sensitive topics spring water l intro, flowers


Oct 9, 2022
The barest sunlight that manages to pierce the dim wetland hurts his eyes as he slips out of the bramble defenses, ever silent. In his mouth is a folded up leaf where something colorful slides inside. The farther he steps into the marsh, the more his sour expression eases into a vague apathy. A terrible, rotten mood has encapsulated the wallflower since his mother returned from the gathering. He would give them all a piece of his mind and his claws, if only he could. He doesn't agree with Bonejaw's decision either but there's nothing he can argue against it- in the most literal sense of that sentiment. All he could do was nose a bundle of herbs her way and hope she may reconsider or that Starclan might do something useful for once and help her. His real parents are there now supposedly so maybe they can assist...

It's hard not to think about them as he passes one of the pine trees and finds his amber gaze crawling up the bark. He can't remember what tree it was exactly that they tried to escaped the fox from (he was too young) but it matters little when it's thankless. Shadowclan lost two good warriors that day and he his voice but he's quick to chase it from his mind. It's not like he's interested in hunting down blood stains. Besides, the young cat had a long time to wallow in the past in this forced silence and now he's only focused on the future. The orche eyes set in his raccoon-like face seem to spark back to life and he forces an easy smile onto his maw. It's fake, but it'll do. Lost in his thoughts, Fogpaw settles along a pile of pine needles to listen to the bustle of camp. His stomach churns with nervous energy; the fear of being misunderstood, or worse, not understood at all looming over him but he doesn't retreat.

Instead, Fogpaw tries to funnel his frustrations into something small but pleasant. He can't communicate with his clanmates in the traditional sense any longer but he can do something kind. On an errand, he'd found some flowers that weren't good for much but to look at. Unfurling the broad leaf, Fogpaw reveals the menagerie of colorful blooms only good for fur or decorating nests. Shadowclanners aren't exactly known for such superfluous things but it doesn't mean they're made of stone. Most of them are weeds anyways but they're still pretty to him. Unsure how to announce his intent, Fog thumps his paw heavily into the ground then tilts his chin toward a nearby clanmate. He leans down, nosing forward the florals and holding in a sneeze.

/tldr; only the last paragraph
siltpaw | 04 months | female | she/her | physically easy | mentally easy | attack in bold #ddadaf

It is a quiet noise that draws Siltpaw from her thoughts, a soft whumph that has her brown ear flicking, pausing in her efforts to forcibly remove her claws from her paws. She doesn't mean to chew them - to do so much damage, but its a habit she cannot break, an absent thing that she never realizes until to late. Pale gaze avoids the toms eyes - uncertain. Is he... trying to get her attention? Or someone else-? Communicating is hard enough with words, even more so without, but she does her best to try and understand. Fogpaw points towards a bundle of plants - flowers, herbs maybe? She doesn't know enough to tell either way. "What are those for?" she asks slowly, hesitantly - she's not sure if her question will or even can be answered, but she feels out of her depth. Socialization has never really been her thing after all.

If you don't like me, that's your problem
Tornadokit lifts her head from her paws as she watches Fogpaw grasp the attention of Siltpaw. The tom seemed to be attempting to show her the flowers laid upon the ground and poor Silt does not seem to know what to really say at first. Briefly she is reminded of the times her father would gift her mom with flowers apparently is was some kind of romantic gesture that cats did when they liked each other. The brutish female lifts a single brow in a silent questioning manner before pushing herself to her paws. Cool citrine eyes land upon Fogpaw, holding the apprentice's gaze for a moment before finally speaking. "Maybe he likes you." She mutters in a low guttural tone, her eyes now cutting towards Siltpaw. There is a pang of jealousy that settles within the pit of her gut, her jaw clenching as a result. The pretty girls always got all the nice stuff. "Lucky you." Tornado adds, taking a seat upon the ground.
When I let it bother me, that's my problem

"How beautiful! What a delightful splash of color!" She liked pretty things. It was perhaps one of her flaws if you looked at it as such; vanity was a rarely often mentioned sin after all. Halfshade was somewhat vain in that it gave her an appreciation for such things but her view of what was lovely was skewed as opposed to the norm. She found many things beautiful, a unique crack in a stone that looked like the man branches of a tree, the way the sun fell over moss and seemed to light it up in a gentle glow, an exquisitively curled leaf that remained unbroken from the crisp of its own folds. Flowers were obviously a more common thing to view as something pretty, but it didn't make them any less befitting admiration as the more obscure things. The blue torbie sweeps onto the seen with long strides and a cheerful bounce in her step, she pauses alongside the two apprentices around Fogpaw's ornaments, her mismatched gaze darting to Tornadokit's prickly little voice and she laughs; though not maliciously.
"May I?" She asks and if not refused she would reach out to gently pick a single golden bloom up between the toes of a paw, marvling at the contrast of it on her dark-colored fur before promptly turning to try and deftly tuck it behind Tornadkit's ear.
"A good color for you! Fogpaw, don't you think? I wonder which would suit you, Siltpaw? Blue, perhaps? I'm fond of yellow myself~"

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So I walk alone down the darkest roads

Flowers, they brought with them beauty and life and yet when the cold comes they wither away, leaving empty shells of their former glory, delicate and beautiful, even when picked they soon wither and die. Perhaps it could be seen that way for all creatures, delicate yet once uptooted, unable to survive with out what kept it stern and stable. She too approached watching as Halfshade plucked a beautiful yellow from the flowers that Fogpaw had collected to gently settle it onto the ears of little Tornadokit and a warm smil danced onto Canarywatcher's lips, which was rare for the normally apathetic toned she-cat. "perhaps lavenders would suit you well Halfshade, what about whites and red for you Siltpaw?" Canarywatcher offered up in suggestions. She did not need any flowers weaved into her own fur, a yellow striking feather had already made a permanent home in the pitch fur of the young warrior's shoulder fluff which Canarywatcher had grown quite fond of.
"I suppose that's one way to lure in the ladies." Hemlocksight murmured as he lurked close by to the growing crowd around Fogpaw and the flower collection. He meant it in jest of course, though with the tone of his voice it was sure to make that intention unclear. The skinny tom stared at the remaining flowers with confusion, not entirely sharing the same interest in them as the others. Just what was the point? The flowers would soon be wilted and dead, wasted. He doubted any of them could be used by Bonejaw as medicine.
Siltcloud's question makes an anxious jump well up in Fogpaw's chest and he bites his lip in thought, trying to think up the best way to try to explain it without words. Ultimately he just ends up shrugging but as Tornadokit suggests its because he likes the femme, he looks a bit shocked and flustered. His first instinct is to rapidly shake his head no but he stops himself because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. Instead he soundlessly clears his throat, takes a flower into his maw, and tucks it into the scruffy fluff of his neck to show that they're meant to be decorations.

He gets the feeling from Tornadokit that she's a bit disgruntled and so he gestures at the flower before an excited voice distracts him. Fogpaw snaps his head toward Halfshade and he stares momentarily at the pretty lady before blinking and nodding with permission. He watches as she places a flower behind Tornadokit's ear then nods once more, this time with real vigor to drive home the point. He's not used to being the center of attention and so his movements are almost erratic as he tries to keep up with what everyone is saying even though it's not all that complicated.

Fogpaw calms slightly as his eyes find his mentor and he offers a smile his mentor's way before briefly zoning out. What colors look good on whose pelt is gibberish talk for a tom like him and he only watches politely, occasionally pushing forward the bushel of color into a rolling wave for them to take their pick. That's until Hemlocksight's words make his fur stand up in embarassment. He shoots him a look like 'hey!' only to lighten up then, his shoulders bouncing on an inaudible laugh. His warm brown peepers brush back over the grouping of ladies before him. Hemlock's... not wrong, that's for sure.