༺ to fall or fly v2 - wc rp

[rey skywalker]

☾ | ━━━ 𝐊𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐖
age. 11 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘴. gender. 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺 rank. 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 mentor. 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 setting. apprentice den
tags. snakepaw, firefly, burntleaf (mentioned)
( post one ✧ )

✦

xxxxxx a yowl sharpened against sudden silence; kyanitepaw sprang to her paws, fur bristling and teeth bared at the unknown danger. she stood rigid, back raised and tail lashing as color materialized in her gaze; snakepaw was responsible for disturbing her sleep. despite the exhaustion and weariness that had claimed every paw step into the apprentice den since all the cats had returned from the mudslide, kyanitepaw was slow to forgive the honest freight of poor snakepaw.

"badger-face," she snarled with scorn, fur bristling, creamy tail lashing, "stop your wailing or i'll have your ears!" her threat was weak, but spirited. truthfully, kyanitepaw was no better off than snakepaw in the young molly's reasonable fear of waking up from a nightmare; it had taken kyanitepaw what felt like moons to get comfortable in her nest and fall asleep. uncertainty made her ears flicker at every sound permeating around the den.

claws extended, kyanitepaw only saw off the scared snakepaw with a low growl in her voice. in her eyes, it was pathetic that the apprentice ran off, fear streaking off her frame. "and don't come back until you know better than to wake me!" she spat out as she launched forward towards the entrance, gaze burning with anger.

it took a long moment for her fur to eventually lie flat, and for the memory of the warriors all leaving the camp surfaced. firefly stood there, speaking to what felt like shadows. "what do you want?" kyanitepaw growled, prickly as ever. "if you're looking for a reason to be accepted, find it elsewhere." she said, baring her teeth at the newest member of the clan.

if starlingflight were here, he would have quickly snapped at kyanitepaw and told her to apologize, and behave. he burrowed in her brain as an after thought, shame rippling under her pelt. "sorry." she finally admitted with a barked word. drawing her tail around her frame, kyanitepaw came to sit before the former rogue. "i shouldn't have said all that." she confessed, quietly. "but it's not going to help any-cat if snakepaw reacts like that every morning and sunset. there's enough to worry about already." she looked after the path that snakepaw had vanished to.

"have you eaten yet firefly?" she asked, gaze clear of the former fierce emotions that somehow lingered in the spirited apprentice's voice.

[Nunavik]

𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹
41 moons & she/her & deputy & app. hopperpaw
mentions. briarseed, pikecrest, gorgefang, skyestar & tagged. mistback, froststrike

Spottedfeather sat among the gathered cats, her olive-green eyes scanning the faces of her clanmates, but her mind wandered elsewhere. The usual sense of connection and camaraderie that came with the Gathering felt distant tonight. The shared store and peaceful conversation all absent. All she could feel was a tightness in her chest, a gnawing unease that refused to be shaken. The recent events that had rocked the clan played over and over in her mind, and the comfort she typically found in the Gathering had slipped away, leaving a hollow space in its wake.


Like many of her clanmates, an sense of fear clouded her, barely visible beneath her stony expression but bubbling just beneath the surface. She knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to face it, to confide in someone—maybe Briarseed or Skyestar. But for now, she remained motionless, listening to the low murmurs around her. Despite her distracted state, Spottedfeather could still pick out the harsh tones of Pikecrest, Gorgefang, and Froststrike, their words sharp and heavy with frustration. The dilute calico had little to add to the turn of events regarding the rogues, but it was not a time to argue.

With a sideways glance towards her brother, Spottedfeather pushed himself to her paws and joined the fray. The she-cat had no intention of laying down the law when the gathering was a time to settle disputes and squash turmoil. But now was not the place, not when Mistback had the floor. One thing at a time. The dilute calico affectionately headbutted her brother, muttering a soft "stop" as she found a seat at his side. "Let's give Skyestar and Mistback the floor. This can be discussed later when everyone has taken a moment to cool their heads." The she-cat made a point to look both Gorgefang and Pikecrest in the eye in their own turn. While her posture was relaxed and her expression neutral, Spottedfeather's gaze was firm.

As the moon hung high, Spottedfeather's throat bobbed slightly as she took in Mistback's status. The she-cat was quiet and obviously struggling. The dilute calico set a glance to Briarseed, inquiring with soft eyes but with no real question on her tongue. Had this trip been too much for her? Or had the loss of Milktuft been too recent for Mistback to voice the details of her death? Spottedfeather returned her softened gaze to the frail she-cat. "It's alright, Mistback." The calico hummed softly as she took to her full height. The she-cat's posture shifted slightly, losing its usual firmness as her youthful tenderness returned. The weight in her expression eased, and she gave a comforting nod. "You don’t have to speak now.""

.𖥔 ݁ 🪐˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ︵ ( another day lost inside the maze ) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━ ( maybe i'm not my best, but i'm trying my best ) ━━━━━

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑭𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻
29 moons & he/him & warrior & app. kyanitepaw
mentions. skyestar, spottedfeather, kyanitepaw, burntleaf, kits & tagged. bunnyhop

The irritation on Starlingflight's face did not waver. Instead, his lips pulled back ever so slightly, exposing the sharp white edges of his canines. The apologetic tone and submissiveness of his clanmate did nothing to curb the pent-up aggression, rolling deep in the tom-cat's belly. "Yes!" He snapped with a lash of his tail. "It's the middle of the night and you thought it was a good idea to keep your clanmates awake after a day like we've had?"

Starlingflight was a warrior known for his unforgiving nature—brash, opinionated, and far angrier than most would expect from someone his age. For many moons, his short temper had been sorely honed and primed to tame his apprentice. The she-cat as fiery as himself but after the day's affairs, the warrior found himself primed for the next clanmate who rubbed him the wrong way. Particularly, one who forced him to stay awake.

His blue-green eyes narrowed onto Bunnyhop. "If you couldn't sleep, then you should have made yourself useful and taken over the camp watch, mousebrain." Starlingflight retorted evenly. Taking a step forward, the tom-cat aimed to press a paw into his chest in an attempt to punctuate his point. With his anger slowly beginning to dissolve, the large tabby whipped around and took the lead from the coverage of the warrior's den. "Come with me."

The clearing was devoid of bodies as anticipated. Many warriors had left from the camp's borders with Skyestar and Spottedfeather for the gathering. Those that had stayed behind likely were all sound asleep, where Starlingflight wished he still was despite the nightmares that haunted him. He could faintly make out the sound of Burntleaf's kittens fussing in the nursery and somewhere in the distance, the distant murmur of voices, but he had no interest in eavesdropping on idle conversation.

Turning back to Bunnyhop, Starlingflight’s irritation simmered down just enough for him to think clearly. He had considered sending him out of camp for a few hours, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Both Skyestar and her deputy would’ve come down hard on him for such a reckless move, and he had no desire to argue with two she-cats tonight. Instead, he chose to keep himself busy. "We’re going to patrol the outskirts of camp," he said firmly. "And then you’re going to stand watch until everyone returns from the gathering, got it?"

.𖥔 ݁ 🪐˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ︵ ( you still bear the weight of your own existence ) ━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( & you will never bear the weight of two ) ━━━━━

[KasperKat]

Burntleaf | he/him | 24 moons | queen
locations: nursery, mentions: eeleyes, duskkit & littermates

Burntleaf tapped Eeleyes soothingly with his tail as he saw the worries that skipped through her own mind. Comforting others was a form of soothing for himself - in part, he found that in convincing others that everything was okay, he could convince himself. Which was part of why he loved to be a queen, he supposed. He saw her paws flex and knew she longed to dig her claws into the mossy nursery floor to find some purchase in this unstable, slippery time. This time was hard for all of them - warriors, kits, apprentices, and elders alike.

The striped tom felt Eeleyes' body stiffen during the story of rogues and noticed her quiet response. He shot her a quick, curious look but didn't press the issue. Rogues had always been a problem in Clan territory; she had probably had a run-in that he didn't know about. He wanted to comfort her further, as a close friend worried for another, but settled for licking Duskkit more thoroughly, despite the little kit's protests. "Yes, all cats have their own guiding morals. Not every cat that is strange is wrong, but rogues can be violent if they don't have a compass as strong as StarClan, telling them that fighting other cats is bad unless absolutely necessary. So I don't want to hear about you looking for rogues, kits. Eeleyes and I, Sykestar, Bunnyhop, all the warriors and elders and apprentices are all here to protect you, alright? Never approach a rogue without a warrior you trust. But..." he adds, glancing over Duskkit at Eeleyes, sensing that there was something more to her speech from her cast-aside glances and hesitant words. "...not every rogue can be bad. Some rogues are just as caring and kind as Clan cats. Some rogues were Clan cats and some rogues become Clan cats. It's important to remember that." He quickly adds for the kits, "But never approach a rogue on your own. You can't really tell until you're a warrior whether they'll be bad or good."

Burntleaf's ears also pricked at the strange rustling in the brush and he drew Duskkit even closer, motioning with his tail to bring the other kits close, though he tried to seem casual. "Well...I suppose it was a variety of things. Duskkit...the kits were born in the evening and it was one of the most beautiful dusks I had ever seen. Everything was lit in this fiery glow, which is also where Ashenkit comes from. I remembered this old, old elder's tale about a bird that burned so very bright, and then seemed to die in ashes. But the bird always came back from the ashes. I wanted him to remember that no matter how many times it seems as if everything's burnt down, he can always rise from the ashes. And Duskkit...at the end of the day, dusk takes the entire world, and sometimes that is when prey is best. I wanted there to always be choice pickings for him. Plenty of prey and plenty of shelter when the night grows too deep. And a memory from his father, on the beautiful night he was born. Strawkit...well, that was another memory from her father. His fur was long and soft, and he told me the most beautiful stories of the world. He told me of barns, and said that the bedding in them was called "straw", nearly as soft as the softest fur and rich with mice that would scurry right through your bedding. When he left, I guess I wanted something to remember him by, and the wonderful stories he told me. I let him go - I knew he wouldn't stay, no matter how perfect our love was. He wasn't a Clan cat, and I wasn't a loner. But each of these little kits remind me of him and I can't wait to see the independent cats they grow up to be." Burntleaf purrs in amusement as Ashenkit wrinkles up his nose and sticks out his tongue at the sentiment in his father's voice, then gets distracted by Duskkit's question.

The rustle in the bushes comes to mind, and Burntleaf feels his fur prickle uneasily at the idea of the kits going out to play. "Hmm, well, let's play moss-ball in the nursery, okay? You can go a bit away in the nursery, but make sure Eeleyes can see you and do not leave the den."

[selasphorys]

𝗕𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗗
(medicine cat) (27 mns) (she/her) (appr: risingpaw, lightpaw) (x)
(location: smoothing stones / gathering) (tags: spottedfeather, sykestar, risingpaw, mistback) (mentions: none)

“Thank you, Sykestar," Briarseed mewed, touching her nose to the gray molly's shoulder before stepping aside. It was a slight gesture of support, even hope. The leader seemed distant. Her gaze was heavy with the weight of the clan, of the fates of every cat. The young medicine cat had to trust herself to share that burden.

As Sykestar honored the memory of Milktuft and invited Mistback to speak, Briarseed bowed her head out of respect for the lost. She could see the faint reflections of stars on stone. The rock had been worn smooth by many paws, and now those ancient pawprints leave a trail to follow. She only raised her gaze when silence stretched on for too long.

No, not silence. As the clan held its breath, she heard suppressed wheezing. Mistback--! Her condition seemed worse than before. Had she chewed the juniper berries like Briarseed had asked? Oh, it was just like Mistback to push on at the expense of herself. This was a mistake. She should have checked on her, she should have made sure she was okay to speak, she should have never suggested---

Spottedfeather caught her eye, a question in her olive-green glance. Briarseed had no answer. Her mind went blank and she froze up, her paws petrified and yellow eyes wide. The newly-named deputy took action in her place, offering the gentle support Mistback needed. This was not the time for hesitation. Her "should-haves" burning away, Briarseed finally found the strength to carry on. “Here, Mistback. This medicine should help," she murmured through her herbs, touching her tail-tip to the gray warrior's flank. The medicine cat guided her to a quieter spot away from the crowd. She chewed up a few leaves of coltsfoot for cough and mixed it with honey for the damaged throat. “Take this, please. You'll feel better. You don't have to push yourself. We can try again when you're ready." She hoped she sounded more certain than she really felt.

She needed someone to watch over Mistback in case her condition deteriorated further. Risingpaw seemed like the most experienced candidate, despite their thorny personality. The apprentice had the darkest scowl on its face as she approached. Swallowing her hesitation, she began, “Risingpaw, could you please watch over Mistback until she is able to speak? Her cough is worsening and her gait is unsteady. I trust you to take care of her."

Leaving her apprentice with Mistback, Briarseed returned to Sykestar. Uncertainty and regret still manifested in her flickering gaze, jumping from clanmate to clanmate and finally to her paws. But she allowed herself to hold onto a spark of hope, that her leader and their stars would show her the way.

𝗦𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧
(warrior) (40 mns) (she/her) (appr: goosepaw) (x)
(location: smoothing stones / gathering) (tags: greydream, sykestar, mistback) (mentions: gullsplash)

Oh, Swallowsight...

Her mother's words washed over her like soothing rain. The fluttering worry in her chest slowed. How many times had she heard that gentle murmur after she ran mewling to Greydream's side? When she tottered into camp with a thorn in her paw, when she tumbled into a ravine on one of her adventures. All those tiny moments, when she found her mother and everything was suddenly okay. Swallowsight missed this. She missed her, so much. She wanted to lean into that warmth again, but the distance between them was still too great.

Greydream's voice quivered. Swallowsight felt her ears flick backward, concern softening her gaze. It was so easy being spiteful after all these moons. While her mother sunk into her grief, Swallowsight had escaped to new skies. Raising Gullsplash alone, letting old wounds fester. She could cast her anger at the empty space where her mother should be. But now Greydream was by her side again. Even listening to these stuttering words was enough. A heavy knot in her belly began to loosen, if only a little.

For a moment, she stared into Greydream's soft blue eyes. And instead of the faded phantom she had come to expect, she saw her mother again.

“...Okay,” Swallowsight mumbled, hesitant at first, like a kit. They could try to reach Gullsplash together. Maybe it would work this time... at least she could hope? It seemed like her every interaction with him these days ended in yelling. Scolding him for this, that, or the other, while he brushed her advice off with careless indignance. This visit could be a first step. “Okay. Let's go see him together, after the gathering,” she repeated, with greater conviction this time. However, her mother had already broke her gaze. It was the quiet avoidance she knew too well, the kind that lingered in shadows until they grew long into night.

Of course. Sykestar must begin her speech now. A shred of disappointment stuck in her throat. Swallowsight should be happy that they had reconnected after so long, but she wanted more than this fleeting moment. She couldn't keep waiting. Taking the smallest step closer to her mother, she dropped into a crouch beside her. Not close enough for their pelts to touch, but still. Closer.

Sykestar and Mistback stood before the clan. The leader spoke of honor and loss, echoing the same phrases she heard when each of her family members left to join StarClan. How many more of her clanmates would give their lives to the falls?

Who would be next?

𝗣𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧
(warrior) (30 mns) (she/her) (x)
(location: smoothing stones / gathering) (tags: froststrike, gorgefang, spottedfeather) (mentions: none)

Mid-tirade, Pikecrest tilted her head toward her old mentor. She recognized that sharp look, that low growl. They took her back to her apprentice days. She had ignored Froststrike then, like she ignored him now. With a shrug, she lazily let her green gaze travel back to her target. Gorgefang. She couldn't help feeling amused, seeing the rogue get riled up like this. Her whiskers twitched with a mocking purr. Pikecrest wasn't scared. If the rogues aimed for the throat, she would just twist out of the way. A little extra battle practice was all it took.

And besides, she didn't need anyone.

When Gorgefang fixed her with a glare, Pikecrest returned the favor. Her jade eyes hardened to shards, her lip curled into an open sneer. She would have launched into a retort if Froststrike hadn't gotten between them. He seemed to be focused on smoothing pelts, which was boring, but probably necessary. Their little situation was escalating. She would have followed up with some choice words too, but it seems that they had attracted too much attention. Spottedfeather was fast approaching. Pikecrest met her gaze with confidence but without malice. "Of course. My apologies," she meowed, with a small dip of the head. She didn't want to get on the soon-to-be-deputy's bad side. Besides, Froststrike and even Gorgefang had made some good points in their little spat. She would reflect on them later. For now, she would sit quietly while her sister gave her address.

[TheClockmaker]

Snakepaw
App. | 7 M | Female | Tags: Firefly, Kyanitepaw | Mentions: none

Snakepaw was angry at Kyanitepaw for calling her a "badger-face" before she ran out. Even though her fur was fluffed up, her belly was full of spite. Right now she was thinking about how to get back at her. Kyanitepaw practically made her forget all about her nightmare. So she snuck right back into the den. Snakepaw would not be a scaredy-mouse any longer. She kept her voice low but firm when talking to Firefly, mewing softly, "Okay sure, let's talk. I don't want to sleep anymore." She wasn't scared of any rogues. Probably. Even though Kyanitepaw was in the den too, the other apprentice looked like she hadn't seen her come back yet. Tail swishing, Snakepaw hid behind a pile of bedding and decided to get back at her by surprising her. As Kyanitepaw talked to Firefly, Snakepaw felt more and more upset about how mean Kyanitepaw was being to their newest clanmate. She was so angry she didn't even realize that Kyanitepaw had started to apologize to Firefly. She popped out and barked in her bravest voice: "Hey weasel-heart, missed me?"

Gorgefang
Warrior | 48 M | Male | Tags: Pikecrest, Froststrike | Mentions: Firefly

Gorgefang thought that Froststrike might be more approachable than Pikecrest, but he was still wrong. Yes, Gorgefang considered himself a FallsClan warrior through and through. But no, he knew this clan couldn't win against the rogues. The disasters had taken too large of a toll. As for Pikecrest, he wouldn't humor her with an angrier reaction. If she thought he was overreacting, then she could do what she wanted while he survived. Gorgefang heard what Spottedfeather said, and decided to not argue with Froststrike and Pikecrest right now. "We'll discuss this later," the tom said with finality. Gorgefang tried to think about what to say to the clan once the gathering really started. He felt like the only way he could convince anybody was to give a plan of his own. Perhaps FallsClan could join forces with a different rogue group to drive out the one that was currently attacking them. There had to be a way to solve this with diplomacy. But could any of the other groups be trusted? Gorgefang decided to just wait and listen until he could speak again. He would rather take his chances in this crumbling territory than try to fight off the rogues.

[rey skywalker]

✦ | ━━━ 𝐒𝐘𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑
age. 41 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘴. rank. 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 gender. 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺 apprentice. 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 setting. 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴
tags. 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘱𝘢𝘸, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘸, 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘳
( post three ✧ )

✦

xxxxxx

Sykestar was tired, and weary. Her paws felt numb along the smooth rocks, cold and prickling. Often, the cold breeze barely ruffled her composed expression, but tonight, under the starry sky, surrounded by her anxious clan mates, Sykestar let the ripples of emotion sweep over her fur. From the outside perspective, Sykestar seemed to have shrunk under the weight of the dark night sky and appeared curled into herself, her eyes pinned onto the ground.

Only the light flick of her ear at the disturbance being tended to by Briarseed for Mistback's worsening condition, revealed any sign of comprehensive life in her frame.

There were too many lives lost, and she found her voice hollow and brittle, admitting this among cats who sought strength from her paws. “We’ve lost…We’ve lost many, too many clan mates.” Often, a leader’s thoughts were shrouded in darkness from the gleaming eyes of an expecting clan, reserved only for faith and trust to her medicine cat and reliable deputy, but tonight, her thoughts surfaced before all the cats. “I’ve wondered too many hours under the sun and moon how I could change my paw steps and give my life in exchange for theirs, so that they may eat beside us, hunt at our side, embrace our kits and comfort our young.” Her gaze swept around, filled with a startling amount of emotion. For any cat old enough to remember her mother Blossomfrost, the cats might have recognized the vulnerability in Sykestar’s eyes that had shown when she had suddenly overnight become responsible for litter after litter, in her mothers absence.

That same hardship she had endured, raising her family, had also led her paws to the deputy position. Very little had she shown since that day. Kept her feelings locked away, where they were safest from the unknown. But what happened when everything going forward was unknown? The forest she had known and trailed her moon-rise and falls had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, the sweep of a birds feather, the lick of the stream against the land.

Fallsclan was fractured and lost, weary and confused. Sykestar could hardly do so much as stand proud and tall, when the ground felt so unreliable, as she had been devastated to learn. She quietly thanked their ancestors for tethering her to earth with the gravity that tugged her claws from their sheath as she raked them before her, eyes growing more animated.

“I’d have given any of my lives for them.” She exclaimed, “As I would give all my lives for you. For my clan. For Fallsclan’s security and future.” She thought of the kits nestled with Burntleaf and Eeleyes, playing and chasing moss balls and the tale of elders into the night. The image of her warriors gathered around the freshkill, sharing their meals together arose, as easily as did the apprentices all competing for the best hunting grounds, or who could leap the highest to mark the tree trunk. Everything seemed so small and distant at the smoothing stones, but also final and infinite.

Sykestar felt a thickness in her throat where she recognized her voice should have continued, to sooth the concerns she felt prickling her fur from the eyes of her clanmates.

“A rogue attacking our apprentices, our apprentices running off with their mentors to chase their tails, our herb garden destroyed, our trails in ruins.” Her voice was a rush of the condition of their territory, and their dim chances of survival. “Our nest is bristling with kits, and apprentice hood and warriorship in the balance.” Her gaze sharply found Pikecrest, “Cats interested in war in the face of the unknown. This…This isn’t right.” Sykestar shook her head firmly, her face nearly lost to the darkness around them, only her bright eyes shining with a new flame.

“We need stability. We need a home.” She felt herself shake quietly as she added her final verse, “We need a new home.” Still, the decision to leave and venture into the mountains that caressed their home, was not a decision Sykestar could select on her own, not when so many paws could one day be additional stars in the skies under leadership. No, Sykestar vowed not to lead alone.

She sat back, allowed her tail to curl around her paws as she settled down into a laying position and dared a small glance towards her herbalist, wondering what the clan would think of the next steps, and if they could trust anything enough to let the sky lead them to a new horizon.

[heresalittlefaith]

❅┗━━━━ Bramblefrost
⋅>> Rank: Warrior ⋅>> Pronouns: He/They ⋅>> Age: 14 moons ⋅>> Location: Gathering/Smooting Stones ⋅>> Tags: Sykestar, Briarseed, Spottedfeather, Mistback, Pikecrest, Risingpaw, Lightpaw, Graydream, Gorgefang, Froststrike, Swallowsight, Rainchaser

The young tom swallowed hard and stood up in the middle of his clanmates, "Sykestar is right, we need a new home. Our home can't support us anymore." He spoke up, his eyes scanning the group of cats for anyone who dissagreed. Their leader had spoke then gave them space to speak, and while disagreement was welcome, he knew that it was dangerous to stay rooted in old ways. This was their home, yes, but anywhere with their clanmates could also be called home. As long as they stayed together. "I know the concept of the unknown is scary but... but as long as the clan stays together we will be strong. We can do anything so long as we move as one." He puffed up his chest a little, standing tall. He was young, but he hoped that didn't lessen the impact of his words.

[peachpit.]

✧ 𝚁 𝚊 𝚋 𝚋 𝚒 𝚝 𝚜 𝚘 𝚗 𝚐

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[ Deputy - He/him - 45 moons - Bisexual - Mentions: Swallowsight, Briarseed, Sykestar, Mistback - Tags: Cats of the gathering ]

Extracorporeal. Disembodied. His soul lagged behind his body like a shadow displaced from its source. Rabbitsong sat amidst the swell of pelts and murmurs, yet felt entirely alone—marooned within himself. The trauma clung to his consciousness like wet moss, heavy and smothering. He could still feel the mud caking his claws, smell the iron of blood mingled with the raw, wet earth. He remembered none of what he’d screamed, only that he had. Begged the stone. Bargained with the soil. Dug until his pads split, unearthing Clanmates who had felt the wrath of the angry terrain they called home.
The cacophony had dissipated into an unnatural stillness, like the forest holding its breath before a second collapse. His crystalline eyes, ringed with weariness, traced the assemblage of cats beneath the pale light of the moon. They paused—perhaps too long—on Swallowsight, and something inside him fluttered. Not joy. Not quite. But something adjacent. A fragile impulse that momentarily buoyed his drowning thoughts. Was it hope?
Slowly, with deliberate caution, the silver-furred deputy rose to his paws, spine curving downward as he lowered himself to avoid looming over those nearby. He moved like a specter, silent and half-there, and settled beside Sykestar and Briarseed without a word. A shallow bow of his head to the two served as his greeting—an anchor to reality, brittle but still intact.
He sat. And in that sitting, in the way he folded his limbs beneath himself with the precision of a wounded thing concealing pain, there was the echo of someone only beginning to reinhabit their body. He was terrified to speak. His throat felt scorched, hollowed by dirt and water. What if he opened his maw and only anguish poured forth? What if, instead of words, it was a guttural, warbled sob, the kind that splits a tom in two before his Clan?
But silence, too, had its own violence. It left space for doubt to bloom. After Sykestar's address and Bramblefrosts concise words, he could no longer sit in silence. Their words reeled through his head, like that of a twisted fairytale. So he inhaled—quiet, controlled—and when he spoke, his voice bore no tremor, only a grave eloquence born of sheer force. He turned to the mass of Fallsclan cats before him, their eyes poured into him looking for someone to answer for them.
“Fallsclan,” he began, the name itself feeling like a eulogy. “We stand, if one can call it standing, upon the aftermath of catastrophe. Our sanctuary is sodden and buried beneath its own terrain. What remains is not merely ruin—it is desecration.” His tail curled tightly around his paws. Each word was a scalpel, slicing through the thick miasma of grief. “We have lost more than stone and bramble. We have lost certainty. The illusion of permanence. And with that, the notion that we are owed safety from the world’s whim.” He looked around, and though his breath still carried the ghost of hyperventilation, his eyes were lucid—clear, but sorrowed.
“I will not pretend I know the path forward. I am not one of those warriors who wears certainty like armor. What I do know—what I cling to like a branch in the flood—is that to remain where the earth itself seeks to undo us may spell the end of Fallsclan.” He stopped, letting the words hang in the air like mist curling from a still pool. “If we choose to leave, it is not abandonment—it is evolution. It is survival. If we stay, we do so with the knowledge that we may be burying not only our memories, but ourselves.” He turned, for the first time, to look fully at Sykestar—his voice now a near-whisper, silk drawn taut. “But whatever we choose, it must be together. Fragmentation is a second disaster I will not weather.”
Then, as if the words themselves had exorcised something from his chest, Rabbitsong lowered his head again and said nothing more. Silence, this time, was not fear. It was respect—for the gravity of what must come next. His eyes, too searching for answers, turned to the mass of felines in front of him.

✧ 𝙿 𝚞 𝚖 𝚙 𝚔 𝚒 𝚗 𝚙 𝚊 𝚝 𝚌 𝚑

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[ Warrior - She/her - 25 moons - Lesbian - Mentions: Injured apprentices, Sykestar - Tags: xxx ]

It was not a title that weighed heavy—it was one that shimmered. “Stand in as medicine cat,” Sykestar had said, her voice calm and absolute, her eyes reflecting the steadiness of ancient stone. “They will need you, Pumpkinpatch. And I trust you.”

She trusted her.

The words echoed through Pumpkinpatch’s chest like a birdsong in an empty hollow—tender, improbable, beautiful. She had nodded, demure as always, but once the patrol had vanished into the mist and starlight, she had exhaled in a quiet gasp, as though she'd stepped across some invisible threshold. Now, with the moon bleeding its light over Fallsclan’s broken bones, she moved through the camp not as a warrior, not as a daughter, but as something sacred. A caretaker. A healer. A possibility made real, if only for one night.

The ruined herb garden lay silent in it's grave. But where another might have seen only rubble, Pumpkinpatch saw purpose. She had gathered herbs from the remaining stores—drying them, organizing them on clean bark. Her paws, once so tentative, now moved with tender confidence as she pressed dock leaves to Stormpaw’s inflamed leg, her breath warm as she murmured soft assurances. "You’re safe now. Just rest. I've got you." Every word was a promise. Every touch, a thread woven into something whole. She should have been exhausted—her paws ached, her back screamed, her fur was a tangle of mud and poultice—but there was a lightness in her limbs she hadn’t felt since kithood. A quiet thrum beneath her skin, like something awakening. Like recognition.

She passed the nursery and paused—not from sorrow, but reverence. Her mother’s voice still lived there, somewhere in the dust and shadows: “Your place is here. Bearing life. Not scraping mud and herbs like some root-scrubber.” But her mother wasn’t near. Sykestar had given her a different place. She turned her face skyward, moonlight catching in the amber gleam of her eyes. The stars blinked dimly through the mist, as though unsure whether to watch or look away. “I know this isn’t mine,” she whispered, voice nearly lost to the wind, “but just for tonight, please—let me wear it.” The wind did not answer, but it wrapped around her like a shawl, soft and solemn.

She moved again, quickening her pace now. The apprentices needed more moss soaked in yarrow water. Lemmingpaw’s cough was worsening—she’d crush coltsfoot for him. Her mind buzzed with treatments and tenderness, her heart full with the sensation of doing what she was meant to do. Even if she’d never be permitted to claim it. But still, there was something radiant in her chest. Not defiance—Pumpkinpatch had never known the taste of rebellion—but quiet fulfillment. A dream that had not died, only gone dormant. A calling answered in the softest voice.

✧ 𝙼 𝚘 𝚞 𝚛 𝚗 𝚒 𝚗 𝚐 𝚍 𝚘 𝚟 𝚎

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[ Queen - She/her - 48 moons - Heterosexual - Mentions: Cats in the nursery- Tags: xxx ]

His voice was never loud. Even in dreams, it arrived like mist—soft-edged, half-formed, spoken less with words than with presence. She felt it before she heard it: the hush of breath behind her ear, the warmth of fur against her flank. The hush of the world gone still. Silentstep. He stood at the edge of the water, just as he had on the night they’d spoken of names—kit-names, future ones. His eyes, silver-bright and endlessly quiet, watched her with that same unmoving devotion, the kind that needed no shape, no speech. The waterfall behind him shimmered, endless and glistening, its roar hushed to a lullaby. She took a step toward him—slow, dreamlike, heavy with knowing. He didn’t move. He never did. But he waited. “Are you proud of me?” she whispered, the words trembling on her tongue like dew. “Even like this?” He tilted his head, just slightly. The motion—so small, so human—shattered her. Because she knew it, knew it intimately. Knew that it meant yes. Of course. Always. She opened her mouth to say more. And woke.

The nursery ceiling loomed above her—smooth stone and shadow, stitched with soft moonlight. Her chest rose sharply, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. Reality returned not as a gentle tide, but as a sudden flood: the cold ache of absence, the sharp awareness of her body, swollen and sore; the hollow beside her, where no one lay. Her heart beat against her ribs with the fluttering fragility of a bird’s wing. The scent of moss. Milk. Distant laughter. A kit squealed somewhere to her left—Duskkit, perhaps. The rustle of fur and the low cadence of another queen’s voice answered, warm and grounding. But it was not Silentstep's.

Mourningdove exhaled shakily, her breath trembling as it left her. The tears gathered unbidden, welling not from the eyes but from some deeper place—something marrow-deep and ancient in its sorrow. She did not weep aloud. Her grief had long since taught itself to be silent. She turned her head slowly, cheek pressing into the soft hollow of her nest. The movement disturbed the moss, and for a moment the world shifted—a flash of moonlight across her pale fur, her swollen belly outlined in delicate luminescence. Life stirred within her: a small, fluttering kick against her ribs, soft as the brush of a feather. She flinched. Then stilled. It was a strange cruelty—to carry the children of the dead. To be so full of life, and yet feel so hollow.

One of the kits giggled again. A high, unburdened sound. Somewhere, Burntleaf murmured in return, his voice steady and warm, the cadence of a parent rooted in the present. Mourningdove closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to remember. She conjured Silentstep’s face again—not as it had been in death, but in dream: whole, unweathered, watching her with eyes that had once promised forever.

She missed the sound of his breath at her side. She missed the way silence had never felt lonely when it belonged to him. Now, every hush felt cavernous. And she—soft, grieving, soon-to-be mother—felt like the only living thing in a world of echoes. Still, she curled her tail gently around her belly, the tip resting just above where her kits shifted in slumber. “I’ll try,” she whispered, to them, to him, to no one at all. “Even if I have to do it without you… I’ll try.”

The moonlight held her. The den murmured softly around her, full of motion, of warmth, of a world that had not yet ended. And Mourningdove, wrapped in the hush of memory and motherhood, unsteadily got to her paws.

✧ 𝚂 𝚒 𝚕 𝚔 𝚠 𝚊 𝚒 𝚕

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[ Warrior - She/Her - 44 moons - Pansexual - Mentions: Rabbitsong - Tags: xxx ]

Silkwail stood near the frayed edges of the gathered crowd, her silver-tabby pelt catching slivers of moonlight like fine, woven mist. She was motionless—an elegant statue of storm-born stillness, wrapped in that signature quiet that followed her wherever she went. The hush that fell over the clearing might have unsettled another cat, but for Silkwail, silence was a familiar, if unkind, companion. The cold pressed into her thin frame like mist clinging to stone, yet she did not shiver. She stood poised, spine straight, her emerald eyes catching the dim light with an unnatural sharpness. Beneath her polished exterior was a mind constantly calculating, dissecting the uncertainty that crackled in the air like distant thunder. Grief had a shape here tonight—it rippled through whiskers and twitched in tails, hanging in the air like mist too thick to breathe.

She had heard Rabbitsong’s voice before she turned her eyes to him. He spoke not like a warrior, but a mourner at a burial stone. His eloquence struck her—not just for its beauty, but its fatal clarity. Each syllable seemed to ring like a stone dropped into a deep pool. Desecration… illusion… fragmentation. Words chosen with surgical care, leaving no room for misinterpretation, yet offering no balm for the wounds they reopened. As he spoke, her expression did not shift. But inside, something reeled, it churned, it made her sick to her stomach. Rabbitsong’s words touched upon the very thing she’d built her life trying to outpace: the lie of permanence. The myth of safety. She had clung to both when she was young, when her mother’s voice whispered terrifying things into her ears—things like sacrifice, like practicality, like survival at any cost. And when she’d finally refused that cost, when she’d torn the future from her mother’s claws, it had left a scar so deep she had built her identity around not looking directly at it. Now, Rabbitsong asked them all to look.

She had never returned to the spot where she and Dawnwhisper last stood. Never returned to the den where her kits had withered away, or to the pool where Minnowkit—no, Minnowpaw—once looked up at her with those glassy, too-large eyes, barely able to stand. The nursery was a graveyard to her. Their home, sacred as it had once been, had long since become a place of ghosts for her. But now, it seemed, those ghosts had risen to demand reckoning from all of FallsClan.

Her tail curled neatly around her paws, though the tip trembled once before stilling. Around her, the Clan shifted, murmured, hearts breaking or bracing. Silkwail said nothing. She was used to bearing things in silence. That silence was the only thing that had ever felt honest. She let her eyes drift to the falls in the distance, though she could not see them from here. Still, she could hear them—ever-present, now louder in the quiet that followed Rabbitsong’s speech. They sounded different now. Angry, almost. Not the soft, murmuring lullaby she had grown up with, but a warning. A reckoning.

Silkwail blinked once, slowly. Her face remained unreadable, but deep within her chest, she felt something stir. Not fear—she had lived too long with that gnawing thing to be moved by it anymore. No, this was something older. Something harder. Resolve. She didn’t know what choice the Clan would make. Stay, or leave. Cling to what was left of their shattered roots, or uproot entirely and seek a future in the unknown. But she knew this: wherever FallsClan went, the past would follow. And so would she. Her gaze lifted toward the stars, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if any of her lost kits had made it to StarClan. If Dawnwhisper watched her now. If any of them had forgiven her. She doubted it. But forgiveness wasn’t why she kept going.

As murmurs began to stir again across the clearing, Silkwail remained in her silence, moonlight painting her in shades of silver and sorrow. She would not speak yet. Perhaps not at all. But she was listening. Always listening. And when the time came—when the silence shattered, and the choice was made—she would be ready.

✧ 𝙶 𝚘 𝚘 𝚜 𝚎 𝚙 𝚊 𝚠

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[ Apprentice - He/him - 9 moons - Bisexual - Mentions: xxx - Tags: Swallowsight ]

The Gathering was supposed to be a time of connection, a night to share stories and relax after the struggles of daily clan life. But tonight, as the moon hung overhead, something felt different. The air was heavy, thick with an oppressive silence that seemed to cling to the cats of FallsClan like the dampness from the river that wound through their territory. No other apprentice stirred such a sacred gathering, it was just him. He hadn't been permitted to attend per say, he had silently slipped into the attending patrol after Swallowsight. He was afraid, looking for answers that no cat dared to burden him with. But Swallowsight brought him ease like no other, and he could not let her leave alone.

Goosepaw had been bouncing around all evening, trying to keep the usual buzz alive. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the weight that hung over him. Something was wrong—he could feel it in the air, and he could see it in the eyes of his clanmates. But it wasn’t until his eyes landed on Swallowsight, sitting somberly at the edge of the clearing next to her mother, that he felt the true chill creep into his fur. She wasn’t herself tonight—her usual vibrance and sharpness were gone. Instead, she sat with her head low, her fur damp from the fog that had rolled in with the evening. Goosepaw's mismatched eyes narrowed, his stomach churning with concern. He had heard the rumors, of course. The mudslide. The landslides that had wrecked part of the territory—damaged their home, turned paths into rivers of dirt and rock. Goosepaw hadn’t been there when it happened, but he could feel the aftermath in every silence and every heavy glance. The older warriors who had already seen such tragedies were quieter than usual, as if the earth itself had shaken them to their core. And the younger ones—his friends—hadn't been the same since they first heard the news.

Goosepaw padded closer to Swallowsight, not quite sure what to say. He couldn’t tell if she was more upset about the mudslide itself or something deeper, but he knew one thing: she needed him. And he couldn’t leave her alone with the weight of it all, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He took a deep breath, clearing his throat as he finally spoke, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “Hey, Swallowsight,” he murmured, trying to keep his tone light. “I don’t know if I’m the best at comforting cats, but I think I’m better than no comfort, right?” Goosepaw sat down beside her, careful not to crowd her too much, but close enough to let her know he was there. He didn’t have the words, not really. He wasn’t good at those quiet, heavy moments, especially when he could feel the earth still trembling beneath his paws. He nudged her gently, his round, soft face flashing her a grin, though it felt hollow. “You know, I’m usually the one who needs rescuing, but I’m kind of wondering if you need some right now, too.”
His eyes gleamed with the same mischievous energy they always had, but there was a sadness to it, too. He could see the pain in her gaze, and it made his chest tighten. He threw in a little wink, trying to lighten the mood as he nudged her again. His mismatched eyes gleamed mischievously, the cerulean one flashing in the moonlight while the burnished topaz one twinkled with playful energy. He always loved getting a reaction out of Swallowsight, especially when she was like this—reserved, distant. He hated seeing her like this, and even if his ways were crude, at least they were guaranteed to pull her out of her shell. Or so he hoped.

“You know,” he continued, trying to distract her, “this Gathering is supposed to be fun. What happened to the usual excitement? I mean, a little bit of mud isn’t enough to take away our spirit, right? We’re FallsClan. We’ve bounced back from worse!” But his words felt weak even to his own ears, and he stopped, looking down. The reality of the mudslide was gnawing at him, and for the first time, he realized how far-reaching it had been. He hadn’t been at the heart of it, but he could feel the loss all the same. The damage wasn’t just to their home—it was to the clan. He had heard the whispers, the names of injured cats murmured with worry, and his stomach tightened at the thought. They were all his age, for yowling out loud. Goosepaw shifted his weight awkwardly, his paws flat against the stone beneath them. The distant cries of the remaining clanmates drifted across the clearing. Their chatter was faint, and even their laughter felt strained. How could he sit here, trying to joke and laugh, when there were others out there searching, rebuilding, mourning? His gaze flickered back to Swallowsight, his voice softer now. “I’m... I’m here, y’know? If you wanna talk or... just, y’know, not talk. I’m good with not talking.”

His words hung in the air, a simple offer, but it felt significant. He didn’t know what had happened exactly with Swallowsight—what had caused the shift in her mood—but he knew that at least in this moment, he could offer her the one thing that had always worked in their friendship: his goofy, unrelenting presence. His mismatched eyes stayed locked on her, waiting. He didn’t have the right words. He didn’t have the answers to the questions of what had happened or what would happen next. All he knew was that Swallowsight shouldn’t be alone right now. The air felt heavier still, and despite his attempt to lighten things, Goosepaw couldn’t shake the sorrow hanging like a cloud over them both. He hated feeling useless, but sometimes just being there—offering the small comfort of companionship—was all he could do.