Google dot com says the traditional gift for a four year anniversary is fruit & flowers?? How festive! In honor of our fourth year on the world wide web, we are requesting bouquets and fruit baskets or cash donations to the whip-a-rain-fund 😌 Oooooorrr we guess...alternatively...we can put on a big, month-long celebration featuring a warm-and-fuzzy event, scavenger hunt, a raffle drawing, and a freakin' prize wheel??! See the September Announcements for more information, and don't forget to check out the September Patrols too!
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.
...honestly she needs a little loving, or someone to get into heavy drugs with...
Why things unfolded the way they did had truly failed to impress. But a dainty soul such as the runt of the litter, was not meant to ponder such. She was dealt a hand which felt lacking in not only the amount of cards, but with no suits to match. Kitekit yawned, crawling forward before starting to look around. I think mom left us, but forgot to find someone to watch us while she was out. Thinking to herself, realizing that if her mother wasn’t around she would need to groom herself.
The tiny black and white kitten nibbled on a forepaw before dragging a newborn pink tongue over the area. Satisfaction was mounting her spirits as she felt pretty and well-kept. Well, um, if she forgot and we are alone, I won’t tell one of the other queens. My lips are sealed for my mother. I’d never tattle on her. Kitekit repeated her kitten-level grooming onto her other forepaw before standing up. Feeling ready and presentable, she embarked on a wobbly adventure.
She pawed at the ground, uneasy as she walked with her tail hanging to maintain balance. Kitekit practiced her obliging grace, but was too young to display mastery. Making her way up to a far larger kit. “Hi, you kinda look like me. I mean, not really, but sort of…” Kitekit trailed off due to him being practically double her size, but at least it wasn’t something she minded. “Do you want to be friends?” She tilted her head, looking up at him, almost as if she was dreaming of kit games already.
Post by Egotistic on Sept 13, 2022 13:18:51 GMT -6
[attr="class","monbody"]
Had anyone asked a moon prior, Silverkit would have declared with the utmost solemnity that the nursery could not have become any more full than it currently was with just three growing kits and one mother in it. Now, he knew not what to call it, for there were more than just three kits, but six others—which was, in his own mind—far too many for one den. Four had been enough, now there were twelve if one chose to count the mothers, which meant twelve tails, which for a kit meant eleven tails to mind when making for the Dirt Place come night, and twenty-two paws to avoid treading on when sneaking about and scuffling in the den. It also meant more snoring, more fussing, and above all, less privacy, for in a shared den, no one had such things, and everyone had their nose stuck too far into the other’s business.
Even Silverkit, who considered himself incredibly clever and exceptionally competent in keeping secrets, could hardly keep them for long. There was always someone to come padding in on him in a bit of mischief or to come poking their nose into his stalking off so that he very rarely did so anymore and instead contented himself with petty thievery and mulling about over leaves he’d pilfered from Shadepool’s own stores.
Nothing that would be missed. Simple things like yarrow that made the gut twist up and upend itself or foxglove and yew. Thyme, too, when he could find it, or the chamomile he’d seen the queens giving to their little ones when they grew too anxious to sleep. And he’d tuck these away whenever he heard anyone coming, stuff them well under the moss nest where they could blend in with the moss and bracken and turn innocently and with an expression of great importance onto anyone who tread too close.
As he did—or attempted to do, rather—when Kitekit came padding up behind him.
“…look like me…” and he glowered over his shoulder, his spine fluffed up in its entirety, and his heart thudded in his chest. “…want to be friends?” And he saw the wistful look that took over her expression, the innocent tilt and scoffed softly, shoving his leaves aside and turning to face her fully—she who was dwarfed in the shadow cast by his gawkily long limbs.
He sniffed then, looking to all the world older than his scant moons, for he was, in truth, not so much older than she was. “No, I don’t. I don’t want to be friends with anyone—especially not feather-headed newborns,” he mewed stiffly. “Now go away. I’m in the middle of something—and before you ask, no, you wouldn’t understand, and no, you can’t help.” And with that said and done, she thrust himself to his paws and snatched up his leaves, giving her a glance from the corner of his eyes before shouldering past her. Yet for a moment, he lingered there at the den mouth, and he stood, his tail flung on high, glancing over his shoulder at that dreamy and hopeful face. And the corners of his mouth twitched into a sneer. “And don’t follow me, either.”
One last, lingering stare, and he was stalking off into camp, skulking along the thorn wall and making towards the medicine den, thinking himself particularly sneaky and beyond following.
...honestly she needs a little loving, or someone to get into heavy drugs with...
The moment Silverkit’s scoff hit her tiny newborn ears, Kitekite felt feverish with embarrassment. H-h-he’s really tall. She thought to herself with her tiny tail high in the air. The black and white she-cat clearly had let her naiveness show. His words were stiff, and he insulted her firmly before sweeping up his leaves in his mouth. Her own mouth opened, but no sound came from the small kit.
Kitekit did not only want to be his friend, now she was curious about what this taller and older kit was up to. She watched with round innocent eyes as he confidently strolled out of the nursery, but not before leaving her behind with a single command.
‘And don’t follow me, either.’
“H-he didn’t ask his mom if he could leave the nursery, he just left. So cool!” She let out a tiny exclaimed meow. My mother isn’t here right now. I have no one t-t-to ask. If I just follow him eventually he’ll come back to the nursery too, I won’t get lost. Kitekit sniffed the air and waddled to leave the nursery too. When her small head looked out of the nursery she just barely managed to catch a glimpse of Silverkit heading towards the medicine cat’s den. I gotta hurry, before I lose him. The idea gave her a few tiny giggles.
She remained low and crawled, too, along the thorn wall. Purposefully making herself smaller and less likely to be a bother to him. The last thing she imagined Silverkit could use in his life was her getting a thorn in the paw from following her. She considered every gradual soft pawstep in his direction. Carefully, avoiding loose bits of thorn wall that litter the ground. Keeping him a few warrior lengths away, but in view. Kitekit hoped he would not call her a newborn again, but maybe instead revere her as brave.
[attr="class","nuggetwords"]Stupid kit… thought he, who was a kit himself. He who thought himself smarter than all; he who felt older, wiser, and better than most. He who was not anyone's equal, who in every way he knew and could think of, exceeded everyone else. He, with his cunning, with his desire to learn. Could a common kit boast such things? He could not recall ever having met one but himself, and so he thought himself special as he marched along the thorn wall, quite alone in his thoughts and feeling that solitude grow, for there is no comfort in realizing you are special, and special was indeed what he deemed himself to be. There was a peculiarity in such uniqueness, and such things were not stomached by those who were not. Things that were stranger were feared by lesser minds—feared and shunned, and Silverkit, who did not think himself a lover of anyone, felt somehow fearful still of not being loved.
He thought on that. He thought of the kit he had set upon with the maliciousness of his tongue and felt a tenuous twinge of guilt and regret. It's nothing to boast about, not having friends. Bluekit makes friends all the time- he's always bragging about them… A tiny voice prodded. Even Black-kit has friends. Where are your friends?
"Whatever. I don't need them," he muttered softly, and the voice fell quiet. He pinned back his ears then. His breath huffed, and he paused as he neared the medicine den, for he heard something that made him pause. Bright eyes cast suddenly behind him as he loosened his hold on the leaves he carried, spilling them onto the ground. He squinted and, in so doing, saw a tail tip twitch, the pale eyes shutting too late to conceal themselves in a dark face as though to seal them was to not be perceived at all.
Yet he saw her even so. And he stalked towards her, bristling, stopping before her, looming on his too-long limbs to glare down at her with her face still scrunched. "You're really not the brightest, are you?" He watched as her eyes flickered open. "Didn't you hear me the first time?" Her jaws parted; an excuse nestled there on her tongue, but he silenced it with a flick of his tail as he stepped closer still. He drove her back and found he liked the way her tail tucked between her legs and her eyes swelled with guilt. For that fleeting moment, he wanted to feel as if he were stronger than he was—he who had never won a scuffle against his peers.
As he grew bolder, he grew crueler. "I said don't-"And he gave her a shove. Lightly at first. "Follow." Another, rougher. "Me." And then he shoved her one last time, more fiercely than before, and pushed her forcibly into the thorn wall.
...honestly she needs a little loving, or someone to get into heavy drugs with...
Caught just short of the medicine den. Kitekit made a tiny gasp sound as Silverkit whirled around to see her following. She had been so close to stalking him silently enough to see just what the older kit was up to with the leaves. Her ears flattened and her hind legs began to quiver as he was no longer headed forward, but now towards her. “I just wanted to see-” She whined clearly on the verge of tears falling down her face.
While she thought now was the moment she was supposed to get out of his sight. Take herself back to the nursery, waddling away with her tail tucked between her legs. Silverkit had something different in mind, coming up to Kitekit and giving her consecutive shoves. With the last shove being the fiercest, not even Goosekit had ever played so roughly with her.
It was a horrid stark terror that raced through Kitekit has she was forcibly pushed into the thorns. A mewing wail was shocked out of her little body as she made contact with the sharp spikes. She never imagined her first time bleeding would be in such brutal fashion. As the thorns angrily pricked Kitekit for trespassing. Fright to be stuck and getting in trouble filled her face as she tried pulling back into camp. Eventually she squeezed by and flopped back into camp. Thorn-infused twigs had broken off the wall and were now carried in her long pelt that looked disheveled now.
She hung her head low in humiliation, but slowly lifted it to the nursery. “I won’t tell my mama… I-If–” Kitekit sniffled, shifting her paws in pain from the cuts under her pelt. “I just wanted to see what kinds of leaves you were playing with.”
[attr="class","nuggetwords"]A muffled wail erupted in the dry rattling as he shoved her, as the thorns drove up and wrapped around and cut and tore at her flesh. He saw in the whites of her fur the budding crimson, and he smelled it, too, beneath the fear. In silence, he stared, watching as she writhed and pulled before coming loose, her fur tangled up with prickly strands, tangled up in the soft kitten down and urging toward the flesh beneath.
Even as her eyes found him, filled with surprise and hurt, he said nothing. Then she spoke tremulously. “…won’t tell… wanted to see what kinds of leaves…”
That drove him from his stupor. His eyes shifted away from the blood, past her, over her shoulder, and into the clearing. Once, twice and a third time, he looked at her and then the medicine den before drawing in a breath and letting his shoulders slump under his furs. "Come on." And he didn't wait to see if she'd attend him; he only crept on toward the medicine den, squashing his belly against the earth and edging inside where shadows yawned and the stench of herbs stirred. He waited in silence, feeling her nestle down beside him. No sound came, no movement, no rattling of earthly simples, and so he glanced toward her and padded deeper inside.
Siddling down the shallow dip, he paused and fixed her with a stare. Her eyes were still wet with tears. He was quick in turning away from them. "…stay close to me. And don't. Touch. Anything."
And he urged onward, padding along the wall, flaring his nostrils in the dust until he came upon a yawning den mouth where the herb smell was most potent. He hesitated and drew back his ears. His eyes shifted over his shoulders in the half-light, but still, nothing moved, so he trekked on into a narrow chamber where makeshift shelves had been dug into the walls. Shallow divots bellied dried and strong-smelling herbs in their recesses. In some, branches woven with stiff leaves and clinging cobwebs lay lined neatly. He ignored them, turning around to face her.
Her pelt was still clinging with twine, and all the smoothness had been lost from her furs. Sighing, he padded closer. His voice was odd and mumbled as she backed away from him. "Cut it out. I'm trying to help. Come here…" and he motioned in front of him. "We have to get the thorns out first."
...honestly she needs a little loving, or someone to get into heavy drugs with...
Paying avoidance to his sharp-witted yellow hued eyes after the bargain left her lips. It was a good lie in a way, she would have never told her mother what he did anyways. I don’t want to pick a lifelong fight with anyone who could possibly be my friend. Where the thorns had jabbed her, stung her already delicate skin. And she was careful to not speak boldly about the obvious tiny spots of blood. He seems deep in thought...about me?
And her eyes lit up when he deemed her enough of a burden to take the deal. Her buzzing mind saw the way he crossed into the medicine cat's den. Wiggling after him but with thorns laced in her furs, she still wasn’t in optimal form. It was eerie, and gloomy in silence as she stuck by his side. Desiring to touch everything, yet with the way he spoke, she imagined touching the wrong things would make her sick.
Unbeknownst to her, they had snuck into the more extensive parts of the medicine cat den with Silverkit’s guidance. She let out a tiny cough as the air changed, becoming stuffy to her lungs with flora and pungent marigold. Silverkit turned around and surely she thought he was going to yell at her for making a sound. A lesson learned from just a few moments ago, her feet stumbled back away. Her heart quickened to be told to cut it out. Only to double when he said he was trying to help. Further tripled in beats and blasting in her runty chest to be motioned to come towards him. “Okay…” She sniffled, not knowing what to expect him to do.
She stepped lightly and prodded through the space between them. Nervous to stand directly in front of the wavy ivory strands of his chest. “How many are there?” She whispered while truthfully scared of the answer to that question.
In the hushed silence, the two huddle before one another—he coaxing her, and she moving timidly to obey, to stand before him until her nose hung but a breath and level with the white furs of his chest. That close, he could feel her breath ruffling his furs, the way it quickened when he turned his eyes onto her, and her own dropped from his.
In hushed tones, she whispered to him, so he had to strain to hear. “How many are there?” And he was forced to look her over again, to drink in the rumpled furs and the twine ensnared in the black-and-white furs.
For a moment, he considered cruelness—chiding words that might shame her—but he abandoned such proclivities. Instead, he brushed a paw over her fur to feel at the clinging foliage, taking silent note and finding a great deal, though he said only, “Not many.” And he knew not why, but he hoped that it might soothe her. “Now stay still…” and he rooted in her furs; he took the twine carefully between his teeth and eased it loose before discarding the limp tendril onto the ground. Then he came back again to nose her, to pluck the small clingers with tooth and tongue until he found her furs untroubled, however ruffled they were.
Then there were only the minor bits. The little tears of flesh where the blood had already weakened. Small enough cuts, and yet his eyes roved the earthen shelves, and he felt then the urge to impress on her his great understanding of such things. And so he sniffed about and took an oak leaf from the ground. Old and dried, it crackled between the gentle prick of his teeth, but he held it all the more gingerly and made to gnash it between his teeth until the earthy taste swarmed his mouth.
Out he spat it, onto an upturned paw, and with a gentle dabbing, pressed it into the cuts, so she squirmed with the sting of them. “…stay still. You’re getting it everywhere…” And he moved to dab at the rest until he was content and shook his paw off with a hefty sigh. “There.” And he gazed at her quietly. His paws shifted the earth, and he found his eyes wandering to the shelves, drinking in the leaves in silence. “…it feels better, doesn’t it?” And the corners of his mouth grinned slightly; there was an almost wolfish quality to it. “You should’ve seen your face… you would’ve thought a fox had bitten you.”
