Moon 4

moon 0

🔮 Which cat is the most superstitious?

For either Moonstar or Fogfreckle; 🌷Quirks or other mannerisms?

Asks are from this ask game!

moonstar boutta crash out after the last update

🍁 Moon 2

Lynxmane is really living up to his childish nature

Previous - next (TBA)

#I wonder where they’re gonna go do you have an idea of what territory they’re looking for? @hiddenvalleyclan

YES! I made a map of the territory they'll end up in and everything - though I kinda borked myself by drawing updates 'til now with red rocks, because I decided AFTER I had started drawing the comic that I wanted them to be somewhere familiar to me - a sort've fictional version of the mountain ranges of New England. I hadn't thought much about it while playing, and the game has the mountain setting somewhere with kea and buzzards and venomous snakes and spiders (which New England is not home to, for the most part), so I'll probably just... gently start drawing the scenery more northern and change the animals to match, lmao. I'm keeping the location fictional instead of basing it on a specific place to give myself some leeway, though.

Would love to see my boy, Fogfreckle, represented 😌🫶

First chapter is fully sketched out but I've been putting off cleaning up and lining, will see when I stop procrastinating⚰️ in the mean while I thought it'd be fun to draw some other people's cats! Give me someone's (or your own) clangen cat for me to draw

Moon 0

[Next]

After the dust settles, the silence that follows is deafening.

It presses against Moonpaw’s eardrums, suffocating her and sucking all the air from her lungs. The only other sound in the apprentice's den is the panting of her brother’s shallow, rapid inhales of breath, knocking hard against Moonpaw’s own ribcage. His body is warm against hers, his muscles taut and hard like the walls of rock that surround them. 

“Pitchstar?” Moonpaw mews into the dark. The blackness is so thick she can hardly see even with her pupils as wide as the boulder that’s blocking the entrance to their den. “Frostcrest?”

“The kits,” Fogpaw’s voice shakes in her ear. It’s utterly wrecked, twisted with fear. “Condorkit!” He screeches. “Whisperkit!”

There is no response. Only the deafening, crushing silence.

“Fogpaw, we have to find a way out of here,” Moonpaw mews. “We have to help them.” All of her fur is standing on end, fluffed out to twice her size. Despite the silence, the yowls of her clanmates echo in Moonpaw’s ears. The way their cries had cut off so abruptly– Moonpaw shivers. She can’t think about it. She can’t. 

Fogpaw leaps forward, claws scraping uselessly against the rock wedged into the entrance. All of NimbusClan’s dens are hollows that have been carved away by time within a cave set into the base of the mountain they call home. Home has always felt so safe to Moonpaw. Of course, she’s known the dangers of the mountain ever since she was a kit – older warriors and mentors would often warn that falling rocks are one of the deadliest threats to an unaware cat. The mountain is strong, protective, but can be deadly - just like any warrior. She could never have imagined it could harm the camp, despite the warnings she grew up with. Tucked away into its cozy little cave, this camp has lasted moons and moons, through many generations of cats. A tragedy of this magnitude is… it was impossible.

Moonpaw huddles in the middle of the den, shivering with terror as Fogpaw hisses in frustration and scrambles on top of the boulder, scraping at a few smaller rocks balanced atop it. Suddenly, moonlight streams in through a crack Fogpaw has managed to punch through the rocks, illuminating stripes of both cats’ pale fur.

“Keep going!” Moonpaw meows, leaping to her paws, but Fogpaw doesn’t need the encouragement. He’s already pawing with renewed vigor, scraping away at the rocks as they fall away and bounce against the floor of the den. Each clatter of stone on stone sends a stab of ice cold fear through Moonpaw’s heart. The cacophonous sound of rocks tumbling against each other as they filled the camp, shaking the ground and vibrating up through Moonpaw’s pelt as she was ripped from sleep, rushes back to her. She has to force down the bile that rises in her throat as the terror threatens to overwhelm her.

Soon, Fogpaw has cleared enough of the smaller rocks to squeeze his head and shoulders through, and he beckons Moonpaw with his tail. “Let’s go, let’s go– our clanmates– Moonpaw, hurry–”

Moonpaw scrambles up the rock after her brother, squeezing herself through the small opening after him. The sight that greets the two apprentices has Moonpaw’s blood freezing in her veins.

There’s not a single whisker-length of camp that isn’t covered in rubble. There’s barely any space left at the camp entrance, only a sliver between the arch of the cave wall above their heads and the boulders that crowd together beneath it that lets the light of the moon stream in.

“Locuststripe! Loudtalon!” Fogpaw yowls, leaping from boulder to boulder. The scent of blood is strong and sharp in Moonpaw’s nostrils. Grief constricts her throat. She can’t shout, can’t help, can’t move. “Pebblespore!”

“Stop–” Moonpaw chokes out, “Stop, Fogpaw– they’re– they’re gone. We have to– have to get out–”

Fogpaw is instantly at her side, his comforting scent wreathing around her as he curls his tail over her shoulders. “You’re right.” Even in the face of unspeakable horror, her brother remains strong. His voice is broken, and Moonpaw can tell he’s shaking from where he’s pressed up against her, but he stays strong for her. She draws strength from his and pulls herself up onto her paws. “We have to get out. We can’t– stay here. Not anymore. Let’s go, Moonpaw.”

His shoulders brush the ceiling of the cave as he squeezes his way out through the entrance, guiding Moonpaw with the touch of his tail against her back as they clamber over the uneven stones. They leap down from one of the boulders wedged into the entrance of their camp and turn to look at the devastation. Moonpaw wants to throw her head to the sky and wail, but her voice has disappeared. All she can do is stare in disbelief at the landslide of rocks and mud that has ruined her home.

“It’s all gone,” her voice cracks. “Our home, Fogpaw, it’s all gone.”

“It’s not,” he assures her. He presses his nose into her fur, voice muffled. “It’s not. We’re still here. You and me, Moonpaw. NimbusClan is still here.”

Moonpaw chokes back a sob and curls into her brother. They sit there for a while, in front of the remnants of their lost clan, underneath the gentle glow of Silverpelt. She feels shocked and filled to the brim with grief. There’s no room for anything other than despair within her.

“Come on,” Fogpaw nudges her eventually, coaxing her to her paws. Her legs feel stiff and cold from where they’ve been folded under her. “We can’t sit here forever. Why don’t we head to the border, see if our neighboring Clan will help us?”

With no other plan of action, Moonpaw nods. He’s right. They can’t stay here forever. She spares one last, longing glance at the mound of rubble that was once her home, and pushes down on her exhaustion and grief in order to follow behind Fogpaw.

[Next]

I have my dash set to chronological so I don't miss anybody's updates but I stg it keeps turning itself off and it's pmo so bad

Moon 2

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

“Moonpaw, wake up. We have to keep moving. Moonpaw.” 

Moonpaw mrrps in sleepy protest as she's jostled awake by her brother's paw digging insistently into her shoulder. She cracks one bleary eye open, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. 

Right. They’re not at home. They don't have a home.

She stands, stiff from sleeping on bark, her muscles protesting as she arches her back and stretches her legs. The sun that slots into their log from an opening at the top paints the inside in streaks of rich reds and browns, so different from the cool, smooth stone she’s used to waking up to. She misses her moss nest fiercely in that moment, the weight of her grief threatening to overwhelm her, but she forces the feeling away with a shake of her head. There is no comfortable, warm nest for her to return to. Not now, not ever, and she needs to move on.

“Coming,” she mumbles sleepily, rubbing a paw against her eyes as Fogpaw turns and ducks out of the log. “How'd you sleep?” She stumbles out into the sunlight and shivers in the weak, earling morning newleaf air.

“I've certainly slept better,” Fogpaw mews, licking a paw and drawing it over one of his ears. “Best not to dwell on it. Breakfast first.”

Moonpaw nods, padding after Fogpaw as he weaves through the sparse mountain pines. She opens her mouth, scenting for prey, and sets her ears on a swivel to better hone in on the skittering of small paws through the bed of fallen pine needles that soften the cats' footfalls.

The breeze drifts the scent of mouse towards Moonpaw and her tail flicks up in excitement. She shoots a look Fogpaw's way and he nods and veers off in another direction, allowing her this hunt to chase his own prey.

Creeping forward, the words of her former mentor rings in her ears. Keep your paws light. Even so much as a scattered pebble will alert your catch to your presence. She never was able to complete her training and earn her warrior name, she thinks with a pang, but files that sadness away for later. She has enough information to know how to hunt, and she and Fogpaw will have plenty of time to practice now.

The mouse she's stalking shows itself, leaping onto the root of a tree, little whiskers twitching. Moonpaw waggles her haunches, preparing to launch herself at it, but as she leaps she slips on the loose pine needles underfoot and falls short of her catch. The mouse darts away and she lunges forward, hoping to snag it with a claw as it escapes, but it's too far from her outstretched paws and disappears into a hole in the ground.

“Star-damned trees,” Moonpaw growls to herself and sits back with a huff, her tail tip twitching. “Hunting on the mountain was so much easier.”

Prey continues to evade her for the rest of the afternoon. Squirrels run up trees, voles dive for cover under the leaf litter, and one particularly annoying chase after a songbird ends with Moonpaw landing in a puddle of mud.

She screeches with disgust, the bird long gone, and drags herself out of the mud to shake her fur. Her nose wrinkles in disgust at the state of her pelt. This is going to take ages to clean out of her white fur. Hopefully, Fogpaw is faring better with his hunt.

She follows her brother's scent trail to find him laden with mice, pawfuls of them at his feet. As he glances up and makes eye contact with her, the corner of his muzzle ticks up in amusement. “Rough hunt?”

“Do. Not,” Moonpaw huffs, eyeing his sleek, clean coat enviously. She drops herself next to him in a patch of sunlight and begins to groom her coat. Between mouthfuls of fur, she says, “we need to find someplace else on the territory to stay. This is no place for a mountain cat to settle.” She darts a pointed look at his small mountain of prey. “Except for you, maybe.”

Fogpaw mrrps a laugh and pushes a mouse towards her. “You can have some. I caught plenty.” He settles onto his paws and helps Moonpaw clear the mud from her fur. “I agree, though. I think we should look around the rockier places of our territory until we find a place that could work as a new camp.”

“A whole camp?” Moonpaw says doubtfully, tongue paused in her grooming. “I could settle for a couple of safe hollows in a rock. What do we need a whole camp for?”

“Rebuilding NimbusClan, of course.”

“Oh, Fogpaw–”

“No, Moon, seriously. I don't want to spend the rest of our days as rogues. I want–” he falters, eyeing her hesitantly before continuing. “I've always wanted a family, one like ours. Mom and Dad and us, it just… made me so happy, you know? I want that for myself one day.” He casts his eyes away from her, his shoulders hiking up around his ears, and Moonpaw knows he’s fighting back tears.

Moonpaw smiles gently at Fogpaw, her own eyes misting a little. “It made me happy too, Fogpaw. Makes me happy. They're watching over us in StarClan, I'm sure of it.” She curls her tail reassuringly over his back. 

“I'm sure they are,” He murmurs, resting his head against hers. “I miss them.”

“I miss them, too.”

They sit that way for a while, purring softly with each other as the newleaf breeze plays over their fur. Eventually, they tuck into the mice Fogpaw caught, and then curl together to take a nap in the sunshine.

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

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(Okay so yes I know moons are months and so far the timeline of the fic portions doesn’t exactly line up with that, but bear with me for the sake of storytelling purposes)