THE WORM'S TAIL | rainstorm / prompt

[CHRYSALISWING]

Vulturine rainstorms had been creeping along the skies for the entire day now, and even the morning had been blemished with a foreboding sort of grey, as though asphalt weeds that bloomed through the jungles of empyrean. Storms were persistent, prominent, as though they commanded undue attention. As if standing against them, Chrysalispaw did not heed their warnings. He wasn't scared of them and what they could bring. The heavy scent of impeding rain hung upon Skyclan's territory, like a preliminary petrichor as the woodlands braced itself for an early spring shower. Lichens and mushrooms and boughs all tensed upon taut strings, only to be released when the gracious rain would come. The storm was, to the forest, the water-bringer, the shadow-swallower, the sun-stealer. Though, no water had been eager to drench the plants and those within the verdancy just yet, as though hiding itself with uncharacteristic chagrin, much to Chrys' joy. Either way, it seemed to wait in the lowness for something to happen or for some unknown cue.

Chrysalispaw slinked through the underbrush of the woodlands by himself, silence enveloping him aside from the occassional bush cricket's song, a twiddling twitter that ripped through any quietude that welled up in the face of greater symphony. It didn't detain any focus from Chrys, though. He had grown used to the cacophony of the noise, and it wasn't worth paying any mind to. Whiskers twitched for any sign of prey that would emerge from the enfeebled snowmelt, as green grasses poked through the tarnished whites, seizing their chance as soon as the great beast of woeful winter fell to its knees. New-leaf was opportunistic, just as rapacious as the springstorms tended to be. He found himself more able to wrest through the white now that it seemed to wane, and more able to blend his distinctive chimaeric pelt within the emerging colors. Thank Starclan, he internally mewed.

He caught a particularly promising scent trail just upon his heels, swiveling around as the yarn darted and tangled around his feet, leading just beyond a path he had traversed many times before. When he was younger, he often found himself lost within the labyrinth of twined trails and parting paths. Now, he was certainly better at it. Then, one droplet descended, then another, then - A whole downpour crashed on top of his head. That was the cue that such a sardonic squall had lie in wait for. Those above must surely be laughing at such perfect timing.

With a screech, he quickly skittered back to camp, cursing himself for not leaving when he had the chance. He'd seen the clouds crawl along the byways of the sky's canvas, but had been too foolish to heed its word. The rain chased him now in a bout of irony, and headed straight for Skyclan's camp. His fellow Skyclanners were much more prepared, though, and many had already begun to stow away in drier dens. He wiggled through the camp entrance as previously-preened pelt now appeared as a damp and trodden mess. He then proceeded to trip onto newly-formed mud, staining his coat with squelching and sticky browns.
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[TERMITEHUM]

( 𓆣 ) Staying back at camp was nothing unusual for Termitepaw. Her fearful reception of SkyClan's unique hunting techniques meant that she avoided patrols when possible, preferring to help out around the camp, volunteering for the little-loved tasks of cleaning and repairing dens. Now, though, she had nothing calling her attention, wandering around camp with an idle mind filled with dreams reserved for her alone.

When the first droplet hits Termitepaw's muzzle, she blinks upwards, head tilted. The clouds hang thick and heavy. Maybe one day they'll fall all the way out of the sky, she thinks. Maybe her idle thoughts brought the rain clouds... Something fun for her to do, as she's always liked rain and mud. Or maybe the skies are unhappy with her. She wouldn't be surprised, everyone always seems to be. Get off your ass and do something! she imagines the dark, angry clouds saying, in a voice startlingly like herself, but like, deeper, and maybe possibly doing an impression of her father. The rain crashes down suddenly around her in a way not unlike the clouds actually falling from the sky. Fine, fine, okay, she gets it.

Termitepaw pads towards the camp entrance, grumbling a bit to herself in response to the imagined demands of the clouds. The cascading torrent drenches her long fur, weighing down her muddy pawsteps. As caught up in her own mind as the cat is, the sudden splash of mud from in front of her comes fully as a surprise.

It seems that unbeknownst to her, Termitepaw had been trading places with her brother, who comes barreling into camp and immediately crashes head-first into the muddied ground, painting his pretty pelt in a slew of sticky soaked soil. Had Chrys witnessed her doing the same, he surely would have laughed and berated her on her clumsiness, but Termitepaw can't quite find it in herself to laugh. The rain's brought them together, it seems, so she can't run away either, although Chrysalispaw will surely be pissed no matter what she does.

"Oh... Chrysalispaw, you're all-ll-ll muddy now..." she laments, pointing out the obvious. After a moment of thought, she falls down and rolls a bit in the mud, soaking her pelt just as thoroughly as her brother's. "There," she declares with satisfaction. "No-ow you're not the on-ly one..."

Termitepaw pads a bit closer, tugs a bit at Chrys's ear. "C'mon, get up. You're no-ot stuck, are you...?" Her words are not demanding, instead reflecting a genuine concern for her brother, unheeding of any potential condescension which might be read into it.​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

The sky swelled with great grey behemoths, clouds that seemed full enough to spill over and onto the earth- Twitchpaw unsurprisingly watched them with wide eyes of olive, transfixed by the movement even minuted before the actual downpour began. This was no thunderstorm blandished by the warmer seasons, but it still stood a great feat of weather. Sheets of rain set a translucent veil upon the pine forest, bathed his matted fur and set it flat against his flesh for once. In this wash, he could let his worries filter away into puddles with the running water.

Seeing Chrysalispaw struggle through the entrance, tripping into the mud, for a moment Twitchpaw contemplating rushing over to his aid- but Termitepaw was there first, and... given how stand-offish Chrysalispaw normally was, he'd rather leave it to someone the chimera might be familiar and... maybe even friendly with. The humour of the situation began to dust his face, the small shimmer of a laugh beginning to move his features, hoarse and chittering.

Why'd he even been running so fast, anyway? The extent to which some cats hated rainstorms... he wondered what was different between he and them.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — It had been fairly easy to deal with storms back in the city; manmade objects and structures often provided shelters for wandering animals. Slate often hid under resting monsters or dumpsters, which provided ample coverage from the elements.

Now that he was living in SkyClan, Slate found himself trudging through more snow, mud, and slush than he preferred. The fact that the dens were merely built out of bushes and ferns didn't help much, especially during a downpour such as this.

The large tom is seated at the entrance of the warrior's den, having just darted inside in order to avoid getting absolutely soaked. His fur became a sopping mop when water was involved and it took hours to dry, so he avoided getting wet whenever he could. "We just dealt with snow, now we gotta deal with rain too?" Slate grunts, sending a dull glare up toward the sky. He glanced down just in time to see Chrysalispaw trip and fall onto the muddied ground, which prompted a spark of amusement to glisten in his eyes. That kid was such a shitstain; even nature decided it should humble him.​

 

[Honeysplash]

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Eyes of emerald stared out into the clearing as drops of water started to dribble down into the open area. The clouds had been dark before hand, covering the blue sky and muting the sunlight that tried to peak through. She reached out a paw to touch the water that fell from the sky above and shook her paw when droplets coated her pink pads. There was a soft giggle in amusement at the water and she wondered if she could make it home before the storm got worse, but something caught the corner of her eye. Having been sat inside of the apprentices' den, she was replacing moss for nests. and the commotion at the front of camp is what brought her forward.

She watched as Chrysalispaw fell to the ground after slipping on new formed mud underpaw, and was greeted by Termitepaw and Twitchpaw who all seemed but amused about the situation. Termitepaw didn't seem to offer any sort of reassurance and she shook her head a bit. The tawny and white cat moved out from the apprentices' den and into the clearing before approaching the chimera and black cat. Along with his sibling of Termitepaw, catching just the ends of her words, before she gave a slight smile in response.

"You okay Chrys? That looked like a hard fall," She asked the tomcat softly and put her tail tip to his shoulder in reassurance.

speech​

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[Fireflyglow]

"The herbs are flying everywhere, I had to get a few rocks to make them stay." Fireflypaw remarks lamely as he joins the others, fur soaked and ruffled from the rain. He doesn't mind storms, he rather enjoys it actually- the loud thunder lulling him to sleep all too often. It's only moments like these when the smell of blood tints the rain-soaked air does he truly panic. Memories of his sister's death floods into him. Though, he doesn't dwell on the thought.

Moving forward to peer sightlessly down at Chrys, Fireflypaw lets a snort escape his lips.

"You aren't dead yet. Come on, we have to get you to someplace warmer."​

 

[sheepcurl]

With the threat of rain comes potential thunder and lightning, especially since the weather had begun to clear from the snow. Sheep had always liked storms, but she guessed its because last new-leaf she had been tucked safely inside her twoleg nest… She’d spend her time watching raindrops race down the window, betting on which one would arrive to the finish line first. The thought makes her whiskers twitch as she hears a commotion outside the warrior den, poking her head out to see a large-ish crowd gathered around poor Chrysalispaw, who had fallen in to the mud. It seemed Termitepaw was an avid mud enjoyer as well…

And ironically as she steps out, she had forgotten the rain in her haste, plastering once curled fur to her side with a roll of her eyes. And now her ears felt all weird as raindrops splashed against them, considering she couldn’t angle them back normally like the other cats could with pricked ones. “It’s a relief its not snow, at least.” she points a smile to Slate at his grumbling. “It’s still leaf-bare though… Stay out here too long, you’ll catch a cold… At least thats what my amigos back then said.” mused to no one in particular, she flits her gaze overtop of Fireflypaw and wrinkles her nose. Stars, Blaze’s kits are going to tower over her and not that it was hard to do in the first place. And Twitchpaw seems to be standing off on the sidelines, but Sheeps grateful to see him around so she waves her tail happily.

 

[REDSTORM !]

A storm, something bearing the same name as him. Redstorm thinks they are beautiful occurrences, he loves the way the earth smells after a good downpour, loves the way the air feels when it hits his face, the sting of the rain felt good on his pelt. Sometimes he wonders if he could've been a Riverclanner, if things were different and a murderer didn't lead them. If he could ever tear himself away from SkyClan (he couldn't). The sound of rain drumming on the roof of the den lulls him into a peaceful sleep, his eyes closed tight, dark to the world. When Sheepcurl moves though he wakes up, watches her move to the entrance of the den. For a moment, he is too sleepy to comprehend what has caused her to move, but then he hears the chatter of voices and he himself pushes himself to his paws and makes his way to the entrance, curious to see what exactly was going on.

"She's right if you guys don't come in you'll catch a cold and then you'll really be in trouble. You guys wanna be the ones to tell Dawnglare why he's gotta treat you? I wouldn't" so far he has evaded having to spend any serious time in the medicine cats. Thank the stars. He does not envy Fireflypaw in the slightest.
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[CHRYSALISWING]

The downpour stuck to his coat and nipped at his skin with an unerring bite, and Chrysalispaw lie there unmoving as though he had somehow died the swamping humiliation that plagued him. The tom spent his lifetime polishing a reputation with himself as the only audience to behold it, and the only cat to tend to such a garden. And here he was, destroying it in a single second. A blazing shame flushed through his pelt that proved hotter than any flame, a conflagration that bedeviled even he whose skin was crafted in stone and whose heart was embalmed in marble. Truthfully, he had felt embarrassment many times in his life, but that never made it any easier to deal with or any better to be beset with. He felt the gaze of his fellow Skyclanners anchor to him like he were their spectacle, and they had surely seen him trip and fall face-first into the sludge.

One green eye fluttered open to see Termitepaw sully her own pelt in the puddles of growing mud, as if it were the molly's way of imitating her brother's own predicament, as if mirroring his own suffering would bring her closer to understanding. Maybe she was trying to make a churlish mockery of him, just as his father would do if he saw him in such a complicated quandary. He didn't want to look at her, not when she looked so much like Dragonflywing. Where seeds of genuinity and grace germinated, he only saw how it unfurled into his own spiraling hatred. He only saw the face of the man who mocked and mocked and only mocked. "I'm getting up." A curt meow escaped from pursed lips as he slowly uncurled from his... position.

He let out a huff as Bananapaw came to comfort him with those soft coos of hers, a chirpy song compared to the rest of the clan's ruffian, like a songbird upon the tensely quiet woodlands. Great, now she's seen me like this, too. "I'm fine." He lifted one leg and saw how the mire clung to his pristine pelt in bristly peaks, as the wetness crawled farther than his willowy wickers, as it chilled him to the very bone. He shivered like a damp little rat, and he was sure that he looked just like one, too. The adolescent knew it would take more than a long bath in the freezing river to cleanse him, and he wasn't even sure if his beautiful sable-and-flame coat would return to its resplendancy.

He noticed the rest of the felines who had arrived to either laugh at his ignominy or offer him clemency, and did not match their gaze, as though they would pierce through his own with their sheer luminosity. Still, he nodded as he at least heeded their advice. "Ugh, it's going to take forever to clean my fur. It's all over my legs, and my body, and my tail, too!" He shook off his pelt and sent muddy droplets flying everywhere in his vicinity.​