pafp thoughtless // new monsters

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw tags along with the tunneller patrols now more than ever. She claims its to seek out any plantlife that grows within the caverns (for Wolfsong cannot fit down here,) but it is also so that she can keep what skills she has sharp. It's a little uncomfortable, admittedly, tagging along with her former mentor (now deputy) and older brother (a forever nuisance,) but at least Whitedawn keeps her anchored and likely helps her during her missteps.

They're led out of the tunnels by the thunderpath, simply to check the ShadowClan border briefly before attempting to submerge themselves once more. Cottonpaw slips close to the darkened stone of the thunderpath, sniffing some of the regrowth and attempting to gauge if it's worth harvesting yet - when the telltale sounds of a monster approaching catches her ear. She steps out of the way quickly, hiding in the undergrowth that the land affords them. And soon enough, the monsters approach - but they're nothing like the ones she's seen before. These ones balance on two legs and run swiftly alongside others, similarly built. Their companion twolegs are not contained by them, simply holding fast, like they do with the horses sometimes.

"Oh, StarClan," Cottonpaw mumbles. "Just when I thought monsters couldn't get any more ridiculous looking..." she continues, laying low whilst they wait for the parade to pass.

[ pls wait for one of the following to post! @SCORCHSTREAK @whitedawn @SOOTSPOT ]​

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ There is still a distance maintained between herself and her former apprentice, but Scorchstreak has let go of her hostility toward Cottonpaw for the most part. WindClan is struggling, and butting heads with the medicine cat’s apprentice will not help anyone. Besides, she cannot lie and claim that her current apprentice isn’t better than the blue smoke. Pinkpaw may not be the most capable tunneler, but she is willing to learn given the proper motivation—and better yet, she is a clean slate to impart tactics upon. She is not the product of a first-time mentor’s failures, and not affiliated with Sootstar in any way. The calico does not hold Cottonpaw’s parentage against her, not exactly, but the more distance she can put between herself and the cat she once was under Sootstar, the better.

All this to say, Scorchstreak does not mind the apprentice tagging along on patrols. She can still fit into the tunnels, and so she is more useful than Wolfsong in that manner. Today, though, as they approach the black path that separates WindClan from ShadowClan, Scorchstreak is uncertain whether bringing the medicine cat apprentice along was such a good idea. Cottonpaw points out the monsters that she sees upon the road, two-legged horrors that race past alongside others, and for a moment all Scorchstreak can think about is the bloody fate that seems to curse each of WindClan’s healers. Losing Cottonpaw in such a way would not only set them back a healer, but also force Wolfsong to train another apprentice whilst recovering both from the grief of losing Cottonpaw and the troubles of patching up Sunstar.

These monsters are strange—they must be evolving. Rather than caging in the twolegs who leash them, they are ridden like horses. Their roars seem somehow more loud than the massive, hulking monsters that normally occupy the path. "It’s a pack of them," she comments, golden eyes narrowing as she drops to a crouch nearby Cottonpaw. Scorchstreak is concerned for the apprentice just as she would be concerned for any other clanmate in this situation. Just as she is concerned for Whitedawn—and very much not Sootspot. The tom could become monster chow, and she would hardly bat a golden eye. Rather than offer him up as some sort of sacrifice to appease the beasts, the calico instead murmurs, "I’ve never seen monsters like those before."

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ she’s a growing bed of thorns

• ooc: —
• 
  SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. stoic and shrewd, but clearly cares deeply for her clan.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to pinkpaw
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ༄ penned by foxlore

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[SOOTSPOT]

Sootspot was often met with the fragility of life when at the edges of WindClan territory: how easy it would be for someone to get lost in the mountains, how easy it would be for someone to fall into the gorge... how easy it would be for one's sister to fall into the path of a monster conveniently. Reaching the outskirts again left his yellow-green eyes squinting at the new light that met them and, in the place of a flash of white, came the formation of two-legged monsters making enough noise and stench for the tom's ears to fly back in disgust and nostrils to try and wither. On his belly, he crawled forward until he could see the Twoleg creations past the long blades of grass. Cottonpaw called them monsters and his tail twitched, Scorchstreak followed suite and the twitch turned into full lashing. "That is because they are not monsters," he drawled, a slight rasp to his voice. Monsters had four legs, were quiet (a shame his patrolmates couldn't say the same) and often had the Twolegs hidden inside of them like the cowards they were. These were more akin to horses or birds, but neither seemed plausible to the tom.

"I believe we find ourselves in the company of baby monsters, they squeal as much as a child, anyhow." Again, he finds the comparison to others among him almost too difficult to resist mentioning. Thankfully, his tongue remained hidden behind a toothy smile.
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[SMOKESTEP]

TAGS — He's never liked monsters. He's sure that most cats would feel the same; their raucous screeches hurt his ears, their flashy pelts burn his eyes, they stink like no other animal he's ever seen. Their trekking can be felt beneath the tunnels for fox-lengths before cats exit to the surface to take them in fully. They're nuisances, and worse than that, they're predators. Sootstar always made sure to warn him of their danger, just as Ravencry did before her. He shoves the memory down into his chest, but the fact will always remain that she was his mentor once.

When they all decide to huddle up along the thunderpath, Smokestep follows obediently — but obedience does not equal comfort. His sooty face is locked in a scowl, but his tingling paws flex into the earth as each new monster passes. These ones are just as strange as his patrolmates indicate. Thin silver bones glimmer in the sun as they pass, holding the black clod of rubber to its body; twolegs balance on the backs of the creatures like flies on cattle. Smokestep's black lips purse downwards in a frown.

"They look sick," he suggests, quiet. They're so... skinny. If those gleaming silver cages are their ribs, then they must not be finding enough food. He wonders if any WindClanners would come to look like that soon, now that the moors have been burnt to the salt. There's hardly food in the tunnels, let alone in the moors — what didn't die has fled, and though portions of their territory remain more intact than others, he is ever pessimistic about their chances of finding food. "Do they grow more legs when they get older? They're so strange."​