private ˙ ˖ ✶ rose water ┊ bearpaw.

[downyfur]

Inside and out, Downypaw aches. WindClan had finally returned to camp, but unwhole. Downypaw doesn’t know when it would become whole again, or if it ever would. They should be able to breathe without the straw-stuffed air of the Horseplace and the weight of collective exile on their shoulders, but their chest still feels tight. Life feels exactly how they imagined it would a sunrise after Sootstar’s fall.

Juncopaw had not gotten far with her, thanks to Fogbound. The cobwebs plastered beneath their left eye makes their eyes water with the poultice beneath, but the shallow scratches buried beneath plush fur would heal without much encouragement. @Bearpaw , placed into the nest beside her, looks a little worse than her, as far as she can tell.

They hadn’t really talked since their mentors had them pretend at battle. Downypaw shuffles in their nest, plagued by a light sort of anxiety. ”Bearpaw?” they finally whisper, powder-blue eyes flicking towards the larger body. ”Are you awake?” They squint at him through the dark and herb-scented air of the medicine cat den. Around them, bodies shift in various states of lingering stress. ”You…fought?” They made you fight? they mean to say. They made me fight. She knows she tries harder at these things than him, but maybe necessity had changed him, as it had changed them all.​

 

[Bearflight]

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He felt fine, but his fur was a tangled mess and the clotted blood that stiffened it hard against his chest where claws raked was uncomfortable and in a place not so easily groomed by his own tongue even if he tilted his head all the way down; chin tucked to his neck. He'd given up on bothering, spotted head rested on folded paws when Downypaw's voice rose like a quiet rustle of wind through the den and he shifted in place on the nest to face their direction.
"I'm awake." He said simply, finding it hard to sleep in the aftermath of chaos that had unfolded around them and his own apprehension about his place in the clan when he had performed so poorly that Wolfsong had been forced to step in to save him.
The question catches him offguard and he wriggles in place with paws tucking closer into his body as though cold or hiding; withdrawing physically and mentally at the implications, "I...chose to fight."
Of a sort, he had chosen to not argue when brought into combat which was the same as making the choice himself in a way and even if he had not exactly earned himself any favor by doing so he had participated nonetheless, "...or I chose to be battered around I guess. I couldn't....do anything. I couldn't bring myself to."
Even in his own defense, even with his life beneath sharp teeth and a looming silver figure demanding his blood because of how much he looked like his father, he couldn't stand to raise his claws.

◈ ——— it's easy to explain ◈ ——— 'cause this world's not tame (little fang, little fang)

•  
• 
  
  
  Bearpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Chocolate Rosette Tabby w/blue eyes.
  

​

 

[downyfur]

Beryl blues gleam in the dim as Bearpaw turns towards them. Their own oceanic hues track the glint of white as Bearpaw tucks his paws further into his big chest, like an elephant cringing from a mouse. Immediately, they're sorry to have asked such a thing of him. Chose is the word he uses, as if to directly counter the implications Downypaw had preemptively erected in her mind. Still, they of all cats are fully aware that one's choice may have meant one's physical choice, and not the choices their surroundings had decided for them.

Their moor runner peer continues. Was it his choice of words, or was his tone actually drooping? "Oh." The seal point blinks down at their paws, stifling another wince at the disturbance to their bandages. At least it was you and not me, is her immediate thought. Or, rather, at least someone as sturdy as you instead of someone as weak as me. The difference between them was that Downypaw had wanted to hurt Juncopaw back, and her failure lay in the attempt instead of a refusal to. A failure, she supposes, that had been a choice of his own, instead of being forced to fail as Downypaw had.

"You're still alive," she points out, as softly as she can muster. "And I think...going into the battle...is doing something." Ordinarily, it's here she might try to give him a smile, but she can't bring herself to. Not a sunrise after the event. Instead, they send him a solemn glance, then continue their absentminded dogging of the medicine den entrance. A moment trickles by. "Back then, when we were sparring..." They hazard a glance towards him, concern and curiosity mingling their wide eyes. "You didn't do anything to me either." Why? the silent question begs.​

 

[Bearflight]

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Still alive. Was he? Sometimes he wondered. The other apprentice's attempts to affirm and assure earn a soft smile but he does not look their way at first.
Was it doing something or was it wasting time? Part of him wonders if he had not just pulled Wolfsong away from a matter of more importance than defending his failure of an offspring from being mauled. Who was to say - looking back on it now he can't even remember the face of the cat that towered over him with barred teeth, sinking claws into him because of his blood while he still unwillingly refused to spill anothers.

"I didn't want to hurt you." He said simply, unsure of what the point of the question was but blue eyes widen incredulously as she regards him in silence for longer than necessary. It takes him a moment more than he felt it should have to realize what secondary question lingered unspoken in their words and he offers a wry smile, paws tucking in towards his chest, "I'm afraid of my own claws I fear. They hook and curve and feel unfamiliar to me, I don't trust them to cut where I want or follow the guidance of my paw. I fear the force behind every swing." What is too much, what is enough, a stray cuff with too much weight could have knocked Downypaw senseless, a stray cuff with claws could take an eye, shred an ear. He's uncomfortable in his body, he realizes. It's not something he knows how to address.

ᚾ ——— Red fell the stone from his hand, O Lord ᚾ ————— 'round and 'round again

•  
• 
  
  
  Bearpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Chocolate Rosette Tabby w/blue eyes.
  

​

 

[downyfur]

A smile curls on cinnamon-edged lips, as pleasing to Downypaw as the first buds of Newleaf. She had done that, even if was small, even if it wasn't quite real. Bearpaw then looks far away, like she thinks she looks sometimes, as though staring so far into the horizon circled her gaze back around to the inside of her own head.

The relief that hits them is immense and buoying, a metaphorical ocean of lightness, when he says he didn't want to hurt them. Reassurance, they find, is the sleepy swell of poppy seeds, better and brighter even. The fact that he didn't want to hurt them—that he, someone, cared enough to do that—is a high and balm greater than any herb his father could provide. Even if it had been mostly for himself, as he explains.

His petaled smile grows heavier with recognition, and theirs sags with the fears they'll never truly know. What was it like to hold power in one's paws and want to throw it away? For a moment Downypaw's mood sours, and they want to snap at him so being so ungrateful. He could be a feared tom, the son of a king and a star-walker, born to make the earth shake with each step. All while she languishes as the kin of traitors, relegated to the dismal labyrinths beneath the sun's reach. She doesn't know whether to be disgusted or admire him.

They choose to voice the latter. "You fear...yourself?" they echo, following the breadcrumbs of his sentences. "Be grateful for what you have." The words sound hollow on their tongue, so they swallow them. Instead, the soot-tinged cat admits, "I...appreciate you not hurting me." After a pause, they add, "But someday you'll have to learn to control your claws, right? Or else you could do even worse." Power superseded wealth, of size or strength or even knowledge. "I guess I don't really know what it's like to be you though," they murmur, sinking their chin deeper between their paws.​