duskclan SOMEWHERE I DON'T KNOW — late night

[RUMBLERAIN]

Rumblerain is used to sleeping under the open sky. As a WindClanner, they'd taken pride in it: protected by the omnipresent eyes of StarClan upon their back while they sleep. Under Sootstar's reign, that knowledge had been turned into a threat. Even now, Rumblerain feels a guilty shudder run across their form whenever they turn their thoughts skyward. It's unusually clear out, no snow on the horizon but frost near-entirely guaranteed. Having given up on sleep a short time ago, tossing and turning in their meagre nest allowing them no escape from the cold, they trace the starry evening with exhausted blue eyes.

Badgermoon is up there, probably. Rumblerain has thought their father dead from the moment he'd fled WindClan with Curlewnose in tow. It would be a mercy, they think. An escape, though Rumblerain doesn't have memory of Sootstar sending warriors in pursuit. The dark-pointed WindClanner rolls over again, setting their chin atop white paws. They wonder if Sootstar is up there, too. StarClan had given her nine lives in the first place, allowed her to create one of the five great Clans. Would they take her in as punishment? As an apology? Rumblerain likes to think that she's deserving of the latter. They're all that's left of WindClan now, after all, and as much as she'd hated StarClan for taking Weaselclaw from her ... maybe they've been reunited in the stars.

Rumblerain rolls again, accidentally flicking a Clanmate with their tail. They wince, with a whisper of, "Sorry."

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[GRANITEPELT]

The brief moon or so he’d spent in the tumbling moorlands did not leave its imprint on his heart the way the marshes of his motherland had. Granitepelt’s body yearns for darkness, for dense pine forest and ground that squelches underpaw, for pools of water lining the mire, for the richness of frogsong to crackle through the air like lightning. Here, there is only dust, dry earth, bristling grass that feels like nettle underpaw, frost. Above him, a blank and empty sky sprawls, cold and gray and starry. He blinks toward it, missing the stone roof of Starlingheart’s medicine den that would hide him from StarClan’s twinkling gazes.

Are you there, Pitchstar? Are all of you there, laughing at me in this hellscape? Let them laugh. Let them all laugh, both in StarClan and in the forest they’d left behind. His claws absently scrape at the earth. Your time will come.

A tail flicks out toward his flank. There’s a shift in the nest beside him. Granitepelt turns, seeking a dark-pointed face, blue eyes. Sorry, they murmur. “You can’t sleep either,” he observes. It’s not a question. He rolls onto his flank, dark green gaze fleeing toward the night sky once more. “Thinking about WindClan?” His breath plumes. He does not know if he can admit he’d been yearning for ShadowClan in his heart.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 21 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — windclan warrior. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

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[juncoclaw]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ It takes all Juncoclaw's might not to separate herself from her Clanmates, to seclude herself away in a solitary nest of her own. Reluctantly, she sleeps near the other rogues, to not bear the harsh cold of winter's nights. Though she refrained from sharing tongues and food, she could at least allow herself this.

Sleepless nights are not uncommon for the silver molly. She thinks of her nest back home, similarly secluded but safer in mentality - then she thinks of Sootstar, and the cats who betrayed her - them. As the stars shine overhead, meant for some other cat that deserves their light, she thinks about everything she lost. Never before has she doubted her faith in Sootstar as much as she did now. Knowing now that she was just as weak as the rest of them, not the invulnerable and strong cat Juncoclaw once idolized. Did she always carry some semblance of doubt, or was she just regretting the life she lost?

It seems she's not the only cat awake tonight. There's a rustle somewhere two nests down, persistent as ever; a cat tossing and turning, she guesses. Then a voice of the cat in the nest just beside her. Granitepelt murmurs, keeping quiet - but the voice still grates her ears nonetheless. "Sleep," she drawls with a voice utterly drained. Wish as she may, she knows that they cannot - and neither can she. With a heavy sigh, Juncoclaw stretches out in her nest, preparing her body to inevitably get up and start her day early. "What are you thinking about?" she mumbles to Granitepelt, a counter to his question towards Rumblerain. She wonders if the tom thinks of ShadowClan, or WindClan.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── NOTHING COMPARES TO ⋅❁⋅ THE FEVER DREAM ──┐‎

• 
  
  
  

• 

• 
  JUNCOCLAW ✩ she/her, rogue of duskclan, 9 moons.
  ⭃ a blue-silver tabby chimera she-cat with green eyes.
  ⭃ n/a family // formerly mentored by mockinggrin
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[RUMBLERAIN]

Juncoclaw's drawl, young and tired, earns a sympathetic look. Rumblerain's voice catches in their throat, unwilling to mention they'd been thinking of StarClan instead. This is easier to discuss at such an hour. Maybe they could talk about the dead in the sunlight of tomorrow, when they weren't looking. Their tail curls around their skinny limbs, inviting a new wave of shivers, and a yawn escapes them. Figures that when they finally start talking, another wave of sleepiness would wash over them.

"We're WindClan, aren't we?" They murmur tiredly, ears pricking. They try to pitch their voice even lower, so that Juncoclaw can sleep. If they aren't WindClan, what would they be? What could they be? "Or are we something else, now?"

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