Stoatstream Stoatstream
In every rosewater rivulet that runs from you.
In every rosewater rivulet that runs from you.
ShadowClan
Thief
SOMETHING SACRED
HIDES IN EVERY DROP OF DEW
Hunger furled claws around her stomach, like a blink of an eye prey had grown so... Scarce. She wasn't ignorant of the hunger; it wasn't the first, it clung to her very beginning, but it was so long ago, it was a visage of pain. Stoatstream was just a kitten, given scraps of food her father could find. Her stomach turned at the thought. If she were hungry, she only dreaded to think how her father had starved before Shadowclan. Now, a warrior all her own, she was all too aware of the plights he had faced in trying to keep her safe.
Part of her found sorrow in the fact that Timberfrost suffered so much to care for such a tiny kitten all by himself, leaving himself exhausted and hungry. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees his limp form. Pelt soaked in sweat from his fevered state, barely awake in the days passing by, but holding on. But he needed help. Herbs and good prey. She had already pushed herself to hunt more and more. Saffronkit needed to be fed, and she hadn't hesitated at being the one to step in for her sister. There was a bitter sorrow where she stood in her father's own paw steps, out in the cooling seasons, paws wandering without a thought.
Wandering...
Stoatstream blinked; she had been so lost in her dread that at some point she had wandered to the edge of the pocosin, facing the Thunderpath. Out of habit, she hesitated, but she wasn't an apprentice anymore. And now, of all times, she had to do something to help. Be useful for her family. She swallowed her pride, her fear, and stepped upon the acrid pathway, darting across.
She passed through Fourtrees, hesitating to gaze up to the night sky, nearing an empty moon, just a sliver remained. She let out a sigh, grimacing at the sight of her breath curling into the sky, the first of many bitter nights. But she had something to seek, something to take.
There was no pride in her plan; it made her stomach churn, but with prey scarce and her hunting prowess being limited to learning in the pocosin, there was but one place she knew she could hunt the easiest. But she would have to be careful, so very, careful. She had made this same mistake once, it had nearly cost her life, and she wasn't prepared to fight, exhausting clung too close to her bones to even suggest a fight.
It would be easy, in prospect, but as the scent of Riverclan grew stronger, her blood began to run cold. The scent still struck fear into her core. Of course, she was growing more used to it, but without him there, it only served to knot her stomach in terror. Padding out from Fourtrees, the scent of the river washed over her. It was cruel, she still found intrigue in the water, the creatures below, but she had been warned time and time again. To come into Riverclan territory would be her demise.
Even so, she pushed ahead, crouching as she walked, eyes darting around desperately for any cats, for the scent of anyone nearby. But, it seemed, she was safe. Stoatstream wasn't proud of it, but she would have to embrace the title she took. A name spat at her with vitriol, a name spoken with pride by her clan; thief.
Certain she was alone, she crept to the water's edge and peered into the rushing river. Part of her was inclined to dive in, make the hunt easier, quicker; her father had taught her to swim for a reason. But the faith in her stenth made her remain land-bound, instead of waiting in silence watching the fish dart past. She needed something big in one swipe or at least a bountiful collection to bring to her father, to her sister, to her clan.
And yet, so focused on the water, she hadn't noticed the figure cloaked in what remained of the moonlight observing her in turn.
Part of her found sorrow in the fact that Timberfrost suffered so much to care for such a tiny kitten all by himself, leaving himself exhausted and hungry. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees his limp form. Pelt soaked in sweat from his fevered state, barely awake in the days passing by, but holding on. But he needed help. Herbs and good prey. She had already pushed herself to hunt more and more. Saffronkit needed to be fed, and she hadn't hesitated at being the one to step in for her sister. There was a bitter sorrow where she stood in her father's own paw steps, out in the cooling seasons, paws wandering without a thought.
Wandering...
Stoatstream blinked; she had been so lost in her dread that at some point she had wandered to the edge of the pocosin, facing the Thunderpath. Out of habit, she hesitated, but she wasn't an apprentice anymore. And now, of all times, she had to do something to help. Be useful for her family. She swallowed her pride, her fear, and stepped upon the acrid pathway, darting across.
She passed through Fourtrees, hesitating to gaze up to the night sky, nearing an empty moon, just a sliver remained. She let out a sigh, grimacing at the sight of her breath curling into the sky, the first of many bitter nights. But she had something to seek, something to take.
There was no pride in her plan; it made her stomach churn, but with prey scarce and her hunting prowess being limited to learning in the pocosin, there was but one place she knew she could hunt the easiest. But she would have to be careful, so very, careful. She had made this same mistake once, it had nearly cost her life, and she wasn't prepared to fight, exhausting clung too close to her bones to even suggest a fight.
It would be easy, in prospect, but as the scent of Riverclan grew stronger, her blood began to run cold. The scent still struck fear into her core. Of course, she was growing more used to it, but without him there, it only served to knot her stomach in terror. Padding out from Fourtrees, the scent of the river washed over her. It was cruel, she still found intrigue in the water, the creatures below, but she had been warned time and time again. To come into Riverclan territory would be her demise.
Even so, she pushed ahead, crouching as she walked, eyes darting around desperately for any cats, for the scent of anyone nearby. But, it seemed, she was safe. Stoatstream wasn't proud of it, but she would have to embrace the title she took. A name spat at her with vitriol, a name spoken with pride by her clan; thief.
Certain she was alone, she crept to the water's edge and peered into the rushing river. Part of her was inclined to dive in, make the hunt easier, quicker; her father had taught her to swim for a reason. But the faith in her stenth made her remain land-bound, instead of waiting in silence watching the fish dart past. She needed something big in one swipe or at least a bountiful collection to bring to her father, to her sister, to her clan.
And yet, so focused on the water, she hadn't noticed the figure cloaked in what remained of the moonlight observing her in turn.
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YOU'RE MORE THAN STAINED GLASS
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YOU'RE THE LIGHT THAT COMES THROUGH
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STOATSTREAM She/Her, Shadowclan Thief, 13 moons old.
A slender white cat with lilac markings and dark blue eyes.
Mentored by Sablestar // mentoring none
Sibling to Fleafire, Monsterpaw and Saffronkit
Timberfrost x Oleander (Gen 3) / mated to none
"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK, PAWSPEAK
penned by Pheo ↛ phoenixwashere on Discord, feel free to dm for plots.
