- Feb 21, 2024
- 26
- 3
- 3
If there's one thing ShadowClan will always have—through all the cold, famine, death, and disaster—it's mud. Mud is a crucial part of the very territory they live in, where their primary prey makes its own home, what adorns nearly everyone's pelts, and part of what makes ShadowClan, well, ShadowClan. As such, Mockingbirdcry has taken it upon herself to educate the nursery kits on the general importance of the thing—and what better way than a game for the little scraps to join in on?
" Gather around, kits, " the queen coos softly, wide doe eyes beckoning forward curious faces. She sits, feeling the cool mud squelch under many - toed paws, and waits for her little audience to collect themselves. Mockingbirdcry scoops up a healthy pawful of mud once the kits have settled, patting it onto a dryer spot, and then hauls up another, and another, and another, until she has a passable lump. Pink tongue poking between her teeth, the queen molds the uppermost pile of mud with her paws.
" Look, it's a mud - cat, " the she - cat mews sweetly, poking " eyes " into the muddy plain that makes up its faux - face. She prompt scoops up a withered little pink march - blossom nearby and tucks it behind one of the " ears ". She turns glimmering brown eyes onto her audience, overlong lashes fluttering as she beckons the bravest of them forward with one paw. " Do you want to make your own? " Her muzzle curves into a smile. " You can name them, too. "
// talking to kits, but open to anyone!
" Gather around, kits, " the queen coos softly, wide doe eyes beckoning forward curious faces. She sits, feeling the cool mud squelch under many - toed paws, and waits for her little audience to collect themselves. Mockingbirdcry scoops up a healthy pawful of mud once the kits have settled, patting it onto a dryer spot, and then hauls up another, and another, and another, until she has a passable lump. Pink tongue poking between her teeth, the queen molds the uppermost pile of mud with her paws.
" Look, it's a mud - cat, " the she - cat mews sweetly, poking " eyes " into the muddy plain that makes up its faux - face. She prompt scoops up a withered little pink march - blossom nearby and tucks it behind one of the " ears ". She turns glimmering brown eyes onto her audience, overlong lashes fluttering as she beckons the bravest of them forward with one paw. " Do you want to make your own? " Her muzzle curves into a smile. " You can name them, too. "
// talking to kits, but open to anyone!
" speech "