Warrior Cats: A RPG

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Played By: Shally
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Joined: 13-July 17
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Last Seen: Feb 17 2018, 03:33 PM
Local Time: Feb 21 2018, 03:13 PM
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Acornpaw

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Jan 7 2018, 06:44 PM
Ever since the attack, Acornpaw was on edge - and had attached herself to Supernatural and the kits, keeping watch over them. She'd become a nocturnal creature, and the habit stuck - meaning she dozed through the days fitfully within the nursery. Acornpaw was always within reach and hearing, and she slept lightly, ready to jump to whatever caused distress. Still sullen and silent, still glaring at everyone, still not speaking to anyone unless absolutely necessary - but present.

And she kept her claws sharp.

Night had fallen hours ago, and now the moon was high in the sky as Acornpaw shouldered her way out of the nursery. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light outside - and then she headed towards a nearby tree branch. The muscular bobcat stretched up, digging her claws into the wood to keep them sharp and in fighting shape.

She cast a glance at the freshkill pile as she stopped her sharpening, flicking one ear back. Her belly snarled with hunger, but she felt a stubborn unwillingness to accept the "charity" of her lying clanmates, their false care, the sickening sweetness that dripped from them all. Ramsay was the worst, now in the nursery with a new kit - though Acornpaw steadfastly ignored her presence, as if she did not exist.

It took a toll, but she wouldn't talk. Instead, with a rolling gait, she strolled back over to the nursery, and settled down next to it. Here, she could get some fresh air - but still hear if anything were to happen. The rustling of branches would alert her if anyone was moving.
Dec 30 2017, 03:52 PM
A check mark on my lessons learned
That you don't always get what you deserve


Acornpaw had become all but nocturnal. It was a coping method, really - it was the time when most of her clan slept. When she could slink through the territory, train herself, hunt a dinner that wasn't her clan's damn charity. No one tried to talk to her, it was just her and the cold and the sound of the river and the night birds. There was a beauty to it, that quieted her broken soul.

That morning, someone had brought her food again. She'd been half asleep, and hadn't roused herself well enough to note who. The fish smelled of both Cedarheart and Ramsay, but it was hard to say who had caught it and who had brought it. Acornpaw didn't really care. She didn't care about much these days. It was just an annoyance - another falsehood, another rejected meal that she'd sneak back into the freshkill pile for someone useful to eat.

She'd left it near the camp when she started her night hunt. Silent paws carried her through the forest, to the river. It was getting cold, but the river wasn't frozen yet. With silent patience, she'd eventually fished out a small trout. Once it had stopped wriggling, she considered briefly - and made a decision.

With delicate - and practiced - motions, she clawed out the eyes of the fish, tossing them into the river and licking her claws clean. And then, trout in her jaws, she headed back to camp. On the way she collected the charity-prey, both dangling from her jaws as she slipped into camp through the dirt-place entrance. She never used the main entrance.

The charity fish was deposited back into the fresh-kill pile, and the other carried in her jaws as she padded into the nursery. It felt different, now, then when she had been a kit. It wasn't home. She knew where to find Superpaw and her litter, though. Last time she'd looked in, Superpaw had been out, but she'd recognized the scent of her on the kits. This time, the black she-cat was curled around her children.

With a sidelong glance at the rest of the nursery, Acornpaw padded over to place the fish a tail-length away from their nest, and then turned to leave.
Nov 19 2017, 12:15 AM
This was day three.

Honestly, Acornpaw liked the tree. As much as she liked anything right now. There were a few loose bones scattered at the base, from where she'd surprised a squirrel and made a meal of it. Warrior code, whatever. That didn't save Stonestar.

So the bobcat - small, really, for her age, but huge compared to any domestic cat - lay midway up the tree with one leg dangling. It was near the river, so she could listen to the water babble.

And she could watch the stupid birds and squirrels. She was still enough they didn't seem to notice her after a few hours.

What. Ever.

Everything was dumb. At least this way she didn't have to think.
Nov 12 2017, 09:21 PM
I pulled away to face the pain
I close my eyes and drift away
Over the fear that I will never find
A way to heal my soul


Acornpaw hadn't had a plan when she'd left camp that morning.

It had just been a gut reaction. She couldn't handle it, handle the still, stiff body, her sobbing mother, the traitor who would replace her mentor as one of the leaders - no. She couldn't deal with it. The burning emptiness had roared inside her, yawning like a black hole that left nothing left. And so she ran.

By the time she reached the river, her mind roiling with tumbling, turning thoughts, she had a plan.

Fuck you, she'd thought, glaring daggers up at the sky. StarClan this, it was always StarClan this, StarClan that, StarClan guide you. Well, StarClan could go fuck itself. Look at Stonestar - he'd had who knows how many lives, and what good had it done him? He'd suffered and died and he'd left them all. Stonestar had left her, his apprentice.

The gray tom had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. In almost every memory of her in camp with Ramsay, he was there. Playing games with them, laughing, telling stories.

And now he was dead.

Her paws had taken her along the river, every step setting the idea more firmly in her mind.

She didn't know if you could fight StarClan, but she was damn sure going to try.



Now her paw-pads were bleeding from the rough terrain. She'd crossed the river, gone through fivetrees, and followed the ThunderPath north. Acornpaw had skirted the quarry, sharp rocks leaving her wincing in pain as she walked. But that had been - yesterday?

The land had risen, and she made her way up sparse rocky paths. Acornpaw had never been to Mothermouth. So sure when she'd left, she had thought it'd be easy to find. There wasn't any turning back now, either - a cold, hard rain had come down the night previous, leaving her shivering and coughing. There wasn't much left in her to keep going, and her nose was stopped up and made scenting for her trail almost impossible.

So the young bobcat continued up the mountain, cursing her luck, cursing StarClan, even cursing Stonestar and her mother and Cedarheart and Hollowfrost - all of them. Every other step she limped, wincing but staggering on doggedly.

Until she started coughing, and couldn't stop.

"Fuck," she hissed, her wobbly legs collapsing from underneath her. She hadn't eaten in days, and the chill felt like it had settled through to her bones. Hot and cold all at once, and altogether miserable.

Guess I'll fight them when I die, she thought miserably, curling up into a ball of spotted brown fluff and shivering.
Nov 5 2017, 10:38 PM
Stonestar had been sick for a while now. With Patchheart gone, no one really knew how to take care of it - tensions were high enough with ShadowClan that seeking treatment there wasn't really an option. And, of course, Stonestar had insisted he was fine - he just needed to rest. And so he'd moved into the medicine cat den, a den mostly empty these past days.

His new apprentice had made it her job to take care of his every need. She'd change his nest and bring him food, and when he got weaker, she even took care of less... Savory tasks. In return he told her stories, between trying to shoo her away so she wouldn't get sick. Acornpaw wasn't afraid of that, though. It was surely just a little sickness, right?

Last evening, though, she'd known something was wrong. He'd been weak and listless, drooping after the deputies came to check in. She'd tried to cheer him up with a story she made up, about a flying cat and her bird friend. He'd laughed - almost. It hadn't sounded quite right.



In the morning when she went to check on him, it was the scent that hit her first. She felt bile rising in her throat, memories curling around her mind like a vice. She knew that smell, that scent - but no. No, it couldn't be that. Her short tail swished as she ducked into the den, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Those eyes locked on Stonestar - and she waited. One beat, two, three. He didn't move, didn't draw breath. She gave him another three beats, counted them out in her head - one, two, three, breathe. Still nothing.

Overlarge ears went back as she padded across the den to her mentor, her leader, her friend. It was a willful denial now as she pressed her nose into his cold fur. It was like ice, driving cold into her body and her heart. There was no warmth, nothing - he wasn't there, like her siblings that she remembered so faintly. Just stiff and cold and gone.

Wordless grief rose up in the bobcat apprentice's throat, and she let out a sharp cry as if she were wounded. Tremors ran through her legs as she circled the body of Stonestar, a soft whimpering coming from her jaws unbidden. She ducked and grabbed his scruff, trying to shake him, because maybe, just maybe -

nothing.

She reeled back, a sob tearing from her throat once more. Anxiety left her kneading the ground, grief rattling the young apprentice's brain like a woodpecker's rat-a-tat-tat. The bobcat couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

It was some time that she stood like that, whimpering and shaking. And then she moved, feeling hollow in her own skin as she took Stonestar by the scruff. At least as large as any adult, it wasn't that much for her to drag the leader's body out into the camp clearing.

And that's where Acornpaw collapsed across the body, face buried in his fur as she let out another wordless wail of grief. For once, she had nothing to say.
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