Open Camp ShadowClan don't tell me our youth is running out [playing?/open]

[Hushpaw]

ERROR 404!

Oops... Sleep Not Found

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Hushpaw wasn't the most impressive apprentice around– he knew he was kind of on the small and scruffy side, his black and white fur always spiked up and fluffed out wildly like he was constantly bristling at something. Between that, his cautious demeanour, and the light stutter that lived throughout his words, many made the mistake of thinking him cowardly and quiet, but Hushpaw- ironically enough- was far from soft spoken. In fact, before their death in the battle of the colony several moons prior, his mother used to fondly tell him that Hush had named himself– such a loud, demanding kit that the gentle but frequently spoken 'hush, love' eventually became mistaken for his name.

That hadn't really changed since Shadowclan became a thing and he was carried off with them. He was a little more cynical now, a little more cautious and skeptical than a child perhaps need be, but after what he'd seen a lived through one could hardly blame him. The image of his parents bodies would never go away. Nor would the anger attached to their deaths and the cats who caused it; Thunderclan.

But life moved on. And so did Hushpaw- for the most part.

"S-stupid Thunderclaner!" he growled around his mouthful, giving another violent tug that would have been impressive if he wasn't just barely more thana scrap of fur.

As was common for the newly made apprentice, Hushpaw was off playing by himself in camp. He wasn't really anyones first choice of playmate given his snappy and skeptical nature, but he didn't mind– he'd been raised as an only child and new how to keep himself amused. Which was how he'd ended up in a tug-of-war match against the roots of Sablestars tree, pretending he was trying to pull a cowardly thunderclanner out of their den by the tail.
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shadowclan apprentice - male - a small, black and white kit with spiky fur and green eyes

 

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 28 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ black eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit ; mentor to magpiepaw
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz watches. They do not speak. There is nothing to say. Hushpaw tugs at the roots with all the ferocity his small frame can muster, growling around his mouthful as though the battle is real. The scene is almost absurd— a lone scrap of black and white fur straining against a tree, his defiance directed at something that isn't there. Or rather, something that lingers only in his mind. Cicadabuzz recognizes anger when they see it. This is not the playful energy of a kit entertaining himself. There is too much force behind each pull, too much venom in the insult spat around his clenched teeth. His snarl is not just make-believe. It is history repeating itself in the only way he can control.

ThunderClan.

The word carries weight in his voice, despite—or perhaps because of—his stutter. It is not just a name but a wound that refuses to close. Cicadabuzz has seen many wounds, physical and otherwise. Some can be treated, their pain dulled with poppy seeds or cobwebs. Others fester beneath the skin, unseen but never gone. Hushpaw carries one of those. Still, there is nothing to say. Cicadabuzz is not a cat who comforts with words, and they suspect Hushpaw would not welcome it even if they tried. Some wounds must ache before they can heal. So they stand, silent, a distant observer to a battle fought against ghosts. Hushpaw struggles against the root as if victory here will change what has already happened. It won't. But he fights anyway. Cicadabuzz does not interfere. They simply watch, and when Hushpaw inevitably tires, when frustration or exhaustion wins out, they will be witness.

 

[F l e a p a w]

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The spite between ShadowClan and ThunderClan is above her head. Fleapaw wasn't one to carry grudges she didn't earn herself. The forest cats were just competition, another set of mouths to talk big until they got knocked down. They were annoying, but hadn't given her a reason to hate all of them just for existing. She was not there when both clans were formed, and even if she was a little curious... Flea had enough troubles of her own to worry about without getting involved in other cats.

Fleapaw watched as the black-and-white tom tore into the roots of a tree. If they were a real enemy, they'd be mulch by now—not that it was putting up much of a fight.

She didn't know him. They shared a den, ate from the same pile, slept under the same grey sky, but that didn't make them friends. Still, Flea does she make it a habit to try and talk her fellow apprentices into a little mischief now and then.

"Wowwwww, really showin' those roots whose boss." Her hoarse voice stirred with spoonfuls of amusement as she padded up behind him. "Bet they'll think twice before messin' with you again." Flea cracks a toothy smirk. "But wouldn't it be more fun to practice on something that can fight back?" She dropped low, tail flicking over her back with a friendly challenge. If he didn't take the bait, there would be no hard feelings. Not to say she wouldn't tease him a little for turning her down.

All I did was try my best

FLEAPAW

7 MOONS
SHE/HER
- Undersized cinnamon solid with folded ears. She's thin but stubby with very messy fur.
"SPEECH" - crimson | 'THOUGHTS/EMPHASIS' - crimson

Fleapaw values family the most with survival at a close second. In conversations, she is blunt, fun-loving, and clever. She is guided by her desires which often leads her astray. Despite her abrasive personality, she cares deeply for those she loves and will do anything to protect them. Due to her experiences, Fleapaw is corrupt and has minimalistic, if any, morals. She does not care for the warrior code and its restraints. Neither does she believe in StarClan. Growing up in a kitten mill, being separated from her mother, and ending up on the streets have deeply affected her view of the world.

This the kinda thanks I get?

 

[VULTUREPAW]

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Leech, no, Vulture now was watching with bemusement from a distans clearly not sharing the same impressment like that flopped ear she-cat did. He shared more with the other bystander who happened to be an adult which just robbed him of the wrong way. The idea to share anything with them was repulsive. Vulture snorted as he rolled his eyes, half debating on if he should stay quiet or not. Much to the better judgement it was difficult to keep the tongue in check especially when a moron like that got praised for something as childlike and silly.

" Tch, he looks more like an idiot." [/glow]

The kit remarked through a mutter. Playing kit games like this...wasn't this 'paws' suppose to do something more productive with thier days?. Vulture was still learning how everything worked around here which suprisingly wasn't all that different from riverclan, or the 'clan' that fishface to leader was trying to build. Overall it all seemed pointless anyway.

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I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!