The cold wouldn't stop her, Smokykit had quickly decided, though its frosty tendrils were doing their best even as every dusk promised colder and colder nights leading into colder and colder days. Each cycle brokered new temperatures that she could have scarcely imagined only weeks ago, and with no sign of letting up, she still braves the outdoors to release pent-up energy. If her time in the nursery also increases just as steadily, she'll blame it on Ashenfall and Flintwish ushering her towards warmth, the need to follow after her less-fortunate siblings with closer-cropped fur seeking to avoid the chilling bite outside; anything to dispel the idea that she couldn't handle a little (quickly turning into a lot of) cold!
During her allotted playtime out within the bounds of camp, it's not an uncommon sight to see Smokykit leaping and bounding about, and today is no exception, her ashen form twirling about and flitting from cat to cat, seeking some sort of entertainment. She never lingers particularly long, always off to bigger and better things (or just the next thing that draws her eye), and even as the cold begins to nip at her paws, she pushes the feeling aside in favor of just a few more minutes until Ashenfall inevitably draws them all close within the nursery. Before then, Smokykit must maximize her freedom, she thinks, and of course, she's instinctively drawn towards one of the few marshy pools settled closer to the outskirts of camp, product of some recent downpour. Belatedly, she realizes she hasn't really seen much in the way of puddles since the surprise frost, and, well, she's certainly not going to waste this opportunity.
Despite her discovery of frost, Smokykit is none the wiser to anything that might be awry with her beloved brackish puddle, and as she comes crashing down in such a manner that should send up a wave of droplets spattering across anybody unlucky enough to be nearby, she immediately finds that this is not what happens. Instead: her paws hit solid ground, a cold sheen cupping the surface of the water, though not solid for more than a moment before her force sends the sheet into shattered pieces. Now, something akin to droplets does spring forth, though much more solid in nature - chips of ice, though she knows not what that is other than not-water. "What!" It comes out more as an exclamation than a question, smoky bristles rising up along her back without even realizing it. Brows knitted together, she bats at one of the chunks, recoiling at just how cold it felt beneath her dark-capped paw.
This had definitely been a puddle before, no question about that, and yet now it's inexplicably...solid. "Why's the water not...water?" The question is thrown haphazardly towards whoever is nearest to her, as Smokykit is already turning back to this curiosity, a new idea pushing to the forefront of her thoughts. It's cold and solid now, sort of like how the grass had been coated in frost, but it used to be water, right? Or, maybe there was still water inside the chunks? Despite her revulsion at the chill, Smokykit finds herself drawing near to one of the smaller, shattered chunks once again, crouching down this time so as to be on eye-level with it. Without any further preamble or warning, her tongue darts out, swiping across the chilled surface, and - oh, it's cold, but it still tastes like the same puddle water she knows!
Unfortunately for her, this is not where the revelation ends: as her tongue moves to slide back into her maw, so, too, does the sliver of ice. Eyes widening, Smokykit flies up from her crouch, tongue dumbly poking out. "Aaaaaah!" she yelps, shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge the strangely solid water, and in a panic, she draws both it and her tongue back into her mouth, trying to spear it against one of her teeth. As cold blossoms inside of her, it seems to come at the price of the sliver holding fast to her tongue, which fades from existence before her very eyes, leaving behind only a gulp of water. Torn between amazement, fading panic, and outrage, Smokykit turns a flinty gaze towards the rest of the shards, not daring to approach again just yet. "It bit me!" Her proclamation is loud and indignant, the product of ruffled fur and ruffled feelings at having been bested by this water-imposter that had invaded one of her favorite playtime activities.
During her allotted playtime out within the bounds of camp, it's not an uncommon sight to see Smokykit leaping and bounding about, and today is no exception, her ashen form twirling about and flitting from cat to cat, seeking some sort of entertainment. She never lingers particularly long, always off to bigger and better things (or just the next thing that draws her eye), and even as the cold begins to nip at her paws, she pushes the feeling aside in favor of just a few more minutes until Ashenfall inevitably draws them all close within the nursery. Before then, Smokykit must maximize her freedom, she thinks, and of course, she's instinctively drawn towards one of the few marshy pools settled closer to the outskirts of camp, product of some recent downpour. Belatedly, she realizes she hasn't really seen much in the way of puddles since the surprise frost, and, well, she's certainly not going to waste this opportunity.
Despite her discovery of frost, Smokykit is none the wiser to anything that might be awry with her beloved brackish puddle, and as she comes crashing down in such a manner that should send up a wave of droplets spattering across anybody unlucky enough to be nearby, she immediately finds that this is not what happens. Instead: her paws hit solid ground, a cold sheen cupping the surface of the water, though not solid for more than a moment before her force sends the sheet into shattered pieces. Now, something akin to droplets does spring forth, though much more solid in nature - chips of ice, though she knows not what that is other than not-water. "What!" It comes out more as an exclamation than a question, smoky bristles rising up along her back without even realizing it. Brows knitted together, she bats at one of the chunks, recoiling at just how cold it felt beneath her dark-capped paw.
This had definitely been a puddle before, no question about that, and yet now it's inexplicably...solid. "Why's the water not...water?" The question is thrown haphazardly towards whoever is nearest to her, as Smokykit is already turning back to this curiosity, a new idea pushing to the forefront of her thoughts. It's cold and solid now, sort of like how the grass had been coated in frost, but it used to be water, right? Or, maybe there was still water inside the chunks? Despite her revulsion at the chill, Smokykit finds herself drawing near to one of the smaller, shattered chunks once again, crouching down this time so as to be on eye-level with it. Without any further preamble or warning, her tongue darts out, swiping across the chilled surface, and - oh, it's cold, but it still tastes like the same puddle water she knows!
Unfortunately for her, this is not where the revelation ends: as her tongue moves to slide back into her maw, so, too, does the sliver of ice. Eyes widening, Smokykit flies up from her crouch, tongue dumbly poking out. "Aaaaaah!" she yelps, shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge the strangely solid water, and in a panic, she draws both it and her tongue back into her mouth, trying to spear it against one of her teeth. As cold blossoms inside of her, it seems to come at the price of the sliver holding fast to her tongue, which fades from existence before her very eyes, leaving behind only a gulp of water. Torn between amazement, fading panic, and outrage, Smokykit turns a flinty gaze towards the rest of the shards, not daring to approach again just yet. "It bit me!" Her proclamation is loud and indignant, the product of ruffled fur and ruffled feelings at having been bested by this water-imposter that had invaded one of her favorite playtime activities.
THE RADIO PLAYS A FAMILIAR SONG
𖤓
AND YOU ARE LOVED, YOU ARE LOVED
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OOC: -
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SMOKYKIT —. She/her, kit of ShadowClan
— .Flintwish x Ashenfall, littermate to Promisekit, Tinykit, & Mercykit
— . 2 moons old, ages on the 1st
— .An ill-proportioned, smoky molly with bright amber eyes and an exceedingly curly, tangled pelt.
— .Enthusiastic and vibrant, easily distracted, prideful & caring - friendly within reason
— .Peaceful & healing powerplay permitted - brushing up against her, shoulder bumps, etc.
— .Penned by Hijinks - feel free to DM me on Discord to plot! ^^
