pafp tracing stars [tragic backstory sharing hour]

[SCORCHSTAR]

Scorchstreak is admittedly not a particularly curious cat. The hidden depths and complexities of her clanmates do not interest her as much as they should, and as a result she doesn’t know crucial information about some of her clanmates. Maybe if she learns more about them, she can better pick out the likely traitors among them.

Lambcurl does not strike her as a potential traitor; he is strange, yes. Odd. But not necessarily an enemy. No, he seems a loyal enough clanmate, no matter how she may distrust him for his oddities. She looks upon the tom with bright eyes, having just emerged from the tunnels for the first time today. Dirt streaks down her back, but Scorchstreak never minds it. "So. How did you come to be in WindClan?" She doesn’t meet his startling, wide-eyed gaze, but asks the question so that it’s clearly directed toward him.

// @LAMBCURL.
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[ MONSTROUS WOMAN ]​

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[LAMBCURL.]

He speaks to others more often than they speak to him. A pale face lifts, and to his fellow tunneler, he stares. Perhaps it is an odd few moments. The seconds drag on longer than he realizes. And then, he perks, the curls around his ears turning forward. She does not look at him, and that is fine. Blurred as she may be, she burns brightly beside him, still. And excitement burns up his spine, as well. Rare treat it was, to be asked, and asked something he cares so much about, as well. "Oh. Well, I..."

Loss of words, for a moment. There's much for him to say, but never has he said so much. His lips feel dry. "I'd never gone outside much before... and..." His paws knead at the ground. Perhaps not anxiously, but rather, with the lack of something for them to do. "I did... And I saw the stars..." They had gleamed so prettily, so much prettier than the dry bark walls. So small, so many of them, no bigger than leaf-bare mice. And yet, in their grand collective, he felt like they were larger than life. "I was sad. So sad I'd been ignoring them all my life. so I left."

There were few places to stay out on this harsh plane. Without a roof over his head, without a steady flow of barn mice, huddling for warmth in the same way he did. It is only natural that he ended up here, and so, he feels no need to go any further. He dips his head, suddenly reverent. His face pinches with the lights' tears. "...How– Who else?"​

 

[AMBERTAIL]

They do not speak of their own past. Whispers cross their heightened senses, voices that cut off when his paws take him through the threshold of their politeness. His sister, her stories, the guilt that he carries with him even still. They are a wounded lot, these tunnelers. This Clan. He follows the others out, and does not question who Scorchstreak speaks to. It is not him; they know how he came to be. Instead, the blind tom listens in silence to Lambcurl's halting speech. His head tilts, his unfocused eyes turned towards the sky. Is there sunlight upon his face? Leafbare offers little warmth. He can't tell if it is day or night, and suddenly that is a terrible thing in the face of Lambcurl's reverence. He had never seen the stars. Were they worth everything, the way that he makes it seem they are?

He does not speak, not yet. Doesn't dare break to their conversation with his questions. Yet they tread a little closer, shoulders threatening to touch, as they wait for elaboration or invitation. He wonders if Scorchstreak will tell her own story now.

˗ˏˋ〚  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〛´ˎ˗

• ooc: —
• ──── ambertail. tunneler of windclan. nb, he or they.
  ──── adult, though precise age unlabeled as of now.
  ──── sexuality unknown. a strange windclan cryptid.
  
  ──── a tiny, yet proportionally long-limbed tortoiseshell with unfocused amber eyes. though they retain their color, ambertail is blind. those who don't know as much may be confused, and will certainly be met with dry responses from the tunneler himself.
• "speech"

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[SCORCHSTAR]

The calico’s posture stiffens when Lambcurl says that he’d never gone outside—had the pure white tunneler been a house cat before joining WindClan? Scorchstreak spent a while living in the alleys of the twolegplace, but had never set foot inside one of their homes during her stay there. They wonder what all the tom has seen, what life in a human’s house looks like. For a moment they consider questioning the pale warrior, asking what it was like—but recalling the clan’s views on house cats, Scorchstreak keeps their mouth graciously shut.

Lambcurl speaks of the stars, ignoring them, being sad about not seeing them all that time. The way he speaks is odd, as odd as Lambcurl himself is, and the tunneler tilts their chin up to narrow golden eyes at him. "The stars are exceptional, I couldn’t imagine living a life never seeing them." They, personally, aren’t that great a fan of the stars—the open sky overhead makes them feel exposed, vulnerable with no structure around them. But they can appreciate the sparkling stars dotting the sky on especially clear nights.

Another tunneler’s approach is marked by the sound of soft pawsteps, and she shifts to glance at them. Ambertail doesn’t offer to speak next, doesn’t say anything at all, and Scorchstreak sighs. It appears that it’s her turn. "I lived in many places before coming here," she says, tilting her head to the side as she considers her childhood once again. "Lived in an empty badger den until I was old enough to be on my own, then I lived in a forest near the river for a while."

She looks to Lambcurl as she continues, wondering whether he will comment on any part of her speech. "The forest was nearby the twolegplace; that’s where I had my son. We were eventually driven from the forest, though, and ended up here not long after." She breezes past the mention of her Finnegan—the traitor Dappledsun. He isn’t even worth wasting breath on, not anymore. Her joining WindClan truly was lucky happenstance, coming across the clan as they were recruiting outsiders into their ranks.
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[ MONSTROUS WOMAN ]​

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[WINDSTRIDER]

Out of place they were, amongst the tunnelers. What an honourable population, and yet they felt shy to approach them, keenly aware of the close proximity of the tunnels. A jigsaw piece which didn't fit. This was a domain that was not theirs to keep, but they must keep connected for their blood's sake. Windstrider, with their shifting eyes, moved closer. Childish curiosity bubbling in their heart, like huddling around time-whittled taletellers: they wanted to know the stories.

They were the pioneer of clanborn, a first of the moors. So, their past was merely a fraction of what some of their peers had gone through. Experienced. Endured. Windstrider was only vaguely aware of the hardships outsiders faced. It made them naturally rough about it, even when the rogues had been recruited in. Picking idly at grass with their claws, Lambcurl's and Scorchstreak's stories had them questioning, too fast, barely any sticking. What did he mean by outside? How could he have ignored the ancestors at all? What was living in a badger den like? Did the twolegs bother her? They heard son, and wondered, but the inquiry died on their tongue.

All of it melted, and Windstrider was no longer a inevitable interrogator, seeking answers. Instead, they nodded, an infinitesimal motion. Honey-hued eyes find Ambertail, the other listener, and they couldn't help but ask, "Where were you before the moors, Ambertail?"​

 

[Badgermoon]

Windstrider would not be the only moor-runner for long, as - upon spotting a group of his Clanmates - Badgermoon deviated from his idle pursuit of a stale rabbit scent-trail and approached, white-tipped ears pricking in interest. More information about his fellow WindClanners was always welcome, in part because he hoped that by knowing them he could more easily foresee danger or disloyalty. The recent exodus of traitors had left a sour taste in his mouth, and he had sworn to himself that he would not be caught by surprise again. He would die for any of these cats - wasn't that his job? - and he wanted to know they all would return the favor. Or, if not that, at least they'd bury him beneath the stars, perhaps even adorn his grave with a rock from the Moonstone. With an unexpected jolt in his stomach, he thought of Curlewnose standing over his grave; as quickly as the idea came to mind, though, he shoved it away. Not now.

"We are blessed to always be in StarClan's sight." this was the broad-shouldered tomcat's sole contribution as he fell into a sitting position, curling his dark tail over his forepaws. He offered a casual smile to his Clanmates, content to listen as they spoke about their backstories; only his yellow eyes, bright and keen, indicated his acute interest in the conversation. In no way did he appear inclined to share about his own past.​

 

[AMBERTAIL]

There is bitterness he cannot reconcile as they speak of the stars. I couldn't imagine a life never seeing them. It roils and bubbles and burns in their chest, a hate and an exhaustion. Ambertail's unfocused eyes turn away from his clanmates; he has learned that he cannot see them, they do not offer the anonymity in return. They can see the way that his face twists, and more often than not they do not like it. Better to face the dirt. Away from their precious stars that he will never see. Lambcurl knows, in a way, but this enlightenment, this realization– it will never come. The tunneler will always be in the dark. So sad, he says, and Ambertail knows the grief like nothing else. It will not leave him alone.

He thinks of leaving, but it is not fast enough. The moor runners swarm them, large enough that their shoulders block out the sounds of the breeze. Once their paws are idle, the small cat feels even more isolated than he usually does. His paws crunch gently against the grass in search of noise, touch, truth outside of these voices. One of them even says his name, and Ambertail's heart stutters. Windstrider. One of Soot's. He cannot scorn this one. Unfocused amber eyes are still facing the ground when he manages to speak, words tumbling out. "No. We– we were here. Across the sun-warmed path, that roars and shakes." The Thunderpath. He had never seen the monsters that came by. "By the stones. We hunted voles in the crevices." She was so much better at it than I was.

He does not say more, or ask the others to speak their own stories. He knows of Windstrider. Will not bother Badgermoon. Their thoughts remain on the stars, and how they have blessed this entire clan but him.

˗ˏˋ〚  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〛´ˎ˗

• ooc: —
• ──── ambertail. tunneler of windclan. nb, he or they.
  ──── adult, though precise age unlabeled as of now.
  ──── sexuality unknown. a strange windclan cryptid.
  
  ──── a tiny, yet proportionally long-limbed tortoiseshell with unfocused amber eyes. though they retain their color, ambertail is blind. those who don't know as much may be confused, and will certainly be met with dry responses from the tunneler himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

The child of Sootstar who approaches next is not a tunneler, but a moor runner, and Scorchstreak first gives an inquisitive tilt of her head. She isn’t too familiar with the leader’s first litter, regrettably, but she’s trying to fix her less-than-stellar relations today. That’s the whole point of this conversation. They do not offer their own tale, though, and Scorchstreak will not press on the matter—though if her beliefs are correct, the reasoning for Windstrider’s silence is not a negative one. Perhaps the younger feline doesn’t think they have anything to offer, or perhaps they are content to just listen. They ask after Ambertail’s life before the moors, so Scorchstreak is inclined to believe that Windstrider is simply curious.

Badgermoon, somewhat pointedly, does not interject with his own background either. The deputy looks interested in their conversation, but like Windstrider he makes no attempt to share much about himself. Scorchstreak wonders what the tom was like before WindClan’s formation—is he hiding some terrible secret, some awful guilt? Or is he just not fond of sharing personal information? She will leave him to his secrets, of course, but the questions pluck at her mind.

Scorchstreak’s attention is pulled back to Ambertail when they begin speaking, eyes trained on the ground. She knows the other tunneler has little to no sight—the exact specifics are lost on her, but she has learned enough about Ambertail to understand that they can’t see much—so the act of staring toward the ground confuses her. Are they hiding something? No, it seems not, because Ambertail speaks of living here before here was WindClan and Sootstar and an entire crew of cats. An original tunneler, then; Scorchstreak respects that. "You must be very knowledgeable about the land, then. I’m glad to have you here with us, and in the tunnels." It’s the truth, plain as can be. Though he cannot see, vision has never been of consequence down in the pitch-dark depths of the tunnels.
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[ MONSTROUS WOMAN ]​

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