private WILL WE BOTH GO HOME ALIVE — thriftfeather

[BLUEFROST]

It's a little more difficult to slip discreetly away, Bluefrost has realized, when you are a lead warrior. Cats expect you to be present, to be available, and Scorchstreak has her weary eye on Bluefrost always. The tunneler had made an excuse about hunting alone and had barreled from camp, her heart hammering in her chest. It's not fear—it's something new, something so compelling she cannot quell it, can hardly name it. Anticipation, perhaps, but even that is not quite right.

This time, she brings her gift. It's a young rabbit, small and still-thin from the flames' impact on the moorland, but it has more than the few paltry mouthfuls her friend has grown used to in his scrubland. She drags her prize through the dust and lets it drop amidst crackling grasses. Her jaws part, and when she tastes his scent on the air, some errant feeling sears her with lightning.

"I kept my word, this time," she murmurs at his approach. She dips her head, formal as ever, but this time the fur that falls before her face does well to conceal a glimmer of warmth that has melted the frost from her expression. "Vulturekit is back safe and sound. Did you find much trouble?"

Her pointed green gaze flicks from his notched ear to his broad, sunshine-colored face, to the rippling fur on his tabby pelt. She searches for wounds untended to, blood spilt anew, and is relieved to find she comes up with nothing. "How is your throat? I could ask Cottonsprig for an herb, maybe..." She trails off, realizing belatedly how foolish this would be. Even her airheaded sister would catch on if Bluefrost started showing interest in herbs.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: @Thriftfeather
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

The danger that Thriftfeather had felt during their previous meetings has yet to fade from him. It accompanies him all the way to Bluefrost: someone could see the two of them, she could fail to arrive either because she has been rendered somehow incapable or has decided he is no longer worth the risk.

It isn't until he sees her that Thriftfeather slows his stride into a walk. During his approach, it is all to easy to question his every choice—why had he followed Ghostwail to DuskClan? Why hadn't he followed Bluefrost back? Thriftfeather bends to greet her, nose to cheek, and only after does he notice the freshkill she had brought with her. He smiles through the strange guilt that shakes his heart.

"It can be spared?" There are doubtlessly others who are more deserving of a meal than Thriftfeather, both in WindClan and DuskClan. But they aren't who Bluefrost is offering the freshkill to; the guilt abates without fading completely.

News of Vulturekit perks Thriftfeather. No matter the age, the distance he needed to travel was far. The worries Thriftfeather had about Vulturekit's return home had varied in likelihood but had buzzed around Thriftfeather's mind regardless, "He didn't know I was ever WindClan," Thriftfeather sounds amused as he recalls the conversation, even if it is a detail that stings, "He was quite worried that—he'd thought Periwinklebreeze made a poor first impression."

The memory had nearly been enough to make Thriftfeather panic in front of Vulturekit. It doesn't touch him now—he doesn't allow it to.

"No one has confronted me about their absence, yet," It feels too good to be true; Thriftfeather has yet to be fooled into security, "It was my apprentice that—that convinced Vulturekit along initially, but I don't think I have an association with him on my own." With luck, it will remain that way. DuskClan will move on from the strange kit that had lived with them, just as WindClan had seemingly moved on from Thriftfeather. He is still expecting someone to be watching, waiting for him to say or do something that would give them an excuse to pounce.

With green eyes on him, Thriftfeather needs to make an effort to not freeze. Bluefrost assesses him before asking if he is in need of herbs; unbidden, Thriftfeather recalls Granitepelt, the way the scent of infection had colored the air. "It's healed, now," Mostly true: the scratch has left his voice and it only aches in odd intervals.

"You shouldn't bother Cottonfang—" It is then that Thriftfeather catches the discrepancy in names. Moons have passed since he could call himself a WindClanner, it was only natural that there were countless things that he would miss, "Cottonsprig, now?" He feels like himself for the first time in an unknown amount of moons, simply curious, "Why the change?"​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

His touch is simple — a greeting, a brush of his nose to her cheek — but she's seared by it; it warms her entire face, melts the remainder of the ice that clings to her expression. Bluefrost finds his concern touching; despite his new allegiance's animosity toward WindClan, he still cares, still worries. "I caught it myself, on the way," she answers with a hint of earnestness. "I did not take it from our stores. Here, have the first bite." She cranes her neck down and shuffles the rabbit forward, looking to Thriftfeather almost shyly.

"He didn't know I was ever WindClan," Thriftfeather mews, a response to Bluefrost's news about Vulturekit's return. "He is a good kit. Periwinklebreeze has raised him well so far." Her lashes flutter; uncertainty grips her. "I told him not to mention you. I did not want to bring you more trouble, just in case... I hope that is alright." She knows Thriftfeather deserves the recognition, deserves to be placed before Sunstar's paws as a cat worth considering, but...

It is not what he wants. He wants to stay here, and I must honor that choice. As difficult as it is becoming, she knows she must respect Thriftfeather's autonomy.

The golden warrior tells her he had gone unnoticed, that Vulturekit's disappearance has not caused him grief. Bluefrost exhales, relief apparent in her cool green gaze. "DuskClan steals kits and then does not keep track of them," she mews, bitter. Sootstar always knew those ShadowClan kits' whereabouts, she almost says, but she stops herself; it feels strange, wrong, to bring her mother up here, where loyalties remain divided.

He tells her not to bother Cottonfang, and Bluefrost remembers that is the last name she had been known by to the loyalists. The gray she-cat dips her head, her eyelids slipping halfway over her eyes. "She wanted to be named by her mentor, I suppose. The proper way. Our mother's name was fierce, but it did not suit her, I am afraid." She attempts a smile — it feels no less strange to bring Sootstar up now, but her mentor, her leader, her mother still ties her to Thriftfeather, even from beyond the grave.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

The reassurance that the offered prey wouldn’t be missed is enough for Thriftfeather. He leans for a bite and then, after a moment of consideration, noses it towards Bluefrost. He wishes he could offer something of himself to her—prey he caught, a truth larger than the paltry scraps he offers to her. Instead he discretely cleans blood from his teeth and listens as Bluefrost speaks of Vulturekit.

“It’s a big secret for a kit to keep,” It is consideration in Thriftfeather’s voice rather than condemnation. He looks to his white paws as he thinks, “But it’s—this is for the best.”

The less to know, the less likely DuskClan as a whole will ever find out—a pragmatic motive to keep a secret. Deeper in Thriftfeather, he appreciates the discretion because he doesn’t want to consider what WindClan as a whole would make of him, and he doesn’t want to consider the quiet possibility that it would change nothing to them. None of it will matter should Vulturekit find himself talkative—a single mention in earshot of the wrong cat will see to the whole clan knowing the truth.

Bluefrost’s next words are disapproving. Something in Thriftfeather—the shadow of an instinct—wishes to shy away from it. He swallows instead, dry and far braver than he once had been.

“They don’t,” Thriftfeather agrees, “And it isn’t just the kits. No one cares about another here. It’s…” He doesn’t have a conclusion. It’s lonely; Thriftfeather doesn’t know how to stop himself from reaching out and doesn’t understand the absence of the same desire in his peers, “I don’t see how everyone else in DuskClan can bear it. I don’t…”

Thriftfeather trails off, considering his next words carefully, “When you left I wanted to follow you. On my way back to camp I even thought about—I was thinking about how hard I might need to run to catch up.” He wants to laugh at himself—it might alleviate some of the shame he feels, but instead he focuses on the elsewhere: Bluefrost gives him something to look forward to. Knowing that when she returns to her own camp her own thoughts might turn to Thriftfeather with even the fraction of the ease that Thriftfeather’s turn to her is enough for him.

It should be enough for him.

Thriftfeather nods along as Bluefrost explains the change in Cottonsprig’s name. Perhaps the new name is better suiting than the old, but the Cottonsprig that Thriftfeather recalls could have easily worn fang. But then, perhaps Cottonsprig wanted to shed the association with Sootstar as much as she could—Thriftfeather couldn’t fault her that want. But if Thriftfeather’s musings had been Cottonsprig’s motive, then was it a motive born of a personal want or of pressure from WindClan? Attention back on Bluefrost and sensing the hesitation in her smile, Thriftfeather speaks.

“You can speak of her,” His head cants—visible thought, “I know WindClan would find… some kind of fault in your mention of Sootstar, but it’s just me here.”
​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

She watches him bend to take a bite from the bit of fresh-kill, the way his tongue flicks against his lips to clear the smear of blood from his face, the flash of pink, of teeth. "It's a big secret for a kit to keep,"" is what he says — mercifully, there is no resentment in his voice. Bluefrost feels some of the tension melt from her stiffly-held shoulders. "I know," she acknowledges. "It is a burden we must carry together." Not that you are a burden, she thinks, almost says; she licks her own lips, which feel remarkably dry all of a sudden.

Perhaps the disapproval in her tone has stirred other feelings in Thriftfeather. The golden rogue agrees readily enough, but there's something intrinsically lonely in his words. "No one cares about another here. I don't see how everyone else in DuskClan can bear it." The ache in his voice causes her heart to clench. She could not imagine living his life, fugitive-bound, lost amidst a heartless wasteland, starved of more than just prey, claws stained through with blood. And yet it is the life she wanted for me. That she condemned me for denying.

"I wanted you to follow me, too. I wanted it so badly." She falters; the wind stirs the mane of iced fur on her chest. "I want you to know that even if no one in DuskClan cares for you, I..." Her green eyes round, gleaming with earnestness, "...I do. I will." The admission is almost breathless.

"You can speak of her."

"It's just me."

"I feel... so alone, in WindClan," she murmurs. "Even with... with everyone around me who has forgiven me... there is no one who misses her like I do. It is the loneliest feeling in the world."

Bluefrost lowers her face, her nose dipping into the frothing pale fur of her chest. He will see the weakness in me, and he will pull away, she thinks, but she does not recant her words. She does not pull away herself — in fact, every atom pulls her closer.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather had already known Bluefrost wanted him to return to WindClan—she must already know the same. Still, to hear it again is to remind Thriftfeather of the disparity in this: Bluefrost gets to return home, and Thriftfeather will continue to be condemned to scraps. She wants Thriftfeather back in WindClan and she cares for him; Thriftfeather needs to clamp his tongue between his teeth to prevent him from making a fool of himself.

He feels a shape like stay in the back of his mouth, tangible as a stone and just as heavy. It is a weight that he could never burden Bluefrost with: a solution that had countless other problems. It is a strange mix of things that course through Thriftfeather—gratitude for Bluefrost's presence and her kind words, an unfamiliar shame that whispers that he has done nothing to be deserving of this and that the things that he has done should exclude him from it entirely.

"I know you do," Thriftfeather says, softly, and not to mean he doesn't enjoy hearing those words anyway.

Bluefrost speaks of Sootstar and, more broadly, of grief deep enough to drown in. Thriftfeather is familiar with the isolation of it, the unshakable feeling that he is speaking in words no one else can understand. Despite everything, Bluefrost has lost a mother in all of this. She had likely witnessed Sootstar's death for herself if the detail that she was previously able to recall the event in was anything to go by. Thriftfeather wants to be angry on her behalf—instead he watches as she tries to hide her face in her own fur, presses the crown of his head to Bluefrost's shoulder and struggles to find the correct words to convey the meaning he wishes such a gesture could hold.

"I..." There are countless things Thriftfeather wants to say and he doesn't know how to force his mouth to form around any of them, "I'm sorry," For not being there, for not sharing in that grief, for all that was meant to happen and the outcomes that had arrived instead, "I only ever knew her as—she was only ever a leader to me," Ghostwail had followed her as doggedly as hunger chases a meal and Thriftfeather had done as Ghostwail had wished and ignored whatever horror clawed through his chest.

Thriftfeather pulls back, only enough to look Bluefrost in the eyes. They have an ache in common, "Would you tell me about her?"​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 17 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

"I know you do," he says. His voice is like the feather, his feather, the one she'd watched him salvage all those moons ago. Bluefrost closes her eyes, imagines the breath caressing her cheeks. I will never not wish you had followed me. Perhaps he sees the grief in her face, for he moves closer, and she exhales sharply as his golden crown crushes into the dust-scented fur of her shoulder. His nearness warms her like the greenleaf sun never could.

"I'm sorry." She half-closes her eyes, then lowers her nose — more tenderly than she has ever moved — to the tattered velvet of his ear. "I am, too." She lets her lids slip over the remainder of green eyes. She remembers claws raking through fur, remembers Rattleheart's teeth at her neck, remembers being pinned, remembers the pulse of submission that had flown through her, the limp way she'd lain, defeated, not dead. "I... I regret what I have done. She wanted me to die there, and I should have. Or I should have left with you. But I..."

Bluefrost lets her face sink into Thriftfeather's, cheekbone against cheekbone, friction against fire. "I wanted to keep her home," she murmurs. "Her home was the most important thing to her. She founded WindClan here. She... it was her pride. More than anything else." She swallows. "Tell me about her." "She was sharp. Cunning. Swift. She took command of all things. I never had to worry about not knowing what to do, or say, because she... she made sure I knew. That I would not embarrass her in front of others."

A smile twitches about her lips. "That was our relationship. She led, and I followed, always." Bluefrost inhales. His scent is so different now, but he carries himself so strongly, even with the darkness inhibiting him, with the fears he carries in his heart like fluttering birds. And you know what I'm talking about — do you not?

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Bluefrost's touch is delicate enough to be near-nonexistent. Thriftfeather cannot stop the flinch that jolts through him—even having known the touch was coming. It is Thriftfeather's choice to relax against Bluefrost; he would never want her to think that it is she that he was recoiling from, or that she would ever be unwelcome from his side. Bluefrost's words tear a hole through him, or they widen what was already present.

Thriftfeather doesn't need to stretch to imagine the feeling: the want to be the version of himself that someone who loved him expected him to be against the impossible shapes they wished to fold him into.

As Bluefrost describes Sootstar, Thriftfeather cannot help but think that this is how he had known her—he imagined that perhaps Sootstar wore a different face around her kin. He tries to imagine her gentle or careful and instead only finds the way the whole of him had clenched in that fateful first battle between WindClan and itself; the intensity of the love she had felt for those stolen kits and her rage when they were gone. Unreasonable of him then, to have ever thought that Sootstar would have ever been anything but herself—anything but the leader who he had known—in any situation.

"We both regret what we've done," The wry amusement he feels towards such a fact doesn't reach his voice; in another life it is him in WindClan and Bluefrost in DuskClan—perhaps still looking in the absence of one another, perhaps still regretting what should have been.

"Had it not been for Ghostwail, I would still be in WindClan," He doesn't feel the truth in that statement; Thriftfeather had sided with what he thought was victory. Would things have changed? "And now that I've—now that she's gone, every decision I make is my own. I want to do good with that kind of freedom." It may serve as penitence for Thriftfeather's cowardice and in the after, if there is a such thing as after DuskClan, Thriftfeather wants to rest. He misses the moors in an indescribable way.

"Anything you do now—it's a reflection of you, rather than her." Thriftfeather still rights his posture when he senses disapproval, he still feels like he can be convinced of anything if pressed hard enough—freedom, with the constraints of everything that came before, "And I know—I know whatever you do for WindClan or for yourself will be for good."​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 17 MOONS ✦ TAGS​