“You’re very willing to voice what you believe in, which is good for a warrior. A voice unwilling to be heard is one that’ll drift off in the wind and lead. You’re strong, and you’ve got a hard head. And… paw.” he shook his head to shoulder the torrents of accusations of his own memory. It hurt, his words, but Spottedfire was nothing if not a kindhearted soul — maybe the warrior should go and start letting his soft voice be heard.
Not today, though, for the kit made it hard to do much thinking about standing up for himself. Every word out of this kit’s mouth directed at him or his faltered head cut his heart like it was trying to split it open. Or like a flock of crows had decided he was the perfect meal for them to feed their young. His eyes looked toward the forest floor for a moment, ears splayed out in a hopefully subtle attempt at getting the kit to stop. Nerves prickled through him, and if he were a dog, he’d whine. If he were a twoleg, he’d probably start tearing up. As it were, he was neither dog nor person, so he stood there with the same kind smile and a delicate purr in his throat. He was the adult here, after all — adults handled worse than a kit picking on them. What would the important cats think, getting all worked up over a kit’s taunting?
Teach him a move or two? When last time he learned anything, he’d — well, he’d forgotten, but the vibe of getting in trouble was there, wavering on the edge like a loner trying to join a Clan. There, but distant in scent and more so in vision.
“I- I suppose I…” he was a terrible mentor and frankly felt pity for whatever cat was the unfortunate soul who had to train him once his memory started to get fuzzy… and for the unfortunate soul whom the important cats thought was appropriate for him to mentor. “... I can try to… teach you.”
His fur grew warm with embarrassment, but he started digging through static to fine tune it to anything– anything — that would be an appropriate lesson to teach a small kit. As if on cue, he couldn’t find anything. It was like trying to find a bird’s feather in sand. Sand! That shifted and melted and was so devoid of anything he could barely paw through it in search of anything useful. I’m sorry, I can’t—
“Okay…” improvisation and pure muscle memory were how he drifted through life, right? He’d just… wing it! He had to, there wasn’t a way this kid wouldn’t stop the taunting if he didn’t learn anything, and… wait, what had he even said, and what made his heart hurt like it did?
Where’d those birds go? Showing was easier than saying, especially if it was something his paws knew better than he could explain! He hoped he wouldn’t be responsible for the kit’s training. How did one even… train?
A bird draped in grey and white skipped across his field of vision, landing to peck at a wayward seed or something that didn’t really matter in that moment. It was a matter of convenience to prove to the equivalent of a three year old that he was a warrior, with a name he worked his tail off for and a job that every other adult in the zip code had, and not an overgrown, overly-sensetive kit. The principle of it, if you will. “C’mon…uh… Rose… Rosie. Come on. Watch… me,” his quiet voice was a hair above silent, dipped his head into a crouch as he moved forward. The poof of fur on the end of the lion-like tail dragged lightly off the ground, the tail hovering slightly, parallel to the forest floor.
This was perfect. He didn’t have to do more than mutter words that described what was occurring! It was perfect! Absolutely perfect!
Bicolored eyes widened, each pawstep more sure and calculated than anycat ever saw them before. Spottedfire was flying completely blind, but a cat didn’t need mind memory where muscle memory could suffice. However, he stopped short of catching the bird’s attention, turning back to the small kit and blinked, eyes still that of a hunter. Once he chased a squirrel to the edge of a puddle after a storm, and caught his reflection in the water — the hunter’s gaze turned his face sharp and fierce. Unnatural and unlike the soft roundness of his angular snout. It had spooked him, briefly, at how scary to him he looked.
No wonder why prey was scared of cats! Their faces were terrifying! Although, Spottedfire was not sure why that particular memory popped up, but it floated away like a leaf on the wind just as quickly. A brief flash of something that in the end, wasn’t particularly important. It happened for
“Now, you do what I just did, and try to sneak up to that bird. Get real low — your tail can’t rake across the ground and watch were you put your paws. My paws remember a lot of what I don’t, and in time, so will yours.” again, his voice is muttered, but this time, annunciated carefully.
At least it sounded like mentoring. That sounded pretty good, he’d think the important cats would hear that and think ‘wow, Spottedfire’s good at mentoring kids.’
He nudged the kit quietly, watching, trying to avoid the —
Oh look, a bird! Wait, no-
But bird…
If somecat could say life was easy if you can’t remember much, Spottedfire would beg to differ. It was insanely difficult — what with the simple fact of not remembering things, and in fact not he would not remember that he’d already taught Little Rosie this move, and if he ever asked again, it would be as if it were their first interaction. In his mind, at least, it was as if he got to become friends with everycat all over again, which was great. He loved making new friends.
What was the kit’s name again?