private ALL THE PERFECT THINGS I DOUBT || GRAVEL

[Thriftfeather]

It was so easy for Thriftpaw to wish he could scoop every sullen and dissident part of himself from his gut like offal from a meal. His rabbit-heart gives its endlessly familiar thump-thump-thump, loud enough that his ears feel warm with it. Gravelsnap speaks about something and Thriftpaw knows he should be listening. It's probably something important. Everything Thriftpaw has learned from his mentor has been important, but his mind is too full to take in any more words right now.

The woody scent of sun on heath is something truly unique to the moor. That is something that Thriftpaw's mind can handle at the moment. Coarse, sandy soil presses into the callouses of Thriftpaw's pads. He inhales without thinking ahead to the exhale, and this is something he can handle at the moment. There is suddenly an expectation for response; Thriftpaw snaps back into his body without having realized he was elsewhere. He's supposed to answer a question or comment on something or continue the thought from where it was left off, but Thriftpaw feels as though he is trying to leap without knowing if his perch is a branch or the ground, and he has no control over what falls from his mouth.

"Am I actually a WindClanner?" Thriftpaw blurts out, and then recoils in the gentlest of ways against his own voice. Mouth slightly agape, a subtle shift backwards, a near imperceptible wrinkling of his nose, but then after a moment of visible consideration Thriftpaw firms himself and continues, "I mean — am I a good WindClanner?"

@GRAVELSNAP​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

Gravelsnap is about to repeat themself in a much less kind tone when their apprentice seems to return from wherever his attention had disappeared to, but before they can say anything Thriftpaw blurts out something that seems to surprise the apprentice himself. The question that he asks of them is one that Gravelsnap themself has struggled with. They have wrestled with the idea of being a good WindClanner since they had come to the clan at an age as young as the golden-furred apprentice had. They were not born here, just as Thriftpaw was not, and so they understand the feeling of not belonging, of not being a true member of the moorland clan. Their gaze softens as they turn to face their apprentice, eel-black tail lashing once in surprise.

Is he a good WindClanner, the younger tom asks, and Gravelsnap has to fight to keep their expression neutral. Their first instinct is to snap, because of course their apprentice is a good WindClanner. They have trained him well so far, and they will continue to train him until he is a perfect WindClan warrior. But they think of pale blue eyes and a stuttering voice, of an argument that feels so long ago now, and grumble, "Of course you are. Who told you that you aren’t?"​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Of course, Gravelsnap says like its an obvious thing. They ask a question that Thriftpaw should have predicted as a follow up, and Thriftpaw frowns because there isn't an easy answer. A name comes to mind, but she hadn't told him he wasn't a good WindClanner. She hadn't used those words; she hadn't needed to when Thriftpaw was already falling behind on the very purpose he was brought here for.

"It's just that the other apprentices aren't around me very much. I'm not very fun and I'm not so good at— I'm not so good at a lot of things." Quick on your feet, Thriftpaw reminds himself, be useful! "I mean I want to learn how to be better at things. I'm really good at hunting but I mess it up sometimes and we think I should be — I think I should be better at it. And other WindClan things."

For all the things Thriftpaw can handle at the moment, Gravelsnap prying isn't one of them. It's Thriftpaw's own fault for pressing the issue; he would have been better off keeping his mouth shut.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​