Oneshot Prompt ShadowClan you're like a ghost, you're haunting me 𓍊𓋼𓆏𓋼𓍊 — oneshot

[F l e a p a w]

Marvin Brooks - Ghost (2WEI Remix)

Even though she asked, Fleapaw hadn't been on a group patrol since they visited the Thunderpath. After a while, she got tired of waiting. Tired of asking, leaning way too close to begging. So finally, she took matters into her own paws.

Fine. Whatever. She didn't want to be around a bunch of stuffy warriors anyway.

She strutted through the pocosin with all the confidence of a cat three times her size. Her eyes were straight ahead and tail held high. Cold mud squelched between her toes, a fresh layer of grime already caking to her fur. But Flea didn't mind the muck. She could wade through the sloppiest, filthiest parts of the swamp and come out grinning.

The pocosin was wet, sticky, and full of questionable smells. Nothing too bad. She was raised in filth—too used to crawling under dumpsters and digging through two-leg trash. At least the air didn't burn her eyes like the sour stench of the mill. But the air was heavy—the kind of weight that sank into your fur and crawled into your nose whether you liked it or not.

She slunk along the border, eyes, and nose sharp for trespassers, when something… changed. A plume of white mist curled into the air in front of her.

Fleapaw stopped in her tracks, gawking. What the fuck?

She huffed again. Another plume of mist rose into the air before vanishing. What? It had been warmer the past moon. So why was it suddenly so… cold?

Her ears flicked uneasily, and a tingle slithered up her spine. Fleapaw looked around, scanning the murky undergrowth. The shadows tilted inward, gathering, twisted by gnarled roots and looming pines.

She was alone. Or at least—she thought she was. Her eyes drifted down, catching on something.

There etched into the mud was another set of paw prints. They fused over her own, only… bigger—deeper. The damp earth, already marked by her path, was now trampled, like something had followed her, stepping exactly where she had stepped. A thin layer of frost had gathered in them, spiraling out in scabby, cracked patterns.

What…?

A gust of air, cold enough to peel the bark off trees brushed against her flank. Fleapaw's fur bristled, twisting around, teeth bared. Something wasn't right. It felt like eyes were burrowing into her skin. The chill gripped her from all sides—surrounding—smothering.

Her breath came quicker, white clouds puffing into the icy air. She swallowed. But Fleapaw wouldn't turn tail. She was not a soft belly, not like Sealpaw or Mothbite.

Who or… whatever it was out there… She would face it head-on.

"H-hey!" The apprentice squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. "I know someone's there! Get your ass out here before I make you!" Her back arched on instinct, eyes narrowed with an unyielding spark, like a campfire crackling through a blizzard.

The air pressed down harder. The usual swamp sounds—croaking frogs, rustling underbrush—were gone. It was completely, hauntingly, silent. Fleapaw's claws flexed against the mud. A shiver ran through her.

Fuck it was freezing.

"I ain't scared!" She snarled, throwing her head back. "Run home frog-belly, or face me like a warrior!"

She held her ground, waiting for something to answer her challenge… but nothing came. Only the twisting of her breath in the frigid air.

The blood pumped in her ears, but eventually, she forced her fur to lay flat. Ain't nothing there, get it together scaredy mouse. "Tch." It was cold. So what. As for the paw prints... er... uh... maybe she would ask someone later. But first, she had a very super important job to do.

Fleapaw grumbled as she turned, eyes lingering a bit longer before continuing along the border. But the feeling remained, like a cold hound on her heels.

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shes got a knife ▬ι═ﺤ stab stab

• prompt: —— your character is walking through the pocosin and suddenly notices they can see their own breath while feeling an unusual chill. when they look around, a trail of pawprints appear to have stomped over their own
• 
  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!​
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• FLEAKIT / FLEAPAW / FLEAFIRE
  - she/her
  - apprentice
  - 6 moons
  - speech thought
  - some physical powerplay permitted
  
  
  penned by user​

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