#plumstar

Name: Thimbleberry Past Names: N/A Age: 144 moons at death (12 years)  Rank: Leader (formerly) Identity & Pronouns: Cis molly, she/her Orientation: Undisclosed (wlw)

Family: 

Two Thornwood Sound parents, deceased

Honeysuckle || mate, Thornwood Sound senior

Burnet || son, deceased

Holly || grandson, Thornwood Sound student (fellow leaning)

Residency: Leader’s den (before death)

               Not that Miststorm was complaining, though – they had always preferred the warmth of sunlight on their pelt. They pushed their aging body through the reeds of the elder’s den and settled down in front, tucking their white paws beneath their body, relishing in the doting sun’s warm rays. The reeds rustled as Starlingfur, a black cat that Miststorm grew up with, pushed is way through the den; he padded towards the fresh kill pile, picking out a plump trout before returning to Miststorm and dropping the prey before his denmate.

               “Remember when we were apprentices and we had to deliver prey to elders?” Miststorm reminisnced as their friend settle next to them, resting their pale gray flank against Starlingfur’s own black one. Starlingfur nodded as he took a bite from the trout, and Miststorm continued to talk, “You’d think the apprentices would bring us meals. Since when did we have get our own prey? Our old bones can’t take it.”

               “We’re not that old,” Starlingfur snapped after he swallowed his mouthful of fish, “We only retired last moon.”

               Miststorm couldn’t fight off the smirk that tugged on their maw, “I don’t know why you cling to your youth, Starlingfur.”

               “You know what I don’t know? How in the name of StarClan you of all the cats from out apprentice days were the one to make it to eldership. You were the biggest risk taker.” Starlingfur grunted with a twitch of his tail tip; Miststorm ignored the brief pang as they longed for their old companions, simply going on with the same old grin, “Age has mellowed me. Plus, I always looked forward to the days in the elder’s den. Sleeping all day and getting pampered? That’s the life of me.”

               “You know what else I don’t know? How I still tolerate that stupid grin of yours.”

               “You love me.” Miststorm countered smugly with a grin, and Starlingfur simply snorted, staring hard at the fish between the two of them, “Shut up and eat your trout.”

               As the duo shared their meal, a flash of movement caught Miststorm’s attention. Waxwhisker was hauling herself away from the leader’s den, her graying muzzle lowered and her old green eyes tired as usual. Miststorm’s ears perked, before they leaned forward and nudged Starlingfur, “Did ya hear? There’s a rumor goin’ ‘round that Waxwhisker is gonna retire soon.”

               “About damn time.” A hoarse voice caught the two elder’s attention; a brown spotted tabby pulled herself through her den, a small, wry smirk on her graying muzzle, “She’s older than I am.”

               “You’re the oldest elder, Frogflower.” Miststorm chuckled as Frogflower settled down next to the most recent den additions, “I know, that’s the point. She’s as old as old Plumstar, who’s about – what, two moons my seniors? Old bats.” Frogflower chuckled good heartedly, her old amber eyes sparkling with the mischief she used to hold, “Boy, I sure was a pest to ‘em when we were younger.”

               “Waxwhisker was Plumstar’s first deputy. Stars, she’s been her only deputy. Who do you think Plumstar will pick after her?” Miststorm mewed with a perk of their ears, watching as the old pale ginger tabby began to assort her patrols for the day.

               “What about Waxwhisker’s granddaughter? Hornetflower? She’s a fine warrior.” Starlingfur commented, and Miststorm shook their head slowly, “Maybe. What about Minkclaw?”

               “She’s only three season cycles old.” Starlingfur pointed out with a flick of his ear.

               “So? Hornetflower’s only thee season cycles old, too.” Miststorm countered swiftly, and Frogflower glanced around the camp, “It’d be better for Plumstar to pick a young warrior. She’s gettin’ old, we need a youngster to lead the clan. Up with the times, fresh ideas. Minkclaw and Hornetflower are both perfect candidates for that. Not too old, not too young, they’ve trained their own apprentices. I say it’s fair game.”

               “What if it’s neither of them?” Miststorm joked; Starlingfur lifted his head up, green eyes glimmering smugly as he locked his gaze with Miststorm’s own pale yellow ones, “Wanna make a bet?”

               “You have my attention.”

               “I bet you the biggest fish caught the day after the deputy ceremony that the deputy is either Minkclaw or Hornetflower.”

               Miststorm snickered, “You’re on.”

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