Thus the hazard of venturing // lost and found kit

[Hazewish]

WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF YOUR FLEETING HEART ⋆⁺₊⋆
The outside-the-camp is a wide, beautiful place. Hazekit has no idea why they’ve never been allowed there before. Why would their moms want to keep them away from somewhere so cool, with so much to see? Icicles and frost-tipped vegetation, the weirdest insects and the prettiest rocks, all for her to see and touch and roll over to check whether something even cooler is hiding beneath. Why would anyone ever stay in camp when they’ve all this to walk around in? Hazekit never wants to go back, not until she’s seen everything.

Although she does miss her parents, a bit, and her siblings. She hasn’t been out for that long — it’s only barely starting to get dark — but it’s very cold out there, with her paws in the mud, on freezing rocks and damp grass. It’s a cold that pierces deep into the bones, even through her pelt, the thick pelt she got from her mothers.

It’s strange to think that, having been born in the depths of leaf-bare, they have never been cold before. There’s always been someone to cuddle with, long fur to tuck a cold nose into.

The longer they’re on their own, the colder they are, the more they miss that living warmth next to them. And the sounds of other cats, too. Leaf-bare is very quiet, like the nursery at night, when everyone else is sleeping. Like the whole world is asleep. It makes her want to shake it awake.

Maybe they should go back, they muse. They’re kind of hungry, too, more than the background kind-of-hungry they’ve been since food got scarce, and it would be nice to curl up between their moms and tell them about the cool shell they found. A ululating sound echoes in the silence, seemingly in response to that thought.

It is dusk, and its song is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.

Or then again, maybe she can keep looking. Hazekit turns themself in the direction of that new, strange noise, even though their paws are heavy with fatigue and stiff from the chill.

Only a little longer can’t hurt, right?

// Hazekit can now be found by anyone searching for her near-ish the camp! Baby’s heard a tiny owl and is on their way to Investigate

[⋆]​

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[SMOKESTAR]

It's dark and not a single cat has returned with a successful search, how far could one kitten get? He could not imagine they were swept up in the rising river, Hazekit had enough sense to not play in the water when it was so cold and when they were by themselves; most of Willowroot's kits were sensible in that regard at least. Most of the time, kits learned to swim early, dipped in the river and watched carefully by the queens; but that was often in seasons not so brutally cold as leaf-bare. Two litters this time of the year was not exactly ideal, the kits would be apprentices by the time they dipped their paws in the water proper. If they made it that far.
Smokethroat shook the though from his head as quickly as it tried to bubble to the surface, swift black paws carrying him over the slush and grime of their territory slowly melting to reveal its true face to them once more. Not too much longer and they would have flowers appearing at a high rate, the grey skies pushed aside to allow the sun to shine upon them once more. He missed the crisp air of newleaf, the thoughts were longing and miserable as he glanced around the still forest area for any sight of the silver child. Of course the one that had been named after him would be the most troublesome one, his friend was truly asking for mischief when she felt the need to play at his heartstrings in such a way; not that he felt this kind of panic was deserving. No cat wanted to outlive their offspring and he dreaded every step for fear of finding a cold little body pressed upon the earth.
It was growing even darker now, fiery orange eye flashing bright in the shadows as he peered out even further through the line of trees, the cry of night birds rising up to sing and one very distinct coo of a young owl whispering in the shroud of trees. A fledgling noise, but where there was one of those there was most assuredly a parent and he moved that way with an urgency suddenly ignited. Owls. He'd forgotten about them as a possible threat until now, a kitten would be easy to pick up and carry away without any cat even realizing and in his rush to get to the source of the sound he nearly tripped over striped minnow-colored fur and clumsy kitten paws; his foot just barely taping a tiny ambulatory tabby form before realizing.
"Hazekit!" Relief broke the dam of panic, he felt his shoulders slouch and he crouched down to circle the little runaway before she could dart in panic to the sudden presence there, "....found you." A nose pushed into the kit's side, noted the chill cloaking her and the trembling from the cold pressing inward and his tail folded into a loose coil around her for a moment before he lifted his head up to search for the other cats he'd been hunting with.
"Over here!"


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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

when the growing concerns of hazekit and her absence had reached buckgait's ears, the deputy had faltered. struck by an ever-haunting grief, a gnawing guilt, and the sudden need to tear apart the territory in search of the child. she had, regrettably, been in the same hunting patrol has smokethroat, when the unmistakably soft hoot of an owl pierces through the dusk. visibly, the deputy is distraught. her niece is missing, and anytime spent not comforting caraway is spent in search of haze.

when smoke disappears from her sight, she has little care to seek him out. yet, it's when the ashen tom calls for attention does the deputy come. when her eyes catch the small, yet familiar, tuft of hazy tabby stripes, she finds herself fighting back tears. there's something primal in her need to tear smokethroat away from the kit, to shelter the child herself and bring her back to her parent. instead, the woman approaches softly, quietly. in serene calmness. though with the way her eyes dart towards smoke, it's clear she wants him away. throughout the entire time she's known the lead warrior, he has been cursed with roughness. unable to truly talk with or connect with kits.

"haze," comes the breathy exhale of the deputy, pure relief flooding her. "haze..." and she just keeps wanting to chant the name. the fear that if she were to stop, haze would disappear from her sights. she wants to apologize to the child, but knows that it will be no use. haze is not thinking of how buck did not visit her as often as she should have, but rather returning to the nursery. to be warm. to be fed. how long had she been out here again? "you've scared us half to death...have you filled your curiosities? your mother misses you." her words are gentle and light, welcoming the child to come to her. she could scold and yell, but it'd do no use.

hazekit did not wander out of maliciousness, but simply because she is a child curious of the land before her. buck places no blame, just offers a warm den and a full belly. because that is what mattered. haze needs to feel safe and welcomed, not informed of the terror in the night. she can know later, but for now, she just needs to be home.



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[Cindershade]

Colors of dusty pink and blue strewn across the horizon as the sun finally settled behind the horizon. Every able-bodied warrior had been out searching for one kit once it was realized they were missing. Cindershade treks through melted clumps of ice and snow, her paws stinging from the cold and covered in muck and grime. She fans out closer to the gorge, whereas Smokethroat was on the opposite side. The familiar roar of rushing water thunders in her ears as she approaches near it's rigid edge, keeping her dusted nose close by newly thawed fronds and reeds for any sign of Hazekit. She prays the kit wasn't so in tune with their own adventures that they'd stumble over the edge—down into the churning and vicious murky waters below that slammed into jutting stones as it pulsed through the wide valley of it. A sickening dread overcomes here, peering down below for any sign of a washed up tabby form along it's banks.
It's only from Smokethroat's sudden call that she jerks her head up from her previous perch, half-prancing along quickly to where the speckled tom stood with the small form of Hazekit, alive and well despite the cold and Buckgait cooing softly to them. Relief flushes through her and out with a heavy sigh, aiming to graze her obsidian tail along Smokethroat's shoulder in praise of a job well done. She stares upon the small form, her deputy and lead warrior surrounding Hazekit while checking them over. "You certainly gave us and your mother quite a fright, child. Willowroot has been searching everywhere for you." The warrior chides the small kit lightly, though her tone was not as brash as usual. "Let's get them back to camp. I'm sure Hazekit is ready for something to eat and a dry nest, hm?"
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[BEESONG]

the temporary camp has been in a riot since discovering hazekit's mysterious absence. and for no small reason, too; the world is dangerous, especially now that darkness has descended on the wetlands. the possibilities are endless: ravenous animals, poison disguised as delectable berries, being swept away after falling into the rising waters...

fear that hazekit has fallen victim to any of those possibilities is what spurs beesong to join a search patrol. if anything has happened, maybe, just maybe, he would find them in time to prevent a mother from burying her child. beesong would be present, without the patrol having to rush hazekit back to camp... in life-threatening situations, even a second can make all the difference.

their breath billows around them as they slog through progressively melting slush, with hardly any time to ponder the upcoming warm seasons. too preoccupied with the search, their mouth parted slightly to try and catch any trace of hazekit's scent. an owl hoots, serving as a somber reminder that this search could end up in vain. hazekit could already be dead, their too-small body growing cold somewhere in the territory.

but by some miracle, smokethroat cries, hazekit!

the patrol is flooded with relief as they rush to the found kitten like a frenzied mother hen. beesong only approaches to examine the child for injuries or ailments; once his mind is cleared of worry and hazekit is determined to be fine—albeit cold—the healer withdraws. the others could handle the smothering... that isn't what beesong is here for, nor is it what he's skilled at.

a supportive hum greets cindershade's suggestion to bring the kit back to camp. "we don't want them catching cold." hazekit receives a reprimanding look that says, you shouldn't have been out here in the first place.
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[willowroot]

( ☾ ) there is a haunting emptiness to the river at night. once a comforting thought, the rushing waters have turned icy and fierce, a storm with no hint of sunlight above. as darkness begins to cloak the wind-whispered reeds, the strangeness of the river emerges, whistling along in a sharp breeze, in the dampness chilling her paws, in the ice-spike of fear in her heart. her child is missing, little hazekit, whose tiny tabby paws have aided curiosity for herself and terror for her mothers. willowroot paces at the entrance to the reeds, ears folded flat against her head, every once and a while glancing back towards the makeshift nursery where the rest of her children huddle. poppysplash is out looking, as is buckgait, stars bless her, but there is still an aching in her paws to spring to action.

the winter night settles cold and damp around them as the clan makes do with what they have, and the smoke queen finally noses through the brambles and water grasses before her, calling back over her shoulder. "i'm just going to go look again, quickly." an npc warrior on night guard nods solemnly and willowroot steps out of the safety of their improvised camp and into the wilds of the frozen river. scenting the air, she smells smokethroat and beesong, accompanied by cindershade and buckgait. a patrol of strong warriors, all desperate to find the lost child, but somehow willowroot still feels helpless. beginning to follow a series of tracks pressed into the muddy banks, the queen finds herself in a maze of reeds and rushes as smokethroat's call rings across the chilled air.

hope balloons in the silver tipped chest as willowroot scans the area, desperate now to find her friends, drag them all back to camp with her runaway child and force them all to rest. hazekit's scent is faint but definitely there, and it is under the light of a mist obscured moon that the queen finally arrives at the heels of the patrol. "i'm so sorry, i heard smoke call and all i could think was to get here as fast as i could," she breathes, and guilt pings against the growing warmth in her chest, a soft but evident knot in her throat reminding her of three kittens at home, babysat by clanmates yes, but missing both their mothers and a sibling. "did you find them? is she here?"

as she pushes through to lead against buckgait, eyes of fern fall finally upon the little scrap who huddles under smokethroat's billowing fur. "haze," the knot in her throat hardens, a half-sob choking out the child's name, and she's almost embarrassed at the overwhelming tide of emotion. "starclan, we were scared, so scared, darling." slinking closer, she bends to gently lick the silver tabby's head. the wash of emotion sends tremors along her legs and tail, shaking as she is, with unshed tears in her wild eyes, she half hopes someone else will take charge. all she can do is hold her child. ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[Hazewish]

WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF YOUR FLEETING HEART ⋆⁺₊⋆
And, as suddenly as a rainshower, Hazekit is no longer alone.

She stumbles on clanmates — or rather, a clanmate stumbles on her — just as she is making her way towards that mysterious hooting. In seconds they are surrounded by Smokethroat’s bulk, warmed by the older tom’s fur with his voice rumbling at their back. They’re surprised by the sudden contact, as Smokethroat is rarely so eager to get in cuddling range, but Hazekit welcomes it readily.

More cats follow, drawn by his call. Buckgait is the first to join them. Her voice is soft, gentle, carrying no judgment or lecture. Hazekit knows her more from their mother’s fond words than from seeing the deputy themself but they decide, there and then, that she is one of their favorite adults. She gets it, doesn’t she? The river territory that calls for you. Or at least she doesn’t begrudge Hazekit for hearing the call.

She asks, have you filled your curiosities? and Hazekit’s whiskers droop a little in response as she aims to rest a tiny paw on Buckgait’s nose if she comes close enough for it. ”More…” She sighs, wistful, though she knows she can’t run around forever.

The adults certainly wouldn’t let her. Already they are crowding around Hazekit, Cindershade and Beesong casting long shadows in the faint dusk light. She returns both their chiding concern with an unimpressed look, which lacks bite in their soft and kittenish face, speckled with mud. She’s not a baby!

(She is.)

All of them are forgotten as soon as one of her parents appears, like a ghost in the fading light. Hazekit clambers over Smokethroat’s tail as soon as she sees them, bumping her head against their mouth as she reaches for her mom just as she bends to lick their head. Willowroot is shaking as she speaks: they are close enough to feel the tremors. Is it the cold? Something else? Did Hazekit scare her family that much, just going on a walk around camp?

”Here,” they say, perplexed by the stress caused by their short disappearance (blissfully unaware of the dangers).

They press closer against their mother’s fur, purring in reassurance. After all, nothing happened, so they should all stop worrying.

[⋆]​

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