A HEART THAT’S FULL UP LIKE A LANDFILL ✹ Weaving fail

[Frostmoth]

Least creative of any of the cats in RiverClan- though more likely for a lack of trying than a lack of ability- Frostmoth had easily chosen to specialize in the area of pearl diving over weaving. He's been a strong swimmer since he can even remember. If his mother could have cast him and Stormswirl into the ocean to learn the moment they opened their eyes, she would have. Comfortable with what he's best at, Frostmoth had not even given it a second thought when choosing between weaving and diving.

Still, a certain curiosity comes over the deputy every once in a while. He sees the weavers hard at work throughout the day, littering camp with their dry reeds and deft paws. He's tried his own paw once or twice when RiverClan had needed den repairs or sought to expand or create the dens that they now all slept and lived in. Usually resolving himself to ask for help or giving up the task altogether.

For whatever reason, he is drawn to try again. It isn't even like they need it particularly right now. Though he does worry about keeping warmth inside the dens in the colder months ahead. Would they benefit from more weavers then? Frostmoth just feels that he'd like to practice for once. It's uncomfortable and feels foreign between his paws, but he supposes that he won't get better if he doesn't try.

He fumbles with stiff, dry reeds. Their rustling is a comforting sound that reminds him of where he is, but it's not enough to overcome the frustration that's building under his coat. He manages to weave together a simple cross-hatched pattern. Though it isn't really enough to hold together, per se. Really, it just ends up falling apart into a neat stack as soon as he thinks he's making progress. Frostmoth heaves a sigh, defeated. He thinks just to get up and leave his supplies behind without so much as another word.

OH, MY GOD ★ MAKE ME IN YOUR IMAGE

• "SPEECH"
• ★ FROST — he/him, riverclan deputy, 21 moons
  — penned by carat, feel free to ping or dm for plots!
  — longhair black and white bicolor with blue eyes
  — peaceful powerplay ok! all interactions ok!
  
• penned by carat!

 

[JUNCOPAW]

The topic of ranks is not anything foreign to Juncopaw. She had thought about it before, multiple times, but usually to no avail. Now that the whole wide world has opened itself up to her, she knows she ought to make decisions for herself. Usually, it's pretty easy—she likes to act as a sort of tiebreaker when other apprentices fumble with their uncertainty.

She's confident, and she knows it.

But then... the future, beyond moons of training, is a lot easier to get lost in. Juncopaw usually admires the work of weavers; their paws work tirelessly to craft something from nothing. How awesome! But then, the gentle lapping of waves on a shore always reach her ears, as if to make a point. Diving deep for the finest of treasures falls perfectly in line with her interests.

Or, a life guard. Juncopaw sometimes giggles about imagining herself as part of Pikestar's council. Maybe someday.

Juncopaw breezes through the camp before abruptly halting; she backpedals, quite literally, as she merely forces her legs to take her backwards instead of actually turning around.

"Need help, Frostmoth?"

she asks easily. Reeds scatter and fall past his grasp like a bunch of sand getting overpowered by winds. He hadn't needed to sigh to get the point across: he is struggling. Juncopaw only grows a bit sheepish as she actually approaches him, realizing that the deputy may not want to take advice from an apprentice.

"I mean... I'm also kind of an amateur. I only learned a bit from Hydrangeabloom. But we can fail and try again together!"

 

[Frostmoth]

Frostmoth bites back a myriad of curses as the reeds rattle and scatter around him, as if framing his black and white body against the camp floor. Some of them are picked up by a marshy breeze and pushed further from the deputy, making it so that he might not be able to make a silent escape from the weaving disaster he's created. Affirmed as much by Juncopaw, backpedaling from her path and looking at him with excited eyes. Frostmoth deflates. He loathes asking for any sort of help, but this is just embarrassing. Though it might be even more embarrassing if he were to pretend he hadn't just been trying to weave and left a mess in the middle of camp, especially when prying eyes are now on him.

He concedes. "Maybe," okay, maybe not a complete concession, but it's something "I've focused all my energy into diving. But I figured the weavers might need help in the coming moons when it starts getting colder..." Frostmoth trails off, knowing he's about to ramble away his fumbling with the reeds. He winces when Juncopaw, however unintentionally, commiserates with him over being an 'amateur'. He looks down at his strewn reeds. Were they really that bad? He hadn't broken or shredded any of them, his claws are still put away. They were just... not weaved.

"I haven't learned at all," he admits finally "Peachtrot and Russetfall tried to show me once, when we had first set up camp. But I was miserable with it, so I chose to learn other stuff. I'd be willing to give it another go," He huffs, a small laugh at his own childishness. Though he knows that only a few moments ago, he would have receded into that same childishness by walking away from the reeds without another word. Frostmoth turns from the apprentice and begins to gather the fronds into a more accessible pile, preparing so that they might be able to give it another try together.

OH, MY GOD ★ MAKE ME IN YOUR IMAGE

• "SPEECH"
• ★ FROST — he/him, riverclan deputy, 21 moons
  — penned by carat, feel free to ping or dm for plots!
  — longhair black and white bicolor with blue eyes
  — peaceful powerplay ok! all interactions ok!
  
• penned by carat!