Private Dark Forest stranger in the dark, the lonely night ↟↟↟↟↟ — froststorm

[F l e a p a w]

-

Flamerunner had come to get her, to convince her to come back to camp with him, but she wouldn't go. He didn't argue with her or drag her back kicking and screaming. The flame pointed tom was never like that. Flea didn't know if that was out of laziness or cause he understood, but she was glad for it.

She didn't remember falling asleep. Fleapaw had been curled under the gnarled roots of that tree, its jagged limbs cradling her like the bones of something long dead. The marsh was buzzing and loud, but—here—wherever here was—there was nothing. No wind, no bubbling water, no warmth. Just empty black woods that stretched on forever.

She could feel the soil beneath her paws. The air was thick and stagnating, cloying at her throat, filling her lungs with rot. Flea choked from the intensity of it, clearing her lungs as best she could. The ground was wet—slick with something that didn't quite feel like mud. The dark was so thick that her eyes were struggling to adjust. But little by little, she could make out more of her surroundings.

And why was it so fucking cold?

She pinched her limbs together to contain what little warmth there was. There were eyes on her, she could feel them burrowing into her pelt. The feeling was familiar... like insects squirming underneath her flesh.

Then there was how quiet it was. The silence was oppressive—void of all life. She heard not the rustling of prey or the croaks of frogs or the chirping of insects. It was the kind of silence that made her fur bristle before her head could even tell her why.

Where am I?

She swallowed, her throat feeling dry. Fleapaw didn't know why, but she knew something was out there watching her. The ruddy she-cat turned, worn eyes flickering with her dimmed fire. A cold breath of air swept across her whiskers, and she bared against it. Her claws were unsheathed in an instant. "I'm not stupid, I know someones there." She snarled into the dark, "Come out now."

The light goes down

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.

@Froststorm

A MARK from god

 

[Froststorm]

———— I awaken with the thunder, a bold statement to end my slumber. ✦

"Observant one, aren't you?"

​

The silence of that forest was strangled by the raising of a crackling voice cutting through that dreaded emptiness. Froststorm's voice was grating against that great nothingness that hung in the air, punctuated by the rustling of the thorny thicket the tom pushed through. His face naturally contorted in a smile from the rot and frostbite that had been eating away at his flesh for longer than he'd had a hold of life. Maybe once a smile of his would have been welcoming, but face to face in this shadowed place, thick with the stench of rot and demise, his presence chilled the forest to a standstill.

The air grew colder with every passing step as he approached the cinnamon apprentice before him. Droves of fog rolled in around his paws, surrounding the two like a strangling ivy.

Like a threat.​

But this was no threat. To any other cat, Froststorm's saccharine grin, poisoned by rot, was something to fear. To take heed to run. Though instead, he stared down at the puffed-up little apprentice, claws unsheathed and teeth baring a snarl. He looked to her, not with pity. Not an ounce of rage or disgust as he knew all too well she was familiar with. But instead, he met her with something of pride.

"Prepared at a moment's notice to attack an unseen enemy, commendable for a growing apprentice."

He spoke cooly, circling her in a manner most would shrink away at as if he were finding the perfect time to strike.

"That kind of bravery a leader can only hope to see out of his best warrior."

His pacing halted, standing before the spitfire little apprentice. He looked down at her, only for her size; she was nothing to look down upon, no.

"Yet you, Fleapaw, an apprentice, show more fearlessness than I have seen in some senior warriors. You fought like a true Shadowclan warrior again, those Thunderclan scum."

His voice grated like claws against a rock, a discordant noise. A plume of breath billowed through the air as he sighed.

"That is why you are here."

​

- I want sacred, I want final.

I'm seeking it wherever I go. -

• 
  Froststorm
  ✦— Dark forest warrior
  ✦— He/Him
  ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ✦— A skinny, grey speckled cat with amber eyes and various frostbitten wounds.
  
  #CD807A

 

[F l e a p a w]

-

The sound that echoed through the woods wasn't natural. It dragged along her spine like a cold claw, every syllable grating against her ears. Fleapaw stood her ground, claws digging into the dirt, eyes narrowed to slits as she stared down the thing that stalked into view.

Her face betrayed her—shock creeping up and then dying stiff on her muzzle as her gaze swept across him. He looked… wrong. Her wide sockets took in every shadowed detail. He looked like a corpse dug up too soon—fur patchy and skin blackened with rot. Even his eyes looked dead. There was no shine to them, not even a speck of gloss.

Fuck, he was probably the ugliest cat she'd ever seen.

A thick fog rolled in from either side, curling in close until it was all she could see was him. The forest shrank, corralling her in like prey. The air pressed in around her, thickening with decay. She didn't think it could get colder. Not just leafbare cold. The kind that cut straight through fur and bone.

Every sense she had told her to flee, but there was nowhere to go—Besides, she was no frog belly. Fleapaw forced her spine a bit straighter and locked her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering from the chill.

She tracked him as he began to circle, her body coiling to face him, claws dragging furrows into the wet ground beneath. He moved like a buzzard over a carcass. Fleapaw didn't dare leave her back to him, not for a second.

Could she really be dreaming? It didn't feel like her other nightmares. They were usually so chaotic and rarely, if ever, made any sense. Even the ones she had lately were never this real. Besides, since when did dreams talk back?

Weirder still was that he knew her name. He knew that she fought ThunderClan too. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, "I don't know you." She hissed sharply.

She took a step forward, trying to smother her fear with confidence, even if she didn't feel it right now. "So h-how do you know my name or that I fought ThunderClan?" Each word sent plumes of mist into the air. "Who are you?" Fleapaw had a thousand more questions, but she clamped her jaw shut and kept to a chosen few. One thing at a time. If he wanted to attack her, he would've already, right? He was ugly and scary but why else ruin the surprise and bother saying all that stuff?

The light goes down

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.

@Froststorm

A MARK from god