[Tallstar]

 

Originally Posted by Daragca

Cottonpaw
he/him | Windclan Apprentice | 13 moons
The Collector - Lucky Duck T3 - Survival Instinct - Chill of Death
The Stowaway Child

Cottonpaw bathed in the soft afternoon light of the clearing, a breeze trickling gently through his soft ivory fur. It felt pleasant, he couldn’t complain much. His leg of course, still an ongoing matter. Once he tried his very best to push into the far corners of his mind. It was healing, and for now that was all he could really hope for.

Yet again he still found himself, sat out here alone. He imagined Shrikepaw might be off training or dosing in the Apprentice’s den, perhaps Ashpaw was doing the same too. He missed his training, whilst he was injured it had been a struggle sometimes to keep himself busy. The Medicine Den became stuffy and overwhelming at times. It was hard not to yearn for the days, practising something with Leechscar, exploring the territory without the lurking fear that his leg would be snapped up again. But when it came down to it he’d push through it of course, he had to. He’d promised Mama a visit to Starry Meadow and he would deliver on that promise, perhaps just a lot later than he had ever envisaged.

[​ @Tallstar ]
[ Feel free to choose whatever character you fancy for this <3 ]

Racconpaw
7 Moons
She/Her
There was a soft crackle of leaves, followed by an awkward little thump — and then, suddenly, a face. Racoonpaw’s face, to be exact. Upside down. She had somehow managed to appear just over the edge of a sun-warmed log near Cottonpaw, peering at him with wide, inquisitive eyes, her chin resting on the bark like she’d been growing there the whole time. “You are real,” she said, voice full of astonishment, as though she hadn’t quite expected him to exist. “I thought maybe I imagined you. Cottonpaw, right? The one who got chomped?” She flipped herself over the log in a dramatic half-roll, landing on her paws with a soft grunt and a swish of her oversized tail. A few stray twigs clung to her scruffy pelt, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or mind. Or register them at all. “I’m Racoonpaw,” she said cheerfully, sitting down without invitation. “You don’t know me, but I know of you. Not in a creepy way. More of a 'heard you’ve got an unlucky leg and a dramatic story' way. I like dramatic stories. They’re usually full of useful symbols and moral consequences.” She blinked slowly at him, then added, “Anyway, you looked lonely. Or contemplative. Or both. That’s kind of my favorite combination. Mind if I sit here and be mysterious at you?” Her ears flicked as the breeze tousled her fur further, and she gave him a hopeful sort of grin. “I’m very quiet when I want to be. And very annoying when I don’t.”