private ✦ ° — SHOW ME HOW / ORANGESTAR

[SLATE]

"She did well." The Maine Coon speaks as soon as the young tortoiseshell is out of sight — Cherrypaw is nearly a warrior now, no longer the naive child he had been so resistant to train. Ever stubborn and fiery she was, though Cherrypaw would carry those traits into adulthood and hopefully use them for the benefit of SkyClan. Slate could train her to hunt and fight, but he could not control how she acted as a warrior. Hopefully she wouldn't embarrass him too much.

Slate hesitated to admit that he was proud, even if this newfound wave of relief and glow of satisfaction seemed to indicate otherwise. He and his apprentice had never been the closest pairing between a mentor and trainee, but Slate could at least admit that she had learned something from him. And hey, the lead warrior had turned out to be a more capable teacher than he initially believed. However, as Cherrypaw's mother, Orangestar's pride definitely felt warranted. He had never experienced the fulfillment of being a parent, but if Slate had a kit of his own, he would sure as hell be happy that they passed their warrior assessment. It meant that they were capable and ready to graduate into adulthood like the rest of their peer group. "You should be proud." Slate meows, a peculiar sincerity accompanying his tone.

Next, perhaps unexpectedly and after pausing for a few beats, Slate adds, "Her father would be, too." The lead warrior averts his gaze from Orangestar's, sweeping it thoughtfully over the trees ahead of them. The lead warrior had largely left the she-cat to mourn alone, figuring that was how most cats preferred to grieve their losses. There were still so many things that had been left unsaid by Slate regarding Ashenclaw; he certainly would not bring them up now, of all times, not when his death was still fresh. Still, Slate's sentiment was something of a distant offering of acknowledgment, a subtle means of giving Orangestar condolences for her ex-mate's untimely passing. Even if they had not been together in the end, Orangestar had loved him once and perhaps still retained that love, a fact that Slate found difficult to swallow each time he thought about it.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞

• @Orangestar

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  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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[Orangestar]

Cherrypaw goes separately once dismissed, no doubt straight home to inform her denmates of her likely passing grade. They hadn't told her outright, but Cherrypaw isn't mousebrained; she could likely read into expression and movement to gauge her success. Would they find her bragging when they returned home? For the most part Orangestar is not a fan of such an expression, but she would hold her frown just this once. Cherrypaw had earned the right to say she had done well, just as her denmates had. All but one had passed their assessments now, promising that SkyClan's leader would have a hefty mouthful of good news to share at the next Gathering. Maybe she would need to instate a rule that apprentices couldn't discuss their results without a warrior nearby ... She huffs to herself, quiet and amused. She can't imagine that would go over well; even less so at a Gathering, should she go a step further and try to make it Code. No, that wouldn't do.

Orangestar flicks an ear fondly at Slate's praise, seeing it for what it is: genuine, and a sign of the lead warrior's respect. She remembers how the pair had butted heads so frequently moons ago. Two stubborn forces of nature who have since worn each other smooth; or, at least, smoother than they had been. There's a gruff teamwork to their interactions now, and while Orangestar does not know what had changed between them she is grateful. Cherrypaw is sunrises away from earning her warrior name, and is no longer the kit she had been. Orangestar knows in her heart that her eldest kit - like all of her littermates - has the potential to reach StarClan itself one day. If leaders could return to the life of a normal Clan cat, Orangestar might just be tempted to for the sake of watching her kits grow old.

Any remark that Orangestar would have made, however, dies on her tongue at Slate's next words. Her father would be, too.

She recalls Slate and Ashenclaw being friends, to an extent. That knowledge doesn't help to identify the sudden ache in her chest when she pictures him here with them, anxiously waiting just beyond the treeline for news of his kit's result. They'd return to camp together, Orangestar and her two closest confidantes - for different reasons, any overlap left unsaid - and carry on with their days bearing the knowledge that SkyClan would become one warrior stronger.

Orangestar doesn't notice, at first, that she's stopped moving. She only notices, detachedly, when her downcast vision blurs and suddenly it's hard to breathe. Grief hits her like an unsheathed claw, the shock of it nearly sweeping her to the ground. She would be mortified later but it's difficult to care in this moment, the dam she'd so carefully constructed around her feelings splitting open as if it had never been built. She doesn't wail so much as she sobs, jolting with every breath. Some of her cries sound like garbled attempts at speech, messy guesses at coherency that remind her of a kit.

The part of her mind's nest that she'd placed her grief within, orderly and compact, is left dishevelled and splayed by something as simple and destructive as a sympathetic affirmation. She misses Ashenclaw terribly, even if their entanglement had faded into friendship long ago. He should be here. If she could trade one of her lives to make sure he could witness his kits' graduation, she would in a heartbeat. There is reason for her grief, Orangestar knows. It's just that she does not feel herself ready to show it.

It's a pity that such a process would never follow her carefully regimented rules.

She doesn't know how long she spends in this moment, trapped in her emotion, trembling like a newborn fawn. When she eventually calms, however, she becomes aware of Slate's shoulder against her muzzle. She licks the fur there in apology when she draws back, unwilling to meet his eyes as if she has committed a grievous faux pas. No matter their history, no matter his place on her council, no matter his place in her life as her closest friend, she shouldn't have done that.

"... Sorry." She manages eventually, voice hoarse, still unwilling to meet his eyes.

ooc ✧ 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦

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  ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | nine lives
  " a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  
  — single ; mentoring springpaw
  — speech is in #E3B2A9
  — tags | art by pin
  

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[SLATE]

Truthfully, Slate had not thought much of his own comments; maybe Orangestar would acknowledge them and make her way back to camp, or maybe they would have some sort of causal chat surrounding Cherrypaw and her growth. They still had not spoken much to one another since he and Silversmoke's reprimanding, so Slate really did not think they would delve into anything deeper than surface-level formalities. The quietness between them was not something that the Maine Coon wanted for their friendship... if they were still even friends. Orangestar was a leader now — what good would being friends with a sharp-tongued former rogue do for her reputation?

However, what comes next is what Slate expects the least. The ginger-splotched molly had been reduced to sobs, her tough exterior split down the middle and exposing pent-up emotions that had been begging to be released. Suddenly, regret wells within him, knowing he couldn't take back what he said. How stupid of him! It was too soon to speak of Ashenclaw, especially when regarding the children that survived him. He is helpless and unsure of what to do as Orangestar leans into him, slightly stiffening as another feline makes physical contact with him that isn't aggressive or related to training. Ultimately, Slate remains, steady and anchored to support the emotional she-cat.

The lead warrior remains silent until Orangestar eventually begins to gather herself and pull away. His brows furrow, guilt stumbling forth off of his tongue as Slate struggles to handle himself in this situation, "Don't apologize, I-" Admitting his wrongs was not something that Slate was known to ever do, but his relationship with Ora was one of the two that he truly cared about. "I... should apologize. I shouldn't've brought him up." He observes his friend's damp cheeks and glistening eyes. The Maine Coon had never seen her like this. He didn't want to see her like this, let alone be the one to put her in this state.

"... You okay? I mean-" Obviously not, ratbrain. She was shaking, stricken by a sudden wave of heartbreak. Slate could not imagine that Orangestar had confided in many cats about her grief; they were similar in that way, putting up a stone wall and ensuring that it was impenetrable from the outside. As a leader, she probably felt more pressured than ever to maintain composure.

Stars, what does Slate even say next? What was he supposed to do? For a couple of moments, he mentally goes back and forth about the words he wants to communicate, how to go about this the right way. He supposed there was no simpler way to say it, "I'm... If y'ever need me, I'm here." Slate could not help but feel like he was promising a lie — yes, of course he would try and help Orangestar if she needed it, but would he be any good it at? That was yet to be seen. He was good at all things strength and duty, carrying out orders because they provided him with a sense of purpose, but when it came to comfort... Slate certainly would not choose himself to confide in. He was about as emotionally available as a rock; Slate knew this, as there had been little to do with feelings on the streets where he was raised. Aggression, territorialism, and selfishness had consumed the former rogue nearly completely, as it had been a means for survival. The lead warrior believed that he was changing for the better, shedding the skin of the man he used to be, but some habits were just tough to break. Slate wasn't sure if he would ever be as empathetic or gentle as his clanmates, but... he supposed he could at least try, if only for one cat. Or, if Ora simply wanted him to move on and never speak of this again, he could do that too.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞

•  

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

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