camp TWO WEEKS + o, sharing tongues

[BLAZESTAR]

The sun is high, and for the first time in moons, Blazestar can feel the warmth absorb through his thick fur and into the marrow in his bones. It's almost temperate outside, though the wind carries a nip and the ground remains almost frosty. Blazestar feels as though it's a good sign -- a sign of what, he doesn't know, but the appearance of the sun has put him in a rare positive mood.

For once, when he settles into the middle of their camp, he does not dwell on Burnpaw and Moonpaw alienating their siblings. He does not rake his own claws over his heart by thinking of the unborn kits his mate carries. He will never stop wishing her flank could warm his side, but in the moment, he can comfort himself knowing his Clanmates are with him.

"Maybe newleaf will come early this year," he says, blinking blue eyes sleepily and beginning to lazily wash. He speaks to whoever would come to join him. "I can't wait for this season to be over." It had been his worst leafbare, physically and emotionally. But he wouldn't trade it for a comfortable warm life watching snow fall from his housefolk's nest. He's here with his Clan, and it's enough to keep him going.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[Orangestar]

"Hope so, I'm sick of the slush." Orangeblossom works at her paw with more intensity than her leader, choosing to swipe it over her ears before she moves on to smoothing her neck fur. Her long pelt often begets mess, but while she's not vain the deputy prefers to keep the mass of ginger and white in check.

"What do you think of greenleaf, anyway?" She asks Blazestar with a noncommittal hum, though a glance of her brown eyes around to the group opens the question to any other SkyClanner with an answer.

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

The fur on his front, parted by a circular scar, was stubborn. Silversmoke would lick it down and the tufts would curl and shoot upwards, or westwards, or any direction other than where they needed to be. As much as the spotted tabby thrived in combat, the war against his own body was not one he looked forwards to for he knew he would not win. He gave up quickly and instead moved to nip at his own tail, pulling out clumps of knotted fur and forest floor that had gotten trapped in it. Narrow pupils shot upwards as Orangeblossom asked a question, his tufted ears angling forwards as he tried to determine who she'd aimed it towards. Silversmoke had been content to stay quiet, listening to the Leader and Deputy make small talk didn't interest him unless the state of the clan was brought up, but unintentionally, it seemed that the latter had involved him in the talk. Silversmoke lifted his large head, slowly blinking as he considered her inquiry. Greenleaf was still some time away, was it not? He only remembered the noise it brought to the Twoleg place, the suffocating fumes of monsters, and the barks of dogs let off their leashes to terrorise the stray cats.

Yet, it was a time of hope within the clans, a time to expand for preparation when leafbare inevitably caused them to shrink again. It seemed like a hopeless endeavour to fight against the whims of the seasons, but an important one all the same - he would take the hardships of the forest over the hardships of kittypet life anyday. "Uncomfortable heat aside... it's important. We need it for our herbs and to refill our bellies after hardship, I can't give much more of an opinion on something that just... is." It didn't matter if he hated greenleaf or loved it, it wouldn't change its arrival. Raising a paw, the maine coon began tentatively licking it, as if unused to such an act in front of company. Sharing tongues wasn't something he liked to get involved with... until recently. He still cursed Hailstone for opening him up to the idea of befriending other clanmates, he'd been content to share a goal with the other SkyClanners and not have to worry about much else, now, he could feel himself getting more worried for their safety than ever before. "It will stop the other clans from being so competitive for a while." He did not commit to treating that statement positively or negatively.




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[CHRYSALISWING]

A breath releasing into mist. The cold ebbing away into the drafts. The recompense of graced spring. That was what the weather felt like to him. New-leaf was approaching, and the chimaera couldn't be happier.

Chrysalispaw awoke today and noticed how the sun peeled through the winter, as though it had finally garnered the strength to overpower the tides of leaf-bare, and the hand of warmth peeked through the saline peaks of a crueler season. The grey clouds had not marred the sky, those indecisive hues flipping between storm and mere dreariness. For the first time in a long time, Chrys could confidently saw that he could see the sun, in glory and not enfolded. Though, the winds still proved snappy in the way they danced about him, a staccato beat that toyed with tousles and whipped at whiskers. That was still an annoyance, but he would meet winter's bite with a lashing tongue of his own flame. Ice could not overcome fire, he found, so it was important to keep one's spirits up. Yhe sludge of snow-and-soil still ruminated about the camp, like the remnants of a nightmare long-past, the passing ache of dread that only gnawed. Ribs still pushed against sallow skin, yet did not falter.

"I hope it comes sooner than later." Came the curtly snappish voice of the tomcat, as harsh as the rime that rusted the branches, as sharp as the wit carved upon tempered tongue. Despite all his grievances, his demeanor was just as graceful as the savage season. He sat down and loaf-ed near the gathering group of cats, as it was the best way to conserve heat in trying times. His glare softened just a bit in the presence of both his leader and deputy, though never lost its luster, like a shining diamond through the rough of the alabaster. "The cold is unbearable. Not to mention, I can't even hunt in the white snow."​

 

[SLATESNARL]

Sharing tongues was still a foreign concept to Slate, a tom who had lived on the streets for nearly two years and mostly kept to himself. He was used to scaring opposing ferals off, raising his hackles and snarling at anyone who dared tread near his makeshift den. Now, he was expected to bond with other cats. This practice of "sharing tongues" involved taking time out of one's day to settle down, groom, and make small talk amongst clanmates. Slate supposed he could manage something so simple, but letting other cats invade his personal space and even so much as groom him was a hard line he drew.

Still lingering within the general vicinity of the conversation but keeping to his own corner of sorts, Slate flicks an ear and listens in on what the others are discussing. He, too, was ready for this numbingly cold season to be over and done with. However, it was a mistake to think that hardships would cease solely because of the melting snow. "There will always be greedy cats no matter the season. A little change in weather won't stop anything." The gruff male snorts after Silversmoke's input.

With a huff, the large tom rests his head upon his paws. "Just give it time. Always seems to be some drama going on with these clans." He speaks from the perspective of a rogue now, someone who had been observing the lifestyle of the wild clans for more than a moon. Slate still doesn't fully consider himself a clan cat and, frankly, isn't sure he ever will. He finds himself barely scraping by, just going on patrols and hunting and occupying himself with menial tasks in order to carry his weight. He was really only sticking around for the sake of his littermate. Would he ever truly care about the bickering and fighting that took place between these groups?​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

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  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• —— decided to officially remain in skyclan as a warrior
  —— participated in battle with windclan, currently recovering from belly scratches and a bite mark on hind leg
  

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[Fireflyglow]

"With quiet, comes trouble, pops." Fireflypaw is slow to speak up, though the lazy way he drags his paws through the snow shows his state at the moment. His fur is fluffed up twofold, shoulders slouched as he seats himself behind his father so he could begin to groom him between his ears, a paw resting on fire-and-cream shoulders.

"I'm personally not looking forward to new-leaf," He hums aloud, head swiveling to look at his clanmates. "What if something bad happens, and we can't fix it? What if it gets too hot, and the plants all die out?"​

 

[ThistleBack]

Thistleback is itching his neck with a few subconscious strikes under his collar, nicking himself a time or two but the healing wound was worse than fleas. His pelt hardly got the necessary grooming but it was never messy, never knotted. His coat was always shiny and sticking out like barbs. He resembled a black pine, simply put.

The only thing he couldn’t stand in his pelt was burrs, so he tugs them a big viciously as the others groom themselves. He had settled among them with ease, eyes distracted by a distant hovering vulture.

Jowls tinted red from a prvious meal, he tuned into the worries and woes of the coming newleaf. Like a hog’s nose badgering the soil for roots, their each and every concern spoken. Thistleback idles his stare on Silversmoke, as he suggests his opinion is obsolete considering the inevitable.

Thistleback liked the pinch of leafbare, it kept him vigilant and reminded his skin to stay tough. However, it had also been a time of great pain- both in his childhood and now. " we’re the only clan minding our own sodding business " Thistleback chimes with a jagged smirk toward Slate. Chyrsalispaw, the chronically agitated speaks up about his inability to hunt. Thistleback props the edge of his jaw on his arm.

" what if all the pines in the forest fall and crush us ? " he peers toward Fireflypaw now as he sits beside his father. The resemblance rather uncanny. " worrying about everything only makes you suffer twice, lad. anything can be fixed- every problem has a solution. Conventional or otherwise. " he chuckles, hoarse vocals rattling.

" I look forward to a nice hot rock and a juicy lizard " he smiles his grime wedged smile with faint bliss at the thought of a scaly snack.

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OOC INFO REF

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  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring quillpaw & Snowpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
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