ON HIATUS FOR A MONTH (from the 18th of March)
Hello, fellow people! My name is Jamie, I am 15 years old and go by she/they pronouns. My mine blog is @fionajames.
This is a Clangen blog dedicated to my Clan; MooseClan. This blog will mostly be in art, writing, sort-of-comic and ask form, feel free to interact with the cats!
Allegiances.
Moons will be tagged: #moosemoon
Asks will be tagged: #mooseasks
Any other art I do will be tagged: #mooseart
Any other writing I do will be tagged: #moosewriting
Moon updates may sometimes have writing underneath them, so look out for those. Updates will also be irregular.
I hear you've earned your warrior name, I applaud you from afar. How are you feeling now you have all these responsibilities?.. I'm sure it can be quite the weight on the shoulders of a cat like you.. but Im sure it should be fine...
A/N: sorry for the wait! life's been... life. Open to criticism, as always! LMK if you wanna join/be taken off the tag list. And sorry if it feels rushed 😭
The last paragraph of italics is directly from Triple Zero by Karen Traviss and I don’t take credit for it I just thought it would be a cool addition and help set the mood
word count: 812 (apparently? I thought I wrote more)
The Mandalorian Medics helped Niva the best they could, physically. Nothing could help her recover from what happened; watching her father, her buir, die right in front of her, and she could do nothing.
Kal shifted his weight from his right foot onto his left, his shattered ankle screaming at him. His sand colored beskar’gam reflects the sun just right that there appears to be a halo encircling his body, the light at the end of the tunnel for Niva. He waited outside the medical tent for a while with his arms crossed, pacing back and forth every once in a while.
Poor girl…
The medic - Gale? - pushes aside the tent flap and walks out onto the firm ground of Central Mandalore’s terrain. Gale looks at Kal, giving him a small reassuring smile and nod. “Did my best, Skirata. She’ll make it.”
“That…That’s great. Any permanent damage?” Kal asks, his brow furrowing.
“None that I can see… You know, she has a lot of Cabur in her. Just like her buir, eh?” Gale grins, patting Kal’s shoulder, and walks over to the center of the camp, talking with his vode.
Kal’s footfalls are nearly silent as he slips through the tent flaps. The tent is dim, a small lantern illuminates a small area by Niva’s bedside. A thin, portable, wooden floor is all that separates Niva’s little sleeping bag from the dense clay soil.
Thick gauze is wrapped around her sternum, cords and wires hang from tabs on her wrists and chest. The heavy, cloying scent of bacta fills the tent. Kal glances at Niva’s half open duffel bag, which she insisted Kal take with them.
“Why is it so cold?” Niva’s quiet voice fills the tent. Kal laughs, coming over to sit on the floor beside her.
“We’re in Central Mandalore. Up north, ad’ika,” Kal says, the nickname flowing off his tongue so naturally. He fixes the blanket lazily draped over Niva.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How did Buir die? He always gets into fights… Why did this one kill him?”
Kal sighs, “Gale, the medic, told me that his rib punctured his heart. You know, ad’ika, even if you’re in the safest, toughest box in the entire galaxy and you’re hit tons of times, that doesn’t mean being rattled up in that box can’t hurt you.”
Niva looks away, blinking back tears; her long lashes clumping together from the wetness.
“And why am I alive?” She asks.
“That little necklace, made of pure beskar. The blast hit you between the collarbones, but that little scrap of iron saved your life, ad’ika.” That does it for Niva. Her eyes brim with tears, her throat begins to tighten. The heavy feeling of grief, loneliness, survivors guilt, all coming back to her.
“Buir g-gave me that…”
“I… I’m sorry, ad’ika. You know… I lost my dad, too. Before becoming a mando, that is,” Kal whispers, carefully adjusting one of Niva’s many curls.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” The two quietly talk together, Kal telling Niva about the origin of his three sided knife in exchange for Niva telling him about her necklace, the metal tree now bent at an awkward angle.
“Do you have any other family?” Kal asks after a while.
Niva doesn’t respond right away, only looking to a corner of the tent instead. She says softly, “No.” That’s the biggest lie she’s ever told, but she can’t go back to that village. An already unstable woman, now grieving the loss of her husband… Not a good mix.
“Alright… You can stay with me, if you-”
“Please, can I, Kal?” Niva cuts him off, her wide green eyes staring intensely into Kal’s.
“‘Course, ad’ika. Anything,”
Two years later.
Kamino was damp. No, it was more than damp: it was nothing but storm-whipped sea from pole to pole. The air smelled more like a hospital than a military base.
Niva, now 16, steps close to the window separating the corridor she and Kal’buir are currently waiting in and the vast chamber of what looked to be large toroids stacked on wide pillars.
In the past two years, Kal became Niva’s surrogate father, showing his love by telling her to call him Kal’buir - Papa Kal. He could never replace Cabur as her father, they both knew that. Yet the empty, painful hole left in Niva’s heart was slowly filled in by the presence of her Papa Kal.
This was a mistake. Taking Niva, of all people, here. We might not leave for… For years! Jango’s gonna owe me s-
“Kal’buir… Look at the towers,” Niva says, interrupting Kal’s thoughts.
“I don’t see anything, ad’ika.”
“No, k’olar. Closer.”
Kal sighs and steps beside Niva, who’s nearly as tall as him, although that isn’t saying much since he’s shorter than the average man.
“There’s… There’s babies in those tubes, Kal…”
Glossary & Pronunciation
Beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor [bes-car-gum] (I think).
Buir - dad/mom [boo-ear]
Vode - brothers/sisters/comrades [vod-ay]. (I think)
Ad'ika - little one, son, daughter of any age [ah-dee-kah]
Beskar - Mandalorian iron [bes-car]
Kal'buir - Papa Kal [Kal-boo-ear]
K'olar - come here [ko-lar]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------A/N: Quality (as usual) is not on my side </3 Leafpaw is so cute!!! Oh and Fireroar has herbs in his fur because he spends so much time in the medicine den helping Ghostice.
Please, send asks!!!
(guess who posted this to their main blog accidentally and then had to frantically copy paste and then delete it)
Fireroar hurried to catch up to Ghostice, shivering as a cold breeze ruffled his fur. He admired the way the moonlight dappled Ghostice’s fur through the leaves above, before tearing his eyes away in embarrassment.
“We need catmint,” Ghostice explained and Fireroar nodded, although his mind drifted away for a moment. “Even if it’s new-leaf I don’t want to get any early cases of greencough. Or whitecough.”
They padded on through the forest, and Fireroar glanced around. He’d grown to love their Clan’s new territory, and the cats they’d met because of it. His thoughts yet again drifted to his companion and he glanced at the tom. Ghostice had been a friendly and joyful presence since they’d met.
As the night continued, Fireroar finally managed to summon up some courage and confess his feelings, only to be met with a pitiful gaze. He immediately knew that his love was unrequited, and watched the medicine cat pad away, left alone to wallow.
It is a two-hour helicopter ride from the nearest town to this spot on the Fishing Branch river in Canada’s Yukon territory, a location where the river never freezes, however cold it gets. The salmon run occurs in the late autumn here, and for the grizzly bears of the area, the open water offers a final chance to feast before hibernating. It was averaging about –22 degrees Fahrenheit (–30 degrees Celsius), and Andy Skillen had been waiting and hoping that one particular female bear would use this log to cross the stream. Eventually she did just that, and he got the picture he’d envisioned—her fur, wet from fishing, had frozen into icicles and “you could hear them tinkle as she walked past.” #
