duskclan What a wonderful world ‡ Watching the fire

[Ebonylight.]

*+:｡.｡ "Listen, listen closely," Ebonylight's voice is a soft purr, almost a whisper as bliss courses through her. Although the smoke that rises from the moorland remains unavoidable even for those trapped at the roots of Highstones, Ebonylight remains certain that Duskclan is blessed. The coughing she's experienced is nothing compared to what Windclan must be going through. Their precious homeland burning away as fire consumes the territory that had been rightfully Sootstar's and her loyalists. Ebonylight never believed in the birdshit that the medicine cats spouted, but suddenly Ebonylight swears he can see the starry paws of her great Queen, raking her talons through the fields, the very pelts of her betrayers. Soot and ash dance with her attack, the acrid taste upon Ebonylight's tongue sweeter than nectar.
"@GRAVELKIT , come here" Ebby would purr, pulling forward his new child to sit beside him. Licking her nose affectionately, he'd grab her head with a paw and ensure her eyes were trained upon the distant roaring of flame. "Listen closely, my sweet, and you'll hear their screams red tinged from the smoke, Ebonylight's eyes flash with delight, "The screams of those that have betrayed your Queen, Sootstar, as even in death she lays siege to what has always been hers and hers alone to take" Joy burns through his chest, teeth exposed to the fire's light as he stares, "We're on the right side, my little one. You're safe here under her protection

After all this time, wondering if Ebonylight had made the right decision, he could finally rest easy knowing his answer. Windclan must be burning to death as they speak, choking on ash as they deserve. Here, after following that crazed woman, Ebonylight is safe. It's a shame about Nightingalecry and the kits, but that's what she gets for not listening to him. You win some and you lose some, Ebonylight supposes.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 4/13/24

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  GENERAL:
  ‡ Ebonylight
  ‡ DFAB— He/They/She — Pansexual
  ‡ 18 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ‡ Duskclan (Rogue)
  ‡ Mates with Nightingalecry, father to Frightkit, Deathkit and Witherkit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ‡ Physically hard | mentally hard
  ‡ Attack in bold black
  
  injuries: None currently
  

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[PRIVETFROST]

Their enemy repented.

Fern-green eyes captured the burning plains, wide as the looking glass that cupped suffering and agony in its curves, a perfect picture of the observant and ambiguous. Reedlike whiskers twitched as the curdling scent of smoke caught upon his keen nose, with disgust prickling at his tongue and threatening to erupt from his satin throat in retches and rambles. He did not say anything, though, lest he expose weakness to the Duskclanners besides him. After all, what sort of Duskclan cat would he be if he shirked in the face of truest destiny? Privetpaw stood besides Ebonylight and Gravelkit, watching fervid flame feed upon the fields that harbored the enemy, a divine punishment enacted upon the world he stood at the frays at, as though thorny prayer had unfurled and come true. Ebony said something about Sootstar rising from the dead and razing through the moors with nettle-sharp claws and wrath of waxing sea. It must be what the darkness of the sun signified. Yes, that must be true. Wine-dark face did not twist into inimical grimace, an imitation of the pain inflicted onto the apogee of foes. The boy simply watched. He only wished he were closer, so he could truly hear the screams of those whos flesh melted from bone.

𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦 ── X ── 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

• OOC:
  
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  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 4 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

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[Thriftfeather]

There is a gulf of distance between himself and WindClan now. That is an easy thing to forget, sometimes. Thriftfeather is no longer there: he is here now, surrounded by prickly-scrub and briar rose. He is here now, watching the rising black smoke as it reaches for the sky and blinking as if it is his own eyes that are burning. He is here: he lives here now, he has no need to fear the fire.

He has every reason to celebrate it.

"It will stop," Thriftfeather sits as he speaks, hunches over himself. He's always been too large for himself—for a WindClanner. For a Duskclanner, perhaps he is the perfect size, "And when it does—when the fire's gone..."

The shape of what he wants to ask hangs in front of him. Thriftfeather hesitates. It feels multiparted. It feels as though it should be complicated to say. The truth that it is a simple question sits wrong on his tongue. His green eyes flick between Ebonylight and Privetpaw, nervous. "When the fire's gone, will WindClan be gone with it? Would the moors be open?"

He imagines blackened grasses and soot dusting the high grounds. He imagines the camp he has spent the majority of his life in—that he had fought for—and feels so suddenly homesick that he finds himself standing. His body, at once, had demanded action when there was none to be taken.

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 14 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

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