Private Thread Plot Thread Cold & Prickly Cosmos (8RP'21)

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettleplume kept his pace steady beside Coldstar, paws dampened by the softened earth. The raven’s black feathers here and there along the path set his fur prickling, though he kept his expression schooled.

At the sound of Bloomfire’s name, his ears flicked, and he glanced at the tom beside him. "She’s well enough. Her appetite has stayed steady which is more than I can say for most queens this far along." He slowed briefly to skirt a patch of dew heavy grass before continuing.

"She’s near the end now. A couple of weeks... give or take. I’d expect two kits perhaps three, her frame doesn’t suggest more but I won’t wager more than that until the day comes." A faint hum escaped him, thoughtful more than warm. "So long as she keeps her strength up, I don’t see cause for worry. Everything’s progressing as it should."

He cast Coldstar a sideways look, blue eyes narrowing slightly. "But you’ll need to be ready... Queens can get protective or tempramental, especially first time queens." His whiskers twitched faintly, a dry edge creeping into his voice. "She's never struck me as the type to have kits. If you have any specific concerns you can tell me. "

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettleplume’s ear flicked at the strain laced through Coldstar’s voice, the edge that betrayed what his words tried to hide. He let the silence hang for a moment, his gaze fixed ahead before answering with his usual clipped steadiness.

"Six to eight weeks usually. Sometimes less... By then they’ll be lapping prey on their own and only going to Bloomfire for comfort, not survival." His tail brushed low against the wet earth as they walked. "It won’t be a permanent burden on her or on the Clan. Even if she’s eager to cast the role aside, it won’t tie her for long."

He tilted his head, blue eyes narrowing just slightly as he considered the possibilities of Bloomfire somehow abandoning her litter. His worries wouldn't change the natural pace of things, and it would be best to placate Bloomfire when possible. "If she wants to shred your ears for delaying her ceremony for your kits, best let her."

Nettleplume’s gaze sharpened for a moment, something harder lurking beneath. He wasn't very experienced yet at all with the subject of kits. Lilyriver had been an exceptional first time. Everything had managed to go well despite the queen's age and Skykit and Galekit were hitting their milestones so far. What would make a queen turn on their own kits? - it was a question, while fascinating, made him not so eager to explore.

"I don't think your concern isn't warranted...I'll be sure to check up often on her. If she does somehow turn on them, you'll hear it from me before harm comes." His tone was not just a promise of comfort, but of vigilance.

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettleplume drew up short as Coldstar’s tail flick cut their pace, pale blue eyes sliding ahead to the flash of orange waiting between the oaks. His whiskers twitched once, ears angling forward with a sure, measured interest.

So this was the cat that Coldstar spoke of?

Nettleplume shifted his weight, tailtip curling low but his posture unflinching. "Well." He murmured, voice dry. "I’d say you’ve got your paws full already." His gaze narrowed slightly, scanning the stranger’s stillness, the distance between them and the way the tom held himself.

His head tipped just enough toward Coldstar. He would not step back and allow him to simply leave him behind, but rather walk at his flank as a show of strength. And trust.

Survival demands caution, but greatness requires daring
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Kosmo’s ears pricked as the two pelts cut across the dew damp clearing. Coldgaze and a second, paler tom shadowing his flank. The raven croaked low overhead, wings rustling, and Kosmo’s mismatched gaze slid from bird to cats with a cool, measuring ease.

"So, he comes with company..." He murmured, tone neither sharp nor soft giving an undetermined lit as if he may be talking to the bird and not to his guests. His half tail twitched once against the oak root as he rose to his paws. "Had I known I’d have plucked some tansy from my garden... Would’ve made a better first impression on a medicine cat." The dry quip lingered a moment, but the weight of it was deliberate. He was curious to meet the medicine cat of RiverClan.

Kosmo’s gaze lingered on Nettleplume, long enough to show he’d taken his measure, before sliding back to Coldstar. His voice steadied, low but carrying. "But it’s not herbs I bring. It’s knowledge. And knowledge... well… it weighs heavier than snow laden leaves."

He let silence stretch before he stretched forward in a pointed stretch. Then, finally, a flicker of his jaw as he spoke again. "My raven brought me something last night. Blood where no blood should have been. Not prey... Not by chance. A line crossed." He left it there, eyes narrowing just enough that it invited question, even as he kept the heart of what he knew clenched tight.

"RiverClan values its borders. The forest's balance... So do I. And when balance is threatened, I’d sooner see it steadied than broken... That’s why I’m here." His chin lifted slightly, the barest tilt of provocation or challenge, unreadable behind his mismatched eyes.

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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 Nettleplume’s ears tipped forward, blue gaze trained sharply on tom as each word unspooled. He turned them over in silence, mind sifting as if through herb stems, pulling apart what was fresh from what was rot.

"So you're Kosmo. Hn."

Kosmo seemingly both made light of herbs and claimed to hold secrets. He wanted leverage, and his thoughts raced at their meaning. Coldstar might have been clueless, but the medicine cat's eyes narrowed. His tail flicked once, betraying the tension creeping up his spine. The raven overhead croaked again and unease prickled through his pelt like a burr caught deep. Last night was the Moonstone. StarClan’s warnings still clawing fresh. And now blood… it fit too neatly.

Outwardly, his expression stayed tight, controlled. He angled a brief look toward Coldstar, voice clipped but dry. "If he’s going to make himself useful, I’d rather see proof than poetry."

Inside though he was already bracing for the worst.

Survival demands caution, but greatness requires daring
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Kosmo’s whiskers twitched at Nettleplume’s words. Proof. A faint smirk ghosted his muzzle, gone as quickly as it came. He let the raven answer first...a sharp croak from above, as if punctuating the tension before he finally inclined his head where the branches above seemed to cloak the tom in shadow. "Plain, then."His voice carried low and sure, no wasted breath."The Rogue has struck again. Last night. My raven followed her through the storm." His mismatched eyes hardened, fixing first on Nettleplume then on Coldstar. "Two medicine cats have been attacked and mauled. The orange she-cat of WindClan has paid the price for it. She's dead...or very near to it. A patrol managed to bring her back to camp.

His claws flexed once against the oak root, the only sign of strain breaking through the calm front. Regarding the Clan rites, medicine cats weren't to be touched by teeth or claws. They would know better than most what this could mean. "A line is crossed, she holds nothing sacred. She is cursed, bringing madness and death to our land."

Kosmo’s gaze lingered, letting the weight of the words sink clear. Then with deliberate calculation, his half tail gave a single flick. "That’s why I came to you, Coldgaze. I don’t bleed for nothing. I know what happens if this goes unanswered. I've seen it." His jaw tightened, and though his tone stayed steady, a rare crack of sincerity cut through the measured cadence.

"I can't lead the charge, but I hope to join you...wherever this information takes you."

Hopefully right to WindClan's door.

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettleplume’s breath slipped slow between his teeth, a measured exhale as Coldstar’s pacing dragged his thoughts into darker places. Kosmo’s words still rang like thunder in his skull.

Pipertuft. It must be her. StarClan help her... The name pressed against his ribs like a thorn, though he did not voice it aloud. He had seen her only last night, tail tucked low, unease clinging to her like mist. Now...

His claws pressed lightly into the softened earth, as though anchoring himself. Medicine cats weren’t meant to be touched. Every law, every oath bound them apart from the ordinary tides of violence. For that line to be broken... it wasn’t just wrong, it was dangerous. StarClan’s fury would not sit idle.

When Coldstar’s pawsteps finally stilled, Nettleplume shifted closer at his side, his pale gaze sharp and steady. "Then it seems our plans aren’t ours anymore." He said, voice low and edged. "Obviously this rogue has no reverence for the code. She spits on StarClan. This should be our burden to bare... Perhaps we should confirm with WindClan. Send a group to show our support."

His whiskers twitched, not in amusement, but in that restless, analytic way of his. His eyes narrowed faintly, the faintest ripple of anger stirring beneath his usually cool surface. "If Pipertuft is gone then no one is safe." His tone thinned to a whisper as his eyes drifted to the ruffled black creature above Kosmo.