pafp SON OF NYX [ evening hunting ]

[mothmoon]

( ✧ ) as the sun dips below the horizon, the moor transforms into a realm cloaked in shadow. heather and tall grasses whisper secrets into the cooling evening breeze. the distant call of a solitary curlew echoes across the clear sky as it fades from sapphire to indigo with the fading light. shadows stretch long and dark across the landscape as the felines stalk quietly through the rustling grass. eyes of dark amber flick up to the sky for a moment as mothmoon whispers her common prayer to the stars above. "starclan, bless my paws to find good prey for my clan," she murmurs, and then flicks her attention back to the earth. bluepaw and herself are situated by a burrow, and within it, rabbits cuddle up to sleep. eyes gleaming in the moonlight, mothmoon whispers, "go in and flush them out, yeah?" she flicks to the burrow opening with her feathery tail. "i got it up here." claws slide from her slender paws as she takes a few steps back, glancing expectantly at the younger apprentice.

// kinda a bad started but here u go love @BLUEPAW ​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluepaw has not been out with her mentor in days, and at Sunstride’s discretion, she is passed from tunneler to tunneler without ceremony. She’s sure she can see pity in the deputy’s eyes when he assigns her to a cat who is not her mother to follow… and that bothers her like dust settling upon her pelt. She itches with bad feeling every day now. They storm inside her, though one would never know it by looking upon her face. She does as she’s bid, as she always had. She is to be a warrior soon, and there’s no place in her life for self-pity, for lagging behind because of her emotions.

The gray she-cat works on their tunnels during the day, burrowing out toward RiverClan’s border, and by night she has troubled dreams. Rogues stinking of yellowcough, her father among them, shadowy and strange. Bluepaw had quietly asked Mothmoon if the two of them could go hunt beneath the indigo sky and the golden she-cat had obliged. The two of them stalk through stiff tawny grass, leaf-fall breezes tugging through their fur. She listens to Mothmoon’s quiet prayer, and Bluepaw adds, her voice low and velvety: “StarClan, let us use the skills you gave us to feed our Clan.”

She gives Mothmoon a nod of understanding, shooting into a sunken-in bit of darkness. She’s accustomed to the way the tunnel walls scrape at her flanks, the narrow, twisting descent into her domain. Her whiskers tremble, noting the movement above her. They are in the heart of their moorland, and though she mainly scents dust, there’s possibility on the edge of her periphery.

Experience and a stagnant breeze tell her the tunnel will widen after she takes a left turn, and she does, paws deft and quiet on the soft earth. In the gloom, green eyes flash with predatory hunger. There’s a plop sound, repetitive and light—it’s a rabbit preparing to sprint. She tastes the air, feels it coat her breath.

Just as the tunnel opens up, Bluepaw shoots after it, driving it back up the way she’d come. The tunnels here are central to their territory and sturdy, so the grit falling onto her ears and nose does not trouble her. When she sees the moonlight filtering through the darkness and illuminating the rabbit’s fluffy end, she calls, “Prepare yourself!”

ooc ✧ 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝑒𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈

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  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

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