camp WHEN GOD COMES BACK ↷ [ RETURN ]

[smogstar]

Familiarity engulfed him completely the moment he'd crossed into his homeland, and it deepened into an irresistable pull with every pawstep. It would seem Leaf-fall had lain its firm grip on the land in his absence. Half-bare trees jut out in odd junctures, their needles and bristles collecting in blankets at the stumps, skeletal branches hanging limp and touching the floor. Delving deeper into the territory revealed the swamplands' true identity piece by piece. Grimy and ooze-laden swamp pools began to border the beaten path, the soil slowly but surely adopting a less-than-solid state. Frogs, even this late into the season, sang in their tireless chorus of croaks and peeps.

Smogmaw missed this place. He missed it so much. Formerly sceptical about staying here, the tom now finds nowhere else more appealing. This was home, through and through, and every bone in his weary body longed for a good sleep in his half-ruined den. A moon-and-a-half straight of walking, journeying, travelling, climbing, spelunking, and running for his life. He needed a fucking nap.

Cold, sludgy muck fashions a stylish layer around his once-silver paws. It's the traditional look for his people, and carried with it is an astringent aroma, one befitting for a cat of higher standing in ShadowClan's hierarchy; stagnant water and rotting vegetation mixed in a pungent blend, a scent that would churn all uninitiated stomachs. A most welcomed addition to his usual musk.

Starlingheart, Clearheart, and Sharppaw keep pace at his side, mouthes teeming with lungwort, but their steps are hardly synchronised. This becomes painfully apparent when camp's pine wall peeks through the reeds. Smogmaw, at that point, switched from a prudent trot to a powerful bound. Reignited pain sets his hips ablaze, and every following pain spread the flame further. It mattered little. Whether or not his companions reproduced his uptake in speed, or were left behind in his dust, the deputy breached through the hollow's main entrance.

He's in camp. He's home. The outpouring of relief in his system, the tension lifted from his shoulders, is wonderfully cathartic.

Lungwort stalks fall from his mouth as he puts on perhaps the ugliest grin anyone has ever seen. "What a shabby hole," he mutters as he swept his gaze across the camp's interior. "Surprised that weeds bother growing here."

It's a rare instance where he doesn't have to be on the defensive for every meagre thing. He can afford some emotion slipping through the cracks, even if it manifests smile worthy of making a kit cry. But he's brimming with reasons to rejoice. There's no sense in smothering how he feels.

For one, Sharppaw and him are as good as done. The wiry-furred feline left no doubts about her capabilities throughout the journey, and had well-earned his warrior name. Not a season longer will he be subjected to her nonsensical preoccupations, nor her to his offhand training methods.

Secondly, the lungwort. What more needed to be described? They'd gotten their paws on the cure and saved the day. Yellowcough will fade into distant memory, and in the coming days, they'll establish a new normal.

Lastly, and above all else, the longing he had to reunite with his family was at a physical, metaphysical, and emotional high. By how much had his four grown since he'd left? Eyes strained for Garlicpaw, Ashenpaw, and Applepaw's two-toned pelts and woolly manes amidst the gathering clanmates. There stood no question that they'd been on their most refined behaviour, and he was very eagre to hear about the latest developments in KitClan. Swanpaw, of course, remained in quarantine with mom. He'll have to pay both a visit as soon as formalities are out of the way. Even in the case that he gets infected from doing so, ShadowClan now had enough lungwort to cure them three times over. A little bit of Yellowcough would be a small sacrifice for the ecstasy of burying his face in Halfshade's pelt.

⁂

// everyone can post but please do not double-post until chilledstar replies!
// it's worth noting that magpiepaw has stayed behind for a while, but will return in a few days. honeyjaw is not with them ;^[
// thread takes place after the kit-napping!
// @SHARPPAW., @clearheart , @STARLINGHEART
​

 

[Garlicheart]

Garlicpaw is on the verge of a panic attack. She has been pacing camp nonstop ever since her two little siblings went missing. Where are they? Were they hurt? They must be lost and scared, she HAS to find them!! She has to, those are HER little siblings and its HER job to protect them! She NEEDS to find them, nothing will be okay until they are right back in the nursery where they belong.

When the returning cats come through the entrance of camp, she is taken by surprise. Smogmaw stands before them with lungwort in his jaws and...

She barely registers the other cats. She knows they are there, is happy that they are, but....

Tears well up in her eyes as she stumbles into a trot to her father. "D-dad..." She whimpers. This isn't fair... She presses her face into his chest and lets her tears fall. The mixture of emotions is almost too much. Fear, stress, grief, all colliding with the relief and happiness of her father coming home. But all of these are crushed under the sense of foreboding that she feels....Because Smogmaw doesn't know.

He doesn't know what has happened....To Halfshade, to his kits.... She trembles, not even knowing how to begin. Nothing is okay, and nothing ever will be.​

 

[Starlingheart]

The entire way home Starlingheart is battling with her own mind. Does she tell him right then? In front of everyone? No. If something so tragic happened to her she would want to be told in private, away from prying eyes and listening ears. So she waits and the entire time it is agony. A searing pain in her chest and every beat is filled with sympathy and sadness. Halfshade was dead. Halfshade was dead and Smogmaw had kits who were, all but one, missing.

When finally they get to camp Smogmaw is in such a good mood it seems and she hates this. Hates that she is always the one who must deliver the bad news. Would Smogmaw hate her for what she had done like many of his children now did? Or would he understand? She is unsure but she knows she has to tell him, it’s the right thing to do. "Smogmaw we need to- we need to talk… in private" she says and her voice is quiet, just barely above a whisper and filled with so much pain. Raw and unbearable. Halfshade had been a friend, a protector, a cat she had looked up to and loved. "Theres something- something important I need to tell you"

​

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — //mobile post!!

The journey had been a distant memory of hope now, at least to the tuxedo. His Clanmates had parted from the marshes alongside the selection of cats from the other Clans and departed with a fruitless mission of finding a cure. Sent to pave their way through unknown territory, land never touched by their own paws before.

He had given up hope. Had grown comfortable with the new chaos that wrought through the forest like an aimless breeze.

It felt there were more of them dead or sick than not some days. When they truly struggled to scrounge up enough just for their ill and vulnerable to eat. Their neighbors had been troubled by rogues on top of it all and only days before their forsaken friends returned, all five Clans had been collectively housed within their camp and the Burnt Sycamore.

Now stood before him a ghost. So many were sure they were dead, that orphans were made of. The tuxedo turned a burning stare toward Starlingheart, to Garlicpaw, as they struggled to find the words of what misery he had missed The tragedy they had endured without him.

"You won't find her in there, friend." The word. Friend. It feels like sand on his tongue. It's clear in his tone though, this is not something he found joy in. He found no use in telling the Deputy something alone when they all knew. All of them.

"It was decided someone else... was more important." — tags​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

chilledstar dreaded this moment from the day that halfshade's life was lost. there was nothing that could have been done. even if starlingheart hadn't given that second dose to flintkit, now flintpaw, halfshade still wouldn't have made it because the dose would have been given to heavybranch. nothing could have saved her. no one could have saved her. their eyes looked over at garlicpaw just for a moment before they stood near starlingheart, offering a flick of their tail against her flank in small greeting.

"... where's... where's magpiepaw and honeyjaw?"

acid and bile creep up their throat, and they feel dizzy. had something bad happened to them? they're not sure how much bad news they can take.

"yes... it's better if we speak away from everyone."

sabletuft truly was getting in their last nerve. if he was smart, he would have watched his step, but they doubt he has the brain capacity for anything other than idiocy and hot air.
​

 

[Skunktail]

—————————————————————⊰☆⊱————————————————————

The black and white warrior approaches alongside his sister, fretfully lingering behind her as she gently tries to bring up the terrible knews that was to be shared, stuttering nervously in face of the cats she feels she has wronged. He can not help her, he wishes he could, but all he could offer was his presence.
The elation he feels at their cats returning is soured in several consecutive seconds: Magpiepaw isn't there, Honeyjaw isn't there, Sabletuft is. Unfortunate.
"Sabletuft, either shut your mouth or step out of camp and I'll teach you how." Did he have no sense of tact or compassion? Far be it from Skunktail to defend Smogmaw's feelings when their deputy never really cared for that of others but most cats were born with the sensibilities to not start fires they wouldn't be fine standing in. The black and white tom approached with narrowed eyes, spearmint green and cold as the frost of leafbare's approach. The least the other could do was learn to be quiet if he couldn't even handle the bare minimum of acting right or being a respectable warrior.

☆ ———— promise me she's not your world ☆ ———————— 'Cause Andy, you're a star

• Apprentice Tag: @Briarpaw.
• 
  
  
  Skunktail
  —⊰⋅ Warrior of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Black & white tom w/spearmint green eyes
  —⊰⋅ penned by Rai
  

​

 

[Birdkit [inac]]

—————————————————————⊰♥⊱————————————————————

There are cats coming into the camp and she cheerfully bounds out of the nursery to see what is going on. Maybe they found her siblings finally! The hide-and-seek game would end at long last and she would berate them for being so unfair to her and then they would be forced to play the games she likes most to make it up to her. Birdkit is already thinking up all her favorite playtime shenanigans as she toddles along and stops alongside Garlicpaw - probably the older sibling she liked the most. Applepaw was so frowny all the time and Swanpaw was super sick and the few times she saw Ashenpaw he would angrily walk away from her! So Garlicpaw was her favorite, because Garlicpaw was the most fun. Until Tanglekit and Halfkit came back she would have her at least.
"Did'ya find my sisters?" She squeaked her question upward, looking at all the strangers and then to the more familiar cats like Starlingheart and Chilledstar. "Who are they? You brought back the wrong cats! None of these are Tanglekit or Halfkit!" Her paws stomped, unhappily and pouty as she wiggled in place in her dismay. Did she need to describe them again? How could they get this so wrong? None of these cats were even the same SIZE as her sisters!

🌸the capillaries in my eyes are bursting 🌸if our love died would that be the worst thing

•  
• 
  
  
  Birdkit
  —⊰⋅ Kitten of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Cream/Blue Tabby Chimera w/orange and green eyes.
  —⊰⋅ penned by Rai
  

​

 

[ASHENFALL]

˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 If Ashenpaw's life wasn't already a living nightmare, then it definitely was now. When everyone came back from the battles with their rogue invaders, it was with the sweet pride of victory on their tongues. Ashenpaw, however, limped back shaken and mentor-less, saddled with the knowledge that he'd killed him. The shame compounded with anxiety at the discovery that two of his siblings—loathe as he was to admit that he had even a whisker of care for the little rodents—were ... gone. Disappeared, as if taken by the sky itself.

So when Smogmaw waltzed through the entrance of camp, triumphant and so heartbreakingly ignorant, Ashenpaw could only shrink in smaller on himself. Garlicpaw, about as reactive as he was but many times more affectionate, ran to embrace him, but he stayed where he was.

A flurry of voices sounded seemingly at once, including Sabletuft's insensitive cryptic remarks, and Ashenpaw's heart dropped farther than he could bear. Smogmaw had returned— unharmed and successful, maybe even a hero—to ruins. Everything was ruined.

A flitting blue and amber gaze would move to meet Smogmaw's for a moment, perhaps revealing the rare gleam of something genuine behind Ashenpaw's eyes. "I'm glad you're home safe, Dad," he said quiet and unwavering, despite being in the midst of a freefall.

His eyes would twitch away from the man as quickly as they met him, and his stomach would flip unpleasantly once more. The man of the hour's son rose to his paws not to greet him properly, nor to explain anything more, nor to comfort him, nor to seek comfort for himself, but to flee.

I can't do this, I can't be here. I can't do this, I can't be here. I can't do this, I can't be here. I can't do this, I can't be here. I can't do this, I can't be here. I can't do this, I can't be here.

Breaths already coming short and panicked, Ashenpaw would rush toward the exit, bumping past someone on his way out—why did that become a trend?—but saying nothing, hardly noticing anything outside himself as his vision tunneled down at his own feet as he pushed through the reeds of the camp's entrance. He couldn't watch the fallout that was about to happen.

FOLLOW THE TIDE ˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 WITH THE MONSTERS ON YOUR SHOULDER

• OOC: out ! unless stopped
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw
  — trans male. he/him. 6mo apprentice of shadowclan
  — gay ; single ; not looking
  — longhaired muted blue torbie with heterochromatic pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells like rainsoaked ferns and swamp milkweed
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — fullbody by tropics sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  — currently in an era of grief and anger, approach with caution. all ic opinions!

​

​

 

[scalejaw]

—————————————————【 she/her | menacing 】————————————————

【◈】 Joy is not the emotion she feels when she hears the cats returning. Some of them died, ones that were oh so important to camp, before they could return. She pushed to her aching paws, new scars upon her flank from the rogue battles, and her ears pushed forward towards Smogmaw as he arrived. Family was collapsing around him, the medicine cat and their leader as well.

So she didn't speak as Sabletuft said something out of turn, or that Ashenpaw was ramming into her shoulder as he ran past. None of that mattered, vision sweeping towards the apprentice, then back towards their deputy. A deep breath was sharply inhaled, then pushed outwards. "Welcome home, Smogmaw." She spoke, voice cool and collected. Her nose swept down as she passed Birdkit, gently nudging the kit before she stood back straight.

Her eyes, akin to glowing coals, dipped down towards the lungwort. "We should get those to the sick as soon as possible." She said aloud, vision shifting towards Starlingheart with a cocked head. "Shouldn't we?" Her tone wasn't accusing, but boy, that normally warm exterior she wore in camp was dim and hidden.

"yuh"

[penned by dallas].

​

Last edited: Oct 7, 2023

 

[smogstar]

For a nano-moment, when Garlicpaw stepped from the midst, the smile he wore stretched as far as his gums would allow. It lost its hold on him shortly thereafter. There is no joyful homecoming here, only her soppy tears saturating the smoky tufts along his chest. "Are... you okay?" he prods in a soft-spoken manner. Lungs fussed for the air stolen by his daughter's impact. It'd been a headbutt more than all else. "What's wrong with you, Garlicpaw?" comes a second question, wistful tone matching the fading grin. "I'm home, aren't I?"

Every mental muscle is put to work as he lends an ear to her sobs, struggling to conjure up a reason, some hypothesis or line of logic, to interpret why she was the way she was. He comes up short, and ends up perplexed. Worryingly so. Dreadfully, almost. Amber eyes, now straining with the growing unease, lift from her two-hued crown and roam the vicinity—and against his hopes, he finds gloom plastered on the face of every other clanmate. Not the usual ShadowClan flavour of misery that they all knew and loved. Had Yellowcough wrought more damage than he'd realised?

An ear flicks at a voice murmured so quietly, as if unsure of its welcome. Smogmaw angles his neck to see the clan's medicine cat, misgivings written large into her olive gaze. "Set it aside for now," he tells her, muzzle twitching, "I want to-"

Sabletuft speaks then, and considering Skunktail's prompt rebuttal, it was overwhelmingly apparent he should have kept his jaws sealed. "What's he runnin' off about?" the deputy asks, words weary in the face of everyone's ambiguity.

He wishes to be angry, as though a rising temper would grant him more authority than he carried. They're keeping something under wraps, hiding knowledge from him, and doing a damn poor job at it too. Starlingheart trying to pull him away from the crowd. Chilledstar affirming that decision, rather than offer up answers.

But, he cannot sound angry. Anguish had dug anger a shallow grave and stuffed it underneath his paws. For Sabletuft's unwanted truth established its reign over his internal landscape, occupying every thinking moment. 'You won't find her in there,' he had said, clearly referring to Halfshade. Even the simplest mind could grasp what his old battle brother insinuated there.

"Magpiepaw's not with us, but he will be," Smogmaw croaks. Mourning, they'd all decided, would only serve to impede on today's progress. Perhaps they were right. Melancholy passes between him and his leader as he shifts his focus onto their snow-streaked form. "He's- uh, bound to help ThunderClan and not us," he does his best to explain, "it's a 'medicine cat thing'. And uh- Honeyjaw decided he preferred being an outsider. Deserted our group as soon as we saw Highstones coming back."

He'd forced what he needed to say from his throat until it'd gotten coarse. Now, distress sets in and floods his capillaries with its poisons. The memories of the last moon-and-a-half dissolved into an abyss of unfulfilled promise. His mate is dead. Dead and buried. He might have trudged over her grave on the walk to camp. A cavity in his chest sucks in the breath he despairingly needs, sides heaving, a gag of deep pain at the pit of his lung. So many nights that won't happen. Time they won't spend. A planned future they'll never get the chance to see. If a stiff wind blew, it'd force him over. Weightless, husk-like, vulnerable and hopeless.

In his stupor, his own son falls victim to deaf ears, whereas Scalejaw is reduced to an opaque fog.

Cream and charcoal curls shock him into razor-sharp focus. Meagre seconds after learning about his mate's passing, he's already hallucinating. A flawless likeness of her (albeit some years younger) collects dust and dessicated mud into her perfect pelt. She taunts him. Dawdling through the camp like a mirage of the cat he'd given his heart to. When the hallucination speaks, Smogmaw almost leaps from his own skin.

"Just tell me what happened," he implores suddenly. No longer equipped with the means to play along, his thoughts are a raging, incoherent mess. There's a fucking carbon copy of Halfshade yapping about siblings. He needs something to cling to, a modicum of understanding. It's the very least they could afford him after he endured so much for them. "Is... Swanpaw still here?"

Excluding his mate from the inquiry hadn't come as a conscious decision, but it'd been the correct one. ​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Their return is not a triumphant one, full of cheering and celebration. When they return to camp, two cats down, Smogmaw is met with vague words and vapid questioning. Sad faces and loud kits. She blinks in surprise, around her mouthful of Lungwort. (Stupidly) She'd imagined something greater. (Foolishly) She'd imagined something better. Instead, she huddles behind her mentor, trying to make heads or tails of what everyone is mumbling about.

It doesn't help. They seem just as willing to keep Smogmaw in the dark as anyone else. Placing her Lungwort down to speak, " Why are you all being so obtuse? " That— that is weird. Having a voice around his clanmates. Silver eyes are frantic for a moment, flickering from face to face— but they are all on Smogmaw. Pity, sadness, despair. The fur along her spine raises. Maybe his stupid premonition had been right. Something terrible. Sharppaw did not care, not right now. She thinks about how she's going to be a warrior soon.

Smogmaw had been doing this for something, hadn't he? His mate and his children. Wide - eyed realization sets itself upon his face. To Smogmaw, he spares a look.

But she remembers she doesn't care. She doesn't care about this mysterious kit that had Halfshade's face. She doesn't care about Smogmaw's kits, looking a second away from tears, or ThunderClan sympathizer Sabletuft. The frog in her throat is appropriate, for the land they had just returned to.

In accordance with Scalejaw, he nods. " We should. " And quickly, he is scooping up Smogmaw's share of Lungwort along with his own, off to dump it at the maw of the Medicine Den.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

• ooc: out </3
  

• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

​

 

[betonyfrost]

The commotion is unmissable — as is Smogmaw and the rest of the patrol's growing confusion. Her clanmates titter around what everyone is thinking and no one is saying. It's a shame, all of it, even if Betonyfrost had never liked Smogmaw and held Halfshade in an even lower regard. She doesn't have anyone to eagerly greet, but she approaches the patrol nonetheless. Eyes on them, taking their scent — Betonyfrost is hit with an affection so unfamiliar that her face briefly folds into disgust.

"And just when I was getting used to the quiet again, you show up," Betonyfrost says, but there's something like an apology in her tone, "Did you find— Damn it." Damn it all. Her eyes flick to the herbs they dropped, an answer to her unfinished question, before they flick back to Smogmaw, "I can't do this. Pretending."

A younger Betonyfrost would have fettered herself and fretted over the who and the how Smogmaw would be told. Now, Betonyfrost sees the value in getting things over with, "She's dead, Smogmaw. Halfshade died of yellowcough after birthing. It was too much for her." Betonyfrost hadn't liked her — doesn't like either of them. She wrinkles her scarred nose, a strange memento, "This one—" She gestures to Birdkit, "—is yours. Along with two others."

She says it like a consolation and then grimaces. Perhaps it would be better to have told Smogmaw that this one is the only one, and hope he has a pleasant surprise later.​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 25 moons | tags​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

“You all did well. This should cure whoever’s left.” Granitepelt materializes, slate-gray face set in a neutral expression. He had not expected Smogmaw to survive the journey—that he has is something of a disappointment. He’d thought perhaps, in time, Chilledstar would have grown to trust him more, and the deputy position had started to look quite appealing, but the young warrior finds he cannot begrudge Smogmaw his rightful place. He’d lost his mate, and now his precious bundles had gone missing… that’s a travesty, a damn shame. He comes to sit beside Betonyfrost, looking from Smogmaw to Sharppaw to Needledrift to Clearheart. Honeyjaw abandoned us, Sharppaw explains, though it’s hardly a surprise, and he only twitches his lips in response to this little nugget of information.

Betonyfrost tactfully delivers the sordid news of Halfshade’s death, and the kits’ existence is finally revealed. The stone-pelted tom gives a solemn sigh. “This is Birdkit. Your others are Halfkit and Tanglekit, but I’m afraid they went missing just as we drove the rogues out,” he explains apologetically. “We think they were stolen by rogues, or else…” Sadness clouds his eyes, and he dips his head, seemingly wordless now in his grief.

, ”​

​

 

[Garlicheart]

"D-dad.... I missed you so much...." She whimpers into his fur.

She can't avoid the topic everyone is thinking about any longer as more cats gather and speak, but Sabletufts words hurt the most. She knows its true, but she isnt... She's not mad. Starlingheart's baby was sick- What should she have done? Flintpaw is important too, isnt he? She's glad he survived. She wonders what her mother would think... What would she have done? Is she upset at Starlingheart? This is too much. She doesn't blame Ashenpaw for running off.

But its out there now, and Garlicpaw feels at least a little thankful.

Betonyfrost butts in and explains what happened tactlessly, but she's right.

"B-betonyfrost is right Dad.... M-mama was pregnant.... And she died after...A-after giving birth." She says. She looks to Birdkit with a small smile. "This is our dad, Birdkit." She says.

Granitepelt is a cat she had been told was no good. She never understood why, but she kind of got it. He was always cranky and never had anything nice to say, but she didn't think that made him a BAD cat...Just grumpy. He was nice to Starlingheart, wasn't he? But his words strike her as odd. Her siblings were missing....

But rogues never got into camp.

"But the rogues never reached our camp.... They drove the other clans out, but they never tried the same on us." She says, looking at Granitepelt with furrowed brows. There was no way a rogue could have gotten in and done that.... Right?​

 

[scalejaw]

—————————————————【 she/her | menacing 】————————————————

【◈】 Words rose and joined together to give Smogmaw his explanation. Scalejaw watched quietly as he was explained to, the beating around the bush gone. Her ears perked and twitched as she observed, broke down everyone's reactions, and built them back up. "Betonyfrost speaks the truth." Scalejaw confirmed. Perhaps the rest of the bastards in this camp were uncaring and callous, but Scalejaw knew that those who stuck together were oft better off.

She fell into lapsing silent, nodding towards Sharppaw as she scampered off with the herbs. Those would go to the right cats, Scalejaw thought to herself. Vision touched Birdkit for a moment, but Granitepelt's words- then Garlicpaw's response- was like a shocking cold spreading across her paws and up through her blood. Ice seized her for a moment. How could I have missed that?

"There was no rogue scent in camp, Granitepelt." Scalejaw's words are slow, drawn out and full of an unnamable emotion- some tangle between disbelief and cold anger. Her eyes flared gently, the glowing coal embers of her eyes staring towards the lead warrior. Her ears slowly perked back forward, standing tall as her tail raised and lashed. "We do not know where they are, and you should be resigned to know that we all know better." She said, tail flicking towards those in camp.

Scalejaw bit on her tongue briefly. Yeah, sure, she was speaking out of line, but who was going to stop her? Smogmaw, who was getting some of the worst news in his life? Chilledstar, who she had already brought up the disbelief in choice of lead warrior to? Certainly not Starlingheart, who was partially to blame for cat's deaths around here, right? "So explain, Granitepelt, who you think took Smogmaw's kits." Her words were intentional and methodical, body angling towards the tom as she spoke to him.

"yuh"

[penned by dallas].

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

He’d misspoken, but Granitepelt still looks with surprise to both the apprentice who questions him and the warrior who spits in his direction. He lifts his lip, eyes cold as his voice. “When did I say there were rogues in camp, Scalejaw?” Garlicpaw he ignores completely; the imbecile has cotton for brains, and even his apprentice treats her with the disdain she deserves. He won’t be questioned by those beneath him—not here. “Some of us chased rogues from other Clans’ territories, though I don’t remember seeing you at the battle… perhaps that’s why you aren’t sure what I’m referring to?”

He straightens, his flank twitching irritably. “I don’t know what you think you’re insinuating toward a lead warrior, but this is neither the time nor place. Smogmaw should be left alone. He has a daughter here he’s never met before, on top of receiving some gruesome news.” And only one he can truly meet. He sweeps his tail across the camp floor in a dismissive gesture, rising to his paws and turning away.

Before he struts from the group eyeing him, he half-turns back to Smogmaw, dipping his head. “Welcome home, deputy.” With that, he slips away, prowling toward the general direction of the medicine cat’s den.

[ out ! ]

, ”​

​

 

[smogstar]

It's an open secret that ShadowClan hinges on rather unsteady grounds, and not in the context of geology. How quickly they've all gone from intentionally saying nothing to turning on one another is staggering, quite frankly. The lone tether keeping the tom from running off to mourn elsewhere, somewhere quieter is his already-fragile pride—not to mention a tidbit about Halfshade birthing. "You- she- what?" he sputters, words pillaged by awe. He snaps his head towards Betonyfrost so violently it's a wonder it stayed attached. "You mean- I have more of them now?"

It is in utter disbelief he speaks, though some may misconstrue it as callousness. Do forgive him, though. It's not every day you come home after a moons'-long journey to learn that your mate is worm food and your number of children has doubled.

Sniffling, then hawking his throat, Smogmaw deigns the bi-coloured kit nearby as his own. He fails to collect any warmth in his amber pools, but he moves his regard onto wee Birdkit regardless. Stones gather in his stomach as he looks upon her. She looks so much like her mother, it pains him. Those precious two-toned eyes, and contrasting polka dots on each cheek.

Had his cohorts shared the faintest echo of decorum amongst them, this may have made for a beautiful moment, a diamond in the heart-wrenching rough. But no matter how low the bar is set, they'll always manage to stumble underneath it.

Granitepelt makes what appears to be a mistaken remark—rogues, he claims, plucked Birdkit's siblings from the ground they stood upon. Straightaway, Smogmaw sees fault in the logic. Would the other two kits not be moseying around in camp? He sincerely doubts rogues had breached through the pine barrier, or else he'd have been told such by now. Garlicpaw affirms this, her rebuttal bearing more weight given her presence in camp. Less than a moment later, Scalejaw holds an allegorical claw to the lead warrior's throat on the same premises.

So, his kits were missing, and there were two conflicting truths surrounding their disappearances.

"Hold on-" attempts the deputy, worry contending with urgency in his tone. Granitepelt, howsoever, can't take the heat. He turns tail. "Hold on!" he tries again, anger ultimately boiling over. "No one's listening! I asked if Swanpaw's alive, 'kay? Do me my due respect and just tell me if he is or not. Don't pretend otherwise." His concluding sentence, swiftly-spoken, seethes with bitterness.

Smogmaw, requiring a second or two to collect himself, puts his full throat into a noisy sigh (though, it resembles a rasp more than all else). "What else did I miss?" he dares to ask, as if anything could surpass what he's already heard.

// mobile post ughh​

 

[APPLEJAW]

Smogmaw is home. For some reason, she is not as excited as she'd thought she would be.

Is it Garlicpaw's sorry face and whining that ruins it for her? Is it the contrived whispers of her clanmates, insisting there's something Smogmaw must know that he could not be told here and now? Was it the squealing kit that insisted herself her sibling, squwaking about missing littermates? Her father smiles, despite it all. It is not meant to last, soiled by the reality that is ShadowClan.

It was all of it, she realizes. It all annoyed her. Why couldn't he just be home? Why couldn't they just be saved and that was that?

The face that his group is two down, is something that she would've observed, but Chilledstar beats her too it. Strangely, their words are the least strange of everyone here— Sabletuft prattles on like the old man he is. Ashenpaw is utterly embarrassing, as usual. Applepaw remains with an impassive frown. Vague, it's all vague until Betonyfrost of all cats breaks the news. Applepaw shoots the molly a glare, but it's too late to fix anything.

Perhaps her glare is one she's gotten from her mentor, whilst her father was away, the very tom that slithers his way into the fray; one of the few that seem to give a damn about the lungwort. We think they were stolen by rogues, or else… Did they? Applepaw has not been paying attention. No, not at all to the case of... missing kits.

She blinks, when heads suddenly turn toward her mentor, a lead warrior, one of ShadowClan's few competent warriors. Were they so desperate to find a couple of kits that they would turn on anyone? " It was a theory, " Applepaw grouses. She knows she holds nothing above Scalejaw, but she feels the need to speak up for her mentor. For all they knew, they were sitting in a ditch in ShadowClan territory. This is stupid.

Clearly, Smogmaw thinks so too. Applepaw's voice cuts through the sudden tension. " Swanpaw is alive, " she says. " Maybe he'll stay that way if we do more than throw hostility at each other. " Mismatched eyes, furious, would flit towards the ShadowClanners with jaws still full, and to Starlingheart, impatient.

ooc ༊ 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂

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• 

• ( I'M OBSESSED WITH THE MESS THAT'S AMERICA. ) APPLEPAW. kit of shadowclan. eldest sister to swanpaw, ashenpaw, and garlicpaw. ( + birdkit, halfkit & tanglekit )
  —— she / her; confused by the use of others.
  —— currently 7 moons old as of 10.22.23. ages every 17th.
  
  longhaired blue torbie with a white chest, paws, and underbelly. A young cat you would describe as " bossy, " Applekit is quick to take charge of any situation she sees herself as the probable head of. A rule - follower to a T, and thinks herself better than the majority of her clan for this. Not ignorant enough to think herself above a warrior, but seeks to gain that status as quickly as possible. Intensely self - motivated to be the best in a mixture of blind, childish desire, and never wanting to be afraid of anything ever again.

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[clearheart]

━━ι═══════﹥He had hoped their return would be brighter than this, though Clearheart also understood the possibility that they would arrive after some of the sick perished. He cannot fathom the veritable whiplash Smogmaw feels, returning home to find it emptier than before— and of life he had not known existed, but which is tied to him nonetheless. He did not know Halfshade well enough to speak of her character, but she is loved beyond death and walks now in StarClan, where illness may never touch her. His grief is reserved for her family, who must learn a life without her present in the way she once was.

Soon, he will see that Dragonflypaw receives her remedy and that she knows of her father's choice, one not so simply termed desertion. He honors StarClan with his courage on the journey. For now, however, there is Smogmaw, his lost mate, and missing kits, whose potential whereabouts are bickered about such that Applepaw attempts to end it. He agrees with the apprentice, of course. It is in their nature to speculate, to attempt to find reason in chaos.

He does not know whether Smogmaw would welcome comfort from him, but he would be remiss not to offer it nonetheless. Clearheart steps close to the deputy and rests a broad paw on a steel back. "You will meet again," he murmurs. "But I do not say so to discourage you from mourning. I mean only that you were and are loved by someone who waits for you." He lifts his unblinking gaze to the sky. "I will do what I can to help search for your kits, whatever is needed."
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══════⊹⊱≼ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʜᴀɴɢꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄᴇɴꜱᴇ / ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ≽⊰⊹══════

• — CLEARHEART / / 40 moons old / / amab and uses masculine pronouns but will also accept the use of neutral terms.
  — a warrior of shadowclan / / currently mentoring dragonflypaw / / excels greatly in combat above most all other skills.
  — former loner who wandered great distances & rarely remained in one place for long / / arrived after the great battle.
  — devoted to starclan above all else (aside from his idea of the common good) / / not prone to enter battle mindlessly.
  
  — of a height slightly above average / / trim and athletic with a sense of immovability about his posture/stance & size.
  — chocolate sepia w/ low white / / fur is quite short for the most part / / tail is naturally bobbed // full-body reference.
  — fairly warm demeanor much of the time; there is a "softness" about his features so that neutrality doesn't seem surly.
  
  — lawful good, in the sense that he likes to maintain order and work toward bettering lives around him without cruelty.
  — often misunderstands figures of speech and may interpret them literally. as such, can seem to lack a sense of humor.
  — deeply genuine; dislikes lying immensely, and so (most of the time) he is wholly earnest, especially with compliments.
  
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[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Wow, how utterly depressing- what an awful welcome. Smogmaw's return wasn't ever going to be joyful, happy tears and streaking, fluorescent rainbows- but it seemed his mother alone was bothered with giving the deputy any dignity when it came with receiving the news of his mate's death, and his missing kits. He was surprised Smogmaw didn't whip around and exile the lot of them on the spot- but he supposed the deputy hadn't the power for it, and Chilledstar was unfortunately a frosty participant in the worst greeting-party in the history of the Clans. He was rather comfortable giving it that title, even at merely five moons old.

Clearheart was quite apt with encouragements, with talk of another life, but Nettlepaw took a less soothing approach, winding over to the returning cats. Sharppaw, Smogmaw, Clearheart himself- Honeyjaw decidedly not among them. A deserter- "Maybe Honeyjaw didn't bother coming back because he saw this atrocious welcoming party in a prophetic dream," he joked, any looks of disdain bouncing right off of him.

"I'll be the first to say thanks, then." That would shut everyone up bickering, hopefully- chucking unnecessary hostility at Granitepelt, his dad, who was only trying to say things as they were. "Sharppaw, Clearheart, Smogmaw- welcome home. Next hunting patrol I'm on I'll set the best prey aside for you all. In fact, you can have my share." He'd thank Magpiepaw too, eventually- if the black and white tom decided to come back, too. It was the nice thing to do, wasn't it? ​

penned by pin ♡​