development The Tiniest Lifeboat (open)

[Earthsoul]

Leafbare was nothing new to Soil. Scarce prey led to screaming stomachs, sapping cold caused shivering forms, and sickness lingered over everything like a sadistic string-puller. He’d seen it before; done the song and dance and waltzed his way through the weather dozens of times. This wasn’t the worst Leafbare the elder had experienced, either. It was bad, but he’d been through harsher hells and survived.

He would always survive.

Except, that night in camp the statement lost some of its certainty. Soil had been cold the last few days, almost supernaturally so. The old man couldn’t explain it, it felt as if his body was hollow and there was a draft running through it. At night, every inch of him was shivering. The stubborn cat eventually swallowed his pride and pulled the elder card, asking embarrassedly for an apprentice to fill his nest with as much as possible to try and keep warm. It didn’t work. Soil of course tried to excuse the maneuver, justifying it as practice for the apprentice so they could learn to help real elders. Feeble cats that could hardly feed themselves.

He hated being confined with the fossils, segregated safely away from the fighters. Soil could hunt and train as much as he wished, but the two-toned tom would never be counted among the clan’s elite thanks to the amount of moons he had under his belt. The elder was blowing things out of proportion, obviously, but the incessant cold led to hours of wakeful irritation during the night, where any unpleasant thoughts could fester.

It was the fourth night of cold now. The strangest thing was, though, the rest of Skyclan didn’t seem to notice. It was cold, sure, there was plenty of shivering to go around and a few bulked up nests here and there, but only Soil was affected so badly. Since everyone was continuing as normal, though, he had been too. Graying features were silent on the issue, even as he suffered. The elder couldn’t, wouldn’t be a burden, especially not at a critical time like leafbare. He would hunt more, train more, do everything more until the clan that took him in was comfortable. That’s what they deserved. He was useful.

He was still useful.

On the sixth night of little rest and constant discomfort, Soil was shivering in his nest. Emerald eyes were screwed shut, half because he was trying to sleep and half because it felt like they would freeze if the elder opened them. He fell unconscious a few times, at most an hour or two before the cold crept back up, attacked, and the cycle would repeat again. He didn’t dream, he hadn’t for days. The most given were suggestions, vague indentations of actions presented across a backdrop of blackness. Spinning. running. Quaking.​

Falling.

Emerald eyes shot open in panic as the elder worked to remember surroundings shrouded in darkness. Breath came quick and shallow, not enough to satisfy. There was a thumping in his chest, it burned along with the howls of an empty stomach. The walls of the den were close, encroaching and crushing him on all sides while his throat ached for moisture. And through it all, cold.

Aging pawpads found purchase and propelled Soil out of the elder’s den at speed, crashing him into the clearing. The old man lay where he landed for a while, trying to catch a breath that wouldn’t come and process the hell he’d woken up to. Tears were forming on the rims of aging eyes. Somehow, with all his experience, the scariest thing the former loner had ever been through happened a few seconds ago. Panicked shrieks echoed through camp. Soil closed down, drawing into himself as much as possible while an impudent tail thrashed wildly on the ground, and a statement was remade into a question.

Would he always survive?

// This plot will eventually resolve with Soil becoming a daylight warrior so twolegs can care for him more properly since he needs it at his age, but Soil would never come up with the idea himself. I would really appreciate it if any characters could suggest it in this thread!

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[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

Nightmares were inevitable when you've gone through bad things. He still dreamed of his paws soaked in his sister's blood, her soft voice begging him to save her; she hadn't begged him. She'd told him not to cry, but his dreams twisted things into darkness. It's your fault, His dream-sister would croak. You could have saved me, she'd cry. Fireflypaw couldn't sleep often anymore if he wasn't with his dad or Howlpaw. He missed his mother. His grandmother. But he had to cope, or learn how to- or be left in the dust.

He's resting outside of the apprentice den when he hears panicked breaths and bramble shifting, half-lidded eyes lifting upwards to watch as Soil curled in on himself. Oh..

"Gramps? Are you okay?" Fireflypaw calls out softly, gently- standing to walk over to the tom. He's hesitant, scared the old tom would lash out- but he maintains his posture of worry for now. "Did you have a bad dream? Do you wanna cuddle?" He asks, nervous. Cuddling helped him, so it surely must help Soil as well, right? Nothing was better than company.​

 

[DUSTBREATH]

TAGS . . . too familiar was he with that fleeting, knee jerk terror. stray, loner, roaming gravelled streets and pulling what he could from tins — orphaned, scrapping for his brother and himself. it was more often than not that he would stay awake, nightly vigil sat under the dripping edge of twolegplace, braving the rain. their father had scolded him for hunting too close to the upright walkers but he was young, abandoned by no fault of his parents own ( red flashes before his vision and golden eyes clench shut, only momentarily ), and it was easier. until he learned to hunt for himself, preying upon the rats that venture out towards the treeline, burrowing in the rubbish out behind old, flickering nest lights, he would spent many a sleepless night fearing the loners, rogues he’d stolen from, tricked to stay alive. poor starving child shtick, it worked until he grew out of his kittish tufts and he was no longer to be trusted. hearty, whiplike thing — he is lean now, leaner then, rivulets of rich chocolate and deep strips of near - black mocha banding beneath too bright eyes. menace. his limbs too long, boyish and rough, fox - hearted and quick. dustbreath learned quick to adjust, adapt. his childhood was taken from him and he bears the scars to show for it, though not all visible to the eye.

memory. thoughtless, they rouse beneath his sleeping eye and he wakes in his nest in terror more often than not, panting over the soft - moss padding. his past haunts him still, huffing like an angry dog hot and damp on the back of his neck — survive. survive. survive. it’s that mantra that keeps him sitting vigil, offering. night guard, he would rest when his peers rise for the day, as lonely as the hollow warriors den was come dawn. it’s why he’s already set outside, glazed eyes turned towards the moon and thick, dark tail wrapped around his side. he’s resting heavy on a single arm, watching the cloud of smoke accompanying his breath dissipate into the sky above when thistle moves and his ear twitches, swiveling back seconds before his head pivots to investigate. fireflypaw, who had been resting just outside the apprentices den, is already approaching a couching soil — cowering, shrieking now, and he’s on his paws in an instant, rounding the pointed son of blazestar, “ what — what happened? “

he’ll wake the whole camp up, but this tom was his elder of many moons and the words die on his tongue, shaping instead into a grimace, “ hey . . hey, it’s gonna be alright. “ he wasn’t good at this, but he was practiced — he’d raised his brother with his own paws, and while he loved mudpelt, the chocolate tom was his polar opposite. bursting with emotion, and for better or worse, good or bad, dust had always known how to tone his voice to comfort. fireflypaw asks to cuddle and dust can’t help the quick chuckle that befalls him, despite the half - panic still thrumming through his veins, “ can’t offer a cuddle, but is there anything i can do? “ his gravelly voice is light, careful, and what he hoped was soothing. the older tom was clearly agitated and he can hear others moving above in the dens nearby, woken and soon to appear. maybe they could offer better words than he could.

— out of character ( ⠀general information ⠀) visual reference —

• ๘ ♱ ಎ : ⠀⠀ DUSTBREATH⠀⠀ —————— ⠀⠀dead - eyed ghost boy
  m. he / him, warrior of skyclan. a dark chocolate ticked tabby with vibrant honey eyes and curled ears. he is coltish, thin and whiplike, with a thick chocolate ruff riding around a broad, lean chest. he is mostly fluff ; oaken rivulets ticked with mocha ends that deepen towards the extremities, brown backdrop making dandelion gold luminaries even brighter. his ears are tufted and lightly curled, and behind him a large, billowing tail.
  
  − twenty seven moons, ages realistically. smells like fern and elderberry.
  − bisexual, single. apprentice to be decided, voiced by andy biersack.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  to be added
  

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[Earthsoul]

The approach of pawsteps finally brought a freshly-roused brain to the forefront - in all the wrong ways. Soil had woken the entire camp. He’d given them reason to worry. He’d been a burden. The old man curled further within himself as the steps drew nearer and the scent washed over him, and when the owner’s voice reached his ears the elder wanted to scream all over again.

It was an apprentice. Little more than a kit was offering aid to the experienced former loner. And the name he used, gramps. It was something that had been in place since the second he stepped foot into Skyclan territory. Some of Thistleback’s first words to him were young man, after all. Soil had always gone along with the nicknames and responded in the same good humor with which they were given, but a small part of the two-tone tom always resented it. What did being old bring to mind? Something frail and fragile, past its prime and obsolete. That wasn’t him. That would never be him.

The question is simple, but is one that brings Soil evermore tears when confronted by the answer. “No…” he croaks out after a long moment. “I’m not okay.” talking was difficult. He wanted to explain in more detail, but breath still eluded the elder. It felt like any oxygen he gulped down was rushing out through a hole in his neck. Thankfully, Fireflypaw’s next query presented a solution to what was still his biggest problem: the cold. “S…Something like that” he wheezed. In truth, Soil had no idea what he’d experienced. In those few moments after waking up, it had felt like he was dying. At least, he couldn’t imagine dying feeling much worse. Had he really been that close to the brink? Or was exhaustion and anxiety playing tricks on him? He didn’t know, and probably never would. “Please, cuddle” he mumbled, taking a long breath before continuing. “I’m so cold.”

It was Dustbreath’s approach that finally made Soil uncurl, at least a bit. Emerald eyes opened warily, and his maw was no longer pressed fast into the dirt. The warrior’s question fell on unwilling ears, warranted as it may be. Soil didn’t want to relive the experience, he just wanted to get as far from it as possible. The elder stayed silent, at least until the question turned to comfort. Dustbreath lacked skill in the area, but the words helped all the same, even as they made the elder question himself. “Is it?” he asked, finding breathing a little easier now. “I’m…I’m overwhelmed. I feel stretched and exhausted and-” He stopped short, wanting to continue but not really knowing how. Thankfully, the Warrior’s offer for assistance was much easier to answer. “Food, Water. Please.”

“Thank you both” he started, feeling short of breath but compelled to say what needed saying. “Thank you for helping me like this. I’m sorry if I woke you.” ​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Even without the screams and shrieks of a so-tortured soul, Dawnglare would have found himself awake. Dream nights were few and far between, now a delicacy between the nights of restless turning and distant screams. The affliction has affected many, it seems. Not so uncommonly, he would hear bodies shifting outside his den. Idle chatter despite the moon that hung high. The stars blazed a path for any soul to follow.

And with that in mind, he does not grumble as he rises. Though, still, a pause at the scene that lies ahead. Decrepit thing curled up tight, cowering as if his den was indeed here where it should be, and not a ways away. Cowering, croaking thing. More like a squirrel hibernating this leaf-bare, than a cat at all.

Too kind as always, dear Firefly. Dawnglare stands beside him, gives the elder a once-over with tired eyes. Downturned lids, shadow over a day-broken gaze. The chocolate-dusted tom is kinder than he, rumbling worries, an offer of something more. It seems, there wasn't much for him to do himself, and really, he's grateful. Huff of frost-seeped breath. He was not in the mood to offer any sort of care. Not at this hour. Not right now. Give him time, oh please, he wished... "I'd think it warmer in your den, no?" Low-spoken spoken question, out of grogginess, rather than anything else.

Whining, he whines. And why wouldn't he? His bones must be brittle, little more than skin and fur, though even that proved not enough for him. He rasps for food, for water, as if the apprentices have been starving his poor self for a moon. He himself was not used to spending his moons outside, but, enlightened mind and a thrumming heart, he learns quickly. Quicker than many. He purses his lips. Assumes that one of the others would fetch him his offerings, as so willingly offered before. "It is leaf-bare, you know," It will only get worse, left unsaid, for the sake of his own sanity.​

 

[Earthsoul]

The scent of stale herbs washes over him, and Soil knows a healer has arrived. The elder dreaded it. He always hated check-ups, whether is was in an official capacity or by one of the many loners who dabbled in the art that he’d met on his travels. The tomcat hated being told something was wrong with him. He hated being given herbs. He hated being made to rest. It made him feel weak and useless, unable to lift a paw to help the cats who would be moving ahead without the old man.

Thankfully for his pride, it seemed that Dawnglare wasn’t in a medicinal mood this late at night. Soil could feel the off-putting cat’s eyes bore into him, and was about to ask after his intentions when the professional spoke. It was a simple question, but one that filled the old man with a sense of dread. He didn’t want to go back in there after his experience had colored the elders’ den, where it now felt like the walls were scheming to crush him in his sleep and the moss in his bedding wished to strangle him. “No-“ he started, pausing briefly to try and keep his voice calm. “everything’s too close together in there, don’t like it. Makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

Speaking of breathing, that was coming easier and easier now. Soil still felt like monsters smelt, but it seemed the worst was behind him. Whether it would come back was anyone’s guess. Soil didn’t want to think about that, though. He didn’t want to think about the implications of what just happened or what he was feeling, but Dawnglare was making that difficult right now. “So what?” The elder snapped, angry at the implication while simultaneously building back the wall that lead here, the vulnerability he briefly offered to Fireflypaw and Dustbreath now dashed by pride. “I’ve seen more leaf-bares than you have moons, so don’t start with that.” Intimidation was hard when you were just begging for help with tears in your eyes, but Soil was trying. Partly to convince Dawnglare, and partly to convince himself. “I’ll be fine. I’ve always been fine.” ​

 

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

Soil relents to some cuddles, and Fireflypaw is quick to bury himself in the fur of the elderly tom. His tail taps the ground behind him instinctively, making sure he wasn't laying on the tom's tail or anything, before he settled down with his paws stretched out lazily. More cats arrive as he listens to Soil talk, frustration bubbling up in his voice. He wondered if it would feel like this for him, too, when he was older. Dawnglare suggests he goes back inside and rest, and Soil snaps out a response about how everything was too close. "Like the walls are closin' in on you, yeah?" He asks softly, grief flickering past decaying blue eyes. He might not understand Soil completely, his situation- but he understand wanting fresh air, not being able to sleep in an enclosed place with others. Too many breaths, too many eyes. "Y'know, when Morningpaw died, I felt like I couldn't breathe when people looked at me. Like I was some fragile thing." He bumps his head against Soil's shoulder, attempting to soothe his temper. A low purr rumbles.

"Of course you've seen more leaf-bares than us, but that doesn't mean you're.. Um.. What's the word, Dust? Im.. Impen.. Impenetrable. That's the word. 'Yer not stone, and you need help sometimes. Everyone does. Even my dad, and he's got nine lives." A word for the wise, though he only speaks to how he solved his own issue. Accepting his grief, and the help of others instead of shoving it down. He'd always lived for his siblings, but he had to live for himself, too. Over time, he'd learn better. "Sometimes.. We need help, and that's nothin' to be ashamed of, Gramps." He mumbles, suddenly reminded of what Greenpaw had told him. You don't have to smile all the time. You can be sad. Being sad is okay.​

 

[Earthsoul]

The bluntness of youth is something that comes in handy more often than one might think. Older cats could hide hatred behind honeyed words, but the young would always let you know what they mean. Without a second thought Fireflypaw was buried in his fur, and Soil could feel the creeping warmth that came with it, both physically and emotionally.

It felt nice to be cared about, but the stubborn old man hated being cared for. He didn’t want to be a burden, rousing everyone night after night to come and comfort him like a kit who’d just had a nightmare. He didn’t want cats to groan when they heard his voice, anticipating a request for some new bedding or a nice meal. The elder was growing angry, angry at himself for what he was doing, for making these cats wait on him hand and foot like some kind of parasite, for -

Fireflypaw’s admission pulls him away from the spiral of self-loathing. Emerald eyes lock onto the apprentice, softening. “So young, but he’s been through so much.” If this child could overcome difficulties like that, then maybe it wasn’t so hopeless.

Soil sits in silence as the apprentice speaks, giving him the respect he deserves. Graying features drop as the boy finishes, letting the wall come down once again. “I guess livin’ alone for so long ‘s colored the way I view things” he mutters, trying to collect himself. The elder still wanted to argue, stubborn as he was, but exhaustion seemed to have pried open his worldview , if only slightly. “I dunno. I want to contribute, and I love living in the wild, but I guess I’m gettin’ to an age where that’s not so easy.” Still, what other option was there? A stubborn mind couldn’t see the answer.

“You’re a good kid, Fireflypaw” he comments almost offhandedly, wanting to make sure the apprentice knew his worth. “Thank you.” ​