- Sep 5, 2023
- 149
- 27
- 28
Normally Downypaw would run to their family for this—Brightshine or Heavy Snow, of course; their sisters would just make it worse—but they're not here. And that's okay, they suppose. They're getting used to this new standard of life, listening to it pass them by as they spend the days lying on the sandy floor of the medicine cat den. They have a sprained paw. That's what they and Cottonpaw—when she was still Cottonpaw, anyway—have been saying. How bad (or real) it is is anyone's guess, but Downypaw silently chants a mantra of "right front paw, right front paw," whenever they limp out of the medicine burrow back into camp.
In the broad, unhindered sunlight, it's evident how much their "injury" has affected their abilities. Downypaw's wispy fur seems to have been blown every which way, then knotted and whorled into small storms in the places they sleep. Truthfully though, Downypaw just isn't the neatest cat, unlike their mentor. The state of their own coat has always paled in comparison to the state of the world around them. "Could—could someone help me with my fur?" they ask, pitifully cradling their paw to their chest.
In the broad, unhindered sunlight, it's evident how much their "injury" has affected their abilities. Downypaw's wispy fur seems to have been blown every which way, then knotted and whorled into small storms in the places they sleep. Truthfully though, Downypaw just isn't the neatest cat, unlike their mentor. The state of their own coat has always paled in comparison to the state of the world around them. "Could—could someone help me with my fur?" they ask, pitifully cradling their paw to their chest.