camp the game's not over yet | PROMPT

[REDHEART]

Peace had seemed to prevail, until memories of Sootspot's shrieks rang out through camp, a pitiable reminder that Windclan would never truly be rid of the scars left by Sootstar and that a cat he once called friend would never see reason—not from family and certainly not from Redheart. Yet, pale blues still haunt their subconscious as mirrored greens gaze across the scorching fields. Against orders, the tabby had traveled off on his lonesome on the outskirts of camp, needing a heartbeat away from his clanmates and time to collect himself without worrying his loved ones.

Despite the crawling dread rolling within, the young warrior felt a smidge at ease knowing his life differed for the best. Past times of lonesome nights spent in the nursery, nasty glares from those meant to guide him in youth, and the terror of war seemed so far away—or at least some of it had. A part of them wanted to run to his parents and another to Rivepaw, but how could he possibly bother them with trivial worries at a time like this? Redheart wasn't weak anymore, and he couldn't be, not like he used to be.

Step after step, the tom did his best to look on the bright side of it all, trying to ignore the billowing smoke and sickly skies, to turn the tumultuous thoughts into something more positive. Surely, not with the same exuberance he had in kittenhood, but enough to keep his head above the waves. You've earned a name filled with love and happiness, one you never thought would come true. When the moor queen had still ruled, a part of them feared what terrible name she would have gifted. Probably something like Redworm or worse. Good thing the snake's dead. Redheart's nose turned upward in dismay. Had it not been for naivety and fear, maybe he would've stood up to her earlier in life. No point in regretting things now. Audibly, he sighed and turned to walk the same pattern he had weaved since arising.

An acrid filmy texture building on the ruddy cat's tongue, and he does his best to ignore it. Maybe I was never cut out to be a warrior. The thought causes him to physically stop and gawk. It was a startlingly intrusive idea and something that drowned him in shame. How could I ever think such a thing? Frustration furrows the center of their tufted head, and with gritted teeth, he practically storms his way back through camp, praying that such useless notions would just leave him be.​

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• You earned your warrior name through WindClan's trouble, and now we're from the pan and into the fire. Literally. Is it any easier this time around? Could it ever be? And do you still have anyone that you can lean on to help you through times like this? Does it leave a bitter taste in your mouth, thinking you might never escape trouble and pain?​

• 
  ❥ redkit, redpaw, redheart
  ❥ maine coon/somali mix, lh red ticked tabby
  ❥ amab, cis male, he/him, 10 moons
  ❥ ex-kittypet, moor runner of windclan, mentor to TBD
  ❥ pansexual/romantic, single, crushing on rivepaw
  ❥ G1, adopted by venomstrike + rattleheart
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, powerplay
  ❥ peaceful and healing powerplay accepted
  ❥ penned by tasmagoric, tags, heartchart, art
  ​
• 

  strength
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  stamina
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  agility
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  hunting
  ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♡♡
  swimming
  ♥♥♥♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
  climbing
  ♥♥♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
  charisma
  ♥♥♥♥♥♥♡♡♡♡​

 

[CELANDINEPAW]

Celandinepaw had never known what it was like to like through war, as she only wove through the echoes it had cast, like she trailed through the aftermath found in abrasion and long-gone struggle. She awoke every day in Windclan, not knowing that those before her would have killed themselves to experience half of the peace that she did now. She wore her naivete like a woolen banner, lying gingerly along round eyes, with just enough underlight to see the world through such a narrow view. The tyranny of the woman known as Sootstar had only bated, as though it were a scar healing and restraining - it would never reform to what it was before, but it would be well regardless. It was much like the mending of a fence or patching of a hole in the wooden walls, even if what was used was not born of the same material or cut from the same cloth. That was what recovery was like, to repair with what you were left with. The golden molly saw how madding the faces bent by conflict were, haunted and holy and all sorts of harboring, though she did not understand why the cats of the moor fought then. Kitten nose knew of the stench of blood that permeated the barn itself, and though she tried her very best to help the ailing Windclan, she knew she could not rub away the strife that abraded angular visage.

Now, the cats faced a new opponent. This foe could not be driven back nor injured nor bayed. It raged, it raged and she could do nothing to stop it. The spotted tabby had been standing by the camp entrance, tail waving in downy breeze idly. Then, a stranger-not-stranger pushed through the gorse, his paws restless and riled with something fierce. "Are you okay?" Sun-shot voice engendered the compassion that had been hard-wired into her very frame, into the golden frays and purls of her pelt, into the way soft features hewed into that of concern. She stepped once towards him, but no further. "My mother always told me to take a deep breath whenever I feel like the world is spinning. It helps!" She chirped as she sat down, as if silently instructing Redheart to do the same. She couldn't kill the flame, but she could help those in front of her.

( Pre-evacuation! )​