a word of advice [p]

[zozelen]

Although Brownpaw wasn't alone- wasn't ever really alone, with all her clanmates always close by, tonight was the first time she truly felt the way. Her small frame was silhouetted by the warm darkness of night, and although many other cats still lingered outside of their nests, they all felt so... far away. Their voices sounded like echoes of words not meant for her, or maybe too-loud whispers. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the way her mentor had snapped at her, the way the blood of Boulderclaw had splattered, pooling on the ground. Or maybe she just saw more blood than there really was, and the whole thing was just... quick. Neat.

Quickly cleaned up, body neatly taken out of camp and... buried? No. She didn't feel like they would've buried him, at least not with the rest of her ancestors. Dawnstar was mad at him, after all. So was everyone else. You had to be mad at a cat to kill them. Very, very mad.

Brownpaw felt... dull. It was a feeling that was very foreign to her- she felt sad, sometimes, but never like she couldn't feel sad at all. Gently, she brushed a little flower beneath her with one of her paws. What type of flower was it? Maybe if she was a medicine cat, she'd learn it's name- if it was useful, that was. Useful to heal wounds. Wounds dealt by warriors, like what she'd train to do, what she'd become one day. A warrior. Brownpaw always knew she might not make a very good one- she was easily distracted, got her paws mixed up, and didn't like to hurt others. But she would, she promised herself. She would defend her clanmates with her life.

But would defending a life mean taking another?

Very quietly, Brownpaw sniffled. Once, then again. Then it felt like she couldn't stop. The little flower swayed in her vision, tears blurring everything in front of her. She didn't want to cry, not earlier, in front of Hawkbite. Her mentor who thought she was disobedient and... and she couldn't even hunt right. She wouldn't be able to fight right, either, she felt it in her heart. Would she only ever let Hawkbite down?

Brownpaw trembled, feeling like she couldn't move. If she did, she might do something stupid. Might say something stupid, even though despite the scolding she couldn't feel sorry for speaking up. She couldn't feel like it was the wrong thing to do. All Brownpaw wanted to do was be apart of her clan, a good part of her clan, help anyone who needed it and make cats happy.

But she felt so alone.

@redshiftreign @Mica

[redshiftreign]

I BROKE FREE ON A SATURDAY MORNING, PUT THE PEDAL TO THE FLOOR.
[ @Mica [mistlewhisker]]

sore muscles, sore shoulders, sore paws. though their training was fleeting, mistlewhisker always seemed to make it more arduous and rigorous than the last. grouse had his suspicions as to why- maybe spite. he wasn't so sure his mentor was terribly fond of him (though, she was fond enough not to run to dawn begging to be rid of him. he figured that if that happened again, he'd be kicking rocks in the outskirts or maybe he'd be alleviated of his beautiful, mottled coat, and it'd sit in a den somewhere to cozy up to in the cold seasons), but he didn't think it was spite. he considered that, perhaps, it was to distract him. keep his mind off the troubles of the clan. he'd worry himself to death if he could, even if no-one noticed his anxieties. even if he was. . .

alone.

no one saw things the way grousepaw did. no one saw the injustice and the tyranny and the control- nor how it was created, how it was made. it fascinated and horrified him in equal measure. the cruelty of cats. he'd come to know it knew no limits. if left unmetered, untapped, it'd fester into absolute control.

he wanted to scream. he wanted to dig a grave and lie in it. he wanted to shred them all, all the liars and the cheats and the cats who exploited and groveled and sniveled for a scrap of power. the ones who prolong the system.

"i'm just saying that it's-" he was saying to mistlewhisker as they entered camp, before his words fell away. his amber gaze caught on a figure, shrouded in the dark glow of night.

trembling.

a familiar ache whelmed him, something he identified as sympathy. forsaking mistlewhisker, and picking up his stride, he made sure to keep a measured ease and relaxedness in his pawsteps as he made his way over to the fellow apprentice.

"'ello, mate." he greeted, voice a perfect laid-back, friendly cadence with the strange accent he picked up from his father those moons ago. when a moment, too long for his tastes, elapsed, he kept talking. canting his chin upwards to look at the stars, he stepped up besides her- a cat he recognized as brownpaw.

"rough night, eh? yeah, i've been there. its like, one good day in this hell leads to a million bad ones. what's got you down?" he smiled, easy and soft. the faintest, slightest undertone of nervousness in the crinkle of his eyes and the tenseness in his chest.

grouse was good at that- being everyone's friend. acting like he's known someone for moons. for his whole life. getting buddy-buddy, remembering all the little details and being kind and caring. because, truly, that's what he was built for. being a friend. it was a damn shame that the way things were dealt, he had to fight the system 'cause heaven forbid anyone else do it. he could hate shadowclan with everything in him. he'd still love his clanmates.

he'd still try. forever.

[Mica]

Mistlewhisker
ShadowClan Enforcer
she/her | 40 moons
[Large black cat with a half white muzzle and a pale green eye (left gouged out)]
Purrks: Beefed Up T3, Shadow Fiend
· · ────────────── · ·
[Grousepaw - @redshiftreign ] [Brownpaw - @zozelen ]
· · ────────────── · ·
Mistlewhisker followed Grousepaw into camp, his chattering going in one ear and out the other. They had been arguing--or more accurately, Grousepaw had been complaining while Mistlewhisker grunted every so often to show she was listening--about the disparity between power dynamics in the clan, as always. She had been looking forward to peeling off from him to go take a nap--maybe she really was becoming as old as Silverlark liked to say--but Grousepaw's sudden halt in speech had her glancing at him.

He was staring at another apprentice--Brownpaw, she remembered--who seemed to be having a bit of a cry to herself. Mistlewhisker raised a brow as Grousepaw made a beeline for the younger molly, following a tail length behind.

Despite Grousepaw's amicable nature and frankly startling display of gentleness, Mistlewhisker knew it was a terrible idea to let them comfort the molly alone, as he would probably get her worked up over thoughts of treason, or whatever he liked to call it. Justice? Whatever. She paused at Grousepaw's side, studying Brownpaw.

This was Hawkbite's apprentice, right? Had he done something to make her cry? Stars, were all apprentices as prone to sniffles as Brownpaw and Squirrelpaw, or flights of anarchism like Grousepaw? She said nothing for now, simply curling her tail around her paws and waiting for Brownpaw to speak. She could not offer anything until she knew what problem required a solution. She had never been very good at empty comforts.