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

[milkthorn.]

His form shifted, tensed, before the white warrior decided ultimately to stand between his clan and... Well , his clan. No matter what, Bluefrost was clan, and thriftfeather was his friend. But taking his stance, the rosetted warrior raised his head, blue eyes aimed to Sootspots green. He just wished for them to listen to Bluefrost- hell, to reason.

There was no hostility in his gaze- just peace as he looked at the warrior before him who spat and held fury. "Does this warrior stand before you guys threatening to spill blood from your neck? Does this cat come into your clan bringing bloodshed? How many cats risked their life to try to leave spots grip on them? Or died trying? Listen to reason- and if something happens, I will lay my own throat out as well."

His scruffy scarred form would stand unmoving tense. "surely, you believe in change. Even once, I was a naive child- and I changed from a pretentious apprentice who did nothing but cause trouble for the warriors of this clan, to change to what I believe an almost formidable warrior. My loyalty has always been unwavering from this clan. I remember the sanctuary the barn cats held. The journey I took to heal my clan from sickness that almost drove us to death. The rogues we fought off. Change occurs in cats, and sometimes it takes a bit to break the veil or grip off from over our eyes. And for thriftfeather, it was his children and bluefrost to take that viel off- if even before. He may never even had truely known where his paws were leading him."

He took a breath, letting the memories reminisce for a moment. He took a breath, remembering the bloodshed. His eyes closed for a moment- before finally opening them again. "If bluefrost really preferred the company of rogues- she would not have dared come back here, she would not have brought her family here. She just very obviously endured pain and wrath bearing five more warriors for not Duskclan, but Windclan. Kit birthing is not an easy task, and to get up and walk from who knows where or how far after, starclan had to have had assisted. She is strong, resilient, and reliable for Windclan."

"Now, bite my tongue off and feed it to the rogues for defending our Lead warrior- but fueled in anger is no way to live. I have learned that lesson from Sootstar. She went psychotic from her inner turmoil. Must you do the same?"

If any cats threw there bodies at them, he would use himself as a shield- but he was prepared to take the hits without flinching, he was prepared to stand as shield to the kittens, bluefrost, and thriftfeather behind him. He was prepared to not lay a claw to make his words heard for once.

​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ Bluefrost readily confirms his suspicions. He thinks back to their conversation, their wistful gaze going over his head. There was something between the pair that he had not understood, and now he feels all the more betrayed for it. Thriftfeather did not want to come home, Blufrost said that he never truly could. And yet - here they both are. It's like he's invisible to them, like they don't trust him. He's sick of lying, and he's sick of being lied to.

He hadn't had time to brace himself. Sunstar's gaze is cold, his voice that of an executioner. Vulturepaw flinches at the sound of it, fearful eyes turning to fixate on him instead. "No, no, no," the apprentice murmurs, curling in upon himself like a hedgehog bearing its spines.

The curl of a familiar tail soothes him just barely, his dad's voice speaking their shared secret. A rosetted warrior too, speaks in the rogue's defense - only to be shot down. Dimmingsun, once a comfort, speaks with a snarl in his voice, backed by the ever-taunting form of Sootspot. Vulturepaw feels impossibly small. "D-d-d-don't hurt him," he blurts, panicked honeydrop eyes flickering to Sootspot. "Please." Small claws flicker in and out, hooking into the softness of the earth, The apprentice is the picture of terror - and that terror is not directed at Thriftfeather, but for him.

Thriftfeather saved him. Vulturepaw doesn't know if he is strong enough to do the same.

It's not fair, being put in this position. If Bluefrost hadn't lied to him, then maybe he could have helped more. Now, all the words feel like they're stuck in his throat, swallowed back too many times. "It's t-t... true," he admits shakily, pressing the side of his head into Periwinklebreeze's side. "He helped me - he saved me. I was... I was so scared, I was so scared and..." His eyes turn glassy, recalling the memories. Bared teeth on every side of him. Hunger and fear were all he felt, becoming a wild and shaky thing. "He was d-d-different. He was k-k... k-k... He was k-kind, and he made me... nn-not scared anymore. He g-g... gave me a feather and lead me t-t-to... t-to Bluefrost. Without him..." He'd be dead, or worse. He'd be a rogue, a DuskClanner. Would the Clan even recognize him, after that?

Do they see him now like they see Bluefrost? A sympathiser, no better than a rogue himself? Is it wrong to feel gratitude to Thriftfeather, to feel more comfortable around him than many clanmates? He cast his eyes around the camp and he feels -

He feels like he's in DuskClan again. Teeth and claws on every side, fearing that even one misstep would be enough to land himself in their path. He remembers Privetpaw, condemning Sunstar for his cruelty. A tyrant, just as the clan describes the boogeyman of Sootstar.

Once, Sunstar had told him, WindClan felt much as it did now.

His breaths come quick. Thriftfeather is far kinder than Sootspot ever has been; this death would not be just. How long before bloodlust takes hold of WindClan again, like it did in the battle?

He can't breathe. His head is spinning, his chest caving in.

Milkthorn's voice grounds him barely enough to speak. He clings to the clear-spoken works like a lifeline, gasps out protests. "Please," he pleads again. "He said he c-c-couldn't c-come back with me..." He blinks, eyes wet and unfocused. "He was scared." He always was, wasn't he? Scared of DuskClan. "He was scared, just like I was." WindClan would never accept him, never accept the kits he had been sworn to protect. There was never hope for any of them. Vulturepaw was lucky he was returned so soon.

They're shaking. Their eyes turn downwards finally, overwhelmed by the weight of - everything.

Vulturepaw is not brave enough to offer his own throat. Maybe he should - would the death of an apprentice be enough to spur Sunstar into sympathy, or would it only drive him further towards Sootstar's madness? He has no way of knowing. They are quiet, for a little bit. When they speak again, it is with a hoarse and trembling voice. His wailing protests quiet to something pitiful "He... He let me see my family again. He should g-get t-t... t-t-tuh - t-to see his t-too."

Is that truly such a terrible thing to ask?

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.

​

 

[FOALKIT]

˗ˏˋ ✶ ˎˊ˗ The newborn kit is blissfully unaware of the turmoil his arrival marks; the invidious words of WindClan fall upon deaf ears. All he knows is the feeling of being jostled, the brush of grass against his belly, and the press of squirming bodies against his own. Strange sensations, all too new to the kitten.

As Asterkit kicks out, the young Foalkit finds himself in her path, toppled over onto his side. He cannot let this go unremarked upon. "Mraah," complains the querelous kit. His tiny voice joins a chorus of arguments, his face scrunched up in displeasure. Tiny paws wave aimlessly, a sparse-furred body wiggling in time with them. "Mrrrp," he adds, movements beginning to slow. Moving and meowing so much is tiring.

‎‎┌── IT❜S MY ALL-TIME LOW ✶ AND I JUST CAN❜T WAIT! ──┐‎

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  FOALKIT ✶ he / him, loner kit, zero moons.
  ➳ a freckled black smoke with bicolored eyes.
  ➳ cottonsprig x foxglare; littermate to rimekit & comfreykit.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[THISTLEPAW !]

❝ THE TENACITY I HOLD✧°.☀ ——————————————————————————————————
The commotion drags him out of the medics' den, steadily recovering but still coughing periodically. His curiosity leds him to the camp clearing, where Bluefrost is with her kittens next to a tom he'd never seen before. Sootspot's lack of kinship towards his sister is blatantly obvious, and makes Thistlekit wonder if one day he and his littermates will be like that, too. Were all sibling relationships doomed?

His ears perk as he listens to several narrations, from Bluefrost herself to the tom he'd learned was Thriftfeather - a Duskclanner - he's not like them they all say, and apparently only Sunstar and Sootspot have some sense to see the truth. A wheeze announces his arrival before his words do. Icy-blue eyes glare at the newborns, then to pierce at the Duskclanner with fervent rage. "No, no, no!" The seal-point argues, standing beside his leader in silent support. He had looked up to Bluefrost, once - he'd heard all about Sootstar, her mother, and how she earned Sunstar's trust even after everything her parent had done. . .only to throw it all away, by talking to and having a traitor's children.

DuskClan brought back tenebrous memories. Of his near kit-napping, of the way he freezes over should someone try to grab him by the scruff, of the way Splinterkit now hates loud noises because it reminds him of that night. "He stood with murderers, he sided with kitnappers like Thornrunner and Granitepelt." He coughs, finding himself at a sudden loss of breath. "They tried to take me," Thistlekit rasps, "And they took you." He says to Vulturepaw, clearly oblivious to the other's current state of mind. "Bringing you back doesn't make him a good cat! He could have. . . ultuerior motives. . .maybe to spy." He hacks, at least facing away from the newborns as he coughs - it's not their fault they have two traitors as parents, he concedes. Suffice to say, Thistlekit was vehemently opposed to the idea of having a Duskclanner around.

[penned by nocthymia - ☀

————————————————— ☀.°✧ I HOPE IT'S HARD TO BREAK DOWN ❞ ​

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

• sick little guy is upset, obligatory IC opinions
  "Speech" Thoughts

• 

• THISTLEKIT ✩ HE/HIM, kit of windclan, four moons
  ⭃ long haired seal-point kitten with an unusually long tail and pale blue eyes. short history blurb, short opinion on clan/clan specific traits. 1-2 sentences bout personality stuff and any other important details.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by nocthymia ↛ @hypmic on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

[ROWANPAW]

They hate DuskClan with a passion. Sootstar's followers were something of myth earlier in their upbringing; some said they had fled to the mountains, some said they still lingered out in unclaimed territories hatching a plan for retaliation. Obviously, they had reared their barmy heads and had laid waste to their camp in the midst of the night. Moonbeams had illuminated the conflagration that those traitors had inflicted upon the Sandy Hollow, including a sordid kitnapping ( that had thankfully since been resolved ). Rowanpaw could still smell the noxious odor that wafted from her opponent, the deadly glare in his eyes and the sharpness of his tongue. To think that its members had once possessed any sort of kinship with WindClan was sickening to Rowanpaw. They had turned their back on their clan; they had turned their back on morality and loyalty. That alone was detestable in the tunneler's eyes.

For Bluefrost—a fellow tunneler whom they admired—to not only bring one of those foul DuskClanners into their home but to claim that he was the father of her children... Rowanpaw curls their lip in a rare display of emotion at this invidious situation. What she had done was appalling. What made her think that WindClan would even consider accepting a DuskClanner into their ranks, all because of an unthinkable choice that she had made? With no understanding of the throes of love and parenthood at their youthful age, they spare little sympathy for the pair.

Rowanpaw is not one who is typically ruled by emotion, but a seething resentment bubbles and boils in their gut. Their mismatched eyes narrow, a thin and disapproving scowl etching onto their lips. Their clanmates berate and condemn Bluefrost and this DuskClanner, Thriftfeather. For a fleeting moment, they wonder if their father had known him.

They cast a slitted gaze toward Milkthorn as he jumps to this stranger's defense, citing that he was going to change his ways because of his kin. Rowanpaw is not inclined to believe such a thing — even Snakehiss' own children were not enough to save him from his delusions and selfishness. They don't know if cats are truly capable of changing who they are. Either way, Thriftfeather could not reverse his betrayal to the clan,

A fervant speech stammers from Vulturepaw's maw. They give a small raise of faux eyebrows as the black tabby emphasizes the fact that Thriftfeather has "saved" him and reserved the right to remain with his new family. Even if the DuskClanner had helped him, Rowanpaw does not believe that it righted the wrongs that Sootstar's followers had inflicted upon WindClan. They find themselves growing frustrated with Vulturepaw's blindness to reason — this was a dire situation, one that could put their clanmates at risk if they did not make a wise decision.

"We should not take a chance on a DuskClanner. He made his choice." Rowanpaw voices their own concern, knowing that as a trainee their opinion does not hold much weight although they do seem to be agreeing with the majority already. It displeases them, to have to side against some of the clanmates they favored, but the good of WindClan had always come first. "He cannot be trusted."

𝐈𝐌 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐓

• 

• 

  a tunneler apprentice of windclan, rowanpaw is nine moons and is mentored by swiftshade they are the child of snakehiss and berrysnap. split directly down the middle, their right half is solid black and their left half is tortoiseshell patterned. they also have amber and blue heterochromia. ✦

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ The revelation does nothing to quell his rage. In the moment of Periwinklebreeze's confession, what snaps back to his features is not relief or gentle acceptance. An augur of storms to come, Sunstar's eyes narrow. His shoulders draw up taller with his weight pressed back upon his hind limbs. The stump of his leg draws back as if its ghostly claws are flexing in his rage. Their flagrant betrayal rings about his skull until his weight explodes back up to all four paws. In StarClan, they must see the way his missing limb comes down upon the earth hard enough to shatter it. To tear the cracks from where they begin deep inside of his stomach. "How many secrets will you keep from me?" he roars. "You come here and beg before me, not for the good of your clan but for the good of yourself, and I find that you have kept this from me? All of you!" How many among them knew? An apprentice entangled in their secrets. The kindness Vulturepaw speaks of: how much had been forged? How much of it offered for the sake of Bluefrost over the sake of WindClan?

Where had this line of disloyalty first been drawn?

Thriftfeather had never intended for it to become this. Yet now that the words have fallen from all of their mouths, there is no taking them back. Never again will it be an innocent kindness. Never will Sunstar see him as he could have been. Rage, resplendent in coiling curls of reddened fur and ice-bitten eyes, sings through him.

But he is a mercurial creature, and as soon as it comes upon him it dissipates again. There is a kit here, complaining beneath their parents' paws. He has not learned their names. He does not know that he wants to. So shortly ago he had demanded the strangers that fall upon their borders go to horseplace. It would do well to send the traitors with them — Sootstar's blood runs strong in them, it would seem. He had thought Bluefrost above it all. Now he looks upon her with reluctant bitterness. You should have followed your mother. Perhaps then their story could find its happy ending. For even if he allowed him to remain here, the clan has made it clear: they could not, and would not, forgive what he had done. We should not take a chance on a DuskClanner. The way that his clanmates had with him? The way that the other clans must, if WindClan is to survive?

He made his choice. The way that he had, so many moons ago? When he first left the mountains, and then again as he came to Sootstar's paws? As he pledged himself to her beneath the stars? When he raided RiverClan, stole from SkyClan, buried the truth of ShadowClan's kits until he could keep them beneath him no longer? He cannot be trusted. Just like Sunstar, and all those who had first followed the leader they now reviled? His garrulous mind does not release its spiel. It howls on about the blood upon his paws, its red the same shade as Thriftfeather's.

Vulturepaw is crying. The kits squirm. He clenches his jaw and barks a noise from the lowest part of his chest as his claws rip at the moor grass. "To the nursery. Now," he demands of Bluefrost, and then to Dimmingsun: "Do not leave the entrance until you are told."

A step forward into the crowd, his plumed tail lashing as he stares into Thriftfeather's eyes. "And you — you will come to my den. There has been enough of this here."

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

• 

  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. —
  

  

  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"

[/u]​

 

[BLUEFROST]

This is familiar to her, the snapping of her Clanmates' jaws, the rage and disappointment gleaming in their eyes. Bluefrost does not back down from them, not even from Sootspot, who threatens Thriftfeather boldly, baldly. Would that I could tear that poisonous tongue from your mouth. The iron-colored fur on her shoulders threatens to rise, but she quells her rising anger — especially when Sunstar stalks toward her as though he is on a warpath.

She has seen his wrath before. She has not, however, felt the scorch of its heat on her face. Bluefrost does not cower, does not flinch, but inside, she recoils from his blazing blue gaze. "How long have you spoken with DuskClan?" He snarls, his breath like woodsmoke on her whiskers. "As they raid our home, kill your Clanmates — have you forgotten his place in all of this?" She shakes her head, but she finds her tongue has crumbled into ash in her mouth.

Had I forgotten it? No... I simply turned my cheek. Heat begins to surge beneath her pelt — shame, too familiar. Her Clanmates flicker like shadow around her, their eyes narrow with fury, and even when Periwinklebreeze and Milkthorn and Vulturepaw speak in defense of the cat who'd fathered her kits, she cannot find it in her to meet their gazes.

Mother would not waver. Bluefrost's jaw threatens to tremble, but she will not let it — not here, not in front of councilmates, Clanmates, friends. Not in front of Sootspot. "Thriftfeather is not like them. He set Vulturepaw free. Brought him to me. He never asked anything of me, nothing but my friendship." Her words sound hollow, even to her, and when Sunstar commands her to the nursery, she feels something break in her chest.

I have lost every ounce of prestige I once had. Sootstar, what would you have done? Would you have clawed them where they stood? Would you fight shame? Did you even feel it? Bluefrost's eyes lower to the kits, all of whom have begun to stir, have begun to mewl with hunger and cold and exhaustion.

Cottonsprig, I have done this for you.

But, too, she had done it for herself.

"Very well, Sunstar." She gives Thriftfeather a long look, one that contains all the fear she has inside of her. "I will... I will need help, carrying them all to the nursery," she murmurs to the nearest Clanmate.

With some effort, she bends to grip Sootkit and Rimekit by their scruffs once more before stepping delicately toward the nursery. It is her home; it is her prison; it is, along with her secrets, her undoing.

『 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.

​

 

[milkthorn.]

Vulturepaw goes to assist, to defend thriftfeather. While others continue to bash his name.Milkthorn is not even passed a glance as Sunstar takes upon his wrath onto the Lead warrior. He is not sure how to feel, his gaze moving from Sootspots to watch the leader, whose golden orange gaze is filled with the fire of which his name originates. Fury. Anger.

He summons thriftfeather to his den-alone, and sends Bluefrost off to the nursery. That means, at least, Bluefrost is safe ... Right? Perhaps? But he wasn't certain. As the queen explains she would need help, he would make no hesitation, his jaws gently wrapping around the other kittens scruffs to carry them ever so carefully after the grey queen. He had never carried kittens before, but it was much easier then when he lugged his mentors form across the doors as a mere apprentice when she had fallen sick- or bodies deceased from battles. These were innocent lives held that squealed and mewled in his grip.

But he would pause for a moment, looking to Thriftfeathers eyes- hoping the unspoken message would be clear. Stay safe, friend. Then, he would continue following the queen quickly.

Quick & rushes///

​

 

[brokenpaw ♠]

————————————————————⊰♠♠♠⊱———————————————————
Bluefrost had become a ghost to Brokenpaw's newfound steps in life. Since her retirement to the nursery and his shift in role as an apprentice, there were not so many chances they came across one another anymore that allowed Brokenpaw to desire observing her or how Honeysucklepaw baited for her attention. Learning the ropes of a moor runner had been exhilarating, in the beginning, but the boy is learning life is full of endless repetition and none in the kind he enjoyed.

Fetch moss, follow these paws, scratch this, pounce that, watch this, stop here. Command after command Brokenpaw has learned the independence of a kit is far greater than that of his rank. At least Mintshade never told him what to do when he kept his nose out of her way, just what he couldn't do.

There's something unsteady, though, the way he can hear the queens gait from a long-waited return. His kin had been discovered absent from her nest the night prior and plenty may believe it to be a miracle she returned without any scent of predator or iron soaking her coat, and he himself was curious as to what kept her out of camp for so long.

It's answered for him in three blinks, taking each one to look at every individual piece as if puzzles were aligning before him. The first being a dull thick golden pelt set ablaze by the morning sun, familiar from moons ago now. Another blink. Kittens- five total- had she really been so round? Perhaps she was hiding them in all that cheek fur. Another blink. The two of them are together, was it the tom's allegiance that caused issue with Bluefrosts (unaccompanied) walk? No, she spoke another answer for the gears in his mind to turn over. Thriftfeather is the father of these kits, kin of his kin.

His mentor is none too pleased to hear it, and instinctively citrine yellows look for lamb-kissed green in the crowd of so many gathered. He would not join them in their gawking, his own heart pattering against his throat as their reactions pulled him back to foam-lipped struggling and crushed berries.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS - FAILURE

Had he and Honeysucklepaw been truthful, he would have found themselves beneath these harsh stares, wouldn't he? Cursed kin, they would say. Engrained in their blood. Tainted like the rest of them. Cottonsprigs disappearance, Sootspot's cowardly retreat to queendom, Bluepool's dishonorable death, Sootstar's cruel reign... The machine continued to whir and rumble for feed no matter. Yet they were made to feel shame for it while forced to live beneath their gaze. How was that righteous?

RHETORIC - FAILURE

Do we kill them? He wanted to ask Sunstar, tearing away from his search for his sister in favor of reading his mentors face. Sunstar was always foolish for it, he thought, letting his maw wear through every detail of his mind. Betrayal has shaken him, and it only tucked Brokenpaw further within- he could never share his secret with Honeysucklepaw. Not to anyone, if they were to squeal it from any bit of pressure like Bluefrost had.

DuskClan were kit-stealers, he was told. But how many others in his Clan remained bystanders when his kin did the same? Wasn't it...?

His eyes dart away from Sootspot the moment he noticed himself lingering. If being a Clanmate meant swaying with whatever direction the leader demanded, than who was he to say any different? He would just have to be better at not getting caught when he acted against it. If he ever did.

DRAMA - SUCCESS

For all their begging Brokenpaw doesn't feel its embellished out of desperation. Vulturepaw isn't a liar either, at least he can't imagine him as one. An omitter, maybe, but Periwinklebreeze was too- and clearly that was something rooted deeply within his parenting style. Brokenpaw believed he could root out a fellow liar pretty easily if he had to; with how long he and Honeysucklepaw would keep their secret, he might be the best one the stars had ever seen. Only those too far underground would know, and by the time he met them it wouldn't matter anymore. StarClan's forgiveness and all of that.

"I want to go." Brokenpaw sank his teeth into his cheek, keeping his nerve. "To learn. I'll be quiet." He cannot help but be curious, what level of reaction would his mentor have if he were to ever find out?

♠ i swear to god, i did what i could ———— ♠ i practically begged you

•  
• 
  
  
  Brokenpaw
  —⊰⋅ apprentice of windclan | 6 months
  —⊰⋅ he/him
  —⊰⋅ mintshade x gracklestep
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ sh solid black tom with yellow eyes
  

 

[DIMMINGSUN]

A B C​

Despite Dimmingsun and Sootspot's ideals lining up for once, disbelief forces him to take a step away from the prince. "That'd make us no different than him!" His gaze burns into Thriftfeather. It is not too far-fetched for Sootspot to resign to practices his mother had enforced... but they are different now. Surely Sunstar would not sanction bloodshed within their home.

The hypocrisy of it does not evade him. He had been so eager to sink tooth and claw within that rogue-hide not too long ago. That had not been so orthodox; precisely why he hadn't uttered a word about it ever since.

Milkthorn rejects Sootspot's expedient advances with a claim equally as revolting. "You fool," he growls, though the ferocity of it is not specifically because of Milkthorn himself. Dimmingsun had never found an issue with the fellow warrior before... but this is getting quickly out of paw now. "You'd sacrifice your life for these two- for Bluefrost, who favors our enemy instead of you?"

It is Vulturepaw's thin voice that brings Dimmingsun to an abrupt halt. They plead, they reminisce — and Dimmingsun's heart twists painfully. He can only internally upbraid Periwinklebreeze; to involve an innocent kitten in a game of lies and now force him into an impossible predicament... it is too cruel. Vulturepaw should not find himself stuck between two worlds like this, not at such a young age, not when the world around them can leave too-deep impressions. Dimmingsun wishes he could comfort them; he doubts they would allow such a thing now that their opinions no longer align.

Sunstar's enraged voice booms. If it wasn't for that, yielding to Vulturepaw's pleas might have been a possibility... but backed by his leader's rightful rage and order, Dimmingsun finds balance again.

Without another word — those only seem to do more harm than good —, he stalks after this new prisoner, making sure to take any leftover kittens with him.

Out, going after Bluefrost!

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

➴➴ Dull eyes brush across a familiar yellow pelt, and for a moment they think the world must be playing a cruel trick on them. They blink, brows furrowing, but still Thriftfeather remains, at Bluefrost's side, with a pawful of cats attempting to defend his presence here. A sense of malaise creeps over them, douses them in chilling water. Sunstar is clearly enraged, Dimmingsun sharing in that anger. It all moves too quickly, and Gravelsnap's head spins as they try to keep up.

They find themself staring at Bluefrost, and they do not recognize the cat who they see. So flagrantly returning to camp with her kits, with her codebreaking mate... how could she so casually toss her clan aside, in favor of such a sordid affair? And how could cats such as Milkthorn stand up in her defense? Rumblerain had ripped jagged lines through their flesh, had left scars they cannot easily forget. And Thriftfeather had turned his back on all of them. The golden-striped tom's impact on their life is a truth immutable, from the moment they were paired to the moment they were split apart by a difference of ideals. But they cannot forgive so easily, just as the whole of WindClan cannot. They cannot risk their trust being shattered again.

They watch as Bluefrost is upbraided for her betrayal, by her love for a rogue. A traitor. They watch as Vulturepaw exposes what Thriftfeather had done for them—and by extension, what Peri had kept hdden. Hazel eyes fall upon their mate, and something bittersweet rises in their throat. How much had their mate known of this? How long would he have hidden it, lying by omission both to Gravelsnap and to everyone else around them? Their shoulder brushes against their mate's, and they do not meet those clear blue eyes as they speak. "We need to talk." Their voice is not quite virulent, but it is a near thing. Their gaze cannot be ripped away from their former apprentice, even as Sunstar demands that Thriftfeather follow him to the leader's den.

➼ maybe i’ve done enough

• ooc: —
• 
  GRAVELSNAP ❯❯ they/he, moor runner of windclan
  ⭃ average-sized black and white warrior who seems smaller than he is. speaks rarely and quietly.
  ⭃ mate to periwinklebreeze ; sibling to slateheart
  ⭃ mentoring sheeppaw ; formerly mentored thriftfeather
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay is allowed, but they hate physical contact & will lash out if not close friends / family
  ⭃ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[PINKSHINE]

Bluefrost has returned... And Pinkshine can't help but ask along with everyone else: when had she left?

There are kits squirming in both her jaws, and the jaws of an expatriate, former clanmate of yore — Pinkshine remembers him: Thriftfeather. Featherspine is gone to fetch her father. The Clan begins to murmur, and then they begin to shout. Pinkshine doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to think. Bluefrost's kits are here, and she couldn't be there for her the way she'd hoped. There all as cute as Pinkshine had figured they would be, but Bluefrost could only bring them back to camp with the help of a DuskClanner. The DuskClan that raided their camp. That took Vulturepaw. That killed Sunstar. And oh, he's their father.

Her smile slips away, and her shoulders are stiff. She wanted things to be happy when the kits came. This — this wasn't happy.

But he returned Vulturepaw, they say. He never fought, they say. Did that make it okay? He only wants safety for his kits, he says. He'll do whatever it takes, he says. Would it make Pinkshine stupid if she believed him?

Sootspot's diatribe has her sucking in a breath. Milkthorn snaps back, and they're all talking about violence. All speaking of laying out throats and cutting each other down. They didn't need all of this, did they? They didn't need of this when Bluefrost's kits are waiting to be fed. What mattered was Sunstar's word. What mattered was Bluefrost's word... And even if she doesn't believe in Thriftfeather, she wants to believe in what Bluefrost believes in.

It isn't really her place to say what should be done... but as she passes, she hopes that she can murmur to her friend, " ...I know you'd choose someone good, Bluefrost. "​

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

There are no sick in camp. Scorchstorm has recovered enough to be called well again. For this achievement, she feels punished when Bluefrost emergs from the heather tunnel, kits and DuskClanner in tow.

Her pelt, set alight in the golden sun, bristles fully. Thriftfeather is back. Of course she remembers him before DuskClan — he had been strange, often affrighted, and she had liked him, and then he had slipped away. The last time she'd seen him, he was attacking them, spilling their blood. Now he carries kits in his mouth. Scorchstorm cannot understand why this is happening. She cannot understand Bluefrost's calm, glacial stare. She cannot understand it until the words are uttered, he is the father of these kits.

She had found her place somehow at Juncoclaw's side, Brokenpaw somewhere nearby. But any cat would be remiss not to notice the lashing of her tail, the betrayed slack of her jaw, the hateful narrowing of her dual-gold eyes. Months of pining and then rejection bubble in her throat, dead and rotting fish at the surface of her sea. So it had been Thriftfeather all along. Thriftfeather, this traitor, this rogue, this sorry sop who apparently craved Clan life so desperately he would take advantage of a good warrior to claw himself back in. Maybe it is an unfair assumption — but Scorchstorm cannot imagine their love as reciprocal, cannot imagine Bluefrost choosing a DuskClanner over a good WindClan warrior. Over her.

But Bluefrost vouches for her bastard. As do Periwinklebreeze and Milkthorn. Periwinklebreeze's support wounds her uniquely, her own hurt too much to recognize his reason, and Milkthorn is spouting drivel as though he is in a tongue-wagging competition. "Do you do anything except flap your lips?" she growls at the rosetted tom, black lips peeling away from lily teeth in her anger. He defends Bluefrost and her pet DuskClanner as if it is the only thing that will get him in to StarClan. She resents it — resents DuskClan, resents Bluefrost, resents her kittens, though she does not mean to.

This resentment coruscates in the hot embers of her gaze. She feels it in her ribs as though it can vent steam there, can feel it in her chest like an engine. It begs for release, sits on her bladed tongue ready for the condemnation of her friend. And yet.

She cannot do it. She cannot damn Bluefrost. Cannot aid in the blue molly's self-destruction; cannot think to lose what little twine still tethers them together. All she can do now is hate, and fire that hate in bristling arrows at the things that are not truly the problem. Milkthorn's tirade. The kittens, whose only sin is being born. The wounded heart seeks to destroy. Scorchstorm's is no different.

She does not offer Bluefrost anything as the queen scoops her kits to the nursery. She has no comfort, but she has no smart or cutting remark; she has no jovial quip; she has nothing except an itching in the claws. It feels good to give her the cold shoulder, but it feels bad, too, a sticky tar at the back of the throat. She does not correct herself. Scorchstorm disperses with the crowd.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc.
• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 17 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• 

​

​

 

[Grasspaw]

𓆝 . ° ✦ Grasspaw is drawn from his nest at the rising voices of his clanmates. An unfamiliar face... and Bluefrost... and five kits. He shrank away. Too many new faces. Too much noise. Only for Vulturepaw's whimpering to pull him from his thoughts. Maybe... maybe once he could risk being near. For his cousin's sake. He had to help somehow. The shouting, the tension filling the air. It was a lot. Grasspaw shuffled close to his cousin, not daring to touch him. He still was afraid. Of what, he didn't even know. Maybe that Vulturepaw would lash out? That there was lingering sickness? StarClan knows, but he had to do something.

✧ ° . ✶ . ° ✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  GRASSPAW — HE/HIM ･ 8 MOONS ･ TUNNELER APPRENTICE & WINDCLAN ･ PENNED BY TWITCHTAIL

  Small fawn tabby with pale green eyes.
  "speak" thoughts action
  — peaceful, healing, and minor injury powerplay allowed