Be Still My Foolish Heart, Don't Ruin This On Me [open]

Thick rivulets of golden light crept across the soft dusting of freshly blossomed greenery that gently encompassed the rolling moorlands, specks and flecks of dust and vibrant pollen catching in the light as iridescent specks carried leisurely upon the late afternoon breeze. The heat of the day was stifling - an unpleasant mixture of lingering humidity and pressing heat from the inescapable sun - and seemed to drive nearly all creatures into the nearest bought of shade they could possibly find. It made Shrikecall's hurried and... unusual journey a bit less stressful, to know that most of his Clanmates would likely be residing in the welcoming embrace of camp instead of out where he could potentially encounter them. Where he would have to face curious stares and inevitable questions.

How could he ever explain this? Running off in the evening and returning home with an entirely unfamiliar kit?

Nape bending low in an awkward attempt to shield the little bundle of fur held between his teeth, Shrikecall began to carefully shimmy through the wild scattering of unbearably sharp gorse- wincing at the menacing presence of curling thorns, terrified that every sound from the young Thornkit was one of pain from potentially getting snagged on a sharp gorse tendril. Even the gentlest movement was enough to send a shower of enticingly sweet flower petals and broken gorse thorns raining down upon the pronounced curve of his spine, leaving his blotched fur speckled in an amusing state of disarray. Upon entering the well-sheltered sandy hollow, it was apparent that most of his Clanmates were dozing in the shade. Almost completely oblivious to his presence as of right now. Setting down the ruddy lumps of gangly limbs and unkempt fur, there was an awkward weight within his chest as he continued to peer down at Thornkit, obviously helpless with confusion.

"Softcloud?" Shrikecall eventually mewed after hurriedly clearing his throat, trying to shield Thornkit within the shelter of his forelimbs, "I need a bit of.. help?"

Thornkit, has had a strange day, one moment he was warm and safe curled up against his mother’s belly, and then another scent appeared on the wind and his eyes tried to take in the blurry shape before him. Everything was so big and overwhelming, he squeaked when he was suddenly picked up away from his mother and carried . Who had him? Where was he going, it was so hot. He instinctively curled up panting a little in the heat. He kept up his squeals and mewls during the journey, the heat of the day and his hunger getting to him. Thorn wasn’t sure how long he had been up in the air but he was so so hungry and there was no milk scent nearby just all the strange smells of moors . He let out a loud squeal as he was carried through the entrance of the camp, the suddenly assault of the scents mixed with blurry images of thorns and flowers frightening him. He mewled pitifully until he was set down, quieting down as he went still, his flanks heaving he pressing against a soft paw pad of the larger Tom, trying to knead at it. At least he was finally on the ground again.

A soft rustling came from the nearby shadowy spots between the gorse, golden eyes could be seen before the black and white fur from the she-cat that walked out. The apprentice was definitely not who Shrikecall wanted to see at the current time though.

Ebonypaw’s four ears twitched in unison before her eyes went from the older cat’s amber eyes to the meowling bundle of fur carefully shielded between his paws, curiosity clear in her eyes as she examined it for a second or two. The kit smelled faintly like milk, so she guessed it was still young and was around his mother not too long ago, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t identify the scent of any queen on her…at least none she knew…which meant…

“Did you find them in the moors? Were they abandoned?” She could smell the warrior on the kit, but she couldn’t help but wonder if that was just scent contamination caused by his contact with it…part of her really wanted to believe that.

She was sleeping blissfully, the faint but even rise and fall of her flank proving this. It had been rather hectic lately, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, she'd found herself a peaceful night.

Or not.

Shrikecall's call woke her, alarm settling in her eyes as she scrambled from her bed, moss going everywhere in her haste, falling more than once trying to get out of her den. "Who, where, what, when?! Who's hurt, where are you hurt, what hurt you, when did you get hurt? Nobody is dea—" She stopped midsentence, eyes wide, moth open slightly as she noticed a tiny, tiny shape bundled by Shrikecall. A kit...? "I'll question you later." Was all she said to the tom, instead nosing him away and gently taking the kit into her den.

The moss of the sick cat's nest was fresh, having been replaced just yesterday by some unlucky apprentice. Gently placing the kit in the moss, she turned, grabbing some thyme and a single poppy seed. Using her albeit short claws, she cut the already tiny poppy seed in half, not wanting to give the kit that much of it. Turning her head, she saw the curious head of an apprentice: Redpaw. "Redpaw, instead of gawking, go ask one of the nursery queens, Cinderwish, perhaps, if she'll foster a kit." Softcloud instructed.

Nosy young apprentices out of the way, Softcloud turned to the kit. She gave him the half poppy seed

Thornpaw kept mewling softly having found some comfort against the warm furry tree when he was picked up again, that seemed to be happening a lot lately . He let out a squeak of protest and blinked his still blurry dark blue eyes At the medicine cat trying to make sense of her blurry outline, he did his best to hiss, but was to tired by the day’s events to really do much. He sniffed at the poppy seed before suckling at it, it wasn’t like milk and he made a face at the strange taste but he swallowed it easily enough, the place where he was laying at now felt a lot better then where he was before . He curled up his tiny claws kneading the moss.

Kinked and unkempt nape, dusted in the sticky residue of vibrant pollen and harshly fragrant loose petals, prickling sharply under the unintentional weight of Ebonypaw's well-meaning inquisition, Shrikecall's entire being further constricted under the stifling grasp of his own terse anxiety. Sharp gaze pointedly redirected in the opposite direction of his former denmate, the mottled tom's teeth came together in an audible click- fierce tension palpable in the harsh grind and clench of the delicate structure of his jaw, tongue curling purposely against the tensely grit prison of his frown. The confines of his throat and respective airway felt constricted under the overwhelming presence of fear and guilt, a cloying influence easily able to stifle something as simple and innate as a singular breath.

Abandoned? "Something like that." Shrikecall eventually seethed out, whiskers trembling in a blatantly obvious display of his palpable distaste for the entire situation. If only it was something as easily dismissed. Twitching slightly and softly, an intrinsic and nearly invisible reaction as Softcloud whisked away the young tom away to tend to as she saw fit, the prickly Warrior couldn't help the agitated and fretful cloud that hung heavily upon him. Unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say, unsure of just how he ended up here; he had hardly earned held his Warrior name for a season, and yet he had managed to somehow slip up in such a staggering mishap. Redirecting a baleful eye on Softcloud, and wincing at every touch to the young squirming bundle currently within her grasp, the dark-furred tom's tail gave an anxious twitch.

"Do you have to speak so loudly?" Shrikecall sniffed, jaw tensing and grinding in the brief interludes offered by his staggered inhales, "You'll have the entire Clan knowing about this before moonhigh, at this rate." It was entirely foolish and futile, but the young tom was still hopeful that this could evade the eyes and ears of Heronfeather and Brindlestar for as long as possible, just to give him a heartbeat's worth of time dedicated to trying to string together an adequate explanation.

Bunnypaw peeked her head out of the apprentices den to Shrikecall with a kit. She padded out towards him, her head tilted. "Who was the kit?" She asked after Softcloud took the kit into the medicine cats den.

Thornkit let out a small squeak as more cats came into the den. He groggily raised his head, eyes blinking heavy with the need to sleep thanks to the affect of the poppy seed mixed with the head of the hot afternoon sun. There were no trees or twoleg overhangs with which to seek shade here, the kit let out a pitiful squeak searching for the tom that brought him here before the poppyseed took affect and he flopped on his side fast asleep .

"You''ll be fine, poor scrap," Softcloud murmured gently, nosing a bit of moss over top of the kit, to ensure his warmth. Content that the kit was settled, she turned to the gathered crowd."Alright, it's much too early for gossip. Bunnypaw, Ebonypaw, I believe your nests are calling to you. Shrikecall, I'd like to see you in my den, please." Softcloud instructed, a crisp tone to her normally soft voice.

Turning, and waiting until she was certain she and the tom were alone, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm no fool, Shrikecall. This is your kit, isn't it?"

Perhaps if Shrikecall was of a higher standing or culpability, he would've had the well-meaning conduct to at least look slightly ashamed.

The disheveled, long-in-tooth tom instead only idled as Softcloud began to tend to the young kit- blatantly obvious in his sore confusion and poor capabilities as far as the entire situation went. His utter ineptitude becoming more and more glaringly apparent as the coincidental circumstances continued to rapidly disentangle themselves from what little had been previous stated. Muscles twitching, under the heady influence of both apprehension and guilt, he seemed balefully intent on his attempts to ignore any further curious stares or wordless inquiries that seemed to wreathe around the confined spaces. "What does it matter?" Shrikecall sniffed, lips peeling back into a slight snarl, "It's a kit, it was alone. It's not like Brindlestar or Heronfeather would deign to ask questions like that."