˙ ˖ ✶ baby, don't hurt me ┊ figfeather.

[Cherryblossom]

Once again, Slate has relinquished his apprentice to Figfeather for a lesson of ground hunting. Hunting in general is shaping up to be a non-favorite for the apprentice, hunting without climbing even less so. However, she adores Figfeather like she detests ground hunting. The golden-furred molly has posed a friendly figure since kithood, and though it paled in comparison to the shock of Little Wolf's death, she does remember the way Figfeather had cradled her before her mother could get to her.

They're padding through a quiet patch of the forest—hardly any chance of prey here—when Cherrypaw quietly strikes up conversation. "Figfeather, how did you know you wanted to, like, be mates with Fantastream?" Citrine eyes flash towards her. There's no reason apparent thrumming up a storm in her heart, no ache weighing down her chest. But there is a background hum, an ephemeral thread running through her waking hours, manifesting in errant thoughts and desires she's only seen played by other actors.

@FIGFEATHER​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

The scent of prey lacks in the chilling wind. It’s grown scarcer and scarcer, especially on the ground as most prey fled to their treetop burrows for warmth. She has half a mind to send Cherrypaw into the canopy on her own, why weigh her down to the ground when she’d have a better shot in the branches above?

Before she gets the chance to do so Cherrypaw makes an unusual inquiry. She looks dumbfounded for a moment in her look to Cherrypaw, instead of answering she almost blurts ’why?’ but she knows better than to try and prod. ”Uh- well- I just knew.” An unhelpful answer, but Figfeather never had been known to wear affectionate emotions on her pelt. It takes some forcing out, ”When we were in the mountains I found I missed her company the most. I realized that life was too short and unpredictable to- well, allow her to pass by.” It was true, the idea of leaving things shattered between Fantastream and her had sent violent tremors through her heart. ”I… knew we were meant to be. I knew I didn’t want to wait anymore, so I made her my mate the moment I could.” Did that… suffice? Did it even answer Cherrypaw’s question? She looks to the tri-colored apprentice hoping she had been somewhat helpful, but why had Cherrypaw asked it in the first place?

♡ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Figfeather
  » SkyClan Warrior
  » She/her . AMAB
  » Mentoring Wolfpaw
  » Mate to Fantastream
  » A red tabby she-cat with a mangled leg.
  » ”Speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A foe in battle whose ability to strategize can shift tides.
  » Excels in strategizing and pre-planning her battles.
  » Fights defensively and aid to her clan to victory.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Figfeather doesn't seem to have thought it through before, but Cherrypaw could hardly blame her. She meets her bewildered amber gaze unflinchingly, though. Such a non-answer wouldn't do. The warrior says something about life being too short and unpredictable, coaxing a slight frown on her maw. "Uh huh..." she muses.

Cherrypaw didn't doubt her own awareness of how abruptly the path of life could come to an end, how a cat could stay suspended in red for the rest of their existence, at least in her mind. It makes her think of Hailstorm, and then Bobbie, his red-rimmed eyes and her baleful glare. It pisses her off now, how he hadn't been angrier—if it'd had been Lupinepaw who'd been slain in a fool's stead, she wouldn't have hesitated to rip their wounds a little wider.

Her answer lies before her, annoited in the snowbeams, glittering silver and smoke. The truth is easy enough to lean into. Too easy. Cherrypaw meets Figfeather's gaze a second time, doubt muddling sunlit crystal. "Oh." She tilts her head, letting her gaze stray back into the pines. Among the shadow-checkered white, she imagines another figure striding into view, mismatched autumnal eyes saddened. Scorchpaw had been all she could think about during the journey. "There wasn't, like, anyone else?" the apprentice presses.​