sleepy way out of the nursery to see what the big deal was. Now he stands alongside the warriors and apprentices, a frown cutting across his muzzle. "Why won’t it stop?" He asks. A paw rises to press one of his ears down against his head, and his eyes narrow with kitlike annoyance. "What does it mean? Is it scary?" Crabkit wonders if he should have stayed in the nursery, tucked against his mother’s side. Then he’d be safe from scary twolegs, at least…

˚𓆛˚｡ the river will take me

• ooc: —
• 
  CRABKIT ❯❯ he/him, kit of riverclan
  𓆟 ginger and cream tabby with rippling white spotting and mossy green eyes. highly emotional and difficult to keep focused on one subject.
  𓆟 son of iciclefang ; brother to cragkit & pinekit
  𓆟 peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  𓆟 penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[EVENINGPAW]

Twolegs are starting to take on an entirely different form than reality within the safety of a mind that is all too impressionable at this age. Eveningkit has heard of them even before this — always talked about with distaste, grouped together with their dogs and other predators of the land around them. Threats, every single one of them, some that cats can battle and some that are simply not worth engaging with. The true extent of danger is important to teach to inhabitants of the nursery of course.

For what it's worth, Eveningkit has always listened to these. She had thought herself to be invincible, letting physical language speak for itself as she batted it all away with a flick of an ear, but nevertheless paying attention to these stories.

It is Smokestar's fate that had changed this. For the better, probably... but it certainly doesn't feel that way. It never feels good to be reminded of your own morality.

"Already awake," she all but spats upon Valepaw's comment. She had been hanging out somewhere behind Robinheart, surely hidden from his field of vision. Good. Don't look at me.

Whether her decision to ignore him past that point is either a sign of surprising maturity, or unsurprising lack of it... it all depends on how you look at it. Crabkit joins them all to prove a point, and Eveningkit turns her focus to the others- and the topic at paw, because she can't help but wonder if the Twolegs' strange dance is a ritual. Perhaps that's how they set fire to the moor. "It's not fair that we can't do the same to them. I mean, they never have to wonder why we hurt them..."
​

 

[PEBBLEPAW]

(☼) "they probably don't even know we care," pebblepaw follows salmonshade into camp, depositing his fish onto the prey pile with a tad more delicacy than the former. owl-like eyes find the dappled shape of his sister and the dark spotted queen, with his baby sister perched close by. "they're too wrapped up in their foolish lives to even know we have our own lives out here." a twoleg laugh stumbles its way towards the gathered cats on a soft breeze, one that carries the all too familiar scent of flickering flame. pebblepaw coughs at the smell of smoke, moving away from it to settle beside shellpaw amongst a bed of his namesake.

a yawn stretches the jaws of the hardworking apprentice, and he'll lean gently on his sister, rasping his tongue across one of his paws and pulling over his tufted ears. "i'll bet they're just selfish creatures. maybe even some of their own are as annoyed at their chanting as we are," whiskers twitch at the picture of one of the huge hairless beasts shaking its paw at the warbling noises of its companions.

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // " #848DAE"
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  PEBBLEPAW ☼ HE / HIM, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORED BY FOXTAIL. 7 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a large blue tabby with low white and vitiligo. pale blue fur covers the length of pebblepaw's stocky body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, and his muzzle, paws, and tail tip are dashed with white.

​

 

[Dreamkit]

There were many things he had asked his mother about. How do the fish swim? How about the butterflies flying? There was an understanding on how he and his clanmates could walk, they were so balanced on their four legs, but something about these big creatures was weird. Once he had asked about twolegs, hearing the word muttered and not quite understanding what that meant. How were they so balanced? On two legs..? Impossible. But if birds could be balanced on their two legs, then perhaps these things could too. This didn't mean the kit had seen any yet, though. How was he so certain they were even stable? Or had two legs to begin with? Who is to say they couldn't walk on four legs too?

Now was probably the best chance, the kit being awoken by the noise, a strange one but very... joyful? Dreamkit couldn't pin down how he felt about it; all he knew is that he was somewhat irritated by the noises of drawn out wailing. He poked his small patchy red face out of the nursery, crouching and crawling closer to the group talking. When Valepaw mentions potentially waking kits, he smiles. Of course he wasn't the only one awake. "Me awake, too." The tom adds, sitting now and looking up to anyone who would meet his green eyes. "Can we do what they do? We would sound better!" It was a wild thought, but Dreamkit was certain they could do better, sound better - not sound like a crying kit. It could also be fun... Probably not as fun as playing with moss or tails, but fun enough.

​

eyes are looking at your feet ✩

• ooc ))
  
  ​
• 

  - DREAMKIT . tags
  - AMAB (he/him) . 3 moons
  - gen 2 . Swiftfire x Hush . sib to Roekit & Amberkit
  - speech . thoughts
  penned by doc
  ​

[/spoiler]

 

[robinheart]

Gentle eyes turn towards Shellpaw, a sad knowing glimmer swirling in sunbright depths. “I did… live with them. I was a bit younger than you are now. Snuck out at night to train - to foolishly try to be better, stronger, by myself. It was before Blazestar proposed the six moon apprenticeship code, but sickness still held me back a moon. I was lured into a trap and taken,” suddenly her own mottled paws are easier to look at than Smokestar’s kin - a would have been adopted kin of Cicadastar if he still walked among them. “I escaped fortunately. But living among twolegs taught me that they are selfish creatures. Tenacious too. No matter how many times I swatted, scratched, bit… they still insisted on touching, talking, interacting with me.” More have gathered and she raises her gaze to meet each set of eyes, lingering on Salmonshade for a long moment. You remember. “I think… they think they are doing good. That they are helping by doing these things.”

Robinheart shakes her head lightly, as if trying to erase the bitter memories made all the clearer by twoleg presence. Valepaw’s question seems to answer itself, reeds shuffling as disgruntled kittens emerge. The tortoiseshell knows her kits are safe within the nursery - ears barely able to hear the loudest of sounds. Envious others must be of the muffled life they currently lead. “Mine will more than likely stay asleep. I am sorry sleep is so hard to come by for the rest,” she murmurs, plush tail sweeping towards Crabkit, Eveningkit, and Dreamkit. “We shall stay quiet though. Best not compete with their noise… we don’t want to draw them in.”​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[Frecklepaw.]

WATCHING YOUR
PRETTY SMILE SO WARM​

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frecklepaw & 08 moons & trans. fem & she/they/it & riverclan apprentice ​

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There is poorly hidden horror in mismatced eyes as she emerges from the apprentice den, wide eyed and weary. She'd been tyring to sleep - just as they all were, but clearly the twolegs have other plans. At first, she simply lingers - startled by the strange sounds and determined to know why. With troutsnout gone, all she can do is wonder why - stubbornly tamping down her fear and panic and pain. But the thought that the twolegs are - are celebrating, basking in their spoils after snatching up her sister and their clanmates and dirtying the river with there filth? It makes her sick. Eyes water angrily where she sits, tail lashing as she at last snaps in a quiet voice, muffled by anger and grief. " How? How can any of what they do be good, when they're ruining our home, " Twolegs are horrible creatures, if this is what they think is 'good'. She hates them.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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I ━ L O S E ━ M Y ━ C O O L , ━ W H E N ━ I ━ G E T ━ E M O T I O N A L

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