camp SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW | re-starting collections

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

the temporary camp is something to grow used to. not deeply intimate with, but enough to navigate. she does not know how long the river will cry with hunger, how long it will take to slink back into its regular home. they've lost some, but the heaviness is the same. pebbles and herbs holding the same weight, and so she is out here. it is a rare moment that buck is not particularly prickly or harsh. a mere reflection of what she had used to be, before the emergence of riverclan. when it was just her and caraway and raccoon. when buck was easier with her tongue, and gentler with her claws.

she nuzzles some lost goose feathers and gently-colored river rocks in the direction of willowroot. "i never liked being by here," she carries the conversation earlier had, something small to pass the time with. "but the skies are nice. i feel freer up here." it's unsaid, but it's silently hinted at her feelings from before the clan. when buck could roam the river lands, her birth lands, without care. she had little responsibilities to be tied to. had no colony of cats to teach and care for, didn't have to care for anything other than her small family of rogues. and yet, here she was. a deputy of some clan that had threatened to drive her from her home. she'd laugh if she had heard it from another mouth. but it felt bitter in her's.

"y'know, maybe this collection will be better than the last, caraway." spoken in a hopeful jest, buck starts roving for some more. she's sure darkpaw had lost his star-blessed pebble, and that ferns horde of river pebbles had joined the rest of the river by now. perhaps she can look for something for them. an incentive to start anew.

// @willowroot ;; feel free to post before !!!!!
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[CLAYFUR]

Considering everything that’s been, like, happening, Clayfur doesn’t mourn the loss of his stack of feathers for too long. He’s really more concerned with the safety of his clanmates—the river’s easy betrayal was to be expected at some point, but not everyone is a terrific swimmer and it had caught most everyone off guard.

Still, the brown tom trails after Buckgait and Willowroot, hoping to lend his aid in some way, even if not to build his own collection. Hadn’t Fernpaw kept some rocks or something that were dear to him? Clay isn’t sure of the specifics of his nephew’s rock collecting or whether he actually lost them, but it’s important to the bug-eyed apprentice so it’s important to him.

His own collection, mostly downy feathers and soft leaves meant to lure Clearsight into a comfortable nest at night, has been lost for certain. "Is it even worth trying to get more things," he ponders aloud. Until the river recedes, then they’re still at risk of it rising even higher and washing out their new camp, right? So there’s no reason to collect more stuff that might just get ripped away again. He’s trying to remain positive, but—someone could have died. His stuff seems rather pointless in comparison. Perhaps for others like Willowroot, though, any sort of collection is more a comfort than his own was.
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[Redpath]

Redpath had lost all her rocks. Her hoard... The orange molly was powerless to stop the river from sweeping away her funny little rocks, rocks that she had collected since the day she arrived.

Woe, she would never recover from this loss.

Yes, it was good that everyone was safe. That was more important. And since everyone was safe, she could mourn her loss.

"My rocks......All gone...... What will they do without me...."

She never got to see them off to rock apprenticeship.... Rock warriorship..... They were all alone out there.... How terrible.

She sighed dramatically as she laid out in the new camp, closing her eyes. It was silly to have such an attachment to rocks, she knew, but they were hers....

There was probably something deeper to it than that, but it's not like she could figure it out.


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[GILLSIGHT]

Gillpaw's collection is among the fallen - a victim of the flooded river that washed through their camp, that collapsed the apprentice den. Rocks that he's collected since before RiverClan was formed, since before the Great Battle spilled blood and split Two into Five.

All gone, save for one. One that he'd grabbed last second from the rubble of the den he once slept in, one that he'd carried all the way to their new home. Perhaps it was foolish of him to even think of retrieving it, in the midst of an emergency, but, he finds comfort in the rescued trinket. Times were sad, right now, and Gillpaw thinks everyone should have some sort of comfort.

"O-of course it i-is," he says to Clayfur's comment - on whether it was worth re-building collections, "I-if it makes someone happy... then... th-then we should collect m-more, right? R-RiverClan needs some happiness, right now."

Perhaps he'll help others build their collections back up, while they're here. There's plenty of new things to collect in this new home of theirs, after all.
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[GLOOMPAW]

Gloompaw hadn't even been thinking about their collections. There seemed to be so many -- all laid out in dens, the peek of a fishscale beneath a nest, the soft feathers interwoven in others. Sentimental. She was considering starting a hoard herself, perhaps by thieving others' items, until the flood came. Now, in the aftermath, everyone was feeling the loss of familiar trinkets as they moved in and settled down.

The nests looked so boring. Just as sad as the rest of the situation.

Bounding over, she grasped a few smooth stones, stacking them to carry. Dropping them, various other bits of gravel poured out of her mouth, raining on the bigger pebbles below. Gloompaw wasn't well acquainted with choosing these stones, she'd shoveled as many as she could into her maw so Willowroot and whoever else needed to replenish their hoards could have a pick. The more the better, right? "Here," she gestured, the word accented as she spat the last of the gravel onto the ground.​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) when willowroot remembers her collections, there's a soft twinging in her heart. in the chaos of the flood there had been no chance to even think about rescuing a hard earned pebble or a special feather. everything was gone before they'd even woken up that fateful day. so, when buckgait pulls her from her den, nudges her towards the riverside and begins picking through debris for rare treasures, willowroot almost breaks her jaw from beaming. with the white dappled molly's help, she's begin to sort a few small piles of special looking items, in particular a smooth oval shaped rock, blue-gray, a similar hue to her friend's eyes. she tucks this under her tail for now, thoroughly pleased with these beginnings.

clayfur hovers nearby, pondering a fairly important question, and the smoke tips their head. "i think it brings most some comfort. better than nothing at this point," they concede at gillpaw's words. redpath's dramatic sigh heaves a small chuckle from their tired lungs. "don't you worry red, we'll find you something."

as gloompaw pads up, tufted ears prick, eyes brightening at the new bundle of things to sort. "oh gloom, darling, these are lovely!" she purrs, and taps her tail along the young medic's side. "want to help me look through them?" ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )