Fleapaw stared at the undergrowth as her frustration continued to burn. Everything looked the same in the haze. Her paws were soaked to the hock in mud, and every step made her feel like she was sinking further into failure. Looking for tracks wasn't helping. She couldn't make heads or tails of them—maybe some were even hers from circling too much.
She whipped her head to the left, then right, scanning for anything that might stand out. There had to be something. Jadethorn was a good hider, but not invisible, right? No cat could cover their tracks that good.
"So sight has not given you anything..."
"Smell a-an sound? Gonna try to pick her scent from the rest and um listen." Shit her head was gonna pop! The whole thing made her head spin! It wasn't much like huntin' frogs or mice, but it wasn't her first time trying to find a cat either. Cats could be prey too if she thought about it different. She had to track Possumgrin out into the marsh plenty of times, and then she and Mothbite went looking for Sealpaw when that coyote chased...
Fleapaw lowered her head, nose working along the ground. Scents were muddled, Jadethorn's scent was definitely among them, though muted, but she couldn't where it led. She followed a trail with forced confidence. (1d20 → 8: minor fail) Her breath fogged in the air as she poked into a brush, only to find... nothing. Flea grit her teeth. She was, in all honesty, resisting the urge to lose her shit. She'd wasted time. Jadethorn wasn't around here.
What then? That was the question, wasn't it?
Fleapaw rounded back, twisting around—too eager—rushed with irritation, the ground sloped beneath her step. She stumbled, landing with a harsh grunt. (1d20 → 3: critical fail)
"Ow fuck!" She hissed, squirming off the ground as the damp seeped into her pelt. She scrambled to her paws, cheeks burning with shame.
The tight set of her jaw betrayed the crack in her confidence. She was supposed to be better at this already. What if she wasn't good enough to find Jadethorn? What then? That thought writhed in her gut, gnawing at her with sharp little teeth. All those times spent practicing by herself, tracking Possumgrin down, exploring the marsh… Right now, felt like she hadn't learned shit from any of it. A feeble voice in her head questioned if Possumgrin was right about her lack of progress being her fault—How she never seemed to be good enough, no matter how hard she tried.
To the pit with Possumgrin and her thoughts! Fleapaw wanted so badly to smack the shit out of herself. If Sablestar wasn't watching, she might've tried just to get her head in check.
Get it the fuck together, Fleapaw!
She swallowed hard. Her body ached, her pelt slicked with a fresh layer of grime, but she drew herself back up. Eyes tingled along her spine. She could imagine the disappointment of Sablestar and her mentor. Two moons of training utterly wasted… It was the same disappointment that she tasted now, but she wouldn't stay frozen in it.
There would be nothing to find if she didnt slow down. Fleapaw stopped and pivoted quietly, drawing in her surroundings. The press of mud. The liveliness of the pocosin, occupied by the wailing of frogs and buzzing insects. Fleapaw took a deep breath through and adjusted course. The muck squelched beneath her as she doubled back, anxiety squirming in her gut. She tried to block it out, tuning in to the forest instead—the rustle of wet leaves, the drip of condensation, and finally to the trickle of water somewhere nearby.
Her folded ears homed in on a sound. A faint noise, a flick or a scuffle, too rhythmic to be a bird or a frog.
Fleapaw brushed faint indentations in the mud. Prints different from the ones she found before, she was sure it belonged to a cat. She could tell they were fresh, small pools of water settled in them. Fleapaw's chest stirred with excitement. The she-cat pressed on with more confident steps. (1d20 → 15: average success)
They came upon a pond teeming with movement. A splash in the water made her twitch, but was tuned into the task.
Her head lifted and jaw parted, inhaling the scents around them. Some prey trails and bogged water, but more importantly, the fresh scent of broken foliage. She padded ahead, drawn to a cluster of thicker reeds where a few of them had been disturbed. She stole a glance back at the tuxedo before pushing onward. (1d20 → 16: great success)
Became overwhelmed and followed the wrong scent trail. → Failed
Tried to retrace her steps and took a tumble. → Failed
Noticed faint prints in the mud and was able to determine they were feline and fresh. → Success
Used her senses to determine that foliage had been disturbed. → Great Success
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Higher and higher you chase it
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FLEAPAW
9 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.
Its deep in your bones go and take it
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.
