camp THE SPARK IN YOUR EYES ; rta

Jul 10, 2023
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It's so clean here.

It's slightly uncanny, actually, living in a world made of sun-bleached moor grasses and dusty earth. The prey, while not exactly fattened at this time of year, is thickly furred or feathered and with more meat on its bones than Ghostpaw is used to. The breeze is constantly whispering-slash-chattering-slash-howling and cradling her closely cropped fur in its whistling arms. Frost coats the earth each sunrise instead of mud, and Ghostpaw herself feels almost frighteningly cleansed.

That does not, however, exempt her from having to wash her pelt. Tufts of heather and grass and a thin coat of dusty earth tend to settle into her shiny fur by sunhigh. Within all the chaos, the upheaval, of her new home, Ghostpaw feels as though she's fallen by the wayside. She's not beheld to any particular warrior or duty, and spends much of her time tailing her father around and trying to learn new hunting methods. If regret occasionally washes bitter against the back of her throat, pride coats it sugary-sweet.

She misses her mother, sometimes. The feeling of snuggling into a warm nest, the smell of herbs and marsh.

Ghostpaw shakes her head to rid herself of the thought and commences working sprigs of grass out of the spiky fur that rings her neck. It flares out in a ruffle of thorns, her marshwater blood on display for everyone to see. She still feels the ghosts of glances on her pelt from her new Clanmates, distrust and distaste, and something curls small and dying in her chest each time she's so dismissed. Whatever. It doesn't matter. She doesn't need anyone to share tongues with.

This had been the right decision.


"speech"

 
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my code broke and i can't figure out what happened sorry 😭


-ˋˏ ༻☽༺ ˎˊ-

While some cats regarded the former ShadowClanners with distaste and distrust, Juncopaw's gaze was that of curiosity whenever she stole a glance in their direction. Though she felt compelled to turn away the two when her patrol found them at ShadowClan's border, Granitepelt's undying loyalty to Sootstar quickly earned her admiration. She couldn't quite say the same his offspring yet, though - where her loyalties lie now, how well she was fitting in, she intended to find out.

Juncopaw had never been a socialite, having more quarrels with her Clanmates than any friendly interaction. It was common for her to sit out of sharing tongues, preferring to groom herself on her own at the outskirts of any small gathering. That made it easy for her to spot Ghostpaw, picking grass out of her fur in a manner that seemed less than comfortable. Juncopaw wondered if they would get along long enough to talk, for her to learn more about the elusive apprentice - they seemed to have enough in common at a glance. Around the same age, ostracized, two loners in their own home. With that in mind, the silver apprentice stood up from her spot and boldly walked over.

Without waiting for invitation, Juncopaw settled down a couple tail-lengths away from Ghostpaw, watching her with unmasked curiosity. The way her spiky fur ruffled out when it was groomed, the darkness of her coat, the faint lingering of marshwater scent. She wondered if this cat would make a better tunneler or moor-runner - she assumed they had neither in ShadowClan. Whether or not Ghostpaw acknowledged her presence, the young molly would begin to speak after several moments of (probably disrespectful) staring.

"Do you like it here so far?" Juncopaw would chirp, leaning forward on her front paws as if engaging in an interesting story. It was easier to interact with others ever since the exile of Sunstride and his band of traitors. Although there was still some competition with the other loyalists, she felt it was no longer necessary to be on full guard, picking fights with others to prove her worth to Sootstar. Letting her guard down, talking to others, interacting without hostility - this sudden change in personality was on full display now as she spoke to the other apprentice. "Bet it's different, huh? What was ShadowClan territory like, anyway? Less.. grass?" Her gaze briefly flicked back to the grass and dirt that Ghostpaw was working out of her neck, and then back towards her mask of white with a crooked smile.