camp song of ice and fire + failed hunting patrol

Patchpaw and her family had left ThunderClan in the dead of night, so it seemed. Stormpaw had not been the same since then. Her paws dragged as she followed after Owlear on hunting patrols and battle training. She stared distractedly into the trees, letting a squirrel dash by without the semblance of an effort to catch it.

What am I supposed to do? She thought dejectedly to herself as her patrol returned to the camp. Stormpaw's feet shuffled anxiously in the dirt as the other cats deposited their prey in the pile. She had nothing to show for her efforts. This was normal, as Stormpaw had never been one of the greatest hunters, much to her disappointment. She could not bear to even approach Flamewhisker or Flycatcher. The tricolor apprentice glanced anxiously at the apprentice den, imagining the other torbie she-cat to appear from it at any moment.

It felt strange to try to mourn for her dead littermates. Stormpaw had never met them. When they were brought up, Stormpaw could only sit there with a frozen look as the guilt settled in. Guilt for having been the survivor. Guilt for not being able to feel any significant pain when they were mentioned. Patchpaw had filled in that hole—and now with her gone, Stormpaw found herself at anguish. Perhaps now she finally understood what it meant to lose someone so close.

Her claws unsheathed and unconsciously shredded the leaves under her, becoming more frantic and violent the longer she stewed in her thoughts.

 
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"Were those leaves enemy warriors you would be promoted early like my brother was."
Moonpaw's much larger frame drapes a shadow so long it fully blankets Stormpaw in darkness as she trots over, spotted paws light and expression one of calm indifference though the faintest trace of concern narrowed her eyes to the younger apprentice. She did not often see Stormpaw so upset, but she could make her guesses as to why that was; she and Patchpaw had been close, though how close she didn't know. It was none of Moonpaw's business then but she was making it her business now. Without asking permission she sits, a tail-length away and her own plume of a tail wrapping about her paws in a dainty pose uncharacteristic of the icy demeanor she held now. As a kit she hid behind her tail often when Morningkit was not there to be her shield. The habit had not faded, but no longer for the same reasons, it was a shield protecting others from herself now; that they not see the sheath and unsheathe of her claws in face of a budding temper she could only explain as the ice breaking in her chest.
The freshkill pile had not filled since the last hunting patrol, she was acutely aware Stormpaw had been on it but did not quite make the connection this was the source of some irritation so she made no comment, instead glancing to the edge of camp where once warriors dragged her uncle's mangled and bloody form to drop before them all; the boars had taken more than just a life that day.
"...You're how old now? Eight moons? Halfway through training huh...? How is it so far?"
 
WE HAVE YET TO CRASH ✧°.☀ —————————————————————————————
It was always with keen interest that Lightpaw watched returning hunting patrols. After all, who wouldn't want to see what was up for grabs later on? One by one prey was deposited on the fresh-kill pile, only... he watched as Stormpaw hung back, shuffling her paws dejectedly. Failed hunt, it seemed. Boy, he knew how that one felt.

The golden apprentice's approach was second only to Moonpaw, who was already striking up a rather awkward conversation that he picked up as he stopped nearby. With a soft mrr of greeting to indicate his arrival, he stood next to the younger she-cat and gave her a friendly bump with his shoulder, hoping to redirect her attention from the poor leaves beneath her. Unintentionally, he didn't wait for a reply to the tortie's question before tossing out his own.

"Rough hunt, huh?" She seemed miserable. "Can't always catch something. Makes me wish it would just walk into my paws for once." He offered a goofy grin. "Don't lose your fur over it, 'kay?"

[penned by its_oliverr - ]
——————————— ☀.°✧ BUT WE STILL MAY AS WELL ENJOY IT
 
Mousepaw watches Stormpaw’s claws shred the leaves beneath her with a baffled expression. They wonder—there’d been no fresh-kill brought back. Is this more aggravation in the face of returning empty-pawed? She’s witnessed Stormpaw’s despair before. The torbie she-cat takes her failures to heart every time. The she-cat says nothing to the younger apprentice, nothing to comfort her. Moonpaw gives an icy attempt, Lightpaw a more good-humored one, but Mousepaw cannot say anything that would make Stormpaw feel better. After all, she had failed her hunt, again.

After a moment, she pads closer, if only to be included. “I missed a squirrel big as my head just yesterday,” she adds to Lightpaw’s comment. “Silverlightning doesn’t chew my tail off over it, though. Is that what your mentor does?” They eye the younger cat curiously, tail tip twitching.


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  • mousekit . mousepaw
    — she/they, apprentice of thunderclan
    — pansexual ; single
    — long-haired blue tortoiseshell with white and green eyes
    — “speech”, thoughts, attack
    — penned by Marquette
    — chibi by Rai
 
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Owlear could not claim to understand what his apprentice was going through. Though he had family, at one point in time, life had been...different, and became different quickly. He could not think of his littermates with anything but distant fondness. They had their own lives now; that was part of growing up. With time Stormpaw would come to terms with her distance and independence. For now, however, the wound is fresh. He looks at her with quiet sympathy but does not press as they go about their duties. He hopes that his training takes her mind off of it, even if only for a few short moments.

That Mousepaw thinks of him in harsher terms might have bothered another warrior. His ear simply twitches with amusement as he approaches behind the group. Looming above Mousepaw, the senior warrior chuckles. "No, I don't believe that I do." The rest, however, he will leave to Stormpaw. With a nod of support he gives his apprentice the floor of the conversation, urging her to speak of her troubles, or at least commiserate over something else entirely. He cannot bring back her family; he cannot repair the leaves. But maybe with time he can teach her to better handle both.
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  • ooc:
  • owlear_clangen.png
    ──── owlear. senior warrior of thunderclan. cis male.
    ──── approximately 90 moons old, yet still youthful.
    ──── pansexual and single,   though with past flings.

    ──── a chocolate tabby with long, thick fur and a broad-shouldered build. despite his age, he is still a strong, imposing tomcat with clear, attentive eyes. though they are a muted hazel, they seem to twinkle with silent wisdom and a warm, deep-seated joy.
  • "speech"
 
  • Haha
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