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Post by Greymuzzles on Jul 6, 2019 15:08:01 GMT
Squirrelkit stared at the nursery’s entrance, watching as early-morning light began to creep through the gap. It would be some time before it reached the den’s depths—gathered strength enough to light its many nooks—but already it was pushing the shadows back: melting the nightmares clinging to her mind. She’d had another bad night, her sleep filled with shades from the Rogues’ attack, and she’d laid huddled and haunted within her nest for some hours passed. Now, though, with that light finally batting the darkness away, she began to feel a little more able to act.
Though she was tired and it was early, the kitten slowly unwound herself from her tiny nest: let the light coax her out towards the day. Her steps were slow and hesitant, bearing none of the exuberance one would expect from a kit’s frame—but she stepped paw within the quiet camp in relatively little time all the same. In truth, she probably should have left the nursery hours before, when the past had first woken her, but now at least she could be welcomed by warmth and sun – and not the dark and chill that had existed the night the Rogues had come. That in itself was a great comfort, and for a few moments she lingered within a hop of the nursery’s entrance, eyes cast up towards the clear golden sky. Listing, in silence, the difference between the two times.
Day, and not night.
She stepped further from the nursery’s reach, her paws cautious and quiet as she let her gaze trail down to the open camp.
Peaceful; no fight.
Slowly, she worked her way to a patch of stronger sunlight; dared to curl within the bluebells growing beneath its warming touch. The flowers’ sweet scent made her nose twitch; coaxed her to relax.
Safe…
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Post by Dodge on Aug 26, 2019 18:02:43 GMT
The camp had barely begun to stir but of course there were still warriors up with the dawn. A few Boars prepared a dawn patrol at the entrance of camp. An Early Bird or two slipped out of the camp, some of the best hunting to be found in the quiet as the sun rose. But all in all the camp still slept. It was the fruitful season little reason but duty drove Treeclan to stir with the sun and duty wasn’t the same here as it had been in the old clans. Freefall was one of the early risers, sitting still and calm as if in vigil watching as the stars faded away. Often he’d been one of those early hunters, now, loth to wake a Boar just to tell them where he was going—he still rose early, but simply to watch. And he’d taken it upon himself to watch a bit of an oddity.
A kit stirring, the last thing he expected to see up now was one so young. The scruffy little kit slunk from the nursery as if expecting an attack. Sinking down within the flowers and sunlight like it was her only source of protection. He knew the nursery had been attacked during the invasion. The thought pained him, he should have been there. If he’d stopped running around and fought earlier maybe things could have been different. But taking responsibility now wouldn’t change the past.
He waited until the sun was up further, allowed the kit a bit of time alone and peaceful to herself before his curiosity got the better of him. Still early, most of the clan still asleep, but the earliest moment of the morning past. The patrol gone and the darkest shadows banished before he padded gently toward the nursery and Squirrelkit.
“You’re up early, for a kit.” He hadn’t snuck or tried to be stealthy with his approach, not wanting to startle the already flighty looking young one. Freefall didn’t look at her, but at the forest beyond the camp. Flopping leisurely onto his side among the flowers a small distance away. Sending up a small cloud of pollen that sparkled in the watery beams of light as it drifted away or down onto them.
His tail twitched once as a songbird flew overhead, alighting onto the branches of the split oak. This kit was obviously a bird as small as she was. But who was responsible for her? He still didn’t look or really even move a muscle to do much besides flick an ear calmly as he spoke once more. “Who’s your mother?” This small question alone would answer many of the questions the she-kits actions and appearance brought. He should really, he thought, pay more attention to the next generation. Freefall was the type to take notice of new paws once they began running around. Not so much the kits who tumbled about beforehand.
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Post by Greymuzzles on Sept 7, 2019 8:50:46 GMT
She turned that thought in her head over and over again, needing the repetition to help settle it properly into place: begin to convince herself that it was true. Although the camp was entirely peaceful, only a few early-risers visible within its grasps, she found it difficult to push the lingering memory and its coiling fears away. But it was safe, whatever those memories told her. There were no rogues here, no threat here, and slowly the tension within her began to ease away.
Reassured, Squirrelkit lowered her head to her paws: let herself begin to focus more on the flowers around her. She breathed in the sweet scent of the plants, soothed still more by their presence – sneezing as the stems tickled her nose. She was safe, and there was really no need to let the night’s dreams haunt her still more…
Even so, she reacted first with alarm when she heard the approach of other, larger paws. Her head shot up from the grass as her ears caught that noise, and she scrambled half upright, hunched and ready to bolt as she sought its source. The culprit was easy to spot. A full-grown Bird was padding into the little sun-spot, and even as she watched he flopped down into the grass beside her, sending a cloud of pollen into the air. It made her sneeze again, tiny nose wrinkling at the glittering particles – but mostly, at first, she simply stared. The warriors didn’t often speak to her. Even the queens often forgot her.
But slowly it dawned on the little kit that she had been asked a question—that the tom wasn’t looking at her; wasn’t himself showing any signs of threat—so slowly she sank back into the grass, ears folded against her head. Quietly she gave the answer he had asked, wondering why he cared.
“B-Brackenstorm…”
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Post by Dodge on Sept 7, 2019 20:34:53 GMT
Brackenstorm... Ah, that explained a lot, more perhaps than the kit herself even knew. Brackenstorm had not been a popular Warrior, and once her mate died she was even less friendly. Everyone knew she had a kit but she never showed the little one off like most queens, and then she died in the raid. Since then he had heard nothing about her kit, he’d assumed that it also may have perished. But here Squirrelkit was in the flesh. Alive, an orphan, and timid for it. He felt pity for the little one, but the young tom didn’t show it. He would claw the ears of anyone who looked down on him with pity, and he would show this kit the same courtesy. Empathy yes, many in the clan had now lost much, but not pity.
He didn’t let the silence hang in the air long, not wanting a significant pause after he asked a question to make her think he was upset. The shy often overthought. Nor did he look at her, continuing to gaze into the distant sunrise, as if this moment was nothing but a morning afterthought. Cats spoke to each other for no reason all the time, this one needed to learn how though he wouldn’t keep her long. “You’re apprentice age then, you must be excited.”
He shifted flopping onto his side, and then in the calm of a quiet camp, no one around to see though he wasn’t the type to care—would act how he liked in front of others—Freefall flipped onto his back, long legs in the air in a leisurely stretch and then paws folded against his chest. He finally turned his head to the side to look at the little orange she-kit. It was hard to be overly intimidating while laying sillily on your back in the center of camp. “My name is Freefall sorry for not knowing, almost apprentice, but what’s yours. I’ll remember it.”
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Post by Greymuzzles on Sept 16, 2019 19:09:39 GMT
She huddled lower as the answer left her, the name alone adding fresh shadows to the newborn day. It was hard to think of her mother without also thinking of the she-cat’s last moments—or one of her many snappish comments—and with the nightmare still fresh in her mind it was harder than ever to keep such thoughts at bay. If the Rogues hadn’t come, Brackenstorm would still be there. If she hadn’t distracted her, she might still be there too…
As always, the very idea had guilt forming a cold biting knot in her stomach – and not just because she might, perhaps, be partly responsible for the queen’s death. She wasn’t sure she wanted Brackenstorm back, sometimes, and that was almost as bad as the loss itself. It definitely couldn’t be right, she was sure, and she shifted uneasily at the resurgence of that thought, unable to explain it to herself: hardly willing to face it at all.
Luckily, she didn’t need to. Luckily, the unknown Bird was even then talking once more, coaxing her wary gaze back to his form. She was nervous of him—the low huddle of her body said that louder than she thought—but his words gave her something else to focus on, even if it, too, only brought an added tang of bitterness to her tinier form. She was trying to ignore that. She barely knew what to feel about apprenticeship—her ceremony was late, and that hurt, but she wasn’t truly worth it; was scared of what it might mean—but she guessed that there was nothing good that that truth could bring. ‘At least try to think,’ was what her mother had always said when she’d blurted out her thoughts – so she tried to think, searching for the answer he’d expect; want.
“I—yes?” It was a tiny quiet word that hid in the grass at her paws: ashamed to be out in the world and not at all saying what it ought. It was an attempt, though – and a moment later it was half forgotten as the tom flopped and rolled and stretched in a movement so abrupt—so weird—that for a moment the kitten’s ears flickered forwards in astonished curiosity. But it was gone as quickly as the Bird’s roll, leaving her as submissive and uncertain as before…if a little less closely hunched to the floor.
“…Squirrelkit?”
Ooc: Sorry for the delay, Dodge! And sorry for the lack of dialogue, too: Squirrel isn’t a big talker at the moment (and I don’t think she knows what to make of Freefall, either).
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Post by Dodge on Feb 18, 2020 3:07:10 GMT
Oh he’d succeeded, at least a little. His small act of languid comfort got the kit to look at him with something other than fear - if only for a moment. He would take what victories he could get. Freefall smiled in amusement as much as a cat could, wiggling on his back for a moment in the flowers, stretching a paw above his head to lay on his side facing her. Long long feline body clearly at complete ease in the little patch of light.
He didn’t care that she hadn’t given some well worded answer, at least at the moment. The she-kit had brought herself to answer his question. This wasn’t a test just a conversation and his words were friendly and warm if a bit coy in reply.
“Squirrelkit.” Only a slight pause again. “Thank you Squirrelkit. As I said, I’ll remember you. I know I wandered into your quite morning, I’m sorry.” Freefall gave a small laugh then. Not mocking her but a compliment to his words, as if laughing at himself and his own perceived clumsiness. “If you’d like me to go just say the word, you’re in charge... and of course. If you wouldn’t mind a little company I’d be happy to stay.”
That was the ultimatum then, a little push. It was a decision with no negative repercussions whatever she chose, the point was to force her to make a decision of some kind. To say a few words one way or the other, stay or go. He got the clear feeling that this might cause more anxiety to the deceptively tiny kit, but he was endlessly patient. Freefall could lay in this patch of soft flowers soaking the sweet smell into his fur until the morning ran over into noon if it took her that long. Of course, there were always more possibilities in a situation than two if you were willing to make them.
The point was, whatever she did. There would be no negative repercussions. He was a bird as well, and though Freefall always had his own tempo, or because of it, he found himself interested in this forgotten kit.
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Post by Greymuzzles on Feb 19, 2020 19:56:51 GMT
The question quavered within her voice, and for a moment she was all-too-aware of it – and of the fact that that answer, of them all, shouldn’t carry a question at all. What kind of cat sounded uncertain of their own name? It was embarrassing, and she huddled lower in the grass as the realisation struck, fully expecting the failing to be held over her frame. But no mockery or chastisement came. No; the warrior didn’t comment on her uncertainty at all, and for a moment she was baffled by that – until he wriggled and rolled, distracting her once more.
Again the kitten’s ears perked, just for a moment, communicating a fresh flash of bewildered curiosity to the world. But it was a short-lived thing, for a beat later she realised that the movement left them face-to-face: that the tom was looking right at her, and therefore more likely to notice and act on her endless mistakes. Soon enough, she was sure, his irritation or temper would come her way – the only question was what form his reactions would then take. And any hope of avoiding that anger, even seeing it delayed, was even then taken away.
The warrior was speaking up again, unexpectedly laying a ‘choice’ at her paws, and immediately silent panic coursed through her tiny frame. Squirrelkit pressed herself into the grass as if hoping it might hide her as she faced these new unexpected words; even edged unconsciously back from him, eyes flitting uneasily between his face and the floor. What was she meant to say? What was the right answer? What was she meant to do to keep from irritating him, as she’d irritated her mother so many times before? Brackenstorm had insisted often that she at least try to get things right, even though she was just a little mousebrain, but how was she meant to know whether this warrior wanted an excuse to stay or to go? And why did he ask for one, anyway?
The questions tumbled through her head in a rapid swirl, and as they piled in upon her, all answerless, she tried to flatten herself all the more. She would get this wrong no matter what—she always did; even this frozen pause was error enough—and for several heartbeats she was paralysed by the very thought. But silence was unlikely to do any more good than a wrong answer, so for several heartbeats more she helplessly worked her jaw, mouth attempting to form words that wouldn’t come to her form. Then at last, even as she began to wish that the earth would simply swallow her up, she managed to push out a stumbling squeaking response.
“You—you’re a warrior---you can do what you w-want.”
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