pafp VENTING ╱ NOT BY BONE ´ˎ˗

[SUNNVAR]

The hare was a fine catch, still plump with greenleaf fat and large enough to fill several bellies– hard fought, particularly for one not as quick on his feet as some of his clanmates, but it was a battle won. Now they would celebrate. The patrol disbands. He dismisses Adderpaw to rest with a dip of his head and a grateful smile; he holds the hare in his jaws, and treks deeper into camp. With the sun still high above their heads, plenty of daylight remains and the clan seems equal parts bustling and empty. Many of the patrols would be returning or leaving soon at this strange changing of shifts, but he does not concern himself with those that may join him– the warrior has already accomplished his goal as seaglass eyes fall to Weaselclaw.

Something heavy has hung over the other warrior's head for what seems like a moon now. With all that has happened, his mate losing a life and his kittens marked by others' cruelty. He drops the hare before him and settles to his belly across from him. There is no moment of hesitation or question of boundaries. When these things are concerned, Sunstride will beg forgiveness before permission. "You seem heavy with thought as of late. Should you not try and set some of it down?"

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: i'd like the tone of this thread to remain mellow / semi-serious! and please wait for @WEASELCLAW

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw has been noticeably dour for the past moon. All that has happened—Adderpaw’s injury, Cottonpaw’s capture, WindClan’s losses, Sootstar’s death—shrinks in comparison to the terrible secret he carries in his heart. No longer a warrior of StarClan, Weaselclaw has faltered. If he’s not that—what is he? What will he continue to be? He’d not expected to have a crisis of faith, and the implications of Sootstar’s latest demise has sent him spiraling. Somewhere, somehow, there is an awful dark place full of carrion and isolation, and he does not want to find it.

And yet, he will not allow her to find it—or whatever else StarClan implies with this vision—alone. He can’t.

He’s lost in his thoughts, spiraling, when Sunstride sits beside him. Normally he’d smile and greet the other lead warrior with familiarity, camaraderie, but when he looks at him now he thinks about his future. Should Sunstride find out about Sootstar’s fall from grace, what would their relationship turn into? No doubt, no doubt—it would sour quickly, and who knows who Weaselclaw will have to fight to defend the honor of his mate.

He clears his throat, tattered ear flicking uneasily. “You could say that.” He licks his lips, tasting ash on his tongue. “There’s been a lot to think about, though.” He meets Sunstride’s gaze and blinks. “It’s about Adderpaw and Cottonpaw,” he lies. He hates lying. He hates being dishonest to a cat he considers a friend, a comrade. “And about tearing my claws into Smokethroat’s stomach and ripping him from tail to nose.” That part, at least, is only somewhat a lie.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[Bluepool]

Green-leaf was never her favorite time of the year. The sun bore down on them with merciless intensity. If she got up early enough, she could beat the heat and still go on her morning run, racing the rising star across the moors. Patrols during the day, however, were a different story. They left her feeling drained, tired, and when she gets back to camp she is looking forward to finding a nice shady spot to plop down and enjoy her meal.

She can hardly say she blames Weaselclaw for feeling a heavy burden upon his shoulders lately. A lot had happened to him, to his family and though she doesn't mean to eavesdrop, she just happens to hear Weaselclaw and Sunstride's conversation due to proximity. Irritated by the mere mention of RiverClan she begins to angrily pick at the scraps of mouse that rests between her blue paws. "I would be more than happy to hold that fish-face down while you gutted him" she offers. It would be a lie if she were to say she would do it simply for Weaselclaw. However, she did happen to care about her family a good deal and Smokethroat had hurt more than one of them now. She would be more than happy to watch Weaselclaw tear into him like the prey she had devoured earlier.

​

 

[MOORBLOSSOM]

Greenleaf-induced lethargy reduces the apprentice to a fraction of her lively self. The way in which her ebony coat swallows the sun's rays and digests it into a sweltering supply of warmth—it's just impossible to bear, sometimes. Patrols can be very, very awful for this reason, as dragging herself out to the brink of the territory puts her a whisker's length away from collapsing under her own weight. The sole force keeping her afloat is this unceasing hope that, some day, her clanmates will see her for who she is: a stalwart fighter, unswayed by simple things like overheating.

Though, she certainly wouldn't mind learning how to sleep through entire seasons. Bears sure had it good, because not only can they do that, but they get to scare ShadowClanners, too! Moorpaw could bear to be a bear, she thinks.

Semi-lidded, forest-coloured eyes comb through the clearing, reaching a stopping point over the outlines of her favoured warriors: Sunstride, with his stunning pelt patterns; Bluepool, whose name commanded a certain chic which she envied; and Weaselclaw, being her father and all. After a yawn, and then a biiiig stretch, Moorpaw arises to all fours and dawdles over to them at a sluggish pace. What the stars were they talking about? Probably cool adult things, way out of her element. She'd walk over nonetheless.

Bantam ears perk up at the mention of her siblings names. "At least you still have me!" Moorpaw chirps on approach, her limbs weaving around the older, dark-patterned she-cat so she may nestle beside her father. Her front paws curl beneath her chest as she settles, and a soft purr begins to thrum from within her throat. Scarce are the opportunities to be so close to her Pa, hence she makes sure to savour them whenever they come.

Sunstride's form becomes the object of her focus. The clouded tom was right in his observations. These days, Weaselclaw has been wearing a downhearted demeanour... but that's okay. Knowing her father is going through motions similar to her provides the girl with a modicum of comfort, if anything. "RiverClan will get what they deserve, I think," she'd meow, umber strands grazing her cheek as she swivels to look up at her dad. She would prefer him to be unaffected by the stress he faces, but there's little she can do to make it so. "But, like, if I focus on the things that make me feel bad, I feel bad. Have you tried not doing that?"​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

There were some times when Greenleaf weighed heavily on Rattleheart, often when he was aboveground and dealing with the unforgiving sun beating down on the dark parts of his pelt. While his fur greedily drinking up the sunlight could be a boon for staying warm in Leafbare, he often found himself rolling over onto his back just to keep himself from overheating whenever he wasn't hidden down in the tunnels. Granted he couldn't exactly do that whenever he wasn't in camp - or at least he didn't want to, since exposing his belly to the world seemed an awful idea with how many enemies Windclan had. So most of the time he was forced to just power through, or hide down in the tunnels until the breeze was strong enough to grant him some much needed relief.

Today was one of those rare opportunities where he allowed himself to just stretch out in camp, eyes closed and belly-up to the sun as he listened to the usual sounds of the moors surrounding them. The chirping of birds in the distance, the wind howling when it really decided to pick up, patrols coming and going through the tunnels or up and through the gorse and heather. And finally, a conversation. Not one that he was intentionally eavesdropping on, but one he heard the beginning of nevertheless. His ear twitched as he listened to Weaselclaw's response, an unsurprising one to say the least. Rattleheart had no children of his own, but he had to imagine he would be furious if any of the other clans chose to lay a paw - or worse, their claws - on one of his hypothetical offspring. The thought of Twolegs touching them was similarly rage-inducing, but he would be the first to admit he didn't feel the same fury as Sootstar or Weaselclaw over Adderpaw choosing to keep the tag on his ear.

It took a moment before the tom finally rolled over, shaking himself out and slowly making his way over to where Weaselclaw laid, offering the lead warrior what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. "There does seem to be plenty to be down about right now... but Moorpaw is right. Maybe you'll feel a bit better if you focus on the future instead. Although... I suppose thinking about getting revenge on Smokethroat is a way of thinking about the future." It wasn't a secret that Rattleheart wasn't a huge fan of violence - a stark contrast to most Windclanners - but Smokethroat had hurt an innocent child. He couldn't blame Weaselclaw for wanting revenge for that.
​

[ PENNED BY EO ]​

 

[SUNNVAR]

He chuckles softly as the others talk, though a full mouth makes for a poor conversationalist. All he may do is listen to them for a moment, try and bask in the momentary warmth. Though he is not part of it, his intention is to amplify– to reflect, and show Weaselclaw his clanmates from another angle. They care for him. All those that crowd around do in their way. Perhaps he will see that and it will soothe him. If not, at least he will have a good meal out of this. Sunstride shoves the hare towards the other warrior, urging him to take a bite. "Freshly caught," he explains. "Best eaten while it is warm, I think." He looks to the others, Bluepool with prey of her own, but nudges them all towards the hare nonetheless. Ther should be plenty to share among them all.

"Tell me–" a pause, and the way that he steers them from talk of Smokethroat and RiverClan is nearly audible. Like cresting a wave, or fighting the tide, Sunstride pulls them from a rocky shore and towards what he hopes to be calmer waters. "What is your fondest memory of your kittens, when they were young?" A careful gaze pins to pale eyes, searching and watchful though he does not pry. "Looking back, it is hard to imagine anything of my father aside from when I left him. I wonder if he must think the same of me. Do you recall everything you have done with them?" He glances to Moorpaw, and hopes that his question does not dig too terribly where the young apprentice might be hurt by what he says.

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

His Clanmates draw near, settling near Sunstride and Weaselclaw with comfortable familiarity. Part of him aches at their kindness. How is he repaying it—by deceiving them, by continuing to infuriate StarClan by supporting Sootstar after knowing the truth? The tabby clears his throat, tail beginning to swish. Bluepool’s silver pelt catches his eye; she tells him with gusto that she would be glad to help him gut Smokethroat. “Someday, he will be crushed under my claws.” It’s said simply, a fact. One way or the other, they would meet in battle again, and eventually it would be the last time.

His ears flick at the approach of his eldest kit. Some of his apprehension dissipates. She chirps, “At least you still have me!” The press of her dark body to his flank calms him somewhat, and he absentmindedly drags a tongue over one velvety black ear. “I do,” he says, blinking down at Moorpaw. “You’d never disobey your parents, would you?” There’s just the slightest, mocking edge to his voice, though his eyes are soft. She tells him earnestly that she tries not to dwell on things that make her feel bad, and asks if he’s tried that. Weaselclaw smiles, amused. “I have. Sometimes it’s hard. But I’ll keep trying if you will.” Perhaps he hasn’t paid enough attention to her after her mentor’s death; had it affected her more deeply than he’d noticed?

Weaselclaw acknowledges Rattleheart with a flick of his tattered ear, as though to remind Scorchstreak’s sibling how deep the rivalry between himself and the now-RiverClan deputy runs. “Sometimes that thought is all that fuels me.” He smirks, white paw grazing Moorpaw’s cheek lightly as he traces one of her tabby stripes. “But the future of WindClan is bright. I’m sure of it.” Blatant lie again. He feels faintly nauseous.

Sunstride listens to the other WindClanners quietly, almost so much so that Weaselclaw has forgotten his presence. The other lead warrior pushes the hare he’d killed toward him, and he dips his head gratefully. “This is a good catch. Perhaps it’s foolish to be down when WindClan is prospering.” He takes a bite of the creature’s flesh, savoring the taste of the moorland. He nudges his daughter, as if to ask her if she wants a bite.

But Sunstride had done more than offer the meal—he offers Weaselclaw an opportunity to talk about his kits. A good memory, and surely he has many of those? The tabby’s eyes flash, remembering the grueling afternoon of his children’s births, an afternoon that had darkened into night and blossomed again with dawn. Five healthy kits, all strong enough to survive the tail-end of leafbare and the trek back to camp. He remembers meeting Sootstar’s eyes, exhausted but bright with pride, and declaring their kits would one day give the forest reason to remember their names.

“They’re birth,” he murmurs. “It was difficult to watch Sootstar in that much pain, but the moment I laid eyes on them…” he closes his eyes, brow twitching. “I had such great plans for them all.” The implication he’s laid bare to his Clanmates is obvious, but Weaselclaw does not take it back. His eyes are dim with memory.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​