Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
charitypaw
LIKE MACHINES DO
[ pls wait for @Solace <3 ]
"Mmm, Mom?" A low rumble of a purr before singing her mother's name into the air, young Charitypaw arrives with decaying clumps of moss and discarded feathers. A piss-poor attempt of gathering proper nest materials in truth. The young moggy cannot help the sorrow that clings to her frame, if not for the lackluster nest they are to build, but for the wasted materials altogether. Perhaps it's a stretch of his young mind to imagine that even plant life or discarded prey-fluff may have feelings and use in the eternal cycle... but he's not necessarily in a realm where someone can correct him anymore.
"Will these work at all?" Charitypaw muses, depositing her gathered supplies by Solace's paws. Maybe they can still fashion something out of the damaged feathers, or still gather water with some of the moss. She wouldn't mind sleeping on flattened grasses for another night - if anything, a piece of her is eager to rest out in the open once more. The stars are delightful when the chill doesn't nip at her bare skin.
"Mmm, Mom?" A low rumble of a purr before singing her mother's name into the air, young Charitypaw arrives with decaying clumps of moss and discarded feathers. A piss-poor attempt of gathering proper nest materials in truth. The young moggy cannot help the sorrow that clings to her frame, if not for the lackluster nest they are to build, but for the wasted materials altogether. Perhaps it's a stretch of his young mind to imagine that even plant life or discarded prey-fluff may have feelings and use in the eternal cycle... but he's not necessarily in a realm where someone can correct him anymore.
"Will these work at all?" Charitypaw muses, depositing her gathered supplies by Solace's paws. Maybe they can still fashion something out of the damaged feathers, or still gather water with some of the moss. She wouldn't mind sleeping on flattened grasses for another night - if anything, a piece of her is eager to rest out in the open once more. The stars are delightful when the chill doesn't nip at her bare skin.