camp THE DEVIL'S CUT [return] IS THE ANGEL'S ENVY

[BLUEFROST]

The journey back through the moorland is long; she has to stop several times beside Thriftfeather to pant and catch her breath. Despite the sun's dedicated rise, there is a nip in the air, and she's loathe to leave the kits out and unprotected for too long, but her body is sore and tired, and her gait is tortured. Not much longer, she thinks when she sees the dip in the hills, the gorse barrier. Before she lowers her face to her daughters' scruffs again, she gives Thriftfeather a level look.

"There is sickness in the Clan. The diseased are being held at the abandoned badger set." Where my father died. "There should be none in the camp, but..." Her fur crawls, and she grimaces before gripping Rimekit and Sootkit by their scruffs once more.

She flicks her tail, beckoning Thriftfeather through the tunnel of heather. The last time he was here, he was shedding WindClan blood, she thinks, and anxiety begins to prickle at her paws. The last time he was here, he was complicent in stealing our kits. Now he returns with me, three kits in his mouth...

Bluefrost steels herself; her eyes are cold, determined, not the soft and love-smeared expression of a new mother. When she enters the clearing, she lowers Sootkit and Rimekit to lay at her forepaws and stands still. The sun is nearly at its zenith now; their camp is bathed in gold, washed in early leaf-fall warmth. The scent of yellowcough is still thin in the air, and she wishes with all her might she could protect her children from breathing it in.

This is for you, Cottonsprig. She could have carried two kittens herself, but five? Thriftfeather's pawsteps rustle behind her. She mews to whoever looks their direction: "He comes in peace. He has helped me bring my kits home."

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: please wait for @Thriftfeather before posting :] also tagging @sootkit. @Asterkit @FOALKIT @Comfreykit @rimekit
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 18 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan lead warrior and queen. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

With every step Thriftfeather takes, the overwhelming joy that he had previously felt is steadily replaced with foreboding. Whatever misguided wish he had to somehow save DuskClan’s youth had evaporated upon seeing his kits, fragile and small and wiggling against Bluefrost’s belly. He carries three of them through the familiar gorse tunnel, his head ducked and ears folded to avoid the thorns.

His heart hammers—for once, he doesn’t need to remind himself not to clench his teeth.

Slowly, with far more gentleness than Thriftfeather had thought himself capable, he lowers his kits (Asterkit, Comfreykit, and Foalkit, the still-excited part of his mind supplies) next to the ones Bluefrost had placed to the soft-sand that makes WindClan’s camp. Countless eyes are on him—for a terrifying moment he is too dry mouthed to speak, until Bluefrost’s voice cuts through the air—firm, and in support of him.

He inhales and exhales slowly and, like a prayer, speaks, “Please,” He knows better than to bring these kits to the nursery, he knows better than to even approach, “These kits are Bluefrost’s, they need to be taken to the nursery and—” He hesitates, his eyes flicker to Bluefrost, seeking some kind of reassurance or direction, “I need to speak to Sunstar.” ​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 18 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[heatherkit]

( ⊱✿⊰ ) the approach of unfamiliar scent sets off an alarm in the form of a small she-cat, standing just outside of the nursery. "intruder!" she calls, voice high and alert, posture poised in a practiced display of a fighting stance. dusky blue eyes find the familiar form of her aunt stepping through the brambles, two bundles clutched in her jaws. behind her, a tomcat heatherkit has never seen before sidles in, three more bundles swinging from his maw. a low growl rumbles from the little girl's throat, and she instinctively glances around for her father. sootspot is not in sight and so she approaches, brave but guarded. bluefrost sets down her bundles, addressing the clan with soothing vocals, and the blue point freezes in surprise. kits!

her aunt has returned with kits, two now upon the ground with three others joining them as the tomcat bends to bundle the five together. stopped a fox length from the kitten pile, heatherkit stares. these are bluefrost's kits, 'cause they look kind of like her, and she looks thinner than she had when she'd left camp. pale eyes narrow, taking in the scene before glancing back up at her aunt. "he's intruding." she says matter-of-factly, blinking at her. they are not close, for bluefrost seems to have some sort of odd feeling about heatherkit and her siblings, but the girl respects her aunt and lead warrior nonetheless.

"do you want me to chase him off for you? strangers aren't supposed to trespass." as if the lead warrior doesn't know. she must've forgot when she moved to the nursery, reasons the kit. when the tom speaks, heatherkit's head whips around, taking in his lanky frame and golden fur. her lip lifts in a snarl, but he confirms her suspicions of the kits' parents. her interest sparks back towards the bundles. they're squirming, squeaking in a pathetic sort of way. she can't imagine she's ever looked like that.

these are her cousins, so heatherkit drops her defensive stance, because her family is more important than chasing out the stranger, and bluefrost seems to have him covered.

SAY WHAT YOU WANT ⊱✿⊰ BUT SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT

• // "#b2a0bc"
• 
  
  
• HEATHERKIT ⊱✿⊰ SHE / HER, WINDCLAN. DAUGHTER OF SOOTSPOT, SISTER TO BRAMBLEKIT, NIGHTKIT. 4 MOONS, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  
  a longhaired blue lynx point with blue eyes. her body is cloaked in pale snow-white fur, a storm of blue flooding her face, tail, and paws. stripes of darker blue accentuate her eyes nose, and band around her legs. shining eyes stare out from the angular shaped face, a deep, faded blue color.
  

​

 

[juncoclaw]

Bluefrost is missing - but Junco pays no mind to it. The molly is formidable, even while pregnant, and she can take care of herself adequately - not like the tabby particularly cares for that stranger.

But when a stinging, familiar scent hits her nose, Junco's blood runs cold. She knows that mixed scent from moons past - ShadowClan, WindClan, rogue. DuskClan.

She worries, briefly, if they have gotten to Bluefrost. But more, she worries of an attack, how defenseless Junco would be with only one seeing eye, and no comeraderie.

The relief comes when she sees Bluefrost, but it is not kind. Thriftfeather follows suite, accompanying her and her kits. How dangerous to birth outside the Clan.. but with the sickness plaguing her home, is anywhere truly safe? Junco rises to her paws and aims her gaze at the pair, narrowing her eyes. Unreadable as a mix of emotions surged through her.

Pity. Relief. Annoyance. Envy. Fear. All for the DuskClanner who seeks asylum, vouched for so easily by his lover. He would be lucky not to be thrown into the burrow like she was. Or, perhaps he arrived at just the perfect time; Sunstar himself said he had no warriors to waste on guards, and no purpose in doing so.

Better yet, neither circumstance would find themselves true. Maybe Thriftfeather would be granted immunity on account of Bluefrost asking so nicely. Junco's mouth sets firm and her brows furrow only slightly, as she glances to any nearby warrior to fetch Sunstar. Better anyone trusted than her; for now, she is merely a spectator.

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

• 
  speech is #6a7d8a
  

• 

• 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.
  

​

 

[FEATHERSPINE]

Bluefrost is my superior, Featherspine had to remind herself when he blatantly saw a Duskclanner padding alongside her- the chocolate tom's stomach flipped, and yellow eyes narrowed to sharp blases, fury written within them. The line carved along his spine prickled ferociously, speared right down into her stomach and made her heart drop into the earth, a tumbling stone. Claws itched to spring free, but ... but he wasn't a fool.

And how lucky Thriftfeather was that as much was true.

The tom's wish for Sunstar to be fetched was not protested by the lead warrior at his side. "Stay b-b-b-back, Heatherkit," Featherspine hissed, tail lashing with clear instruction. Juncoclaw stared, looking back at him uselessly- waiting, clearly, for someone else to fill out the request.

Of course, she would have to be the bearer of bad news- instead of getting to feel an iota of joy that there were new kits in the Clan. Instead of feeling a little fleck of the light of hope, just for a moment... Featherspine huffed. "I suppose I'll do it then," she spat at Juncoclaw, blatantly annoyed that she was not currently using her newfound freedom for anything useful.

He strode toward his father with purpose. "Sunstar," and his voice was level. "B-B-Bluefrost had kindly b-buh- brought a visitor. Thriftfeather would like to speak to you."

\ getting @SUNSTAR as requested :3​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[rimekit]

Rimekit squirms beside Sootkit, bumping her muzzle into her sister (technically cousin but that is a secret held between her mother and aunt) multiple times in search of her mother’s belly. Each time she grows more and more frustrated. Where is she? I’m hungry. I’m cold.

Around her the other kits wiggle and kick out their legs. She lets loose a loud “MEW!” at her circumstance - touched and jostled and unable to find food. The pale kitten is unaware of what is going on; she is deaf and blind to the static in the air, the uncertainty radiating off of everyone. All she desires is milk and a long nap curled against her mother’s belly.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　It's a pair that he's seen together only once before, a secret he's kept locked inside his chest. Here is a cat pulled from Vulturepaw's memories, golden fur and grassy eyes. That same nervous, wrong-footed look that he remembers. Curled in upon himself to make his towering form smaller, to fit through the tunnel that marks WindClan's home.

He does not have to fear that it might be an attack, that this return could be the start of an invasion. Thriftfeather and Bluefrost carry kits.

It's not hard to put the pieces together.

Their eyes widen, fixed upon the golden form. For a moment, Vulturepaw only stands petrified. "Thriftfeather...?" he breathes hesitantly, at once hoping for the tom to notice him and terrified of what will happen if he does. He's here, back in WindClan, and no blood is being shed - yet. "What..." His throat feels dry, his voice shaky.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He gave up hoping for Thriftfeather's return when Bluefrost killed that dream. WindClan bristles now, and he knows her words to be true with a cold sort of terror. They will never accept him. Juncoclaw is still an outcase, no matter what little measure of freedom is afforded her. They would sooner tear him apart than let him back in. "He - he c-c-can't be here." Their voice raises to a plaintive warble, eyes finally tearing from the DuskClanner to settle upon his - his mate.

Has she forgotten? Did she lie?

What of Gravelpaw and Hungerpaw, trapped in a den of wolves?

He can't be here - no matter how relieved Vulturepaw feels at seeing him alive.

THERE ARE FLOWERS GROWING ALL AROUND ⛧ A MASSIVE ANIMAL INSIDE OF ME‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREPAW ⛧ he / they, apprentice of windclan, seven moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with a superstitious sort of pessimism.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustpaw and bilberrypaw.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

The tom could say a great many things about himself - his foresight, his intelligence, his wisdom - none of that could've helped him predict what would unfold the moment he was on break from the Nursery. He saw his daughter waddling across camp before he saw anything else from the Tunneler's entrance, but then a grating voice pierced his ears, accentuated by the wails of kittens.

He looked to Bluefrost, the little things dropped before her, then... he looked to the creature that stood willingly by her side. The whites of his eyes momentarily showed in his surprise before he found his composure again. Thriftfeather was someone he'd seen grow up, someone whom he'd disapproved of the moment Sootstar tolerated the outsider's joining. Despite her words, she had always seemed far too fond of outsiders, it had been her downfall and he would not allow it to be his too. Something stirred in his heart as he watched his daughter get closer, something almost protective. First, it was for himself, then, it was for her. He prowled closer and closer, tail lashing intensely. When Heatherkit dropped her guard, his obsidian paw wrapped around her, aiming to drag her a short way away from the seven. "That cat right there steals kittens," he whispered, his warning firm despite the hush to his voice. "He used to be one of us, then, he betrayed the group and hurt a great many cats in the process. Do not approach him." His forelimbs though small, aimed to provide a physical barrier between Heatherkit and Thriftfeather.

Sootspot craned his neck to address the Lead Warrior. "You bring a traitor directly into our home at a time like this?" The smell of sickness was in the air, weakness, and all it would take was one DuskClanner with a loud mouth to exploit that. There was a shock in his voice, disgust that WindClan was being taken advantage of, but beneath it, shared only by those who knew him, was a hint of a smile. Gratitude even, that Bluefrost had done what he'd asked. Cottonsprig had infected the whole clan, Bluefrost had befriended an enemy - if Sunstar did not realise that he was the better of Sootstar's kin now, then he feared the leader to be willingly blind to it. One of her kittens mews as if protesting, and a bristle ran down his spine. 'Shut up.' His ears flattened. "You betray the trust WindClan puts in you." He turned his head towards Vulturepaw, eyes gleaming with intrigue, mouth parted as if prepared to question a juicy piece of gossip. His skull didn't move as his gaze shifted to his sister expectantly, claws unsheathing in a display of performative anger.


​

 

[Comfreykit]

He is being jostled, knocked back and forth against two other, small bodies that he can't yet recognize as his sibling, real and by circumstance. He lets out small, stuttering mews as he's carried, little paws grazing the air as they try to find purchase on anything with the semblance of a solid ground. He only quiets his tiny chirping when he finds himself on all fours again, nestled in beside four other small bodies that serve to grant him some warmth. All he knows is that there's time to be content while he's still on the ground now, and he mewls contently one final time before quieting down and curling into his siblings.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

• 

• COMFREYKIT ✩ kit of windclan, zero moons
  → walks hunched over.
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

​

 

[SILKENPAW]

જ➶ Everything or rather everyone is always so loud. Perhaps it is just her own shortcomings, ears fine tuned to anything that makes a peep. But it feels like there is little peace on the moors. Perhaps if the Queen was still here they might know it. But now they suffer and it'll keep happening because of the betrayal. Then again she supposes she can not speak either for she stepped back to save herself and not join those in their meager clan. Duskclan is due to crumble, at least in her mind it is. A frown pulls at her muzzle as she carefully makes her way over. Muzzle parting to take in the scents of those of her clanmates but also a tang of an intruder on her tongue. Her odd eyes blink once as she tilts her head in the direction, narrowing them as if she could see Thriftfeather. Yet she sees nothing. Her tail sways as she sits down and keeps her silence.

It is true though. Bluefrost has brought a traitor into their midst and perhaps with luck they will catch yellowcough and perish for their transgressions against Windclan. Her void form stiffens as she hears the sounds of kits as well, Bluefrost's it had been said. Right. What does this all mean? Ears slowly pull back and she flexes her paws against grass, unsure of the situation but staying within the realm of the conversation to be able to hear.​

 

[BLUEFROST]

The camp stirs to life; pelts bristle, eyes begin to gleam with fury. Bluefrost presses her flank to Thriftfeather's almost subconsciously — in doing so, she knows, she has made her choice. The first to approach them is one of the kits Sootspot had hauled back to camp and claimed for his own. Heatherkit. Her fur is spiked, her eyes round. "He's intruding; do you want me to chase him off for you?" Bluefrost steadies herself, putting a paw before her friend, before the sire to her children. "Heatherkit," she begins, "this is Thriftfeather. He used to be a WindClanner. He is —"

Others approach. Juncoclaw is one of them, the alarm in her eyes apparent. Perhaps she and Thriftfeather recognize one another from their days of running through the fieldgrass, of hunting lizards and mice in the scrubland. Featherspine's claws scrape the earth, his tail fluffed out behind him before he whirls to fetch their leader.

StarClan, this must be your will, she thinks; nervous energy causes her own tail to lash, even as others gather. Young Vulturepaw stares, names Thriftfeather, utters, "He can't be here." Bluefrost's shoulders tense, wondering what the tabby will say, but she's interrupted by a shriek from one of the kits at their paws.

Rimekit. Bluefrost lowers her face, presses her muzzle to her newfound daughter's back. Beside his sister, Comfreykit stirs. "You will be in the nursery soon, my little ones," she murmurs, but her voice is brittle, high-pitched. She cannot find it in her to be comforting for the five kits sprawled at her feet.

The earth shifts like quicksand.

Sootspot finds his wayward daughter and leans close to her, murmuring something in one tufted ear. Bluefrost cannot hear what it is, but then her brother turns venomous green eyes onto her. "You bring a traitor directly into our home at a time like this?" Bluefrost lifts her chin, defiance beaming its way from her emerald gaze to her brother's. "He belongs here as much as you do, Sootspot. He is..."

Anxiety pulls at her belly; so, too, does exhaustion, lingering pain. She glances at Silkenpaw, who stands nearby, judgment reserved, and says, "He is the father of these kits."

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 18 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan lead warrior and queen. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[SUNSTAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ Had Sunstar been but a moment later, he would have been spared this revelation. Had Featherkit been born with less of his ðir's barbed tongue, or more of Sunstar's own desire to wallow in the dramatic, perhaps he would have come upon this moment with relief that she was well overwhelming his wariness over Thriftfeather's presence. Instead the precarious balance begins to tumble as the crunch of his uneven gait betrays his approach. In the safety of their camp he finds no need to be quiet. Careless pawsteps betrays him before his gleaming pelt or his tired eyes, or the glinting curve of his fangs as his mouth falls open. And once the crunching has stilled, he is silent. His lip curls– what sound rolls off of his tongue cannot quite form into a word. Half-snarl, half-cry. "Their father?"

It is not a good day when Sootspot speaks true. Sunstar has remained a stalwart barrier against the silver tom's whispering, yet now his venom curls around weary bones as he steps forward. "How long have you spoken with DuskClan?" he demands. His heart swells with fire. It burns from the inside out, until the wind tugs his pelt into wayward flames and smoke pours out of his mouth. "As they raid our home, kill your clanmates– have you forgotten his place in all of this?" How quickly WindClan had forgotten his own. The cats that surround him have come to expect his forgiveness. The hard-earned, hard-fought leniency in light of Sootstar's end. But before this, he was a warrior who had followed her. Who found no problem with raiding another's camp if it meant his own would survive another moon.

Bitter rage makes him a cat that he has not allowed himself to be. Every ounce of him rebels against the weight. He has carried it for so many moons and this is what he finds in return? The cat that Rattleheart had so desperately vouched for, the warrior he had looked at with trust and respect, who he thought had finally escaped her mother's iron grip. She had only done what was best for her — the great and terrible irony in that.

Somewhere in that thought, Sunstar stills. Washed away beneath widening eyes, rage gives way to turning gears. A visible thought as the warrior ceases to breathe and the brimstone armor parts.

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞06.17⌝ 🟒ᨒ

• 

  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. now's the time to convince him <3
  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove.

• "speech"

​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

LIKE A PICTURE IN A FRAME
WISH WE COULD'VE STAYED THE SAME ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

periwinklebreeze ❀ 25 moons ❀ demi-boy ❀ windclan lead warrior ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There is a weariness that even now, the young tom cannot fully shake - gait slow as he pushes himself through the growing crowd. He is recovered, but only just - it is sheer stubbornness that has dragged him from the badger set, fighting toooth and claw to be allowed back into camp now that he has been given the all clear. He will not spend even one more heartbeat in that starforsaken den of sick, festering away in a hellhole full of painful memories.

But he hardly expects this sight to greet him - Bluefrost, a bundle of kits, and Thrftfeather. Somehow, the pieces begin to connect - how, exactly, they'd known to meet up - why Bluefrost was keen to keep the golden furred toms involvement a secret. And yet, he stays silent at first, tail wrapping around his apprentice when he speaks - a comforting gesture, or at least it's meant to be.

Sunstar is angry - stars, doesn't he have the right to be? And yet... as tired blue eyes linger upon the younger toms throat, he can only think that this is his doing - that it's been his jaws wrapped around his throat. " Th-thriftfeather... was never a k-kit thief, " he snaps quietly, pushing himself back to his paws with noted effort.

" During b-battle... he only asked th-that the fighting stop... and in truth, it is h-he who h-helped my child escape, " he says, voice growing stronger the louder he speaks. Eyes flit between the three, before he pushes himself to stand half-between leader and exile. This secret has been weighing upon his concionce for far too long. " I don't kn-know why b-b-bluefrost has brought him here, n-now, or why sh-she has... broke then code with h-him, b-but I ask that we at least h-hear what he has to say th-that is so important, " head bows down - a habit from not yet forgotten days. And yet, he doesn't back down, steadfast in his resolve.

He owes Thriftfeather this much.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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I ' V E - A L W A Y S - B E E N - R E A L - B A D - W I T H - C H A N G E

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[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather cannot stop looking down at where his kits rest in the sand. They look small and helpless like this; Thriftfeather wants nothing more than to see them settled in. He exists as a distraction—taking attention away from them. Stiffly, Thriftfeather forces his throat through the motion of a swallow and distantly accepts Bluefrost's weight against his flank. He almost doesn't notice the kit—Heatherkit, as identified by Bluefrost—until at last he is blinking down at her. She attempts to defend WindClan with a kind of childish determination that would have been amusing under different circumstances.

Eyes that are more familiar, more recent in Thriftfeather's mind, find his. Juncoclaw had been early to leave DuskClan—Thriftfeather hadn't felt any sting in her departure, and he doesn't feel any surprise beyond the initial shock in seeing her before him now. Her own expression is complicated in a way Thriftfeather doesn't wish to decipher; he breaks his own eyes away, averts them to elsewhere for fear that WindClan will see their noticing of one another as something beyond that. If Juncoclaw has a place here, Thriftfeather doesn't want to risk harm to that.

Featherpaw has grown since last Thriftfeather has seen her—old enough now to have a warrior name and seemingly experienced enough that the thin cord of his patience has snapped. We were apprentices at together, Thriftfeather wants to remind her, I knew you when you were a kit.

"Please," Thriftfeather repeats as Featherpaw vanishes instead—it is the only way he knows how to express how much he wants this, wants them.

And then a small voice, known well by Thriftfeather. He cannot stop the way his head snaps towards Vulturekit, Vulturepaw, by all likelihood, grown well beyond the kitten Thriftfeather had known before. He offers a wane smile to Vulturepaw, reassurance despite the way his rabbit-heart trembles in his chest, and the expression shutters away when Vulturepaw seemingly doesn't remember him fondly. Thriftfeather tears his own face away. It is an unexpected but not undeserved wounding—he should have expected as much.

Sootspot exchanges his own barbed words with Bluefrost, only half-listened to by Thriftfeather's overwhelmed ears, until Bluefrost confirms Thriftfeather's place in this. He doesn't jerk away from her continued touch, but his head whips her way.

"Bluefrost," He starts, voice sharp with a warning not to risk herself for him sitting on his tongue, but her words have already been spoken. He prays that the cost of his neck isn't her own.

Sunstar rumbles into view—Thriftfeather doesn't cower, nor does he put on a false bravado. He breathes around his teeth as Sunstar addresses Bluefrost rather than him: expected.

"It wasn't as if she was—she wasn't speaking to DuskClan," Thriftfeather leans closer as the words fall from his mouth, tries to convey his earnestness in everything he is, "She was speaking to me alone, and—and," Thriftfeather has never been brave. His eyes fall away from Sunstar and down to the kits. What if his blood is enough to ruin them for WindClan? "Anything you need—I will give you any information available to me if it means they can have a place here. I'll answer for anything if it means that."

It doesn't feel like begging; it doesn't feel like Thriftfeather is asking for too little. He couldn't be the reason for Bluefrost's exile, or the unwelcome of the kits. Before all else, Thriftfeather needs to be certain of that.

Periwinklebreeze's own words in defense of Thriftfeather come as a softer surprise. He still remembers the feel of Periwinklebreeze's teeth and the rattle in his own breath that had followed him in the half-moon after. There had been a real fear then that he was going to die—it is remembered now as Periwinklebreeze places himself before Thriftfeather.

"I wasn't—" The start of a protest, directed towards Sunstar rather than Periwinklebreeze, "I returned Vulturekit—Vulturepaw—it wasn't for this. Believe me when I say that he was never—he isn't an exchange for me." Bringing up Vulturepaw hadn't been a consideration—couldn't be. Thriftfeather had never wanted to sully the act by burdening it with a request; his next words feel ashy over his tongue. "I want to know that my kits will be WindClan and, and if it is possible, I want to see them grow up. Anything I can provide, and that is what I am asking for."​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 18 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[milkthorn.]

It had been a long time. A very long time. The rosetted warrior, his scars each telling stories of a journey he went on, of a fight he was apart of to fight for his clan against their own leader. Milkthorn had become a quiet warrior. A hardworking one. His words were chosen ever so carefully now, as if one drop of even a joke may shatter the ice and plunge him into the depths of the water he once faced.

Sometimes he could still feel the water washing over him, his lungs filling with the burning liquid. His eyes squinted as the blue lead warrior entered the camp, almost frantic. Emotions laced off of the queen, and within seconds bodies were crowding the scene. Hostile, volatile. His pupils dilate, until he seen the golden warrior. Thriftfeather.

Blue eyes widen, and muscles tense as he finds himself pushing up from his place nestled against the edge of camp. Bulky squat form pulling himself forward with quiet ease. "Thriftfeather." He greets, no malice in his voice- though his eyes say it all. I missed you friend.

To be here for his kits, to prove himself for his clan- he thought about the grip that monster had on him, the way he was jumpy and skittish, he was held out of fear. He was not held out of pure hatred, and milkthorn believed that with every ounce of his being.

"Sunstar, my word means nothing, but I back Periwinklegaze in this. Some of our loyalty, and this may sound harsh, was covered by a veil of belief in our leader, at least at the time. He was young. And we only knew then, to respect her. Some may not have seen her outrageous ways until too late to turn around. And he comes to you, basically baring his neck to you. Giving you the upper hand against Duskclan. Perhaps, and again- it is not my place, but perhaps you give him a chance to prove himself useful?" His head was lowered to the leader- simply respect, but no fear came from his voice as he spoke to Sunstar. No hesitation.

If he had to offer his own death as well to see the male father his own kits, he just might. He was simply, here. Anger held into his clanmates like a hawk clinging into a slippery fish, and this only reopened a fresh wound for this. "And bluefrost- has she not been a trusted member of Windclan since..." His eyes searched the ground, trying to recall and remember. "since a long time coming? Are you to let her, and her family to shambles because of the past? Has bluefrost ever failed you or earned your distrust before? Or does she really deserve it now?"

​

 

[Asterkit]

What a busy little life young Asterkit has already lived. Born on the moors beyond camp under a starry sky, and now finally back in WindClan's camp, her true home.

She is carried home by her father - not that she knows that fact - jostled between the bodies of Comfreykit and Foalkit. Thriftfeather deposits the three of them on the sand next to Sootkit and Rimekit. Asterkit starts to squirm on the ground, wanting nothing more than to curl up by her mother's side. There are so many bodies pressed against her now - had there always been so many? There are also many cats gathered around them, staring down at them with curiosity, and some disbelief. Not that Asterkit is aware of any of this. Blind and deaf, she is ignorant to barbed words exchanged by her clanmates, and the looks of suspicion thrown towards her family. The only thing she is aware of is a want for her mother. Wriggling against the bodies of Foalkit and Comfreykit, she begins to kick her front paws out almost in protest, before emitting a high pitched mewl, hoping Bluefrost would find her a draw her near. "Mew! Mewwwww!"​

 

[dimmingsun]

All's gold that the sun touches, here, within WindClan's confines; but evidently, rot finds a way to seep in anyhow. Dimmingsun smells Bluefrost before he sees her, as well as something foreign — her departure from camp had gone mostly unnoticed, nobody knowing her plans of giving birth outside the nursery's walls... it is a queen's business, after all. Semantics like how she managed without a medicine cat's assisted are forgotten in favor of the familiar, golden pelt that stalks in beside her.

Dimmingsun had gotten Thriftfeather to flee, more than a moon ago now. He had chalked it up to DuskClan cowardice... apparently fatherhood, of all things, had been the reason.

The near vicinity erupts into rightful disbelief. He sees kittens react with more hostility than curiosity; good. He sees shock pass onto all of his Clanmates' faces, some turning into anger, some morphing into disappointment. Amidst the turmoil of emotions, he is glad for Sunstar's sensible reaction. He offers zero sympathy for the pair.

"No, he does not belong," Dimmingsun all but bellows in retaliation to Bluefrost's claims. There is no reason left to pick his words carefully — the desire to be on good or at least neutral terms with her are culled in revelation of her wrongdoings. How many times had she sneaked out to cuddle him? To cozy up beside the one who had spilled WindClan blood not all that long ago? Nausea sharply threatens him.

And then, Periwinklebreeze talks- they pick a side, the wrong side, and Dimmingsun's eyes find Vulturepaw amongst the crowd. The story Periwinklebreeze had created — and no doubt regurgitated to an impressionable, young mind, until the chances of a mess-up were low — is a fable... and all for what? To protect Thriftfeather's sorry hide?

Bluefrost, a traitor. Periwinklebreeze, a liar... and between the two of them, Sunstar is required to choose- to make things right. Stars, what has come of WindClan?

Anger takes control; as it so often does with Dimmingsun. "And why're you so different from DuskClan?" he snarls right into Thriftfeather's face. "Did you not betray us, like they did?" He almost wishes he could take a peek inside Thriftfeather's mind and the world that he has conjured up; a world where such grave actions could be swayed into something noble with just a few words.

"Excuses..." His tail flicks irritably upon hearing Milkthorn's opinion.
​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

A picture only half-painted by the chimera was finished by Bluefrost, Periwinklebreeze and Thriftfeather. Bluefrost had coupled with Thriftfeather, Bluefrost hadn't saved Vulturepaw, he had been gifted to her by the DuskClanner. Triumph briefly shone in his yellow-green eyes at the revelation. Suspicions she had cut the chase off early to be the sole hero had plagued his mind since the moment the kitten was returned, now, they were validated. 'You sneaky, sneaky little rat.' Had she not screwed him over in the process, it may have been something to be impressed by. But, he did not give himself time to dwell on it.

There were bigger things at stake, namely, Thriftfeather and Bluefrost's relationship. There was almost amusement in the way he scowled as if the idea was so ludicrous he couldn't help but suppress his laughter. Harrierstripe and Shrikethorn were dead, Moorblossom and Addervenom kept their heads down, Cottonsprig was a disappointment and Bluefrost, in one last sisterly act, tried to make herself even worse in comparison. How in StarClan's name was he related to any of these cats?

Only Sunstar seemed opposed to Thriftfeather, and his stomach coiled in disgust as a result. There was anger in the way the other tensed up, and then, there was hesitation. He stared at the back of the leader's head as if trying to burn a hole directly through it to communicate: 'They do not fear you as they did my mother.' Knowing what had happened to Sootstar, he did not know if he could entirely blame Sunstar for being compliant, he was sure the other would rather be a pushover than dead. Yet, the others knew his tolerance was a weakness and pounced upon it like vultures without consideration of the Code and WindClan's rules. Servitude to warriors was a prison of the tabby's own making, one that had benefited him once. Now, he wanted to search for the key.

He also wanted to test the waters. It felt worth doing, if it meant the she-cat was further thrown from her rocky pedestal. "Is that the type of cat you want representing WindClan, Sunstar? How would the other clans react, knowing one of your... trusted advisors prefers the company of rogues? That another one of them is a liar?" He blinked slowly as if trying to imagine any of the other groups being so lecherous. Only SkyClan sprung to mind. For all the flaws of the other groups, their inferiority compared to WindClan, their commitment to the code was resolute from an outsider's perspective.

Dimmingsun intervenes, defiant of social expectations, and his lashing tail swayed to a halt. "I agree." He agreed because compliance had been enough to make Sootspot a pariah, if they were so alike, why shouldn't it make Thriftfeather one too? As if fuelled by the other's aggression, his ears flattened, almost trying to mirror the other from the safety of the crowd. "If you want to see your kittens grow up, then bare your throat to me. I will promise you a place among the stars and you may watch them whenever you like." A promise that, should the gamble pay off, the other would never be safe.

Granitepelt is dead. He remembered the little apprentice who had told him as such long before the rest of the clan knew. He'd had time to rehearse his surprise, act as if a great evil had been vanquished from the clans. But in the aftermath, he found himself asking questions, questions that only Thriftfeather could answer. The temptation to ask one caused him to bite his tongue, committing to the mirror that Dimmingsun had placed before him.




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[STOATSPOT]

The commotion is what stirs Stoatspot from her nap, exhaustion dragging at her bones as she rises with a stretch to see... Bluefrost, five little kittens and... And... Pupils go pin-pricked and hackles raise. Someone strange is within their camp, and their kits are getting too close to them. Stoatspot launches herself up and nearly stumbles trying to join the cacophony of emotion-filled voices. Sootspot blocks Heatherkit from going any further, Featherspine fetches his father.

As the queen speaks, Stoatspot levels her with a look akin to terrified shock. She- What? He is the what to her kits? To see Bluefrost, a lead warrior of Windclan, right in front of her, pleading for their clanmates to forgive the enemy standing right in the midst where she had brought him. Where he had stood before, on opposite ends of the battlefield. She resists the urge to sigh, keeping her mind at bay as she digs her claws in to the earth below.

"You-" oh, Stars, her stomach hurts. Milkthorn and Periwinklebreeze both speak up in defense of Thriftfeather. "Do y'all forget that it had gotten so bad, that long ago, that you had to shelter with us?" her voice, normally strong, wavers as she gently addresses their sentiments. She had been a barn cat then, gallivanting around with Appaloosa as Windclan shelters within the confines of her home. As Windclan prepares to take back their home (and quite honestly, she does not recall seeing the yellow tom there). The other barn cats that reside here... Surely they share her thoughts. This wasn't fair! This wasn't fair, watching them plead for an outsider, for someone who helped assist the same leader that the Windclanners had run from! Sunstar seems livid, rightfully so, Stoatspot would never fault him for this anger.

She clenches her teeth so hard shes afraid they may shatter under the pressure. Her shoulders, rigid, begin to ache. Other cats speak, Sootspot in particular demanding justice. Dimmingsun, too, too-tired exasperation shifting on to her face. Her ears finally swivel all the way back. This whole situation was nothing less than an absolute mess.

Once, Stoatspot had found herself looking up to Bluefrost's skills because naturally, as a learning tunneler, you'd look to those good at their job. Bluefrost, a lead warrior, a tunneler authority, underneath Scorchstreak. Good at her job. Betrayed the clan. Brought an enemy in to camp. She cannot bare looking at the blue-pelted she-cat anymore, and so she looks away, looking anywhere but her, but the golden tom besides her, but the kittens at her paws. I thought you better than this.

𝖫𝖨𝖥𝖤 𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖣 𝖴𝖲 𝖠 𝖯𝖠𝖸𝖢𝖧𝖤𝖢𝖪 ‧₊˚🍎 𝖶𝖤 𝖲𝖠𝖨𝖣 𝖶𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖪𝖤𝖣 𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖲

• 
  ❥ stoatspot ʚ♡ɞ palomino
  ❥ cis female ʚ♡ɞ she/her ʚ♡ɞ 24 months
  ❥ windclan warrior ʚ♡ɞ mentoring n/a
  ❥ fluffy black / fawn tortie with heterochromia ʚ♡ɞ short, but pure muscle
  ❥ "speech, bfdb81" ʚ♡ɞ thoughts
  ❥ single ʚ♡ɞ pansexual
  ❥ smells like straw, fresh rainfall & soil ʚ♡ɞ home on the range
  ❥ penned by chuff

​

 

[NIGHTKIT!]

All of the attention coming from Bluefrost returning back to camp with strangers by her side was worthy enough of Nightkit's curiosity to investigate what all of this could be about. His sister Heatherkit was already there, being the first to approach this trio. Silently he would pad up to stand beside her while observing the situation at hand. No matter what anyone had to say it was Sootspot's strong opinions that truly mattered. The rest, or most of them seemed to agree, even their leader's reaction showed support over what their father had to say. The word rogue were a first time for the kit to hear so had no real idea what it could mean but it was clearly not something positive. It was spat out like he would do when he ate something that tasted bad. Bad, that was the correct way to describe it. Rogue meant bad.

Bad things didn't belong in windclan.

Nightkit took note of fathers anger and although being the first time seeing them this livid fear was not among the emotions he felt when viewing it. Instead he observed closer how this anger especially was directed against this golden tom who Bluefrost had brought in. Neither did it slip under his nose how the rest seemed to have a history with this golden tom. Nightkit wished to learn more about this stranger that everyone else seemed to know so well about but now was not the time to ask questions. But overall it was at least something he had learn today, his aunt was bad alongside this strangers she had brought in including the kits. To think such small things could be bad. Had he been that small too once?.

Now curious about this lives that was younger then he was Nightkit stared them down from the distance he was staying at, ears listening to the conversation but eyes focused on the newborn lives that had been presented itself in front of his very eyes for the very first time. To think he was related to them although not through blood.


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