private THE CLARION CALL // THRIFTFEATHER

[juncoclaw]

An unforgiving place, the nursery is. Full of three-legged creatures and lost children, a breeding ground of illness, it is. The sounds of high-pitched voices grates Junco's ears as she enters the den, moss in mouth. Not a second of attention is paid to the curious little eyes that pass over her, nor the uncomfortable look given by Bluefrost. Juncoclaw has no reason to be here, usually - her duties have not extended past hunting so far. Yet here she finds herself, with jaws clamped around fresh bedding that she had gathered herself.

A beeline is made for a vaguely familiar yellow pelt. One that does not belong, but belongs all the same - more than her.

The tabby drops the material and begins to mold it into the shape of a nest, casually, like she had been in here and done this before. Like it is normal for her to treat the prisoner before the queen. If a single mutter of her presence were to grace her ears, she would simply gesture to the cat she now treats. It is a bitter reminder that he belongs more than her, somehow - for being a sire, for protecting his mate. Perhaps Junco had simply loved the wrong cat.

At some point, Bluefrost stops paying looking at her, drawing her attention somewhere else. In that moment, Juncoclaw's eyes finally flick up to Thriftfeather - one sightless and dull, and one bitterly cold like a stinging blanket of snow where once was a flourishing meadow. "You're lucky they did not keep you in an old badger sett," she mews lowly, keenly aware of the consequences of her words should she speak too loud. "Cramping and aching.. lonely.. moving so little you'd lose your appetite. For moons." She almost spat the words, as sour as they tasted upon her tongue.

Bluefrost's words echo in her head. He belongs here as much as you do. Would Juncoclaw be here now, if she were afforded the same sympathy?

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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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[Thriftfeather]

It is wary green eyes that follow Juncoclaw before flickering away. A part of him feels that he should say something to her—acknowledgement of the unlikelihood of them both being here, or of their shared history. In contrast, Thriftfeather knows how WindClan works. He knows that he is a stain and he knows Juncoclaw is likely similarly marked; he knows how quickly gossip can breed suspicion.

But it is Juncoclaw to break the silence between them.

"I am lucky," Thriftfeather agrees in the same low tone as Juncoclaw.

As exhausting as it is to be so confined, as much as he worries after Rimekit, as shamefully as he finds his mind turning back to DuskClan, Thriftfeather truly does feel lucky. He has his life and his confinement is with Bluefrost. He could have been killed, he could have been sent away—Bluefrost, their shared litter, could have been sent away. Life in WindClan isn't as it had been before when Thriftfeather had been young and shivering; he doesn't need to remind himself to be grateful for this.

There is something more to what Juncoclaw tells him. A threat or a warning, he thinks at first. Should Thriftfeather be found lacking in some regard, should the whims of someone with more authority than himself change, he will find himself in isolation. But there is something hard and bitter in Juncoclaw. Thriftfeather doesn't shrink away from it.

"Had you been—is that where they kept you?" His eyes widen as he speaks, uncertainty fringed with worry, "How long had it been before you—when did they... when did they let you out?"​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​