camp STAND FIRM // MEAL FOR THE SICK

[juncoclaw]

A few days' of hunger pales in comparison to the sheer adrenaline Junco gets from being able to run these moors. The wind runs cooler than it did when she left the barn, and it almost chills her sore bones in comparison. Her muscles burn, and her stomach pains, but determination drives Junco forward, through the grass and heather, until she's finally made her mark.

|| PREY CAUGHT: 1d3 ── result: 2 ||

|| PREY SIZE: 1d3 ── result: 1; small || She is rusty - hunting lazy mice through the barn will do that to a cat - but her instincts prevail, and soon enough she is upon an unsuspecting mouse scavenging amongst the fronds. It takes a great deal of restraint not to eat the thing. She must put her hunger aside, just a little longer; think of what she can gain when she returns with more than a mere mouse. The looks on their faces to see that she didn't die, she didn't run away. The spiteful promise that Cottonsprig will see her growing on her own, without the medicine-queen to baby her like she did. It brings a smirk to Junco's face.

|| PREY SIZE: 1d3 ── result: 1; plump || Her next victim is a rabbit, a large star-blessed juicy rabbit. Junco salivates at the sight, and ends its life swiftly, letting the blood of its nape seep into her mouth, quenching her like water to a fire. With this blessing, the prisoner is free, purposeful, and vindicated. For now, at least.. until the beasts grow bored again, and seek to drive her out.

For now.. she returns home. With the adrenaline wearing, the molly is limping by the time she breaches the camp's ridge, and dragging her tail as she brings herself achingly to the mouth of the medicine cat's den. The rabbit is dropped at the feet of whoever meets her, and she turns before she can engage in a conversation. Just as she requested - she will feed the sick, and with their waning appetites, this rabbit may as well feed most of them.

Again, her lip curls into a small but proud smile around the tiny mouse she carries with her, to a secluded edge of camp where she may not disturb the wretched moorlanders with her presence. Her job is done, the weak are fed by StarClan's grace.. and now, for what feels like the first time in ages, she feeds ravenously on her scrap.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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  speech is #6a7d8a
  

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• JUNCOCLAW ✩ prisoner of windclan
  ⭃ she/her ━ afab ━ 17 moons
  ⭃ a long-haired blue/silver tabby with green eyes, one blind.
  ⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[dimmingsun]

Despite the initial aloofness DImmingsun had treated the discharge of their prisoner, agitation is quick to catch up to him now. Sunstar had not appeared bothered... and Dimmingsun didn't either, not until the hours after her departure started passing, and ideas plopped themselves into his mind, wholly unwelcome. She had bashed DuskClan with every word when prompted, but were they as sincere as she appeared?

Tufts of grass upturn from the force Dimmingsun's claws apply to them; unknowingly so. Perhaps she wrapped herself up in the flimsy safety a wayward "Clan" provides... he can almost imagine her try to fatten herself up, all the while her and Thriftfeather converse about Dimmingsun's attempts and threats.

If WindClan is lucky, they will not see Junco return with reinforcements.

Return she does — it is punctuated by the shivering of gorse and heather, and Dimmingsun rises to meet her without a moment's hesitation. He braces himself... flares against the imaginary reek and taste of blood.

But Junco is alone. Not within the company of cats, anyhow; she drags prey back into camp, right into the mouths of her former captors and enemies (current?), and stills her own hunger with a ravenous bite. Dimmingsun follows her gaze, and wonders about the evident pride amongst the greenery there. Does their word matter to her at all now?

He will find out; already he inhales to talk, sharp but not with enough volume to warn the entire Clan like he had anticipated. "Impressive," the world tumbles out of his mouth. He had not been outright cruel towards her — had been part of the few who more than tolerated than her, in fact —, but his surprise betrays how uncertain he had been when he saw her flee. "I see your hunt was plentiful." A rabbit had been deposited at his paws, but Junco herself draws his attention more than the sun-kissed hide.
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[FEATHERSPINE]

Featherspine watched Juncoclaw shoulder through, a glimmer of something in her eyes- he could not hide the wrinkle of his muzzle, disdain a denizen there. Snowy paws itched with discomfort at the sigh of any ex-Darkclanner, Featherspine could not deny it. The hell they had rained down upon WindClan, time and time again- the scar deeply carved along his back, how was he supposed to forget it? A grudge stormed sun-blister in ever narrowed eyes, and she never did bother to temper it, even when they flickered with surprise.

Impressive, said Dimmingsun. Featherspine internally agreed, but resented the idea of giving out praise so readily to a cat who had not earned her trust, yet.

A white-tipped tail flicked, and his nostrils flared. "Are you not fond of hunting in groups?" The lines of her face grew taut, and somewhat accusatory. You would have brought back even more with a patrol. The turn of the seasons from green to yellowing reminded her of Leafbare's dark approach. The yellowcough outbreak, even more so.

Muscles twitched. She would hunt today, too ... with a worthy lot of moor-runners. ​

✦ penned by pin​