camp who could ever hurt you? & dual intro

[HAILFROST]

[ @middy ]
"Dove, you should groom yourself, your fur's kind of messy." The grey-and-white tabby's eyes darted over Dovepaw's form in front of her. The tiny family had earned a small moment of respite in their duties, and Hailfrost surprisingly had something to say to her son. Leaning her head back, she studied his face, only to come to the sad realization that it was almost foreign to her. She had lived in the nursery with him while he was a kit, but it was out of a sense of duty and not of maternal attachment. She loved Dovepaw, of course, but her quiet son was nothing like his father. Perhaps her mate's death was what led to her detachment from her son, since he had died so soon after she gave birth. In her son's eyes she saw her own regret mirrored back, and Dovepaw was living proof of a life she felt forced to lead. She had wanted kits, but not like this.

Regardless, Dovepaw was alive and relatively healthy, and Hailfrost looked eagerly to her son's apprenticehood, where he would primarily have someone else watching over him. As selfish as it was, Hailfrost was excited to be a warrior again instead of being in the nursery listening to wailing kits. Her heart yearned for adventure and battle most of all. Her attention drawn back to her son, she tried to see hope in him instead, and a hope for their future.

———————————— .°✧



​

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The nursery was soon to be a crowded place, with Willowroot's kits born and Bonejaw's soon to arrive, he wondered if they would even have enough trained warriors by newleaf to have each apprentice reered properly. Especially given how behind everyone was with training due to the necessity to hunt. The fact he contributed to their lack of capable hunters was a stab to his pride he was not going to get over anytime soon, but he would have to just make up for it once he was able to leave camp again which would hopefully be soon. Smokethroat did not like being so stationary, he was very much a cat who spoke more in action than words and enjoyed the thrill of productivity perhaps more than he really ought to. Overworking yourself was foolishness he had often done in the past, perhaps this injury had been StarClan telling him to slow down when he'd pushed too hard.
Stretching from a rising stand, the dark tom stepped over to the freshkill pile to give it a closer examination, knowingly glancing to the eastern edge of the camp boundary where the last hunting patrol had gone; that the prey ran slow was all he could hope for. With a slow turn to the nursery he finally heard the offhand remark from the frosted she-cat and could not help but chuckle in a low rasp of amusement. Of all the clans he had come to realize RiverClan's high regard for things looking prim and proper; even their kits. The lack of new shells lining the dens and smooth multi-colored stones littering every path was just another sign they had their priorities shifted into keeping bellies full.
"I'm sure Cicadastar will see fit to give him a proper mentor even if he is a little ruffled..." The warrior commented, trying to steady the graveling tremor of his words; talking didn't hurt anymore but it was certainly a strain. Thankfully it was more annoying than painful.
"Looking forward to leaving camp soon are you, Hailfrost? I can understand."

​

 

[dovethroat.]

i got wasted like all my potential ⋆⁺₊⋆

As one might expect from such a mousy and awkward-seeming adolescent—and especially the son of a mother with such an internal monologue about her own spawn—Dovepaw jumped at the comment from his mother. "I, uh—oh, um, o-okay," he managed a mostly-coherent stammer, looking to smile meekly up at his mother in spite of the fact that there was very little genuine connection to be had there. He was not exactly the warrior type, unfortunately for Hailfrost. He was a meek and sensitive boy from birth, the type to find the prospect of hunting and fighting downright terrifying rather than thrilling or honorable.

Throughout his worries and woes about his upcoming reality as a recently christened apprentice, he had been grooming down his fur with an almost obsessive haze. It had been going on for a bit too long—one might do good to worry that the skin underneath that fur had been rubbed raw-pink. He looked up at his parent again with shining eyes; his innocent and boyish charm was hard to deny for most people. Maybe his mother just was particularly not drawn to him.

"Is, uh, i-is th-that okay?" He asked, unconfident.

[⋆]​

​

 

[FOGTHIEF]

As he did in his old home, silent Fogpaw almost seemingly just appears there. Only the crunch of snow and the set of footprints trailing after him betray his organic nature and his eyes shift over the tiny family and the lead warrior. The only good thing about being cursed to quiet is that he's good at listening, snooping, and he has a general idea of the Riverclanners he's happened upon. A mother left to raise her baby with only the clan, the squeaking boy at her paws, and the formerly injured warrior. Still, hearing Smokethroat's gravelly voice makes him jealous as at least it's a voice at all. He's not sure that envy will ever fade from him though he's good at squashing it into the back of his mind. All of their voices, really, ring in his ears for just a split second before he blinks back to reality. Fogpaw looks down to the other apprentice in question and then his mother. There's something strange in her eyes that he can't pinpoint. All he knows is that he's never seen it in Boneripple's. He returns the orange orbs back to Dovepaw, stretching his fluff covered frame before craning his neck out and attempting to give Dovepaw a reassuring bump. He doesn't know him well but since he's joining his rank, he'll have to put up with him so might as well start on decent terms.​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Sharp eyes watched the quiet display of a mother and her child eventually approached by a few others. Ravenpaw held his head a little higher, haughtily, having given up on trying to make himself feel anything noble. He could not be gracious for another who still had a mother, when his had died during kitting. If she had not died, Ravenpaw would be curled up in a two leg nest, warm and well-fed, instead of being put into this wild game of survival. He watched Dovepaw groom himself obsessively, his head inclining slightly at the amusing display.

The slender apprentice finally picked himself up and trotted across the camp, making it appear like he was simply going back to the apprentice den. However, he stopped near the little gathering and studied Dovepaw with a hawkish, curious gaze. Finally, after a few beats of silence, he spoke.

"You missed a spot."

​