rise and rise again (thunderclan ceremony)

    Silverantler’s pace is that of an all out strut, clamped in his jaws probably the fattest quail, like, ever. The bird’s grey neck hangs at on an odd angle between his teeth, effectively snapped by a devastating blow by, yours truly. A confident purr rumbles in his throat, and with each step his catch’s plump, bottom-heavy body bobs against his white-furred chest.

    He reaches the camp entrance just in time to hear the deep, ringing call of their leader, and the easily excitable Silverantler goes from his strutting to a few eager bounds that have him shooting through the tunnel entrance and inadvertently nearly crashing into a fellow Clanmate. He puffs out a hurried apology through his mouthful of feathers, doing an exaggerated zig-zag maneuver to dance around them before jogging towards the gradually growing gathering of cats.

    It then occurs to him that his quail, that is now bleeding profusely from the spot at which his fangs grip its flesh from his hurried movements, needs to be put away before he joins the crowd. Golden eyes roll in their sockets, freaking mouse-brain! He scolds himself inwardly, doubling back to where the previously dwindling pile of prey is now stocked with his comically large kill as he drops it atop a few other unfortunate rodents.

    Releasing a sigh, the warrior idly begins licking the rather heavily saturated wetness from his jowls. Curious as to why in the name of all the dead ThunderClan leaders—StarClan rest their souls—there is so much freaking blood on him, he glances down to find that the front of his breast is more or less coated in bird gore. The black fur that traces along his spine bristles in alarm all the way to the tip of his tail. “Oh what the—!” He cuts himself off and begins to furiously swathe his tongue over the dark stain, the embarrassment working its way from neck to the entirety of his sensitive ears in a warm current.

    Once the spot is reduced to a dingy red blotch, Silverantler decides that he is not going to miss this meeting, even if he looked a little ridiculous. Cursing his luck for what is probably umpteenth time in the past few sunrises, the young tom seeks out a familiar light-colored tabby and races to his brother's side.

    “Morningfrost! What’s going on? What’s Falconstar—” He bursts, smiling with his blood-stained mouth before seeing the small, pudgy ThunderClan queen seated beside him. Silverantler ducks his head self-consciously, waving his still-bristling tail in shy greeting. “Oh, uh, hey there, Littlecloud… nice day, huh?”

aurum with morningfrost, and SYNTAX with little cloud,, will i ever have silver not be an embarrassment to himself??

    A black shape stretches all four limbs, one at a time, as Midnightfang emerges from the warrior’s den, having just woke from a small nap. His golden eyes are drawn to catch the flitting form of Lilysong, padding on light paws over to the much more burly silhouette of Chipmunktooth. Holding up his tail high, he trots briskly to take place beside his fellow warriors’ sides.

    Catching the tail end of the she-cat’s greeting, the large tom chimes in, in purring amusement, “Of course he is! He’s about to jump out of his fur from it.”

    He bumps his shoulder sympathetically against the tabby’s, thinking of the first time he’d seen his own apprentice become a warrior with a fondness that could hardly be rivaled by much else; there is something about seeing the fruits of one’s own labor blossom that makes the pelt stand on end, but in the best sense possible. Thinking about his former apprentice, Midnightfang idly searches for the red-pointed Birchclaw, and inadvertently begins to also keep an eye out for his current trainee, Honeypaw, as well. With ceremonies like this, he would like to see how they react. While for Birchclaw it most likely feels run-of-the-mill, he imagines that the she-apprentice currently under his care would be getting antsy since she is in the latter half of her training.

    He returns his attention to Lilysong and Chipmunktooth, bright irises looking mostly to the first-mentioned. “What about your kits, Lilysong, they’re going to be warriors before you know it.” Midnightfang mentions warmly, passing his tail over her flank in a friendly way.

alee with chipmunktooth and tikker ♪ ♫ with lilysong