private YOU DON'T KNOW HOW LOVELY YOU ARE — orangestar

[SLATESNARL]

Slate doesn't know how long he's been staring outward. The camp is serene and still, the dim moonlight making the surface of the snowfall sparkle and dance. There is some beauty to be found in the plainest, coldest, palest of things after all. He hated snow; the way it felt under his paws, the feeling of it clinging stubbornly to his underbelly, but having to not deal with traversing the icy powder for a while wasn't so bad. Slate could not wait to move back into the warriors den, though; as cramped as it was, he would gladly take his own comfy nest over this shabby, makeshift one. Plus, he'd rather not directly sleep next to the likes of Bobbie and Cherrypaw. The stench of Dawnglare's herbs made this place unbearable as it was.

His focus breaks from the moon-kissed snow to the approaching form of white and orange. Immediately he straightens up, pricking his good ear and fixating his amber stare on the long-furred molly. His shift in attention and demeanor seems more... obvious than before. It isn't deliberate on Slate's part, though by the time he catches himself reacting too strongly to the leader's arrival, she is already standing before him. His paw pads begin to heat up. "... Hey," Slate greets, maintaining a lower volume so as not to disturb the other medicine den residents.

The two haven't had the chance to speak with one another since before, well, everything. Orangestar had returned from the Moonstone a new cat, gifted with new lives that would allow her to serve her clan for many moons to come... at least, that was the hope. Slate's mind tends to err on the side of pessimism in that regard, though he tries not to think of it now. "So, Orangestar," He emphasizes, managing to adopt a slightly playful tone that is reminiscent of their younger moons. Back when they had nothing to worry about, back when life seemed much more simple. "How does it feel?" How was it being the new leader of SkyClan, standing where Blazestar once stood? More importantly, did she feel any different?

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• @Orangestar

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• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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​

 

[Orangestar]

The leader's den is too empty. Orangestar has put off moving into it as long as possible but after she'd returned from the Moonstone she'd had little choice in the matter. She had to be available, at all times. Even though none of her Clanmates had capitalised her time enough to dread the fact, she rationalises against her guilt at moving into Blazestar's den that SkyClan needs to know where to find her.

Yet still, Orangestar can't sleep. Rising from the arduous task of staring at the den wall and hoping she would be able to escape into dreams, she slips from her den and breathes in the night air. Maybe some soaked moss would do her some good. Maybe one of the medicine den's residents was awake and needed some, too.

Her approach leads her to Slate, who greets her with a small rumble. Why is he awake? Granted, his voice was the one she'd been hoping to eat among the den's current healing warriors, but it's hard to reconcile that with the pleasant surprise of being correct. She places the moss at his paws without a word, forcing them into close proximity, and she tenses at the sensation of his breath stirring her whiskers. Retreating to a safer distance but still close enough Slate would be able to hear her softest tone, Orangestar crouches and gingerly folds her paws beneath her.

"The den still smells like him." Orangestar murmurs, and doesn't elaborate. Slate would understand. Any of their Clanmates would. Quiet lingers between them. The leader feels cold air seeping into her fur where her back faces the den entrance, but doesn't have it in her to shift away from it.

"It's strange sleeping alone. Wrong. I feel like I should ask one of my kits to join me." The last part creaks with an out-of-place humour. To herself she wonders, would any of her kits take her up on the offer if she asked? They're all so independent, she feels. Surely they must feel themselves too grown-up to curl up next to their mother, and she respects that, but there's a part of her that aches for the feeling of small breaths beside her. Even when she'd been on the journey - Slate would know this, he'd been there too - the clowder had never slept alone. With their Clan, with the groups they were trapped in the tunnels amongst, with the rest of their newfound and temporary friends. Her tailtip twitches. Being a leader is lonely, she's discovered very quickly.

Orangestar presses her jaws shut, eyes narrow in thought, and blinks at Slate after a moment of staring at the space between their paws. "How are you feeling?"​

 

[SLATESNARL]

Slate's heart lurches as they momentarily meet gazes, lingering within a whisker's length of one another. He's always found her eyes to be quite mesmerizing. They're unique; he has yet to meet another cat who possesses any like them.

He glances down at the wad of soaked moss before him, tearing his attention away from her before he stares for too long. Slate had grown tired of lapping his water from the spongy material; it did not satisfy his tongue like a direct drink from cool, flowing waters. The gesture was nice, he supposes. "Thanks." Slate rumbles to Orangestar, nerves still dancing under his pelt as she settles down across from him.

She speaks of her transition into her new life as a leader, particularly with regard to moving into her new digs. How strange it must feel, to occupy a space that wasn't yours. It was technically hers now, sure, but Blazestar had slept many nights in that den. His scent lingered, surely, as did strands of his fur and perhaps other items he had collected over the moons. Memories, too. He held no issue with the loneliness aspect of it all, however. "I'd sleep in that den any day." Slate mused. Did that come off oddly? He meets Orangestar's gaze again, nervously searching her expression for any indication that she misunderstood him. "I mean, uh- it seems nice in there. Quiet. Roomy." Certainly fit for a big cat like him. If not for the poor weather befalling the territories at the moment, Slate would still be contentedly making his nest on the outside of camp.

Orangestar appears to feel differently toward the thought of sleeping in solitude. Her entire life, she's shared a den with someone — her fellow warriors, her kits; she must have slept alongside her kin growing up in the colony as well. Slate, on the other paw, had to grow accustomed to sleeping in such close quarters. His shadowed abode under the alleyway dumpster had served as his sanctuary for seasons, well away from the company of other cats.

A thought—an idea, even—begins to prod his mind. It teeters on the tip of his tongue, but it is not long before the molly breaks the silence. Slate's scars were healing slowly but surely, though not fast enough. " 'm about ready to get outta' here, that's what I am. Dawnglare 'n I are about ready t' murder each other at this point." The lead warrior remarks in a sarky tone, though there is some truth behind his words. Slate had not interacted with the medicine cat much before his extended stay, and he intended on keeping it that way after he left. Dawnglare knew his stuff, sure, but he was frustrating to hold a conversation with ( and to even be around ).

Still occupying his brain was a proposition, one that Slate could not quite brush off as much as he knew Orangestar would probably dismiss it. "What if I guarded your den?" The Maine Coon decides to give it a shot. Was it such a bad idea, though? His eagerness begins to get the best of him, the possibility of being a den-guard sounding much more appealing by the moment. Not only would Slate have more space to himself, but he could keep Ora safe. "I could sleep by the entrance... and 'm big enough so that nobody would be able t' get past me." They could stay up late and talk if they wanted, just like how they used to. Or not. At least someone would be there.

His mouth, as per usual, operated quicker than his brain. Realizing that he might have come off as overeager, Slate reeled in his enthusiasm, not wanting to turn Orangestar away by coming off too strongly. At his core, Slate was coming from a place of concern. "I still don't trust WindClan after what happened to Blazestar." It wasn't as if the safety of the leader's den had ever been questionable before; nobody had ever snuck into Blazestar's nest and slit his throat. However, the loss of Blazestar's last life had been so abrupt. What if WindClan was up to something sinister? How well could they trust the word of that new leader? Maybe Sootstar's cronies were still lingering somewhere on the outskirts of the forest, plotting the downfall of the kittypet clan and its high ranks.

Slate averts his gaze now, amber hues resting on the snow for a few moments before dragging downward to his paws. He had never felt comfortable with indicating that he cared about anything—or anyone for that matter. Cloverjaw was perhaps the one exception, his own flesh and blood, but even then he did not care to convey any mushy or sappy sentiments toward his brother. Slate cared about SkyClan, which he demonstrated by carrying his weight. He had run from Orange Blossom before he could truly say ( or acknowledge ) how he felt. He did not want to make that mistake again. "I... didn't want you t' go to the Moonstone because of that." The lead warrior admits, flicking his torn ear twice in a telltale show of discomfort. "You have a bigger target on your back now." Troubled, a pensive frown spreads across his broad maw.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

•  

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

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