Is it new-leaf yet? As the cold continues to permeate across the island, the clans and tribe settle into one of the worst leaf-bares in seasons. Likewise, we're sure the rest of us could do without the cold ourselves, right? This month we have a slew of site updates, a new art contest, OTM winners and nominations, and our usual plot updates, so make sure to check out the February Announcements! Additionally, we have a few new patrols and a game-plan for our patrols from September, October, and December, so make sure to check those out as well!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
The moon hung low above the wreckage of their camp, its soft, silver hue draping a ghastly blue over the horrific gouges, like bite marks in the earth. Yewthorn huddled close to his mate, his eyes merely narrowed as he tried to sleep beneath a lowly fir, but his mind couldn’t rest; not when his children were splayed between them, their pelts still damp, plastered with mud and his home, destroyed beyond repair. The rest of his clan-mates were scattered across the ruins, some taking shelter beneath the trees, like him, and others, strewn in working pairs as they desperately tried to rebuild the dens that were long gone, washed away with the storm. No one would say it, but everyone knew; there was no way the camp would ever be rebuilt before leaf-bare, seasons of work, lost in the flood.
The mink’s stare flickered toward his mate, who huddled besides him in the cold, their pelts quivering for warmth in the brisk air. She’s still awake too, he noted, catching the subtle twitch of her ear, the move of a whisker. Between them, all four of their children laid together, their bodies melded as one, as if they weren’t fully-grown apprentices but newborn kits pressed against their mother’s stomach, desperate for milk. His eyes softened. All of them were sound asleep, lost in a primordial slumber. Good. They needed it, definitely after the night they had. With a soft sigh, his attention returned to his mate, worry flickering beneath his stare. He shouldn’t have told her to leave, to run and assist Ratwhisker when their kits needed them most.
Morningmist would risk her own life for her children, just as he, and it was never his place to try and tell her otherwise. His brow furrowed. There were other things he shouldn’t have done too, secrets that kept him awake at night, secrets he was afraid to admit out loud. But, what if? The tom’s stomach twisted as he remembered his meeting with Shadowface at the border. But, what if she left if she knew? His claws flexed absent-mindedly into the mud. But, what if I lost her tonight? Would it be worse if she didn’t? If I never got to tell her? Bitter realization fluttered in his chest. He knew his answer. With a slight cough, the tom leaned in closer to his mate, careful not to disturb the kits between them.
“Morningmist,” he murmured, his voice so low he almost missed it beneath the soft noises of work. “I,” he started with a swallow. “We need to talk,” the words left his mouth in a sad whisper, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. He didn’t know what she would do once she found out, but all he knew is that it’d be worse if she didn’t or if she somehow found out on her own. He had to tell her about his children across the border, his sons he had never met, and Starclan knows what else. With all the chaos of the flood, the loss of their home, Yewthorn knew it was what he had to do. Nearly losing his kits, his mate, it all made him realize how fickle their lives were, and if he could somehow make his son’s lives better, then he’d do it. He had to, even if it risked the life and love he had built with his mate here.
Morningmist could honestly say she’d never been this exhausted before. She ached in every crevice of her body, deep down in her muscles, bones, and viscera. Her lungs burned with each breath; her chest was tight for more than one reason. Even her eyes pulsed with discomfort, beating in time with her heart. She felt disgusting, like she was would never be able to wash the mud caked down between her toes. She could still even taste the muck of the den from when it collapsed.
It was more than just a simple physical exhaustion, though.
Her heart was heavy with the loss her clan had suffered. There were still missing cats (her siblings and mother included) on top of the destruction of their home. Emotionally, she felt wrung out yet at the same time, charged like a live wire. Despite everything they had been through, there were still others in the clan ready to do more, eager to get things back to some semblance of normal.
Their nerves and emotions rubbed on her poor, open soul like salt and acid in a bleeding, gaping wound. Her chest rattled more from the emotional ache of those around her than because of the physical harm she’d suffered today.
Yet, despite all the loss and chaos, she felt an overwhelming relief and gratitude. She knew without a doubt that it was an emotion all her own. There had been no personal losses to Morningmist in this tragedy (she didn’t count her siblings or mother as she was a stranger to them).
Morningmist’s family lay bundled together at her breast, like the very night she’d worked long and hard to bore her precious children to breathe their first breath. They were packed all together, all six of them, so tightly, it verged on discomfort. But anytime one of her children twisted in sleep, she gently persuaded them closer to her belly and back under the veil of deep slumber. She did it in a way only a mother could; a gentle tail tap, a puff of air on whiskers, a body rattling purr to chase the night terrors away, a tiny kiss of her tongue upon a smooth brow. Each child wore the mark of her love on their foreheads, the only part of them perfectly clean and washed.
None of her children, even spirited Jaypaw, had protested in her mother henning, to shaken by the events of that day to be embarrassed. For tonight, they were young kits seeking comfort in the only things that had ever been solid presences in their lives; mother and father.
Maybe that was why Morningmist couldn’t sleep. She wanted to bask in this moment, with her family tucked close, before reality called her kits back to duty and they returned to prospering young apprentices making their own lives.
The night was quiet, other than the occasional shuffle of paws and lowered voices, wheezing breath, or distant grumble of thunder. It was almost peaceful in the wake of the flood, as if the waters had washed the land clean. There was barely a cloud in the sky, the stars shining bright and the moon hovering ominously overhead.
Morningmist’s pert ears twitched at her name, the only indication that she was listening. She was afraid to extract her head from where it was, with Swallowpaw’s nose pressed against her neck. “Yes?” she breathed, whiskers flickering as she glanced at him in open curiosity.
With their daughter’s nose pressed to her neck, Morningmist merely swiveled her ears in his direction, a soft breath from her mouth as turned to face him, blue eyes blinking with curiosity. There wasn't a hint of malice or mistrust in her gaze. Only an inquisitive flicker danced in her stare. Maws softening, Yewthorn released his own breath, his stomach twisting as a storm of anxiousness seized his chest. Where do I even start? He thought, terrified that his mate would leave the second the confession left his mouth. No, he reassured himself with a determined furrow of his brows. She wouldn’t do that. He recalled that night, so many moons ago, when they sat in the warrior’s den as he confessed cat after cat, face after face to her, she-cat’s he had been with, including his treks across the border; and when he was finished, she did not abandon him nor chastise him for his mistakes. No, she chose to stay, to be with him, even when she should have ran.
He still didn’t understand why she hadn’t run, why she was still here, nestled with him beneath the firs and pines. With a dejected sigh, the tom let his gaze linger over their kits before he leaned down, running a quick tongue over Dovepaw’s mud-covered crown. He had to tell her. He had to do it now. “I-,” his voice faltered in his mouth. Swallowing, the tom lifted his stare to meet her cerulean hues, his beacons even in the darkest of nights, his home. “Remember when I told you about Shadowface, the she-cat from Lichenclan, the one I,” his voice trailed between them, unwilling to confirm the unspoken. She knew what he meant. With another swallow, Yewthorn continued. “I was on a hunting patrol a few moons back, and I ran into her.” His voice started to soften, his words almost inaudible above the remnants of the storm that decimated their home.
“I should have told you right away, but I was still processing it.” The mink tom furrowed his brows, a soft shake to his head. “I’m still processing it,” he murmured slowly. With another sigh, the tom lowered his gaze, watching as their kits slumbered peacefully between them. “Shadowface told me she had kits,” he confessed, raising his stare to meet his mate’s once more. “My kits.” He let the admittance settle between them before he continued. “Two toms. Well, three toms but one passed before he was born.” Tears sprung to his eyes and with a flutter of blinks, the tom looked away, unable to compose himself. He didn't realize how much that hurt, to miss a son he had never even met. “They’re apprentices now, much older than our four.” A lump was forming in his throat, an uncomfortable mass he tried to swallow. “But I think, I think I should meet them.” His stare returned to his mate. "I think we both should meet them."
It wasn’t often she willingly reached out to touch the feelings of others. She cloistered herself, running as far from those emotions as she could, slamming the door shut. But Yewthorn was someone she loved and trusted. She turned to him for a lot, and tonight was no exception. Only, this time, her reaching out to him was not borne out of uncertainty, searching for confirmation or explanation. She reached out this time to inquiry what had her mate so troubled.
She touched upon his aura softly, not wanting to overwhelm her already frazzled emotional state. She could see his anxiety in his careful gaze, hear it in his stumbling voice. It still shocked her though, upon feeling it. It was so great, for her loving, adoring, optimistic mate to feel, that she was instantly going to hear horrifying news. Her azure gaze snapped to her kits, counting each breathing body as if feeling them nestled between them wasn’t enough.
When she confirmed, yet again, that each of her first brood were still dozing peacefully, lovingly tucked against her body, she returned to look at Yewthorn. She blinked, eyes wide like the moon above, when he started to speak. She felt very briefly a flash of what she later would peg as worry, then focused on his words. No, she had faith in him, that he would hold true to his vow to her.
It was her faith in him, so unyielding, that did not allow her to even bat an eyelash at his confession. She knew honestly, that he’d had offspring in other clans. She’d discerned Curlycloud’s litter must have been his. She knew of her mate’s checkered past, of the many before her. She saw the looks they still received, moons later, of uncertainty, disdain, and didn’t have to be an empath to know that they were waiting for him to leave her.
But no. She had to have faith, because if she didn’t, then who would, that Yewthorn was going to remain true to her. Maybe it made her a fool, maybe it made her blind. But she’d made this her bed and she’d sleep in it.
She digested his words slowly, mulling over the facts as she let her gaze travel back to their kits. One of them was kneading her now flat belly in their sleep, so softly that it almost tickled. She couldn’t pick out which it was. She felt his stare return to her, though she didn’t raise her gaze to meet his as he spoke of his desire.
It frightened her, to meet more pieces of him. Pieces that she had no connection to, but…
She loved him, even the bad, and to know each little piece of him was a privilege.
“Okay,” she answered. “Let’s meet them, then. Shadowface’s first. Then Curlycloud’s.”
four hundred seventy-one | whoop, there it is | wish
Her blue eyes never wavered from his, even as one of their kits started to knead her stomach, an instinct that returned him to the few weeks after their birth, back when his children were small and still needed him, voiceless and weak. A sudden flutter lurched in his stomach, a realization that all of his children needed him, still needed him, even if they decided that they didn’t. For all he knew, he could find his sons and tell them the truth, and they’d want nothing to do with him, hate him even. With a slow exhale, the tom waited for his mate’s answer, scared she would refuse, like his kits. At the very least, if she was besides him, he’d feel better, more at peace knowing that he tried. He didn’t know what he’d do if the calico said that she couldn’t, or worse, left.
A swallow traveled down his throat, his mouth suddenly sticky and dry, fearful of what his mate would say. It felt like the moon had moved an inch cross the heavens before she meowed, her voice low and resolute. Immediately, the mink tom’s chest fell, relieved with her decision, a loud breath from his mouth, but then he caught the last name from her mouth, a name that made his heart thud in chest like a boom of thunder. “Curlycloud,” he echoed, desperately trying to make sense of her statement, his mind churning. It hit him, her strange confession at the creek. The silver warrior had mentioned kits.
Oh, my Starclan, he breathed, suddenly connecting the two. How can I be so deft? So Idiotic?“H-how did you know? I didn't even k-know.” he meowed at last, confused of how his mate knew about his kits, kits in Redwoodclan for Starclan’s sake, when he had no idea. Was it a she-cat’s intuition? With a defeated sigh, Yewthorn’s brow softened. It didn’t matter how she knew. He had to face this mistake, just as he had to face his mistake in Lichenclan as well. “Ok, we can meet them as well,” he murmured, suddenly thinking about his children in the redwood forest. How many were there? How old were they? His mind churned like a current in a storm. Will they even want to meet me? It was so much to think about, and with the current state of their home, he didn’t know when he’d have the resources or even the time to make sense of all of it it. All he knew was that he was thankful for his love, his mate.
“I love you,” he meowed at last, an earnest tug to his voice as he met her gaze, their children resting between them. “And I love them.” He didn’t know what he did to deserve this. His whole life, it seemed, was a mess of bad decisions and mistakes, but this wasn’t a mistake, even if it wasn’t exactly planned. This was his and it was real. As his eyes lowered to take in his children, all four of them, his heart also with his kits in the other clans, a sudden desire overcame him, a desire for more, a decision that wouldn’t be another mistake, a decision he was sure of. This time it was a decision he would make. “Would you think I’m crazy if I said I wanted more?” he cracked with a smile, his eyes glittering as they raised to meet her cerulean hues, more in love than he'd ever be in his entire life.
Morningmist watched her mate’s face carefully, watching his pale whiskers, a stark contrast to the dark fur which they connected to, twitch. They were practically the only thing on her mate that was clean, so caked with mud and muck that he looked very little like himself. If she looked hard enough, she could just make out his pale chin and the white whisps of fine fur in his ears.
She doubted she looked much better, but it mattered not. Underneath the grime, she knew the lines were there, and so she traced them with soft, adoring eyes. She followed the rounded cheeks, a little thinner than normal with stress. His released breath gusted out of his stout chest, fanning across her cheeks. The sweeping arch of his brows was lowered in thought.
Morningmist merely gave a knowing smile, gem-like eyes bright. “I had suspected. I couldn’t make sense of her pain then, but now,” Morningmist let her gaze drift back to her brood. “I understand it all the more, now.” She traced each child’s form, marveling at the four miracles sheltered between them. Calm and perceptive Featherpaw, attention loving Dovepaw, proud and protective Swallowpaw, fierce and fearless Jaypaw.
Morningmist was not proud of herself for the first few moons of her being a mother. She’d been overwhelmed, for her whole litter, except quiet little Featherpaw, had been loud and boisterous like their father. Anxious enough with the whole clan’s eyes on her, she’d struggled to be a good, firm mother. But there was one thing Morningmist never failed to do. She loved her kits fiercly, in every way she could. She had vowed to be the best she could be for each of them, and while she felt she had been a little more disconnected than she wanted to be those first two moons, she had not failed in being everything for her kits that they needed.
Her brood was flourishing and growing. It was a scary thought, that soon her children would need her less and less as they sprouted their wings and took flight like the birds she so loved. Morningmist hummed as he spoke of his love, merely shifting closer to his form with an affectionate purr. She kept no secrets from him, he knew of her love. “And I, you, my dear,” she laid her head down upon his paws. She chuckled lightly at his admission, looking up into his jade gaze. She reached up, pressing her forehead to his. “Then I suppose we are both crazy."
