camp THE WAY I TALK TO MYSELF — sleeping under stars

[GRANITEPELT]

Since his ninth moon, Granitepelt had slept in the medicine cat’s den in ShadowClan’s camp. Dark, damp, but in close-quarters with Starlingheart. They’d shared a nest long before they were mates; they were both lonely orphans, friends who were close to comfort one another. Her den had become a sanctuary for him that he has not missed until now. In ShadowClan, the briars climb high, and the pines eclipse the sun, the moon. Even the warriors’ den he had not slept in had blocked out the light. Here, Granitepelt sits in snow and watches an egg-smooth moon rise. The stars are blinding, seemingly within reach—and the wind is cruel, raking callous claws through his thin and wispy gray fur.

Cats do not sleep in dens here. Granitepelt watches in near-dismay as he sees cats begin to pile into the snow-crusted rings of bracken-and-feathers that call nests. After a few heartbeats, he finds an empty one—one abandoned by one of Sunstride’s insurrectionists, he imagines. The scent is unfamiliar, heather-blossom and peat and gorse. “How do you stay warm in this StarClan-forsaken place?” His ear flicks. StarClan is nothing but a curse to him now—he’s sure his new Clanmates can relate to that, at least. Sootstar is no longer the devout she-cat she’d begun as.

, ”​

​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑁 𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝐿𝑂𝑆𝑇 𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅 ✧ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍

• 
  
  — rumblerain | tags
  — they/them ; moor-runner of windclan.
  — lanky black-and-white point with blue eyes.
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — art by mercibun
  — penned by mercibun. @ me in any official tabbytales discord for plots.
  
  

​

Rumblerain, with fur short and nest recently relocated, faces a similar problem. They were born on the tail end of leafbare, kept safe from the harsh snow and bitter wind. Now, as a warrior, they are not. They have to grow up sooner or later. Eight moons is a good time to do it.

White-toed paws are folded beneath them, trying to keep krom the chill that nips at their fur. It's worked somewhat, pawpads cold but not trip-to-Cottonpaw cold. Just complain-with-Redpaw cold, but Redpaw isn't here anymore, and despite the pang that clutches their heart over the thought of their (former?) friend they try not to spend too much time on him right now. They focus on the new voice that's breached their ears, rough and unfamiliar, and take solace in Granitepelt's unconventional company. Sympathy flashes across their muzzle. What a bad time to join WindClan. But, with their Clan's numbers decimated by their Clanmates' desertion, Rumblerain seeks a friend.

"... I'm not sure, actually." Their voice is quiet, aware of the warriors who have been lucky enough to already fall asleep. Most of them are older, already aware of the chill of the season, or blessed with thicker coats. Granitepelt is neither. Curiosity nibbles, and Rumblerain bites their tongue for all of half a moment before they continue in that same hushed meow. "In-... where you used to live ... did you sleep in dens? What was that like?"

​

 

[MOCKING-GRIN]

The cold is no issue to him given the fact that he has long fur. The wind is nothing more than a gentle breeze, but he knows this is the time his poor unfortunate clanmates with short fur suffer the most from the harsh cool winds. It's about this time he sees more cats cozy up with one another or go to badger sets to keep warm. It depends really. Those who had mates would prefer to stay beside each other for extra warmth while those who were alone went to the badger sets. The only reason why he knew that was because he was curious and decided to join a few who went to them. Even though he didn't need it, he will not deny how warm they are.

Granitepelt's words cause him to chuckle. Looks like Shadowclan doesn't sleep like this. Rumblerain is the first to answer and he is shocked that she has no idea where cats go when it becomes cold. She asks their Shadowclan guest a question, yet he can't help himself from interupting. The brown tom raises his head and looks at the other moor runner to answer, "If you're cold why didn't you go sleep in the abandoned badger set? It's warm there. Other than asking someone else to sleep next to keep warm." He supposes that Rumblerain doesn't know the answer because they slept with their kin. Traitors leeches if you ask him. To think, Scorchstreak of all cats would side with a rat.

OOC NOTES . ◭ . CHARACTER INFO

• ooc : —
  
• — mocking-grin / windclan moor runner / masculine pronouns / 24 moons
  — heterosexual / single / looking / open to flirting and crushes
  — high white long haired chocolate smoke with heterochromia
  — may powerplay minor harm / can powerplay healing
  — biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by velou

​

 

[DUSTWHISKER]

The bulk of Dustwhisker's last leaf-bare had been spent in the nursery — a blurred memory now, vague with the sensation of dual-sided warmth diminishing too quickly, one side of the nest he'd slept in remaining colder than the other.

Though his move to apprenticeship — to sleeping outdoors — fell within tamer temperatures than the rest of the snow-covered season, his long fur was still something he'd learn to be grateful for on the coldest of nights spent under the star-burned sky. An advantage; not all of his clanmates are fortunate to have the dark, charcoal-curled plumes he carries against his form. Such as WindClan's newest follower, Granitepelt. As tired limbs settle into his nest, the tunneler's ears twitch at the Shadow-thwarted tom's words.

" You get used to it, " he answers, though he wonders if the marsh cat ever will — in his eyes, ShadowClan has always seemed set in their ways. Still, the abandoned badger set exists for the most chilling of nights, storm-bound and snow-struck. Granitepelt could find warmth in there, or, perhaps, huddle for warmth like his other clanmates do. So long as it's not against him, Dustwhisker doesn't really care. " How did you find warmth in ShadowClan? You got used to the cold there, didn't you? "​

✦ ABOUT

• 

  DUSTKIT ‣ DUSTPAW ‣ DUSTWHISKER
  ── Loyalist Tunneler of WindClan
  
  ── Breezecurl x Stormtalon
  ── AMAB; He/Him
  ── A black tabby/black chimera with dull yellow eyes.
  ── Mentored by Breezecurl
  ── "Speech"; Attack​

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Pale blue eyes pierce the gloom, tearstained-black face angled toward him from nearby. “In-… where you used to live .. did you sleep in dens? What was that like?” A querulous voice, unsure, but Granitepelt stretches and turns to face them, narrow dark-green gaze sweeping appraisingly from the other warrior’s young kit-fluff-lined face to toes rounded on long limbs. “ShadowClan has dens for the warriors and the apprentices, too,” he explains, his ears flicking as two other warriors lurk nearby. One of them he recognizes as Mocking-grin—another is Dustbreath, a tabby with long fur.

To the former, he turns and nods. “So you go to the badger sets when the weather is bad?” A gust of wind stirs his short fur, and he shivers, curling inward for heat. Dustbreath asks how he’d kept warm in ShadowClan, and he clenches his teeth, pain shooting hot from the tips of his ears to his chest. The vacancy in his nest feels enormous, vacuous, without a soft black pelt tipped with white to nestle into. “My… my mate. She’s the ShadowClan medicine cat,” he murmurs, the shadows in his eyes darkening like the gloaming. “I slept in her den. It was made of stone, and we—we shared a nest, of course.”

He frowns and draws himself into a sitting position. A gust tears its claws across his vulnerable belly, scarred and raw-feeling still. He still refuses to use past-tense—she will belong to him again, she will. His claws flex uselessly in the nest, and he turns toward his new Clanmates with blinking eyes. “I asked her to come with me and she refused.” He shows his teeth in what almost passes for a smile. “But she will change her mind, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll just have to deal with the cold the way you lot do.”

, ”​

​

 

[hollowcreek]

( ✧ ) "I remember, before the marshes were 'ShadowClan', some would try to use the mud for warmth. I assume that never stuck around." Hollowcreek lifted his chin to rest at the curved of his nest to look at them. Of course these vague strangers would be placed instead of him- he was been the one rolling in mud to keep warm. But none currently here would be old enough, or even in the marshes long enough to know. They were all Clanborn.

Pale sights narrow slightly when Granitepelt described his nest back home. Mates with his medicine cat, but she did not have the same loyalty to her mate that Wolfsong and Sunstride had. She had what Wolfsong lacked, loyalty to her Clan, as horrid as it was. Hollowmoon had never shared a nest with anyone, though. He found it more disruptive of his sleep, constantly adjusting and pulling away from interlocked limbs to be more comfortable. Fighting for space along the moss-laden floor and stars-forbid being shoved and kicked into the wall of a sett. Too much movement, he enjoyed his sleep too much to give that away.

"Face your back against the wind and keep your hind legs tucked against your stomach." He rumbled tiredly. A small bit of advice for their new, interesting Clanmate. Hollowcreek was quite interested in the slated tom, it wasn't very common, cats of his kind. Going all the way to get what they wanted. "In time you'll find stray tufts of cotton and wool and you'll find sleeping under the quiet sky a luxury like never before."
​

( I SEE YOUR COLLARBONE ; AND WANNA LOSE CONTROL )