Open Camp 🍂⋆｡˚but most of all i miss you, my darling | playing

[Leafkit]

im surrounded by the souls of those i've lost

Leafkit, christened with the suffix of kit as the clan's firstborn litter, did not know of the trials and suffering his clanmates had endured to even arrive in this moment. The blood that spilled, the lives lost, he was acutely aware of a lingering sadness in every action made, every word spoken, as if some blanket of snow had settled over the clan despite the warmth of spring bursting from the soil in pale green sprigs and blooms. It was, frankly, really ruining his enjoyment of life and putting a damper on his fun. He needed to put a stop to it somehow and with Rattlekit and Thistlekit nowhere to be seen currently to deal with his poor impulse and their mother handling some injury or whatever it was her job was, it was up to Leafkit to spread positivity. One of his favorite things to do, ironic enough, was leaping into piles of leaves though there were not too many of them left anymore after the camp had been cleared out so he needed to find an alternative. His holly green eyes lit up, narrowed mischievously at the pile of predominantly birds at the center of the camp marked in a ring of stone, his haunches wiggling as he pounced forward toward it and threw himself over the freshkill to wallow and roll.
"Leafs!" He chirped from his macabre pile, fur sullied and blood stained now.

x

i'm the only one whose line i haven't crossed

• 

  Leafkit

  
  — kitten of thunderclan
  — He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — Chocolate tortoiseshell with olive green eyes.
  #ba7a5d
  

 

[serpentberry]

"... They tend to be yellow, which is why some cats confuse them for marigold; but you don't want to wait until they turn white, because they're all seeds, then..." Serpentberry guides @rowanpaw through a rudimentary lesson of her stores, planning to send the apprentice out with some older cats, in hope that she returns with... something. Anything, really. Having more knowledgeable paws around will certainly help her, given her three troublesome, moon-old kits. They've all her fire, all her ruthlessness and bite - they've somehow kept Thornstar's personable nature, too. His love of fun and his joy for life. It's in their blood, she supposes.

Her maw opens to continue with the short lesson when she hears one of her tots, likely lost in the throw of camp, shouting. Her eyes widen as she looks for a mottled chocolate pelt, not only finding little Leafkit, but observing him as he rolled in their piles of meals. Fresh meals, she notes with disdain. And someone isn't necessarily a clean hunter.

"Leafkit, you -!" she starts on hefty white paws, first towards her eldest child and then stalling, green eyes swaying back and forth. "- Where are your siblings? Didn't I ask you three to stay in the den?" Serpentberry is incredulous, though those who know her in any capacity would see the faint glimmer return to her gaze. The foolishness of life, to be so wild in the face of domestication. Yes; they are her darling children. Hers, and Thornstar's, for certain. "You'll be sleeping in a nest of pure water tonight, boy."

 

[rowanpaw]

Rowan is nodding, listening attentively as Serpentberry tells her about the difference in the leaves, how to recognise poison from healing, how they sometimes intertwine– then, suddenly, her ears perk up and she hears the voice of one her little adopted siblings– then Serpentberry is taking off into the clearing towards the sound. She laughs, following the older molly and spotting Leafkit lying happily in the pile of freshkill in the middle of the camp. She looks over at Serpentberry and sees, for the first time in what seems like many moons, a glimmer in her eyes. It makes her feel lighter, seeing Serpentberry look more like herself, like she did before everything. She thinks back to their conversation in the colony, Serpent's gentle reassurance. She tries not to think about what happened after it. This was good, things were... they were good, now. Better, at least. Grief still clung to the pelts of the cats surrounding them, but grief is like that, in the beginning.

It clings to everything, and you see who you lost in every pool of water and every shadow. Rowan is no stranger to grief– it's a familiar companion. First she'd lost her littermates, then her mother, and now– just when she'd gotten a father, for the first time in her young life– he was taken from her too. She is not sure how she will recover, but when she looks at Serpentberry and Leafkit, she knows she will; that she must. This is part of grief too. It gets smaller, it stops clinging to you, and eventually you'll only feel it rear it's sharp toothed mouth every once in a while, like a kit pleading for it's mother.

She shakes her head and looks down at Leafkit, her tone full of amusement, "you'll be a fierce hunter someday I'm sure," she purrs, "that is, if the prey doesn't smell the mouse blood on you and runs away before you can catch it."

 

[thistlekit]

They awaken colder and less cramped than when they drifted off to sleep — not necessarily an unwanted wake up but certainly worrisome when they realize that the reason behind it is due to a missing littermate. Thistlekit raises their head and blinks the remnants of sleepiness from their eyes, glancing around the den for Leafkit and determining that he is not there.

Hmm.

Leaving Rattlekit, should he still be resting, Thistlekit waddles to the entrance of the den and peers out into camp. It is bustling with life and among the liveliness they spot the mottled pelt of their brother. And mother! And Rowan! Excitement lights baby blue eyes to see their favorites gathered in one place and without thought Thistlekit scampers from the den to join them.

"Mama! Leafy! Rowey!" The ashen child calls as they barrel towards them, picking up too much speed and unfortunately tripping themselves up in the process. The whole world seems to somersault in flashes of earthen ground and clear sky as Thistlekit tumbles head over heels before crashing into the pile of fresh kill that their brother wallows in. "Oof."

At least it was a soft landing.