pafp TOMORROW'S BREAD / dual intro

[STAGCREST]

The Greenleaf-hot day has given way to cool, clear night. A spray of stars paints the dark sky above camp. Despite the presence of many more cats, all finished with their moor-running or tunneling for the day, the atmosphere grows steadily quieter as the stars drift farther into the sky. From their vaulted perspective, Stagcrest is only a pale smudge amid a smattering of cats in repose near the fresh-kill pile. Next to him lays the dusky, compact shape of Jackdawheart, whose night hues are even harder to see with the soil and debris lining his pelt. Stagcrest's tongue is taking care of it, one rhythmic stroke at time.

Muted chatter flutters around the pair. Though his companion would disagree, Stagcrest feels a subtle pull to join in. "How were the tunnels today?" Chocolate-soft eyes flit towards Jack for a moment before settling on the faces nearby, a silent invitation to chime in, complain, tell a story; if they'd assumed the question was meant only for him. In some ways it is. He'd familiarized himself with tunneling itself early on, and that'd been the extent of Stagcrest's knowledge. They rejoined at the beginnings and ends of days, but not always or even often, on account of night patrols and others beckoning and just plain tiredness. Sootstar's newest scheme only drove the tunnelers deeper into their work.

Even as his tongue works at a tangle in his shoulder, he supposes he cannot call them friends. In their past, just as much as their present, Jackdawheart went where he could not follow.

ooc: please wait for @JACKDAWHEART to post!​

 

[JACKDAWHEART]

The tunnels are cold and dark compared to the endless expanse of the world outside. They remind him of the alleys of his past life, cramped and hollow. The compact spaces of the city were always oil-slicked and stinking, littered with debris and refuse; the tunnels of WindClan, however, are cloying with the scent of earth, not necessarily unpleasant as much as it is overwhelming. Both leave him battered in a way, so these differences mean little—dirt is dirt.

He's irritated as he swipes a rough tongue over his paw, the snowy fur there darkened completely to a muddy brown. He doesn't mind the workload, or the expectations thereof—but he hadn't expected, in his quest to save his own life and flee to the countryside, that he'd be spending every day covered in muck. Stagcrest obliges him, as he always has. Jack's cringing away from filth didn't start when he reached the meadow, nor has it stopped since he's escape the trash-filled corners of the city. But Stag is patient with him nonetheless.

To other WindClanners, Jackdawheart's discontent is difficult to parse. His face is neutral, focused on his task, and further smoothed as he reminds himself that he is lucky to have the chance to be here in the first place. It's a reminder he tries to give himself often.

He doesn't really participate in the conversation, though. Not yet. Stagcrest's question hangs in the air for anyone to take in stride, and Jackdawheart will listen accordingly, ridding himself of the dust of the day.

/ edit: HI btw i read the first post wrong lol and assumed that stag was asking that question to everyone and not just jack < 3​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── As the days wear on, Wolfsong finds his stamina waning. His energy is not quite what it used to be, though it is not so noticeably dampened that he cannot fulfill his duties. It is simply far more...taxing than it was just a moon ago, and the naps he takes at the cusp between sunset and moonrise last a bit longer than he plans. He finds himself by the freshkill pile not long after one such nap, still a bit bleary-eyed and blinking away sleep.

Wolfsong means to take a small meal, perhaps half of a mouse, but as he stares at the pile, his appetite remains muted. There is a low, quiet murmur of conversation among the cats nearby, and he glances their way, curious. It is Stagcrest who asks after the tunnels, and Wolfsong has no answer for him there. He is surprised that Jackdawheart remains silent— not because he is known for being talkative, but because he has spent his day below ground.

"Cooler than the moors at sunhigh, I imagine," he comments, his voice raspier than usual from sleep.
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[Bluepool]

Bluepool listens to the conversation with only vague interest, her head is tilted upwards, golden eyes focused on the starry landscape above her. It is a clear night, no clouds to obscure the moon or the many stars that wink in the atmosphere above them. What would it be like to look down instead of up she wonders, and were there any StarClan cats looking down on them right now?

The conversation going on nearbye is bland, meaningless. Stagcrest asks a question and his companion is just rude enough not to answer, leaving an uncomfortable silence that Wolfsong, their newest medicine cat, is left to answer. It was true, the moors at sunhigh was unbearably miserable in the green-leaf sun but still "I'd rather suffer the heat of a million green-leafs then be trapped underground" she says to no one in particular, her gaze never leaving the starry sky above.

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Sootstar scoffs in sisterly hostility at Bluepool’s ignorance, ”Go ahead and swell in the heat then. Those brave enough will continue to keep cool and content through the remainder of Green-leaf.” Sourly she knows the warm moons don’t have much time left. Soon the leaves at their borders will rot from the branches they clung to and litter the moorland.

 

[Badgermoon]

Badgermoon was no particular fan of the hot weather, but he certainly preferred it to leaf-bare. The starkness of a world drenched in white, where ice jabbed at his paw-pads and his belly rumbled with hunger, was intense enough for him to fervently wish it was green-leaf year round. Or, if nothing else, that prey was as abundant in the winter months as in the summer. Such thoughts were wishful thinking, of course, and he thought little of them as he lay in a state of contented weariness. It had been a long, busy day with @SCORCHPAW out beneath the ravenous sun, but the pleasure of getting to spend time with his daughter - not to mention the opportunity to train her as an apprentice - was more than worth it. Besides, the air was cool, the sky was clear, and he thought he could just about feel StarClan's eyes on them. Benevolent. Proud. Watchful. It brought peace to his heart.

The conversation, however, made him somewhat uneasy: he knew that it was something of a sensitive spot, that his daughter was to become a moor-runner despite her similarity to her mother. Hopefully they would move to other topics, soon. "WindClan is lucky to have such passionate warriors of two kinds." chimed in the deputy after a thoughtful pause, halfway through eradicating some flecks of grass between his toes. "Though I must admit that, even if I could fit, I would struggle to be underground...so far from StarClan's sight..." He tilted his head, suddenly curious. "How do you stay connected to StarClan with the earth all around you? Can you...feel them, somehow, in the vibrations?" it was a general question, posed to any tunnelers who cared to answer it - and perhaps a foolish one, at that, though he didn't care.​

 

[✧ Honeybadger.]

♢​♢ THIS IS HOW LEGENDS ARE MADE ♢♢​

---

honeypaw & 08 moons & trans. male & he/him & windclan moor runner apprentice ​

---

Honeypaw doesn't seem to notice the somber mood, instead the ginger feline is quick to make his own presence known upon joining the older felines, steely gaze all but glittering. "I like being a moor runner, nothing beats the feel of the wind in your fur," but then he pauses, contemplating - "Being a tunneler sounds just as nice though, doing starclans work where they can't reach," or at least, that's what he's always assumed. The tunnels are endlessly dark, so how can the stars light reach to shine upon the pels of his clanmates. Badgermoon asks just that though, and whiskers quiver - perhaps he'll get his answer.

— like iron from the fire gettin&#039; stronger ☀︎

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• — a strange looking feline with nearly every shade of red upon his coat, and a badger-like mask of white upon his face. honeypaw is usually quite friendly and outgoing, an upbeat sort of personality; but when faced with those outside of windclan his demeanor is brutal and scathing.
  
  — physically medium && mentally medium
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#fed053]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

Her limbs ache as she dredges a path through the gorse tunnel, almost directly to the fresh kill pile. Scorchpaw's day had been long, and the heat had mired her dark pelt for much of the day so that she felt desperate for a simple tree or two to take cover beneath. But it had at least not been the hardest day as an apprentice-- the hardest day had undoubtedly been her first one, though she'd kept such a fact from Frostpaw and Luckypaw when they'd all reconvened at the end of it. And, she supposes that it isn't that bad now, either. The wind blew resuscitation over the moors and cooled the girl's lungs. It was comfortable. Unfortunately, it only took some eavesdropping to set her heart aflame once more.

Scorchpaw fetches a meal and retreats to the outskirts of the conversation, smoky gaze fixed on the chittering cats. They talk about the tunnels, and she takes a deliberate bite of the lark she'd chosen. The tunnels are certainly a sore spot for her still, though it stings less like a fresh wound and more like a deep bruise now; the pain of her path, so altered from what she'd thought would be reality, has dulled over time, sinking beneath her flesh and reaching to the core of her, harder to press upon but still effective in making her ache. Lucky for her, she's been working on rebuilding her pride. After all, she'd caught a mouse the other day-- the first of her litter to achieve such a thing. Never mind the fact that she hasn't caught one since.

"I like being a moor runner, too," the girl chimes in, joining Honeypaw's running tongue, though she's only willing to agree with half of his assessment. "It's nice to actually feel the wind in your fur." Like you're supposed to, when you're a WindClanner, she tacks on, but says nothing of the sort. She wouldn't dare while Sootstar is around-- only the Clan's most famous tunneler.​

​