something told him ] material gathering

whitepaw

did i disappoint you?
Jan 29, 2024
27
8
3
Whitepaw picks his way through the frost-covered undergrowth, ears pricked and eyes narrowed in concentration. The early morning light filters through the trees, but instead of warm beams, it brings only a pale, cold glow. The frost has come early this year, biting through the leaves and leaving the ground hard beneath his paws. He grits his teeth, feeling the chill seep through his thin fur. It irritates him more than anything—he should have been more prepared, especially after the few warning nights that had brought cooler breezes. Yet here he is, scouring the forest floor for anything that might help insulate the dens and stave off the coming cold. He searches under every bush, through every pile of leaves he can find. But the frost has gotten to everything before he has. When he nudges a patch of leaves with his nose, they crumble, brittle and lifeless. Whitepaw huffs in frustration, sitting back and shaking a bit of frost off his muzzle. With the forest already showing signs of winter's grip, any materials he might've been able to use—soft moss, clumps of fur, downy feathers—are either frozen solid or completely inaccessible.

Steeling himself, he continues deeper into the woods, brushing his shoulder against the stiff, icy leaves of a bramble bush. He pauses now and then, pressing his nose to the ground, hoping to scent something useful. But all he smells is the cold, sharp tang of frost and dead vegetation. The more he looks, the more he feels the gnawing sensation of failure creep in. He doesn't like the feeling—it reminds him too much of being that weak, sickly kit, helpless in the face of the elements. Whitepaw's breath puffs out in small clouds as he finally steps into a small clearing, a hacking cough echoing out as the cold air irritates his frail lungs. Once he catches his breath, he takes a moment and he scans it carefully, noticing the little hollows where the grass dips, but they're all rimmed with ice. For a moment, he sits there, taking careful breaths and assessing the situation. He's come this far, yet all he's found is a forest stripped of the resources he needs. The Clan will need to find warmth, and while Whitepaw could blame the weather or even the forest itself, he can't shake the weight of responsibility. His pride won't allow it.

Clenching his jaw, he rises to his paws again, determined to make one last attempt before admitting defeat. He circles back, eyes sharp for any overlooked pocket of greenery. Maybe he'll find a patch of thawed moss close to camp, somewhere the frost hasn't quite reached yet. But even as he thinks it, he knows it's unlikely. The frost has been relentless, and every glance at the ground confirms it: there's nothing here for him to take back.

[ rolled a 5 :( ]​
 
BUT MAYBE THAT'S A LIE

deja vu. that's what this felt like. because here he was again, doing something he didn't want to do because his mentor said so. he doesn't want to do this. he wants to go back within the tunnels, maybe secure the way that they do things, and it can be cold down there but it's a lot less loud. he guesses his saving grace in this case is the fact that whitepaw doesn't seem like he's a very loud tom cat st all, but he doesn't know that for sure. he doesn't know whitepaw at all, and no offense to him but he doesn't want to know him. he doesn't want to know anyone.

this only furfher when he sniffs around and finds nothing. it's too damned cold to find anything. it's a miracle he found anything at all last time. he only grumbles in response as he looks around at everyone else. was anyone else having luck? whitepaw wasn't. he hates that that somehow makes him feel better about not finding a thing.

//rolled a 5! found nothing!

 
༄༄ The calico trots along, trailed by her own duo of apprentices, and wonders when the first snow of the year will be. With how quickly the chill of winter is setting in, it is only a matter of time before the sky itself turns cold enough to rain down ice and snow upon them all. In the moorland, without trees to shelter them, WindClan will be exposed to the cold once again—but the leader still hopes that the full force of winter weather will hold off. There is still hope for bright, warm days before winter sets in.

Whitepaw and Splinterpaw seem to be struggling, so Scorchstar strides over to them with a small frown. She sets down the feathers she's collected for a moment, freeing up her mouth to speak. "Neither of you found anything?" For once, the stiffness that settles heavy upon the leader's shoulders falls to the ground. The clan can use all the bedding it can get when the cold truly sinks into the land; however, grilling two apprentices for their failure to find appropriate bedding material will not do WindClan any favors. Scorchstar herself has had trouble finding anything decent to use, so she can hardly push them to do better, either.

"I found these. They will not be as good as sheep's wool, but perhaps one of you could use them for your nest." Of course, Splinterpaw will not need to worry about his warmth if he takes her up on the offer she will make to himself and his littermates, but the boy does not know about that yet.

  • ooc: rolled a 15 (2 points)
    apprentice tags @Brackenpaw @BILBERRYPAW
  • 90455381_Xo2qORLiVUD8DK0.png
  • SCORCHSTAR ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ she/they, leader of windclan, tunneler
    small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates.
    mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
    mentor to bilberrypaw & brackenpaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
    penned by foxlore
 

He had been told many times over that leafbare were the most challenge season out of them all, and his apprenticeship had started just at the start of it. Nightpaw had no clue what the future had in store, or how difficult this season might be for him and his training but it was clear to him that gathering as much materials as possible before the ground grew to cold was one of the top priorities right now, so all of them could hopefully survive through this leafbare. It was his first time out on a patrol like this and he wished to find at least something useful.

Nightpaw had little knowledge when it came to tracking or following trails just yet, so it was a good thing he believed he mostly just needed his eyes for this, and a memory to be able to tell when he came across something useful or not. He made sure to stay close to the group as he walked by the sidelines searching through the grass and underneath rocks for anything really, but admittedly he would have liked to find some moss for his nest he wished to make back in camp. A warm and cozy one, so it would remind him of the time he had his family to snuggle up next to at the cold nights. Now, he was expected to sleep alone and while that most be one of the most difficult new things he had to adapt to couldn't say he liked it much. Overtime he would get used to it, maybe. Having a nice nest might help the newly promoted apprentice to adjust a bit easier though.

No such luck though, no moss to be found even after having searched for a while. When it seemed like his luck was drawn short...the apprentice ended up discovering something that had been hiding in the grass. Nightpaw went over to investigate the discovery as he used a paw to shove the grass away to reveal the discovery, and while it was not moss he had been hoping to find it was a pretty discovery. Feathers in the colors of black and blue. It was something he had never seen before, not in this color at least. Nightpaw leaned his head down to pick the feathers up carefully before returning back to the group, unsure what use it would be for him to have but maybe somebody else would like them....maybe father even would like this gift.

// material roll - 13
2 points!
mentor tag; @PINKSHINE



 

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Thistlepaw traverses the frosted undergrowth after his aunt, his tufted tail fluffed out and burr-like. The seal-point frowns whilst the patrol searches for insulation materials in preparation for Leaf-bare. Snow-tipped paws steadily move across the moorland, searching for anything that could be of use for them. For a moment, Thistlepaw envies ThunderClan and SkyClan, who had trees to break up the brisk winds that swept across their land. He wouldn't trade WindClan for any of them, but wonders if StarClan couldn't bless them with warmer breezes. Soon enough he might freeze where he stands!

He huffs in irritation and fluffs out his fur, pawing at the heather to thoroughly check every place something useful could be hidden. He sniffs around until he catches the scent of hawk; even though it's stale, it still sends a surge of panic through him. But the seal-point follows it and is pleasantly surprised to locate some feathers hidden amongst the shrubbery. Carefully gathering them, the apprentice then regroups with the patrol with a smirk adorning his features.



  • ooc. Rolled a 14. 2 points! mentor tag @GRAVELSNAP

  • LH Seal-point with low white
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    THISTLEPAW he / him apprentice of windclan
    son of Rattleheart x Venomstrike, brother to Bunnypaw, Crunchykit, Breezepaw and Splinterpaw.
    Lissom seal-point prickly-furred tom with white markings on his face, chest, belly, paws and tail. His tail is long and has a tufted tip.
    "speech" thoughts

 
THE CORVIDS ARE CALLING
WARNING THE FOREST A PREDATORS APPROACHING

daisywatcher & 22 moons & feminine & she/they/it & windclan tunneler

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Being above ground will never be Daisywatchers favorite thing - the openness of it all discomfiting, leaving her feeling are to vulnerable for her liking, But it is a necessary evil - would that she could, she'd live underground beneath the soil forever, but mother had always said if she did she'd turn into a mole-cat, blinded without sunlight and scrunched without the wind, and so she begrudgingly returns most days to join th moor-dwellers.

Todays task is a simple enough one though - eyes squint against the harsh light after so long spent in darkness, golden-furred molly simply shuffles her way about,truthfully far more interested in bug-spotting then her task. And, in the end, it rather shows - as empty pawed as many of the apprentices before her, she shrugs her shoulders at Scorchstars words. " Me neither, "

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

A M - I - I N - D A N G E R -- O R - A M - I - T H E - T H R E A T - ?

 
⁀➷ Foxglare could count this as his third time feeling the bite of frost beneath his paws, and there was something oddly comforting about the dependabilThe wind bites at Foxglare's nose something fierce today, exhalations fogging the frigid air before him, inhalations tickling pitilessly at his lungs, not letting him forget the grip of yellowcough that only left a few moons back. Admittedly, it leaves him in a sour mood, but he tended toward the aloof on his best days, so he hoped the silence on his part didn't come off so explicitly… perturbed.

He thinks he spots a patch of moss beneath a nearby shrub, and he leans to reach under it to find that he's correct. However, all of the moss is dry and brittle, frosted over and hardly separable from the dirt beneath. Even worse, he pulls his limb out to find out that the shrub was chock-full of burrs. The little spiny pods cling to his fur stubbornly and he sighs.

The group regroups nearby, and he spares everyone a glance while he works—embarrassed and tired—pulling out the burrs, "Moss's all frozen over, I'll look somewhere else."


  • OOC: rolled a 1 (failure, LMAO)

  • meztli . sun . fox . foxpaw . foxglare
    — he/him. 23mo moor-runner of windclan. Mentored by shalestripe. currently mentoring frightpaw. formerly mentored tigersting.
    — a scarred, hulking white and golden tabby tom with gray eyes
    — taciturn, vigilant, reserved, self-righteous, restrained, independent, humanitarian, unyielding
    — "speech", thoughts, attack
    — penned by eezy
 

Out of all the Clans, the most in need of warm bedding will undoubtedly be WindClan. The moors are exposed to the cold more so than the forests and swamps, everything's out in the open for its cruel claws to find. Deerpaw is relieved more than proud to have found a few feathers, which he quietly brings back to the rest of the patrol.

He winces when he sees the limited success the others have found. Four sets of empty paws, and only a few bundles of feathers between the rest of them. A distressed mumble escapes past the feathers in his mouth. Hopefully some other patrol has had more luck.

  • /rolled a 15! +2
  • DEERPAW he/him, apprentice of windclan, eleven moons
    a tall, lanky chocolate ticked tabby tuxedo with big copper eyes. quiet and sensitive, he keeps to the fringes of windclan out of a deep sense of insecurity. without his father to guide him, he's lost sight of where his life is supposed to go. he thinks he has to be useful in order to be liked.
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
    penned by solaire@funeralscythe on discord, feel free to ping for plots.

 
"How much do you think we can find?" The black tabby asked one of her fellow apprentices as they walked along, though she didn't wait very long before drifting away to the next cat, the general quiet unreceptive of her chatter. She didn't bother Nightpaw with many attempts; when she neared her brother, she offered him a nod or a smile or a brief shoulder bump, whatever she thought he would prefer in the moment, because he preferred them all over talking. For the others, thought, Bramblepaw was frustrated that they were too busy to really have a conversation, even if she knew it wasn't their fault. They were busy - she knew that! She settled for smiling and offering conversational hooks, just in case anyone would want to take her up on it.

At any rate, she enjoyed exploring. It kept her moving, and that helped fend off the cold that would seep into her already aching joints, and that helped keep the worst of the ache at bay. Would she be any better at finding nest materials if she was short like Heatherpaw, and not suffering growing pains? Maybe, but even Foxglare was struggling to find moss, and he was definitely too old to have growing - "Oh!" Bramblepaw surged toward a scattering of pine needles, scooping them into a pile to better pick up. "Do these work?"

//rolled an 8; 1 point!
 
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Winter bites early. Scorchstorm keeps close to Bramblepaw; hovers around her mother; attempts to find comfort in proximity. There's no snow — thank the Stars there isn't any yet, though she knows she could take it — but the cold seeps into her short, wiry fur all the same. She doesn't realize how she ignores her apprentice's first query, too lost in her own thoughts and wishes for the season that approached far too quickly.

Her paws are tingling numb by the time she catches Bramblepaw's second question. Mismatched gaze sweeps from the ground to the brindled brown face, then down to the girl's paws, where a boon of pine needles lay ripe for picking. "Very good, Bramblepaw," she purrs, a spark in the hearth. With a playful flick of the tailtip against Bramblepaw's flank, she continues, "Now, do not lose any on the way back to camp."
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  • ooc. laaate posting for the badge </3 found nothing
  • SCORCHSTORM —— lead warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan

    a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
    demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 20 moons & ages every 1st
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
    —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats

    "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
    full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse