The future's in your paws. Shape it well.Roleplay in a cat Clan of warriors. Based off the Warriors series by Erin Hunter. Takes place in an AU before the cats in the books existed.
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Beechfang slowly stretched, then shook out her long, ragged pelt. Wolfblossom was a sensible deputy, and seemed to be avoiding putting cats on patrols around sunhigh. With greenleaf in full swing, Beechfang would not complain about it. The heat was nearly unbearable, but the shade offered by the trees that surrounded camp was welcome.
The camp had changed subtly since Beechfang had last called it home. The devestation left by the great quake was well-hidden to those who hadn't known it, and the previous devastation by the fire of her apprenticeship - her first apprenticeship - was even more hidden. The dens had been built strongly, and the protective ring of sharp rocks was interwoven with the twigs and branches of Bloodstrike's protective policies. What had changed the most however, were the cats. The recognized only a pawful of them, while younger warriors had replaced the faces she once knew. There seemed to be plenty of new kits in the nursery, ones she had noticed Wolfblossom spending time with. Her own grandkits, which made them Beechfang's great-grandkits... They were family, albeit distantly. Beechfang had not worked up the nerve to approach, though she did watch from a distance. She was a part of Skyclan now, yes, but she figured there were those in the clan who still had misgivings that she wouldn't blame them for. She had her own misgivings... And that kept her paws where they were, rather than padding toward the kits who were playing outside the nursery.
Ploverkit lay off to the side of the nursery by herself, taking a moment to regain her energy in the shade. She was gently nibbling at her small, soft paws in an attempt to get the bits of moss out. Just as she picked the last piece out from between her pads did she catch sight of a large warrior standing somewhat near the nursery. The molly’s pelt was riddled with scars, streaking around her like roots. “Woah,” she gasped. Then Ploverkit accidentally met the warrior’s eyes- or rather, eye.
Her kit fluff puffed out, doubling her size as she stumbled back. Once recovered from the small scare she realized, Oh, how rude of me. She quickly recollected herself by licking down her tufts. Ploverkit looked back to the scarred cat, too captivated to not approach. “Ma’am,” she said, more curious than she felt nervous, “What happened to your fur?” More empathetically she added, “Does it hurt?”
The soft gasp of a kit made one tattered ear twitch, instincts that had never left her making her immediately glance toward the kit to check what was wrong. Nothing outwardly, that was good. Their gaze met briefly, the kit bristled at her, and Beechfang kept still. She was well aware of what she looked like, and well aware that it was intimidating. Usually she liked it that way. Most weren't brave enough to pester her. Kits, on the other paw... She didn't like scaring them intentionally, but it was what it was, she supposed. Most seemed to be bolder than she expected, choosing to approach rather than cower. She offered the little she-kit a small smile as she did so, trying to not appear intimidating as she did so. With half a face, that was a bit of a challenge.
Her scars were noticeable, and this one wasn't the first kit to ask about them. Though she was more polite than Mountainkit had been so long ago. "They don't hurt anymore." It wasn't exactly true, but the pain had lessened and become background noise. Something she could easily ignore most days now. The question of what happened was more complicated, and a longer story. "Don't sit in trees when it starts to storm. Especially not at a gathering."Don't make the stars angry, or stick around when cats do make them angry. She might've said, but kept that to herself. She doubted the queens would appreciate the now-former exile scaring a kit with such tales.
"What's your name, little one?" She asked, "I'm Beechfang."
“I’m glad it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Ploverkit nodded thoughtfully and noted Beechfang’s advice. Suddenly she realized what the scars and stripes really reminded her of. Not roots, but lightning. She looked up at the lightning-furred cat with a smile. “Hello, Beechfang. I’m Ploverkit,” she purred. “I think I’m named that because of how I look. What or who were you named after?” She imagined what a beech looked like. Perhaps a big fern? With the topic of looks on her mind, she began fixing her cottony fluff.
"It was a long time ago, don't worry about it." She mewed softly. The agony that had left every muscle stiff and screaming for moons rarely returned now. If she didn't think about it she could almost forget... Not really, but it was nice to pretend she could.
Ploverkit, the she-kit introduced herself, and Beechfang couldn't help but note how similar the name sounded to another. So she was one of Bearkit's siblings, then. It was nice, to see the family grow strong once more. "The same as you, I think. Beech trees are silvery." Tall and strong too, though Beechfang had taken a lot of time to realize the latter. As for her warrior name... It was etched onto her pelt, wasn't it?
Ploverkit was pleased with the answer. Beechfang was a beech tree cat, big and silver. She had stripes like lightning or roots. The image of a stricken tree was vivid in the kitten’s mind. Beechfang had claimed her scars no longer hurt, but there was still something going on beneath. What could it be?
“Why were you watching the nursery?” she asked gently, gazing up at Beechfang with curiosity and empathy.
Ah, so her gaze had been noticed. Not surprising, of course, but the boldness of kits to ask was something she'd have to get used to again. She appreciated the straight-forward nature of them. "Half the clan wasn't alive when I was exiled. To hear my own daughter has grandkits..." Beechfang shrugged. "Some days I feel like Wolfblossom and her sisters were still in the nursery themselves. Time goes on, I suppose. The clans seems larger than ever."
