advanced THE WORST CRIME ╱╱ BALKING

[HONEYJAW]

In the distance, they are beginning to see home. It creeps ever closer, and with the looming Highstones comes a sense of doom. A great reluctance that has built and built nearly to the point of bursting. One step, another, and then– pop!

Honeyjaw freezes as if turned to stone. The mouthful of lungwort he carried in his jaws is haltingly placed upon the grasses. His chest is achingly full, and he can still smell the herbs on every inhale. What he doesn't smell is ShadowClan. The marshes got lost somewhere in the mountains, or maybe beneath them. When he had looked upon his reflection in the water and the dotting of light from cracks up above and thought of them not as cats from other clans, but journeymates. Friends. Not all of them feel similarly, he knows. Some of them are looking forward to seeing their clans again. Parting ways. Honeyjaw, however...oh, he is so far from it. His eyes are wide and unblinking, first on the horizon and then on the other cats in one sweeping gesture. Some of them had kept walking, not noticing his sudden stop; others lingered just ahead, looking back at him with confusion.

How is he supposed to explain it? How can he tell them that when he lost ShadowClan, he picked up something else? A love for them, for this. For the mountains. His gaze seeks out Clearheart, holding it with a violent desperation. As if he could shove an explanation into his very mind and spare them all the words.

It doesn't work like that, of course. So with his mouth working desperately, herbs at his paws, Honeyjaw croaks out, "I can't."

𝘈 𝘗𝘖𝘌𝘔 𝘉𝘌𝘎𝘐𝘕𝘚 𝘈𝘚 𝘈 𝘓𝘜𝘔𝘗 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘖𝘈𝘛  ╱╱ 9.16.2023 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘚𝘐𝘊𝘒𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  HONEYJAW. HE - HIM. WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. ADOPTIVE FATHER TO DRAGONFLYPAW. PENNED BY REVELATIONS. —————————————
  ——  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected with a salt-and-pepper dusting.
  

  ✦ NOTICE honeyjaw is currently on the journey and will not be active outside of retro threads, or finishing those he had previously posted in! please message me on discord for plots or interactions between journey cats.

• "speech"

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Sharppaw thinks, out of all the clans, ShadowClan has had the strangest set of opinions regarding this all.

RiverClan and ThunderClan shriek about purpose; about how they had come ot do one thing, and would return knowing that they had succeeded. Sharppaw too, can now return triumphant, though for a reason that's completely different. Stinging sensasion in the back of his head. The bundle of purple buds, growing more and more sorry looking the longer they travel, is more a cure for him than it is for anyone lying sick and dying in ShadowClan's camp.

He feels twinges, everytime he spares another look. Were the petals what made it work? How many could he lose, before his contribution becomes meaningless? He preens over his bounty for reasons unknown to the others. Like Honeyjaw, his eyes are unblinking on the horizon. This land— it is familiar, if only because they had walked something similar a moon and a half ago. Unlike Honeyjaw, he moves with a purpose; some purpose. Silver eyes are only on him when he draws to a stop.

Sharppaw harkens back to Smogmaw, who had froze in such a similar stupor only sunrises ago. What was wrong with them; with their clan. How deep was that purpose they had harped on her for not so long ago, if they would all freeze when the end is in sight?

His gaze is not kind; silver eyes oddly narrow in something reaching for a grimace. She isn't sure if the words are meant for her, but she replies anyways, " You can't what? " his voice screams fear more than it did anger, despite how he looks.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

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• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

Figfeather nearly fails to notice Honeyjaw’s paws becoming frozen. Stars, she almost concludes he just needs to catch his breath, but as she walks past him she hears it.

’I can’t.

The red tabby turns to face him, confusion littering her gaze. Sharppaw asks Honeyjaw what he means, her voice teetering on the edge of sounding more fearful than anything. Ears slightly fold back, a feeling of dread forming in her stomach, ”Whats wrong?” Was there a way she could help? She looks at the black-furred apprentice with uncertainty before amber eyes flutter back to the brown-masked ShadowClanner.​

♡ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Figfeather
  » SkyClan Warrior
  » She/her . AMAB
  » A red tabby she-cat with a mangled leg.
  » ”Speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A foe in battle whose ability to strategize can shift tides.
  » Excels in strategizing and pre-planning her battles.
  » Fights defensively and aid her clan to victory.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

​

 

[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw carried on his count. A diminished number they carried now, but he kept them all in his mind anyway. Here, so close to home, he doubted the gust of eagle's wings would pierce through his skull- he doubted anyone would go wandering when Highstones was so close. What he hadn't expected was stopping. On Smogmaw's account it had been after some... internal deadly premonition, one that had shaken even Fernpaw's stubborn optimism. For Honeyjaw, now, it was just two simple words- I can't.

Sharppaw looked angry- he guessed, anyway. The smoky molly was one Fernpaw often had trouble reading, and though his voice shook with fear his silver eyes were narrowed toward his Clanmate. They were so close to home- surely that was why Sharppaw seemed so frustrating. They had struggled for so, so long- they were almost there. Why would you stop now?

No anger reddened Fernpaw's fiery features, though. Concern flickered there, like a shadow in fire. Moving, trembling. "You can. We're so close," Fernpaw said, and his voice was already a little tearful. Exhaustion was making him emotional- and he assumed, easily, that Honeyjaw was just aching. That he was saying he couldn't because it had been so long- not because of anything else. His throat felt like riverbank-sand, fine and rough, moisture useless against it.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SLATESNARL]

His hefty paws carry his dark form forth, across the wilds and expanses unclaimed. With each step they all take, the further they get from the rest of the group. Slate could spend all day ruminating about how they had left Orangeblossom—one of the only cats he deeply cared for—behind but as their journey comes to a close, he cannot help but envision the feeling of pine needles under his paws. The smell of tree bark wafting through the woods, the coziness of camp and his nest ( no matter how cramped he felt at times ), the familiar faces of Blazestar and the other SkyClanners. What had happened in their time away? Had they all made it through?

The group suddenly stumbles to a halt, all on account of Honeyjaw freezing in place. "I can't," he says. Whatever did he mean?

Unlike the others, as usual, Slate does not intend to approach this manner gently. "You-" Ugh. Slate stops momentarily, bowing his great tufted head and dropping the bundle at his paws. He wasn't going to try and speak through a mouthful of leaves. "You must. We're not waitin' up for anybody any longer." Slate had not forgotten how Honeyjaw had helped lead him and several others out of the pitch-black caves, but if he was going to get cold paws, then the Maine Coon would continue forward without another thought. He wanted to go home — why didn't Honeyjaw feel the same?

✰ INFO

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• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[smogstar]

Smogmaw, for all his imperfections, upholds a rare degree of tolerance for those with non-clan heritages. It's remarkable, as the mere mention of outside blood brings many ShadowClan lips to a spiteful curl. The fucking folly of it all. Pure-bloodedness was a faulty and self-defeating paradigm. What greater vision is served by limiting a clan's growth? He struggles to suss out the underlying logic, if there was any—at the day's end, he knows the driving force is some dogmatic aversion towards outsiders. He's not against employing such rhetoric so as to fit in and gain favour, but the point still stands.

Up until this precise and present moment, the deputy looked to Honeyjaw as a shining example of diligent inclusion. He'd landed at the thunderpath border with naught but a kit he couldn't raise on his own, and both were absorbed into the crowd like a drop in a pond. This newcomer's admittance never disrupted the clan's affairs, aside from him being a smidgeon scatterbrained, and he promptly grew into what Smogmaw considered as a decent warrior. Someone who valued security, the protection of his kin, and would fight tooth and claw to achieve both. He became what insular-minded swamp dwellers feared the most: an asset to the clan, and Smogmaw regarded him as such.

Once again, that was up until this precise and present moment.

As soon as the cowardly utterance hit his ears, the tom's thick neck lurched, snapping his head so quickly it ought to have fallen off. Paws sow themselves firmly in cool soil. This does not compare to his own freeze-up in the forest. The implications were different, then. This was brazen insolence at its sheerest peak. Selfishness, too.

Figfeather and Fernpaw were rays of sunshine in a storm of frustration right about now. The burly deputy spits out his herbs in a huff and follows on his apprentice's ankles, a tail-thrash or two characterising his gait. "Get your thoughts out of the ground, and put 'em in your head," Smogmaw scowls on approach. He keeps a purposeful distance from Slate. Their distastes were of differing calibres. "We are not leaving him behind," he snaps towards the SkyClan warrior, before readjusting on his clanmate. "But you're not leaving neither, not when we require you the most- not when Dragonflypaw requires you the most. Come on."

ShadowClan had done him a great favour in accepting him in. Now, having acceded to this quest, a journey for the sake of absolute salvation, he ponders leaving them high and dry. Where's that Clearheart when you need him? All that holier-than-thou tom has to do is emerge, twirl tails with him, and then whisper sweet nothings into Honeyjaw's ear (like he so often did). They'll all be back on track at a moment's whim.

Lives are hanging in the balance. The lives of both their kin, no less. Halfshade and Swanpaw suffer silently in the medicine den, awaiting their cure. How can Honeyjaw be so sure his own family isn't suffering similarly?​

 

[HONEYJAW]

They're all so young. Maybe they don't think so. He doesn't really blame them for that. The clans make them grow up fast– for good reason. Their lives are a struggle. To feed themselves, to protect themselves, to even live and be as old as he is. And Honeyjaw isn't all that old. Just...old enough to know better. It feels wrong to rely on them the way that he does. Sharppaw's mad and Fernpaw's worried for him. At least Slate and Smogmaw don't put up with it. Maybe that's what he needs. It doesn't help even so. He looks at them and knows that only two of them would ever be his clanmates again. Saving Slate should have meant something. It wouldn't. Not now, not later. The ease with which he gets attached to others has always been a deficit.

He looks at Fernpaw and Figfeather. The quiet confusion in a storm of desperation. "I can't...go back to how things were." A weak admission. He remembers, not for the first time already, that they are incredibly young. They shouldn't need to carry the burdens of his heart. "We're just supposed to go back to our clans? And– and what? Tell stories about it? See each other at Gatherings? Fight each other, when it comes to that?" Smogmaw looks down upon him and normally he would take that seriously. Feel something more than crumbling pain at the deputy's disdain. He couldn't consider him a friend (were there any that could?) but he admired him. And now he stands up straight and meets the storm with his own thunderclouds that have built up in his head this whole time.

"She's strong. Clearheart–" He seeks him out again, that same desperation bubbling in him. "He'll make sure they get to her. Right? She's already a better ShadowClanner than I'd ever be."

𝘈 𝘗𝘖𝘌𝘔 𝘉𝘌𝘎𝘐𝘕𝘚 𝘈𝘚 𝘈 𝘓𝘜𝘔𝘗 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘖𝘈𝘛  ╱╱ 9.16.2023 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘚𝘐𝘊𝘒𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  HONEYJAW. HE - HIM. WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. ADOPTIVE FATHER TO DRAGONFLYPAW. PENNED BY REVELATIONS. —————————————
  ——  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected with a salt-and-pepper dusting.
  

  ✦ NOTICE honeyjaw is currently on the journey and will not be active outside of retro threads, or finishing those he had previously posted in! please message me on discord for plots or interactions between journey cats.

• "speech"

​

 

[clearheart]

━━ι═══════﹥When Honeyjaw's eyes seek his, Clearheart holds them without hesitation, even before the confession leaves his mouth. And he does not look away from him, even as those within hearing range regard him with sharp confusion or well-intentioned encouragement. There is such conflict within him, Clearheart knows— in truth, he has rarely known the blue-eyed feline to be at peace with himself. Dragonflypaw's happiness is Honeyjaw's priority, and he weighs nothing against it, unwilling to compromise her contentment. It leaves his own needs to squabble among themselves for priority, much like sapling trees in an old forest of thick canopies.

He ignores Smogmaw's barbed tongue and reaches out to rest a broad paw upon Honeyjaw's shoulder. It is simple to weigh a selfless act against one far more selfish, but to compare paths both tread with the purest of purpose— that is far more burdensome. "There is only one StarClan for each of us, whether RiverClan or SkyClan. It is not weakness to wish for unity in life mirroring the unity in death." Clearheart does not blink. His dark eyes remain warm and guileless. "I will take these herbs to Dragonflypaw. You have my word. However, I cannot swear that she will not want to find you, nor that I shall stop her." His toes flex, claws just slightly pricking Honeyjaw's pelt. Then that paw moves, from his shoulder to his cheek.

"You have proven your courage on this journey, Honeyjaw, and a kindly heart most of all." If this is to be a goodbye, Clearheart will not say it. They will meet again, and there will come a day they never part. ​

══════⊹⊱≼ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʜᴀɴɢꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄᴇɴꜱᴇ / ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ≽⊰⊹══════

• — CLEARHEART / / 40 moons old / / amab and uses masculine pronouns but will also accept the use of neutral terms.
  — a warrior of shadowclan / / currently mentoring dragonflypaw / / excels greatly in combat above most all other skills.
  — former loner who wandered great distances & rarely remained in one place for long / / arrived after the great battle.
  — devoted to starclan above all else (aside from his idea of the common good) / / not prone to enter battle mindlessly.
  
  — of a height slightly above average / / trim and athletic with a sense of immovability about his posture/stance & size.
  — chocolate sepia w/ low white / / fur is quite short for the most part / / tail is naturally bobbed // full-body reference.
  — fairly warm demeanor much of the time; there is a "softness" about his features so that neutrality doesn't seem surly.
  
  — lawful good, in the sense that he likes to maintain order and work toward bettering lives around him without cruelty.
  — often misunderstands figures of speech and may interpret them literally. as such, can seem to lack a sense of humor.
  — deeply genuine; dislikes lying immensely, and so (most of the time) he is wholly earnest, especially with compliments.
  
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[hazecloud]

Honeyjaw's shaking halt had not been immediately noticed by the silky-furred molly. She had been focused on ignoring the still-dull aches of her ribs from the tumble she had taken, humming an aimless melody around the stems in her maw. When the air had fallen silent, cats distracted by their own heads or too distant in private murmurs to fill with noise, she could still hear the braying echo in her head.

So she hummed. Loud enough to keep the echoes quiet and pleasantly distract herself from the pain.

The ShadowClanner held her attention when he finally choked out- I can't.

A steady gaze swiveled to face him, the others coming for support both gentle and rough. His Deputy speaks sound reason, he had a daughter to return to. A cure to provide to make her strong, to make her survive. They had been through so much to gain where they stood now, shouldn't he want to see this completed? They had seen the visions their ancestors had given to the medicine cats, they had faced against trials like never before and now...

He was stuck there still. Honeyjaw couldn't leave those mountains, even as he stood before them.

This was what she feared Dovethroat would become when he volunteered to stay. What she feared any of her Clanmates may feel, that they wouldn't be strong enough to return home. That they wouldn't be able to shake the trust they had given these once-strangers, and understand they all had the same goal at the end of this: save their clans from that horrid plague.

"It won't be exactly the same, but ultimately... yes. It's a warriors duty to defend and protect their Clan, their home." Clearheart's wisdom held the strength to send a wave of tranquility to her own beating heart. Honeyjaw's denial made her think of her own feelings toward the cats still here. For a moment she searched for a familiar smoky pelt before quickly averting back to the ShadowClanner.

"You live in a land I've once called home. Longer than RiverClan has been my home. I hunted in those marshes, I defended my friends and family, I protected what was ours. But I didn't belong there, in the end. My heart was meant to follow another path. Where do you feel you belong, Honeyjaw? Where is your heart?" ​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Other heads turn Honeyjaw's way, and why wouldn't they, when what he threatens with his two sad words implicates as much as it does? The SkyClan warrior's questioning is gentler. Fernpaw and the others come forth replying to their assumptions— that he was simply balking in the same way that Smogmaw had. Something - something, premonition— annoying. Irritation on all sides comes in different flavors. Smogmaw appeals to the heart; to his family, something the two of them stare. Sharppaw watches, fur forced flat.

I can't...go back to how things were.

Sharppaw knows the feeling. Atop the windy mountaintop, where she had picked over measly, frostbitten prey. His jaws part further.

" Yes! " Sharppaw bites, voice coming into frustration with the rest of his face, finally; at the same time a RiverClan warrior murmurs a kinder answer. What else is there to do? To prance atop the mountains? To press close for warmth and twine their tails, forget about the inane drones and chants that had been their lives for moons. To forget about all that they've suffered for? His jaw is agape, watching what sounds like acceptance spill like drivel from Clearheart's mouth. Poetic nonsense, him and the RiverClanner, they are hardly clan cats at all.

Sharppaw got over it, so why couldn't Honeyjaw?

" What the hell are you two talking about? " Sharppaw raises her voice. Fur that had once strained flat spikes in mismatched tufts, bristling like quills along her back. " "Follow your heart?" I guess it doesn't matter that his heart is saying to abandon us. " Fear in his eyes, as he looks to his clanmate. Sharppaw has been alive for it; all the betrayal's her clan has met, but for once, she is here, able to stop it, and she did not want Honeyjaw to be the fools that those two had been. Sharppaw wanted to like him. She wanted to like him badly. " Did Bonejaw follow her heart to abandon us for RiverClan and leave us a Medicine Cat with the knowledge of a newborn kit? "

And if he changed his mind now, would Sharppaw ever afford him any kind thought after this? Would she still be able to just... walk up to him again, as a clanmate? Stars know, if Sharppaw were to ever do this, It'd be over. All over. But it was ShadowClan versus the world, wasn't it?

She almost feels it kind of her to spare him the fate of dying a fool. A twinge. Sharppaw swallow's a lump in his throat. The wide - eyed look is back again, and she almost does not trust his far too accepting clanmate to carry the bundle that would've been him. He almost thinks to fight him for it. She, if no one else, would make sure that lungwort gets back.

" You don't have to be like them, " he says. He wanted to like him, badly.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

• 
  
  

• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[smogstar]

Moralistic prattle. No bells and whistles, and no nuance either. Just moralistic prattle. Had Honeyjaw gouged out his own eyes, he might still possess greater vision than this.

Claws taste bitter soil in the face of these callow justifications, uprooting earth and displacing it between pawpads. Raising questions with answers he's already privy to is a ploy that Smogmaw is well-acquainted with. It shades his sincerity with uncertainty, makes his apprehension seem as cowardice. If Honeyjaw desires to forsake their cause, his new home, his own family, he should frame it just as that without employing some gussied-up excuse. By no means are the clans a faultless system, they're built upon intrinsic divisions which turn conflict into a formality. But this is their reality. Abandoning it at such a pivotal juncture would be irresponsible, if not costly, no matter how Honeyjaw - and now Clearheart - wish to paint it.

Begrudging eyes shift to fall upon Hazecloud, a RiverClan cat amongst them. The fleecy molly harks back to colonial times (pre-history at this point) in search of clarity. How much she would truly gather remains to be seen. His own apprentice exercises a tangentially-related stratagem, instead referring to a past clanmate who'd also sworn to protect the sick, and left them stranded at a time most critical. Smart. Sharppaw may not fully realise it, but the similarities between Honeyjaw and Bonejaw were palpable, and not merely in name. The scathing concoction of anger and disappointment he feels at the moment is consistent with how he'd felt then.

"A final lesson for you, Sharppaw," he meows, coming up alongside the feline who shan't be his underling for much longer. "A tom who's entrenched in his convictions, especially misguided ones, will not be persuaded." An insight stemmed from endless bouts of self-analysis. Smogmaw supposes he and Honeyjaw are alike in such a light, but their comparability stops there. He actually cares about his family. He actually cares about his image. He actually cares about his home.

Brows, clenched, scarcely soften as he directs his gaze to their deserter. It is a shame to lose a capable warrior. "When you come to your senses, the swamp will welcome you once again," he says, fully knowing such a decision lies under his leader's jurisdiction. And Chilledstar may prove less forgiving to turn-tails. "We've wasted enough time. We need to get going."

This was going to reflect on him very poorly. He can already feel his clanmates' critical stares boring into his skin. If he can't keep his own from running away, what might that imply about a clan led by him?​

 

[Mouseflight]

As they quickly advanced towards the territories once more, Mouseflight had decided to stay towards the back of the group, mind racing as he kept thinking back to the group that had stayed behind. Of course the one he had cared most about in that group had been Periwinklebreeze, but he found his mind lingering on others too. When Honeyjaw had stopped and spoken, the warrior had been one of the few to turn around and notice immediately, and he couldn't help but wonder if the ShadowClanner, too, was thinking of those that had stayed behind.

When others spoke and finally got Honeyjaw to speak, a small frown placed itself on Mouseflight's maw as he thought about the words that were shared. "It's been done before, when the clans were formed originally." He hadn't been there for it of course, far too young to even pretend to be, but he had grown up with the stories of the formation of the clans, of how even his own leader had lived where ShadowClan now did before she founded WindClan, and she had at least seemed to forgotten some of the ties that she had formed then.

Small shake in his head as he thought of what else to say. Honeyjaw wasn't his clanmate, but the tunneler still couldn't help but feel that connection he'd been slowly feeling with everyone on the journey. If things had been different would Mouseflight have thought to stay behind more than he had already? He couldn't deny that small parts of him had wished that they didn't have cats at home needing them - needing the herbs they carried - so he could have stayed with the cats out here. "Different clans doesn't mean we can't be friendly at the borders with each other still... I'm sure no one would deny us that? We've all been through so much together." They'd helped each other, seen death together, mourned together.

It was in that moment Mouseflight decided that no matter what happened - whether Honeyjaw continued with them or not - if he saw the other on the border he wouldn't run him off. He'd be greeted as family - what he had turned into over the past two moons.

⋆｡°✩ threw my voice into the dark

•  
• 
  ⋆ mousekit - mousepaw - mouseflight
  ⋆ ftm - he/him - 12 moons
  ⋆ bisexual - open to relationship
  ⋆ tunneler of windclan
  ⋆ attack - speech - thought
  ⋆ penned by tikki

​

​

 

[SLATESNARL]

Slate can hardly believe what he's hearing — a cat gone soft, wishing to stay out in the wilds forever and hold paws with his newfound friends for all eternity. "... And– and what? Tell stories about it? See each other at Gatherings? Fight each other, when it comes to that?"

"Yes." Slate grunts with a lash of his tail. "If you've forgotten the borders that lie between us—the history that our clans share—all for the sake of friendship then that's your mistake. A deadly one. This journey doesn't change the blood that's been spilled and will be spilled." Were the leaders going to listen if they all cried for peace? It would never happen. Greed and bloodlust fueled tyrants like Sootstar. In fact, she'd probably exile or kill any cat who attempted to convince her that her enemies were not who they seemed.

If these cats ended this journey longing to maintain the bonds that they've forged, then they were mousebrains. Securing the lungwort had always been their first priority, not seeking friendships. With the constant war that the clans waged with one another, how could a cat afford to be friends with their enemies? In a world of kill-or-be-killed, Slate was not going to lay down his claws and refuse to fight the cats he once traveled with. He would kill them if it meant they wouldn't be able to kill him or his clanmates first. It was a grim reality that perhaps Honeyjaw and the others did not want to face, but Slate was not interested in the business of sugarcoating.

Once Smogmaw finally gets the memo that there is no time left to be wasted on changing this tom's mind, Slate huffs air through his nostrils before picking up his herb bundle and begins trudging forward. The others would follow eventually, after they gave up on trying to convince Honeyjaw to remain loyal to his clan. Ridiculous.

✰ INFO

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  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchpaw had been at the back of the group, like Mouseflight, when Honeyjaw had stopped in his tracks. I can't, he'd said. And when prodded, he answers the other cats' questions, and Scorchpaw identifies her own ideas in each desperate word that tumbles from his tongue.

The fresh wound on her face stings as her eyes widen with shock at Honeyjaw's sentiment. She feels it in her chest; she does not want to look at Iciclefang, at Figfeather, at Cherrypaw as anything else than a friend from this point on. If she were to meet them at the border, or in a fight, would she battle them? Would she cast tooth and nail against their flesh after saving theirs from the dogs? Surely not– or if she had to, could she get away with just sparring, like she would with her fellow WindClan apprentices? She wishes not to wound these cats any more than she would wish to wound her own clanmates. They practically are her clanmates, now– all their pelts washed of their distinctive Clan scent, smelling only of the mint-cold mountains and the precious cure they carried. She is a WindClanner, but now she is only a WindClanner by name. If she wanted to, she could stay behind with Honeyjaw; free of the stares she is sure to receive upon her arrival home; free of the obligation to cross claws with these cats should Sootstar call for it (and she would call for it, Scorchpaw is sure); free of even Badgermoon's betrayal.

But what scares her more than Honeyjaw's refusal; more than seeing herself in his desperate attempt to grasp this unity a little longer, is the other cats' reaction to it. She is at once thrown back to the night that Badgermoon and Curlewnose had fled WindClan, the night that she'd spoken out for them (StarClan, why had she spoken out for them?), unconvinced that they could turn on their Clan and their kin on a hairpin trigger. Cats jump down Honeyjaw's throat as they'd jumped down hers, all with the same attitude: it's ridiculous to even think about abandoning this journey, your Clan, now. And surely they are right– it is ridiculous, but Scorchpaw is shocked that it seems that she and Honeyjaw are the only cats who have had the notion in the slightest. She almost can't hear the gentle assuages of some of Honeyjaw's supporters over the rush of adrenaline in her ears. Scorchpaw's muscles are tense with memory, tense with the idea that trouble is brewing.

She says nothing. She wants comfort– and where she knows she should look for Scorchstreak or Luckypaw (they’re WindClanners, just like her, and they’re her family, and she should want to stay with them without any doubt and without any fear and without any worry for how she would be treated when she comes home–) she looks for Cherrypaw, red-streaked butterfly wing behind her ear, but Cherrypaw isn’t here.

So Scorchpaw leans into @LUCKYPAW , trying not to allow her impassive expression to betray the spiraling fear boring through her chest. Honeyjaw could stay behind– but she needed to forge ahead, no matter the cost. At least in the Clans, she could still see the cats she’s met. In the mountains she wouldn’t have Cherrypaw at all; not even as an enemy, though Scorchpaw prays to StarClan she’d never have to face the velvet-dappled molly that way. No, she will go back to WindClan with lungwort in her jaws, and she’ll face the consequences when she gets there.

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐈 𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐄 ✧ 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿

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  — scorchkit . scorchpaw
  — she/they ; apprentice of windclan
  — short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — signature by giinya, template art by ska-i
  — penned by meghan

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