It's going to take her forever to fix this nest up the way she likes. Swantooth stares hard at the little moss bed she'd claimed in this den recently as if she means to suss out what's wrong with it just from looking. Only, she knows what's wrong with it, and it's not the appearance.
It doesn't smell right. It doesn't feel right. It's not her nest yet—and that's irritating. She just wants it to be hers already. Just wants it to be right.
The moss is removed gingerly, carefully, stacked aside for now. It's perfectly good bedding, just needs to be out of the way for now. The dip it had lined is smoothed by paw, carved a little deeper—she needs to lay down and get up and lay down and get up and lay down and get up, again, just to make sure she fits just right—, and when she's finished there Swantooth not-too-slyly nudges at the edges of the nests around hers, pushing any debris spilling from those sleeping spots away from hers. She wants space around her nest. To walk. It's fine if she does this. It's fine.
Everything is better, now. Loose dirt will need to be swept away and so will the irritting pebble she'd unearthed, but once the moss is pressed back into place, Swantooth's feeling a little less restless, a little less agitated. It still doesn't smell just right, but she'll see that fixed soon enough. The last steps of the chore are handled, paws whisking loose earth and that stupid pebble out, away. All better; all clean.
Swantooth steps into her nest and circles, 'round and 'round and 'round, before sitting down to bathe herself.
SQUIRRELRISE she/her. 14 moons. small, scarred russet molly with brown markings and yellow eyes.
[ chill of death, hulk SMASH ]
after her excursion to dawning woods, squirrelrise slips into the hollowed trunk that makes up the warrior's den. luckily, her heart rate has slowed down by now - whole journey back to camp riddled with paranoia from the rustling noise. it seems she'll always be hyper vigilant when it comes to her surroundings. at least I've gotten better, though.., she thinks. she really has improved and come a long way.
padding towards her nest, she neatly tucks the starling feather underneath the moss bed just for safe measures. she'd hate to lose it! after settling in her nest, she blinks when she notices something in her fur. a sandburr..? how'd that even..when..? huh?, she wonders before craning her neck to carefully pluck the sandburr from her pelt.
Rest In Peace Jellie
Canary call... The first to fall... Forever caged in different walls....
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Shadow Fiend: Inactive | Beefed Up (T3) | Ultimate Predator: Inactive | Hulk SMASH! [Inactive]
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CW: Dissociation
Caught off guard by the movement, azure blue eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on the smaller cat held within his embrace. For a moment, any icy fog glazed over the bright orbs, expression hardening and filling with tension – however, it was but a moment. The dark-furred tom relaxed, stopping his previous task while the low purr rumbled within him grew in magnitude.
Nobody was perfect. Everyone made mistakes. The idea of his former mate that he held before, back when she was still Larkfire was long dead and gone, but even then, she hadn’t been perfect.
It was a surreal thing, this moment. Darkfall had long been held within the confines of his own mind, very slowly but surely loosening the binds that contained him. He didn’t know how long it would be before The Spectre took over again, but he wanted to enjoy the time he had to the fullest.
The enforcer before him had never been one that showed her emotions outwardly nor publicly, instead opting to have small but very adorable moments like this one. Wait… adorable? Lostspark? Darkfall blinked in surprise. Thinking of her as such was so… foreign to him. She was sometimes cute, yes, but long gone were the days when he teased her for such. For moons now, she held a closed and reserved persona – more so than before and kept to herself and a select few individuals. She… It wasn’t often that she allowed herself to be seen like this.
Despite that, however, he’d seen her at her weakest. It had been earth-shattering at first, the time she had almost died in the territory while bearing another tom’s kits. The way she behaved, the fear of her dying, it had all been a lot at that moment and had completely changed the way he viewed her. He had begun to see her as something fragile, something that could break with the slightest of mishaps, and her run-in with the ThunderClan warrior and the subsequent curse she took on only solidified that view within his mind. At some point, he had seen her less so as an equal and more so as something to protect, and it wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to either of them.
Speaking of something to protect, the massive tabby brought a paw around her and hugged her closer to him – gently stroking the length of her back with his long tail. Her face was wet, tears he presumed. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but clearly something serious had occurred if it was enough for her to seek him out instead of closing herself off in some sort of dark corner. For a few heartbeats, he said nothing. He allowed her to use him as her refuge against whatever troubles welled within her for the moment. The warmth of her body was a tantalizing call from reality that he knew he must resist. As much as he wanted to, as much as he missed it, they couldn’t stay like this. Not now.
Not anymore.
The soothing strokes of his tail stopped and were replaced by a gentle tapping. ”Come on, my dear. What is it that has you troubled so?” He asked in a gentle tone. Despite all that occurred between them, Darkfall still couldn’t bring himself to call her by her new name – Lostspark. It felt wrong. It felt abhorrent.
Once again, he was reminded of what was, and then what could have been. He loved her. He loved Lostspark so much.
Lark basked in the presense of her former mate. Who knew, perhaps this could be the last time she had this oppurtunity. To be held. Cared for. For a while, she lay there, in silence. But she couldn't do that. Not forever. Lark wanted to linger, hold on to what she could when she got it.
Lostspark knew she couldn't. So she pulled away, wiped away her tears, forced them away, and then lifted her gaze to meet Darkfall's. Foggy amber eyes met azure blues. But it was different. They both knew she could see, despite the fact that she might not look it. A white-tipped paw lifted to cup his cheek, shifting to brush gently over his eye scar.
"Silverlark," she whispered softly, amber hues glazing over. "Mirepaw, Wolfkit, Sootpaw, Fallenkit, Larkpaw, Sorrelkit, Daykit..." The former enforcer searched his gaze. "Smokekit, Heronpaw, Moonpaw, Rainykit, Magpiekit, Gloomkit. How many more must we lose?"
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❝ I know life and fate are scary, but I wanna be legendary. ❞
Re: ShadowClan Warriors' Den
Re: ShadowClan Warriors' Den
Rest In Peace Jellie
