private THIS IS THE WONDER THAT’S KEEPING THE STARS APART — sunstar

[Thriftfeather]

There isn't a choice in this; Thriftfeather follows behind Sunstar, stiff-legged and head held low. It is a small comfort that Sunstar had directed Bluefrost to the nursery—the worry that Sunstar might turn her away entirely because of Thriftfeather's involvement unclenches from his nervous heart without dissipating entirely. He couldn't imagine a worse introduction of his kits to WindClan.

As he sits upon the cool ground of Sunstar's den, tail folded over his white paws and head bowed in contrition, one thought rings through his mind, far louder than the rest: he is terribly, terribly selfish for coming here. Had he kept away, Bluefrost perhaps been scolded for leaving camp to birth, but she and their kits would have been welcomed warmly and without any doubts.

"She was worried about my safety," His words come out in a rush—an attempt to absolve Bluefrost, "I was worried for my own—I would have never—I didn't ask Bluefrost to lie on my behalf, or for Vulturepaw to need to keep such a secret, and I didn't—I don't know how Periwinklebreeze learned. We were both worried about what would happen if DuskClan found out and—and maybe I should have convinced her to tell you the truth if nobody else, but…"

A breath shudders through Thriftfeather. Maybe he should have done a great many things—but such thoughts are dangerous ones to trace back to their source. In another life, Thriftfeather was never the kit who cried out, and he was never brought to WindClan. He feels foolish for hoping that this could go any other way than how it has, and for trying still to change the course of it.

"I knew I shouldn't have—I knew it was wrong of me to continue to meet with her, but Bluefrost has been the only—she's been the only good in my life." If nothing else, Sunstar must know that whatever blame he has for Bluefrost should rest on Thriftfeather's shoulders alone; he must understand the burden Thriftfeather has become on his nascent family.​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 18 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ A conscious effort heaves Sunstar's bulk through the entrance of his den, and then into an unwilling turn, his shoulder leading the way to face Thriftfeather as he sits. Secure in his safety here — or perhaps ultimately accepting of the fact that he is not. The anger that had simmered beneath him, broken atop Rowanpaw's protests, is not wholly gone. "Your safety should not have been a concern!" he bites, though it is not the bellowing storm his voice could have been. The solicitous plea of his voice nearly winds him back up. Yet a second before the waves break upon the shore, Sunstar huffs a sharp breath. "You followed them, that day. Despite everything that WindClan had done for you! Despite those that remained behind, searching for you. Caring for you! This is the nest of thorns that you have made– it is not made for my clanmates to lie upon."

Perhaps this diatribe is not meant for Thriftfeather alone. The rising voice searches for Bluefrost and Cottonsprig, for Snakehiss and Sparkspirit. For Thriftfeather, yes, but also for so many more. Young fools, all of them; none of them had escaped unscathed. And with the return of his warrior with a rogue at her side, the tenuous hope he had allowed himself — one of them had made it out, one had survived Sootstar, he had pulled one from this terrible path they were set upon — crumbled. The word is not enough. An immutable truth is that he had found peace among a lie. And now the halcyon sun shines upon his mistakes. "She worries for the cat who chose those who killed our warriors. Drove us from our home! Your lie does not concern me, Thriftfeather. I have not known anything else from you since you left."

His paw slams into the stone. Like a caged lion he paces the back of his den, head low, tail swishing. "Defend yourself to me. Give me reason not to send you to Sootstar herself, wherever her black soul lies." Beneath the anger. . . agitation. (Fear.)

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞06.17⌝ 🟒ᨒ

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  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. —
  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove.

• "speech"

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather's mind slips back into that of his apprenticeship with a concerning ease. How many times had Ghostwail beckoned Thriftfeather aside to verbally pull him apart—how often has Thriftfeather walked the fine line of proving his worth? Dry mouthed and suppressing a flinch at each of Sunstar's raised words, Thriftfeather soothes himself with a thought he has had countless times: this is a test. This is a test, and to be found lacking or wanting in any regard is not an option. This is a test, and Thriftfeather has known countless before.

Cautiously, Thriftfeather pulls his gaze up from his paws. A test of his worth, and this time without the hinderance of his youth.

"I don't say this for—I'm only saying this so that you might understand why I've done what I've done," Thriftfeather starts—defending himself, as Sunstar has asked. His heart pounds an uneven beat, "I wasn't—I was never an abandoned kit. WindClan took me in but it was—it was a WindClanner who made an orphan out of me. Ghostwail, she..." Thriftfeather doesn't look away, "She killed my mother and—this isn't to condemn WindClan, it's just that... it's just that I was too much of a coward at the time to tell anyone what I had seen."

He recalls holding his paw above the sand for Bluefrost when they had still both been apprentices in demonstration for how small he had been—he recalls an outrage and a disbelief that he wishes he could draw upon now.

"I was terrified to go against her. It was my own cowardice that made me—if I could go back, I would change everything, but at the time I was certain a step against her would see me dead," And privately, Thriftfeather recalls the way he would glow beneath Ghostwail's rare approval—the battered love some part of him still has for her, the contradiction of all the fear and hatred that should have long snuffed it out. "When I saw those kits, the ShadowClan kits, I thought... everything about seeing them in WindClan felt wrong, and a braver me would have spoken out about but I just—I saw them, and I thought I couldn't live with knowing who would raise their voice in defense of that, and—and so I ignored it."

Everything had fallen apart after that. Thriftfeather doesn't allow the shame he feels to force his eyes down. He cannot look away from Sunstar for any of this, "I realized—I saw the way Sootstar had reacted when you had returned those kits, and I realized—at the time I thought I could never go against Ghostwail. She thought of me as her son and I—I saw how Sootstar reacted and I allowed myself to be trapped by that. I know it may mean nothing to you, but I had wanted so badly to be good. I just hadn't known what that meant and in my own weakness I just—I did what I knew Ghostwail would expect of me." Both battles are remembered in feelings rather than moments—the way his shoulders had bounced with sobs that had never come, the sharp sting of fear and betrayal, and something else: a viciousness he hadn't known he had possessed.

"I've been learning for myself what it means to no longer be that coward, what it means to be good and—I can't be that in DuskClan. I've tried but—but there simply isn't changing things there. When the raid happened—during that raid—you need to understand that I could never—after everything that happened I couldn't—" Thriftfeather shakes his head, reorientates himself, "It wasn't who I wanted to be. I didn't spill any WindClan blood, and after, when I saw Vulturepaw, I thought—I thought about how wrong it was, all of it."

He feels overwrought—never before has Thriftfeather been so candid, "I know I'll never be anything but that coward and I know fear is no excuse for—it doesn't take away from what I've done, but I've always wanted—I've wanted to be good, and now I have more than reason enough to once again find that bravery it took to rescue Vulturepaw." A single, trembling inhale, and uncertainty deep enough to drown in, should Thriftfeather allow it, "You told me that—you said my future would make itself known to me with time. I thought I knew what that meant at the time and—and I've always remembered it, but I finally—I see it now. I see what it is I want—I see who it is I wish to be. Please just—even if you don't allow me to stay, let me live so that I can finally be that."

Exhausted, and with his rabbit-heart still pounding against his chest, Thriftfeather allows his eyes to drop away from Sunstar. Despite his numerous doubts and the crushing weight of just how underserving he feels, having recounted all of that, he mouths a half-formed prayer to StarClan.​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 18 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ His eyes close. First a light exhaustion, and then a deep pressure. They scrunch around the edges. Sparks of color pop in the shadows behind his lids. It is strange, to become someone else: to stand here in this den but also stand cradled in the moor grass, a wheaten pelt partially hidden until a single paw pulls him from safety. The pale white touch like a ghost reaching into his soul. Had Sootstar known this? Had she looked upon the stolen kit and found him to be a malleable enough creature? She had taken in the rogues, after all. Had taken in him. For a time, one of her most ardent supporters. And one without the excuse of youth. (Naivety, perhaps. He had not known the clans, then. A foolish expatriate with a chip on his shoulder. What Sootstar said was truth.)

What Ghostwail said was truth.

Though the mirror tethering memory and imagination shatters, the burning malaise does not. Sections of his face find themselves yielding to the softness long-denied. From before his clanmates' words had steeled him, wide-eyed and benignant for just a moment. He is tired, and guilty, and buried beneath a clan that cannot see his wounds. To bare them is weakness, and to show weakness is to invite dissent. From within and without. Stars knows they cannot do this again. "Your life was not in the balance, Thriftfeather," Sunstar assures in a tired rasp. "It is not WindClan's to take." And never had it been. His mouth opens for more, though what he would say has not yet crossed the threshold of his mind.

He is not sure what stops him. The foolishness of whatever words he holds. Their weight, or their meaning. Or the rustle of paws outside of his den, the sound of faint sniffling. Brow furrowed, the burnished tom shoulders past Thriftfeather, body half-out of his den, and stares.

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞06.17⌝ 🟒ᨒ

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  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. —
  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove.

• "speech"

​

 

[milkthorn.]

"I will cover for you- but try to stay quiet. We can get in serious trouble, do you understand?" The tom had lowered himself down to the childs level, blue eyes serious. He didn't necessarily want to bring him along in his own stalking- but the apprentice was merely stubborn. And he couldn't necessarily decline the child. Instead, he would take Sunstars wrath- or perhaps cover them both in some way. He would carefully make his way closer to the mouth of the den, keeping his own form blocked from the view of the entrance, his steps calculated and careful. Sunstar would surely find them flagrant if caught.

-

Ghostwail was always one to cause malaise in Milkthorn. There was always something off, and he strained to hear, but could not hear everything. Ghostwail was a motherly figure to Thriftfeather. But the idea that she would kill his mother made his heart pang with a grief. He hoped the young child would not grasp some of the words Thriftfeather spoke. To even be hearing this, it was a secret he would keep to his grave. Especially to his fellow comrade. Never would he know they reached the wrong ears.

There was just annoyance that rose in the warriors chest, Sunstars anger; and Thriftfeather seemed juxtaposed. Surely- the leader who many lionized wouldn't spill blood after hearing Thrifts side in his genesis of why he followed the loyalists. But Milkthorn was far from sure. Blue gaze dropped to Vulturepaw, eyes widening as suddenly the child began sniffling- perhaps of the fear of what was to come next after hearing such a grief filled story.

Quickly, he had to move quickly. His paws darted harder than he meant- shuffling to grip Vulturepaw by the scruff, only to look up to Sunstars golden gaze. A deer in headlights- caught. Surely they'd both be damned. Quickly. "My apologies, Sunstar- Vulturepaw... decided to try to get to Thriftfeather in a panic while I was trying to calm him down. I- was only stopping him, but he was worried." His gruff voice was muffled by the scruff of the apprentice, surely hopeful that it hid the hesitance in his voice. But it was merely fear of the mottled and mixed emotions held in the fiery orbs. "Ill- do a better job of keeping him away." Milkthorn assured with a dip of his head before carefully trying to take steps back away from the leader. Hopefully the tom wouldn't hear the pounding of his heart- that was all Milkthorn could hear even over his own thoughts.


​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ The roar of Sunstar's voice echoes in Vulturepaw's ears. The sheer rage had coursed through his body like bolts of lighting, his voice a booming thunderclap. All the breath had left the their body at once, the earth-shaking form of WindClan's leader eclipsing all else. Here was a cat who carried all the wrath and cruelty of the stars themselves, and Vulturepaw had been caught in the burning path of his rage. This was the cat who had torn the life from the tyrant's heart. And they had lied flagrantly and callously - right to his face.

They were right to be scared... But they can't let fear make them complaisant.

Sunstar takes Thriftfeather away to a place where they can't follow, his commanding voice lightning-snap sharp. Keen eyes catch Milkthorn's movements, the way that he creeps softly towards the den on quiet paws. They skitter after, heart racing at the thought of Thriftfeather in there alone with him.

They've already lied to the leader; a little eavesdropping can't hurt. Milkthorn promises safety, warns of danger. They nod gravely. It's worth it.

Except - they can't quite hear properly. Sunstar's voice is loud at first, carrying the final dying sparks of his earlier ire. "Your safety should not have been a concern!" snaps the leader, and they have to suppress a flinch. His words are cruel; is this the side of Sunstar that the clan doesn't get to see? The tyrant hiding beneath his jovial exterior? They can catch words, a rising voice, anger threading through every word. And then - a soft thud of something hitting the stone. (A paw, in truth; a body, in the child's mind.)

The voices get quiet, too quiet to make out. Breathing gets hard again. He can't quite see inside, his body blocked from view of the entrance. He imagines - red blood strewn across the leader's den, the golden fur of the rogue's neck torn fully away from the soft meat beneath. What would he even do, if Sunstar did take Thriftfeather's life? He can't stop it. All he can do is hide out here and hope. It's frustrating, terribly frustrating, and that same despair from before starts to bubble up within him. The apprentice's eyes begin to wet, ears pinning back. He can't hear anything, he's gonna get in trouble for nothing. He sniffles, feeling a sob trying to work its way up his throat -

And suddenly he's being yanked back, blinking up in surprise at the stern face of Sunstar.

"Ah!" he gasps, eyes widening. He shakes in Milkthorn's grasp. Fear lances through them, but the warrior's word register distantly. "I will cover for you," he had promised. He makes good on it now, but it does little to quell the apprentice's tremors. He curls in upon himself, eyes locked upon Sunstar.

"Ss - sorry..." he mumbles pitifully, voice thin and wavering. No blood stains the leader's golden pelt - yet. It is as good a relief as any.

THERE ARE FLOWERS GROWING ALL AROUND ⛧ A MASSIVE ANIMAL INSIDE OF ME‎

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREPAW ⛧ he / they, apprentice of windclan, seven moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with a superstitious sort of pessimism.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustpaw and bilberrypaw.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Your life was never in the balance, Sunstar's voice comes more subdued than it had before, and Thriftfeather's tightly wound chest does nothing to ease. Something indignant blossoms in Thriftfeather.

"But you said—" His words are wavering to start and then his jaw clicks shut with a snap.

It would do him no good to remind Sunstar of his previous threat. If Sunstar had never meant it then it had been nothing more than empty words and if he had meant it, if Thriftfeather had somehow made him change his mind, then he had no reason to make Sunstar question that reversal. Whatever else Sunstar is about to say is lost; he senses something Thriftfeather's tense mind would have never detected and wordlessly walks himself to the mouth of the den. For a terrible moment Thriftfeather assumes this to be a different kind of failure—that Sunstar will abandon him here without explanation or warning.

Then, a familiar voice filters through; a single, barked and disbelieving laugh punches out of Thriftfeather. He's twisted over himself without rising, has leaned enough to peer beyond Sunstar—of the countless possibilities that Thriftfeather's mind has concocted, he hadn't thought the reason for the interruption would be something so mundane.

Slowly, deliberately, Thriftfeather tips his chin upwards to show Vulturepaw his neck, unbloodied and whole. He doesn't speak for fear that it is a misstep, but he hopes his unsaid meaning is clear: there hasn't been any harm to come to him here. To Milkthorn he offers only a flick of his eyes, a barely-there nod of acknowledgement. Carefully, he returns to the same position he had before.​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 18 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ Saying and meaning are far separate things — the convoluted mess of words from mind to tongue is not something to be tracked. He means to take a moment, to explain to him: give me reason as in save me from my own darkness, give me reason as in please tell me this all was worth it. There is no time to tell him that now. And even if there were, Sunstar knows his barbed throat would make something terrible of the attempt. Thriftfeather will sit thinking that he is a fickle beast, and is he really wrong for this? His rage comes in like the tide and fades away just as quickly. Its absence leaves lonely sand banks and a barren waste of exhaustion.

In the midst of this vicious upbraiding there rests a warrior's wasted heart. When he looks upon Vulturepaw and Milkthorn, he does not know what he sees. Cats who worry for Thriftfeather? Who did not trust him to guide them? An apprentice, first, and a cat who had been one himself such a short time ago. That neither of them follow him stabs fiercely through his gut. A visceral pain. Through great effort, it does not meet stormy eyes. Instead, Sunstar stares upon them with a wordless furrow of his brow, lip partially curled from his fangs mid-bark of reprimand.

Worried. For the sake of a DuskClanner who had abandoned their clan. Aligned with murderers and kit thieves, even if he himself had never done such things. (Stars, how many parallels will he draw? How many times will he see himself in this moment, stood before StarClan as they peel layers of excuses from his hide? I've wanted to be good. But were you? He tears his eyes away before whatever is crawling up his lungs finds its way out. "Go," he commands tiredly. "Both of you– go." And even in full view of the two, half outside of his den and with half the camp surely turned to look, he continues to Thriftfeather: "Go to the nursery. You will not leave until–" With a huff of breath and a jerk of his head, he leaves it there. A wordless admission that not even he knows.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 ️️️ ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈? ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞09.15⌝

• ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. —
  

  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives,
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove — and very little energy left to do so, after a long list of betrayals on his council.

​