Open Prompt Territory ShadowClan So rot, ferment, and decompose. || Animal discovery

This tag indicates this is a prompt thread.
This thread takes place outside the clan's camp in its territory.

Stoatpaw

When were we ever alone?
ShadowClan
36
15
Freshkill
260
Pronouns
She/Her
Profile
TAGS
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Shadowclan Kit
Played by
Pheo & Hawk | phoenixwashere
{$title} Prompt: Your character discovers an uncommon/rare animal or plant off the shadowclan guide! what do they do with it?
——————————————— Together, we'll make our way home ✦


Even after everything following her father carelessly discarding what could have been a great trophy for the kits, Stoatkit moped around the territory. There was bubbling frustration implanted somewhere below her crinkled face and heavy, plodding feet, like her stomping, tiny footsteps would have any impact. It was entirely unlike her to leave camp - seemingly alone - but she wasn't worried; she knew someone would be tailing her. Maybe her friend, her father, or some other nosy shadowclan cat. Either way, she was rest assured even in her grumbling wander around the territory, she wouldn't find herself alone for long. Probably for the best, but in that moment, she couldn't care less.

She wandered for a good while; at least, that's how it felt to her. She really just needed to clear her head. There was too much ongoing all at once: the thundering invasion that she still had nightmares about, the fear of losing Fleakit to the border scuffle, the weird ongoing around the camp. She just wanted some short time alone to clear her head, to breath. Stoatkit was all too aware she hadn't been left alone since... Well... She just as quickly shook that thought from her mind as droplets of rain that began to soak her pelt wicked away. The rain was a near constant nowadays, only a gentle spray today, but clearly, she'd been out here long enough for it to have begun to soak in. There was no chill, yet, though it wouldn't be long until her whole body would shake as if the very chill of leafbare had bore its way into her form. But for now, she revelled in the cool feeling; it was revitalising, like a breath of fresh air-

Comfort turned to nausea as the scent of blood struck her like a threat. Her eyes shot open, fear crawling its way down her spine like a sickness, her paws going weak. Her mind returned to the image of the mud-logged bones of the long-dead cat Fleapaw had discovered. Surely there wasn't anything else like that around here... She gulped the taste of blood on the air like a whisper on her lips, a whisper not of her own. The wind tore past her, slicking back sodden fur, guiding her eyes to the growing stench of blood that knotted fear into her chest. Carefully, like she might be next to be found in the mud, Stoatkit padded towards the scent.

She turned, peering past a rotted, leafless tree, where water had begun to collect, dark and murky and stained something crimson... Her breath caught in her throat, shutting her eyes like it'd erase what she might see. No. No, she had to be brave, brave like Fleapaw, brave like a warrior. Releasing the breath caught in her throat and peeking an eye open, she instead blinked, confused. It wasn't a cat, very obviously so. Feathers, dark brown and spattered with blood, floated atop the water, surrounding a sodden, bloated body in the water. A bird? It was bigger than anything she'd ever seen. Not a sparrow or a starling, not a lark or a nighthawk...

"A hawk...." Stoatkit breathed, the realisation hitting her. She'd never seen such a thing before, not with her own two eyes. She'd been warned before to keep an eye on open skies or else a bird like those would snatch up an unsuspecting kitten. She always thought it was a kittens tale to scare her and keep her in camp. Like Sablestar and Smogmaw's tale of turning to a frog with a mouthful of mud, she though it was a little scary story.... But maybe not...

With a gulp and shaky steps approaching the floating body, she wanted to inspect the thing further, perhaps with some sick curiosity. Out of instinct and now fearful about the stories she'd begun to brush off, Stoatkit scanned the sky and tree line. From what she could see, there wasn't anything dangerous. 'I'm not scared, I'm brave and not scared at all.' She lied to herself; it'd be true if she thought it enough. With a shakey paw, she plopped it into the water. It wasn't deep from what she could tell, and she was right. It was shallow enough for her to plod through towards the great big bird; it was huge compared to herself, but she wanted a closer look. Even with the scent of blood growing stronger, not noticing as the bloody water started to soak into the pelt on her chest, she latched onto the wing of the thing, mouthfuls of feathers and bloodied water in her maw as she yanked backwards with all her tiny might to get it out of the water.

  • ooc - prompt never specified animals gotta be alive. :) pheo had the idea n i wanted to try writin for stoat so surprise its hawk. n thought itd be funny to write myself cause... yknow. dead hawk. apparently theres sm mirrorin w the books here but idk. have fun n help stoat get this dead ass bird out the water to stare at it. - Hawk 📷
  • Stoatkit
    ✦—Shadowclan kit | 5 Moons
    ✦—She/Her
    ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
    ✦—A slender white cat with faint lilac markings and blue eyes.
    #96d5f1
    ⤷ Written by Hawk 📷
 
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5g3lob.png
Still so young, Desperate for attention!




-TW Moth describes a dead thing-​

indenttt"Stoatkit? Where are you?" How could it be this difficult to spot a bright white kitten? Mothbite had noticed Stoatkit slip out of camp and gone to fetch her, only to lose sight of her soon after. Dammit! If she got eaten by something out here, or drowned in the marsh or whatever, Timber would throw a fit. He had to find her before she did something dumb.

indenttt"Stoooatkiiiitt? Your dad's gonna be upset if you get lost out here." Mothbite called into the chilly afternoon. They were lucky is was warm. Stoatkit wouldn't be at risk of freezing on a nice day like this, even if she went wading into nasty puddles. "Stoatkit! What the hellare you doin?" She was nearly up to her belly in the still water looking at... something. Upon closer investigation, Mothbite recognizes the sharp talons and ruddy tail feathers. His heart beats into his throat for just a second before calming. This hawk was long dead. The eyes are already gone, having been eaten by some opportunistic bugs. It's feathers had already become soggy and waterlogged, leaving even the bright tail in a sorry state. The thing clearly isn't dangerous, at least, but what could Stoatkit possibly want with it? Was she hungry?

indenttt Mothbite wades into the water besides Stoatkit. "You shouldn't eat that, kid, It'll make you sick." Stoat was too nice of a kid to be subjected to Cicada's nasty attitude. If she really wanted to eat a bird, Mothbite would try to scrounge something else up for her. Anything to keep her from tracking the smell of the hawk back into camp.


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Mothbite | 19 moons | Shadowclan Nightguardbababbnihfibnfdifdhfhabbabab




 
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CICADABUZZ, 27 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ orange eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment
Cicadabuzz watches from the shadow of a gnarled tree, their pale eyes narrowed as they track the kit's movements through the waterlogged marsh. Rain dapples their fur, but they remain unbothered, still as the earth itself, waiting. Observing. Stoatkit treads forward with the reckless determination of youth, her tiny frame dwarfed by the bloated corpse of the hawk she wrestles with. The blood-slicked water clings to her fur, soaking into her chest like a slow-claiming mire. A quiet breath leaves Cicadabuzz's nose, unreadable. Kits and their endless curiosities. Mothbite's arrival shatters the moment, his voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. He's loud—too loud. Cicadabuzz flicks an ear, disapproving, as he sloshes into the water after Stoatkit. They can't quite see her reaction from here, but it hardly matters. What matters is the way she touches death with such small, naive paws, thinking herself invincible.

Cicadabuzz steps forward, silent despite the sodden earth beneath them. Their movements are fluid, measured, as they approach. There is no hurry, no urgency in their pace, only the unshakable steadiness of inevitability. "The flesh is already rotting," they murmur, their voice a quiet current against the stagnant air. "It will not give you strength to take this—only sickness." They step to the water's edge, tail curling around their paws as they survey the corpse. The hawk is large, its once-majestic form now reduced to a bloated, sagging husk, its bones waterlogged and limp beneath disheveled feathers. Its talons, though dulled by decay, still gleam beneath the murky surface. "Do you think yourself the first to claim a dead thing?" Cicadabuzz asks, gaze steady on Stoatkit. "You are not. The insects were here first. The rot. The water." Their eyes flick to the kit's blood-streaked fur, the way the stain seeps, unseen but spreading. "What clings to its body clings to yours now."

A test. A truth, plain and unsparing. Will she recoil? Will she stubbornly dig her paws deeper into the mud? Cicadabuzz waits, patient as the rain. The healer does not look away from Stoatkit. They do not offer comfort, only knowledge. "There are lessons in death," they say at last. "This one is simple—let the dead sink."

 

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tw - profanity, gross bird, vague descriptions of death and cannibalism

Fleapaw wallowed in grief—not for a loved one, not for a friend, but for the skull of a stranger. She had known Timberfrost would take it from her. She'd seen it coming the moment she gave up the location of her find so that Stoatkit could leave camp. A sacrifice she was willing to make for her friend.

But still, she pouted. She worked so hard to get that damn thing just to have it ripped away.

Damned if Timber was going to carry on unscathed. He was gonna get his punishment. Nothing too terrible. He was Stoatkit's Pa, after all. But he deserved something. Maybe she'd toss all the nests after he was done working on them or plaster his pelt with mud while he slept. That'd show that bone-hating, fun-smothering stiff exactly what was what.

As for Stoatkit… Something had been off with her lately. Fleapaw couldn't put her paw on it, but it was obvious something gnawed at her friend. That was confirmed when she saw Stoatkit slipping out of camp—by herself? Well, she wasn't technically alone, because not long after, two older cats slunk after her.

Fleapaw wasn't far behind, a stone rolled around in her stomach. She kept her steps light, trailing Cicadabuzz and Mothbite. Was Stoatkit even alright by herself? Timberfrost was so clingy—had she ever been alone before? Fleapaw knew how to slip out of danger if any was to be had but what about her friend?

The one time Stoat sneaks out… and it's without her? Fleapaw frowned. Was she really that mad about Timberfrost? Or was it something else? Was Stoatkit mad at her?

Was she trying to leave?

The thought stung as good as a real claw. A painful lump swelling in her throat. No way. No fucking way. That couldn't be it. She didn't want that to be it. But why else would she be out here?

She picked up the pace, paws kicking up mud in her urgency. Then a sharp scent hit her nose—sour—coppery. Fleapaw's stomach lurched. The scent clung to the air, thick and suffocating, clouding her senses. She knows exactly what the smell is. Fleapaw could imagine herself back there again huddled in a cramped white cage. The air stifling with rot, humming with the sound of flies—soft crunching—gagging. Her mother's paw pulling her back, telling her not to look. Not that she ever listened, even back then.

They were all so hungry, some more than others.

Fleapaw bounded ahead, sliding to a stop, breath ragged in her throat. Stoatkit—Her eyes locked onto a small, white shape. Fleapaw exhaled, shoulders slumping, catching her breath for a second. What were they even doing? Fleapaw picked up her paws, sloshing through the water.

Cicadabuzz was on about something, but Fleapaw just rolled her eyes. "How... How hard did you hit your head to get stuck talkin' all weird like that?" She flicked her tail at the medicine cat before turning to see what Stoatkit had found. She forced a smile, loosening the tension with a ruffle of her pelt. "Watcha got there, Stoat?"

Her eyes bulged. It was the biggest freaking bird she had ever seen! What kind even was it? Wasn't no crow or chicken... Its body was all wrong too—puffed up, twisted in ways that weren't natural. Eagerly, she stepped forward to help Stoatkit pull it out of the water. Flea gripped at feathers with her jaws, wrinkling her nose when the familiar bitterness of crowfood hit her tongue.


  • prompt: ——
  • fleakit-anger.png
    I extend my hand like a mob boss and allow you to kiss my ring but when you lean closer you see its one of those glow-in-the-dark spider rings you win at arcades [MUNCH] you disrespec me - and eat my spooky spida ring! which cost me 50 tickets at funtime arcade and pizzeria. VINNY! Hit her with da sticky hand!​
  • FLEAKIT / FLEAPAW / FLEAFIRE
    - she/her
    - kit
    - 5 moons
    - speech thought
    - some physical powerplay permitted

    penned by user
 
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——————————————— Together, we'll make our way home ✦


The kitten was captured by some fervent need to prove herself; this thing was twice- no three times her size almost. Yet with all her tiny might she tried to drag it from the water. The stench of rot and blood was strong, she knew she'd get into some kind of trouble if anyone had tailed her, but no one had. There was some peace in that thought, given a moment to breathe alone. There was too much bubbling up inside her, perhaps why she was making such a senseless decision to leave camp alone, but she didn't care. A low growl from the back of her throat hummed through her body as she struggled against the thing. It was heavy, from the sheer size and the water seeping into its flesh but that didn't cease her determination.

She just wanted to observe it, that was all. Death was something that faciniated her, it was something looked down upon though. Seeing her father's reaction to the bones, how delicately the prey is treated after killing them. There was respect held about death, but the visceral of death, the rot, it wasn't something cats wanted to think about. She hadn't set out in search for carrion, she just wanted to pace the nearby territory for a brief sense of freedom, a moment to breath alone. But it wasn't an opportunity she was going to let go easy.

So the movement of another cat at her side set a panic coursing through her, like a spark to dead leaves. Without a second thought she let go of the dead hawk, she could feel the acrid, bitter taste of old blood and water, mixed with spit she hadn't realized began to pool from the awful taste; it dripped from the corners of her mouth, some awful dark red liquid that marked her fur like it had on her chest. Her ears pinned back, the growl grew from the back of her throat - like she would be any use in a fight, but it was instinct.

That was, until, her expression softened, panic still thudding in her chest. "Fleapaw?" She breathed, confused. "Why are you here, I-". Though her expression hardened again, a lump in her throat, realizing it wasn't just Flea, but Mothbite and Cicadabuzz of all cats. How long had they been there? Had they been talking to her? Fear set in as there was a dawning awareness how the situation looked. She refused to look at the medicine cat and night guard, they'd probably go tattle on her to her father and who knows how long she'd be in trouble for this all. Instead, turning back to Fleapaw. "I'm sorry I- You scared me I didn't mean to....". She huffed in frustration at it all. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you-" She had no apologies for the older cats, just her friend. "-I was going out here I just... Wanted to not be coddled for once." Her voice was bitter, but the shame leaked through in droves.

She finally looked up to the older cats too, addressing them. "I guess my father sent you both." She huffed. 'Or maybe everyone in this clan just wants to treat me like a helpless kit.'

  • Stoatkit
    ✦—Shadowclan kit | 5 Moons
    ✦—She/Her
    ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
    ✦—A slender white cat with faint lilac markings and blue eyes.
    #96d5f1
    ⤷ Written by Hawk 📷
 
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