camp STRIKE A MATCH ╱ NURSERY IMPROVEMENTS

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

This place's no home to him, and in some small part'f his brain, that surprises him. From the marsh to these frozen waters, he's always thought himself a creature of adaptation. It'd been the truth, he was sure of it. His home could never be defined by one of their camps, or the strict lines of their territory. He lived here not for their rules, but for some kind of love. For his clanmates. For RiverClan. Who would've thought that the place they laid their heads could mean much the same, in the end. He misses the odds and ends of it. The familiar walk to the warrior's den, the nest that smells like himself instead of fresh moss. Even the collected shells he'd trip over, or the stones that might press to his paws. Each one of those little inconveniences now stood as one more thing to miss.

They can't have it back. Not yet; perhaps not for a long time now. He's no omniscient beast, and this water of theirs is as unpredictable as it may come. He can't carry them home, but he can carry a bit'f home back to them now can't he? It'll be where they are for a while now, and Hound is tired of this biting cold. He's spent the better part of the morning gathering moss and feathers. The dens had been woven already, but not fully proofed against leafbare. Though he's never been much of a den-maker himself, he can do this part just fine. The roar of the gorge a strangely comforting sound, the chocolate tom sets to work adding a warm coating of moss 'round the nursery walls, and tucking feathers into the empty nests. Those that still inhabit it give him strange looks 'til they see that he comes bearing comfort, and make amiable conversation he cannot quite return with his mouth full.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[SMOKESTAR]

The dark tom's priority had been specifically structure and integrity, he did not care what the temporary camp looked like so long as it functioned and protected them and kept cats warm at night. He was also not a very skilled weaver but he also didn't care what his handiwork looked like most the time and certainly not in this instance when the job needed to be done and appearance mattered not, but he wasn't going to lie and say it felt like home. Home was submerged beneath the bubbling river, when it drew back it would leave a cold sheen on everything and they would need to crack ice and clean out debris left scattered in its wake; if they were lucky the dens would have held well enough they can just replace the old material with new but knowing their luck every single den would need to be reconstructed from the ground up and it would be a tiring ordeal. Smokethroat both dreaded it and wished they could get to it as quickly as possible, return home and settle back into normalcy.
He was in the middle of instructing some apprentices to play their games closer to the forest, away from the gorge that bubbled and spewed from its depths like a hungry beast waiting, he had already yelled at those kids once and his second scolding was more firm. Do it again and he'd have them cracking fleas the next two moons. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Houndsnarl wandering back from some excursion, the surprising sight of moss and feathers in his maw and as the two young toms uttered apologies more sincere he waved them off to go investigate.
Their temporary nursery was probably the least offensive makeshift den of them all, carefully weaved and padded out to ensure not a single queen or kit had to face the cold but the sight of feathers poking out from the newly made nests made him falter for a moment.
Made him remember they were more than just waiting things out. They still had to live.
"...it looks good." The white-spotted warrior commented, giving a nod in greeting from the entrance, "...I think the kits will be much less afraid sleeping here."
​

 

[Redpath]

There was a lot of work to do, and Redpath was here to help! They needed nests, things to weave, prey.... Herbs possibly though she didn't know anything about those. Don't let her pick herbs.

But she had another plan! Feathers! Yes.... She didn't know what kind of bird it was... But those feathers would keep everyone comfy and warm! And so, she engaged in combat with this bird.... A dove maybe? A duck????

A bird.

She carried it back to camp and began defeathering it.

"I GOT FEATHERS WHO WANTS THEM!" She shouted through a mouthful of feathers. This bird was about to be NAKED.

She did, however, pick two feathers to trot over to Smokethroat and Houndsnarl with and...... Tuck them into their necks.

"Hee hee ....."

And then back to making this poor bird naked.

She sure was something.
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[koispots]

Koi returns from a hunt, shouldering past various NPCs to come bring her catch to the medicine den, to see a face that makes her happy. But, but theres commotion and shouting and she stops in her tracks, ears flattening in frustration that seems too common to her. What now? Was the camp flooding again? Were apprentices stuck, drowning again? Was there a murder, familiar red and white fur gently floating in the water while blood ran the river red?

Blink and breathe, get it out of your head. Gloom isn't too far away if you need her.

She teeters over, her catch tumbling to her paws and as she draws near she catches the ending of Redpaths evil laughter and she has a feeling Smokethroat wont be the happiest at her gift. Amusement floods her gaze as she watches the red-furred molly return to picking the feathers off of the poor creature. "Thats nice of you." she blinks at Hound, whose carefully weaving feathers in to the nursery nests as if it were his favorite pastime. Maybe it is, Koi doesn't exactly have it in her right now to judge him for it. "Do you want help?" shes done her chores for the day, went out on a hunt and yet she finds herself still needing to keep busy. Busy, busy, otherwise the bad thoughts come back and then she'll retire to the apprentices den early and be no help to the clan.
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"speech"​

 

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

it is still strange, foreign. to walk amongst the closely huddled trees, only accompanied by the once-faint scents of riverclanners and prey that had once passed through. she tries to not let the roots grow and take hold, that their camp is still familiar and warm. but she knows it will all be the same when they return. stale scents, ruins of their home. and then they will have to rebuild once more. a cycle that will hopefully find its end when the warmth of new-leaf emerges.

it is another day with another head busy and full of thoughts. an absent follower of koipaw's steps, and buckgait once again finds herself near the apprentice. a quiet look over, and the deputy can feel her heart wallow once more. when her attention finally, finally, slips to houndsnarl, there's a biting embarrassment that nags her. she had to do with what she could, and quickly. even if buck had been the most wonderful weaver, the nursery would not look anything like the one back in camp. the materials were more scarce and different. a gnaw on her cheek tells her to simply let it go. that the tom is doing something kind for the kits and queens. that her foolish pride doesn't need to feel threatened by it.

a sigh, picking at the feathers on the ground that redpath had spilt. she's sure that whoever ends up with the brutalized bird will be thankful for the lack of feathers, if they can look past how rough the body looks. "don't talk with your mouthful. you're making a mess." the molly chides, trying to tone down the overactive redpath. not that it would be much use.

"thank you." an uttered praise towards houndsnarl, trying to bite back the bile of having another touch her work. there's no pride in homesick or fearful kits, she knows. "i haven't had the time to make the place...well..nice." she had a hope the queens would add some personal flair into the mess, and an even more foolish hope that it would be enough. though she finds herself far more attentive than she should be, just to see if hound needed help in this, or if he was fine by his own. either way, it's not a bad idea to start reinforcing more dens.
​

 

[Snakeblink]

Moving camps has not been easy for anyone, but even as his clanmates find their marks in their new temporary home Snakeblink is still just as unsettled as the first moment he set paw in the space their deputy found for them.

He's usually quicker to adapt to change: home is, and has always been, wherever his family is, not some arbitrary collection of woven dens and familiar pebbles. But their rushed departure has him feeling like a refugee, not a traveler, and he can't seem to settle down. He constantly catches himself walking the wrong way to exit the camp, and a part of him seems convinced the apprentice den is going to collapse again at any time.

Because of that drifting feeling and despite his characteristic eagerness to keep himself busy, it had not occurred to him to reinforce the dens in any way whatsoever until he noticed Houndsnarl hard at work doing it himself. Or rather he was nearly knocked over by Redpath, which led his eyes to the nursery, where he heard Koipaw commenting on the gesture. Leaning to see inside, he caught a glimpse of Houndsnarl pelt past Smokethroat before a movement pulled him away from the pale daylight streaming near the entry. It is kind of him; smart, too. Snakeblink thinks of doing the same, for the Elders perhaps: the Queens tend to dislike his presence in their midst for some reason. As if he'd eat one of their kits.

Buckgait adds her finishing touch to the charming tableau with unexpected gratefulness. Her voice sounds a little stilted though, unsure or unhappy in some way. Rather than venturing into the nursery, Snakeblink tries to comfort her in his way.

”I'm sure you did what you could,” he simpers placatingly.
​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 37 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[Cindershade]

The distant roaring of the gorge had always been a pleasant white noise to the warrior, despite the—instantaneous death that lurked beyond the sheer drop below. It was something she respected enough to observe, but not curious enough for her paws to wonder towards the rigid edges of it. RiverClan's new 'home' wasn't all that great as nothing would compare to being swathed around cat tails and the sedge with babbling brooks surrounding them for extra security. But it would suffice for now, with the Beech trees on the opposite side that provided some coverage; though being under the open sky was foreign to her. At night, it was much more peaceful. The scattering of twinkling stars adorned by the silvery hue of the moon. It rattled something within her, a heavy dose of serotonin that she just couldn't get enough of.
Cindershade is abruptly brought to reality from her deep thoughts by a shrill voice, her half narrowed gaze snapping towards Redpath with raised brows. She speaks of feathers, ripping them off from the corpse of a bird. Houndsnarl is busy decorating the den; and although it wasn't as pristine like the well back home, it was still...nice. Buckgait stares at it with a certain critique; mulling it over while Koipaw, Smokethroat, and Snakeblink peered through the entrance or sat back and commented on it. The deputy finally comments as well, thanking him for it. The rosetted warrior approaches, placing a paw along the woven walls. "It's definitely sturdy enough. A job well done indeed, Houndsnarl." Cindershade remarks, also taking a quick peek inside to see freshly laid moss aligned with feathers. Surely the queens and kits would be warm tonight.
​

[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

And all at once there draws a crowd. Even the first face to approach him is met with a stiffening of his spine– some small corner of his mind would always search out critique first, or a familiar flavor of disdain. Smokethroat's warm about it, and that's a fair thing, but before he has time to process there's another voice joining the chorus, and another again. He's still frozen with feathers in his maw when Redpath shoves feathers into the crest of his neck fur, and when Koipaw offers her own help. Though he's mostly gathered himself by the time Buckgait first makes herself known, the intensity of her scrutiny is enough to make him wary again, and words still fail him. He searches first for indignant, ready to puff himself up and defend his choice to tidy up this place. Buckgait bristles at the apparent tidying of her work– Hound bristles right back at the idea that it'd anything to do with her at all. Both of them manage to keep it under control, an' that's really the best he can say for how things have gone as of late.

Finally, finally setting down the last bits of feathers he'd corralled behind his fangs, he pushes himself out'f the nursery and into the fresh air of camp, trying to weave his way through the bodies as delicately as he could manage. Anything to get away from the sudden pressure of all their attention on his shoulders. "Thanks," he offers to them all, single word flat and awkwardly plodding as a lame horse. Frankly uncaring of Redpath's joke, or kindness (whatever the strange cat'd like to call it), Houndsnarl shakes the buried feathers from his ruff. Once they're gone, he looks back into the den with cautious eyes, catching the shifting form of a molly turned towards sleep. "Suppose they'll finish it as they care to. Wouldn't do any good to keep 'em up past when they want to be." I appreciate it, he means, but I don't need help.

"A patrol's worth of paws means more than one." The warrior nods to Buck. "Suppose you've some more ideas on what we could do next? Seems you've got many willing."

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​