- Feb 21, 2024
- 26
- 3
- 3
From an outside perspective, Mockingbirdcry could enjoy the leisurely luxury of choosing her own hours. No hoarse - voiced call would tug her from sleep to demand a dawn hunting patrol or an emergency moonhigh border check. She did not have to pull weary bones from the comfort of her nest to drag an unwilling apprentice out for morning training, nor was she required to ferret out a scrawny prize from ShadowClan's trademark mires before enjoying a piece herself.
In actuality, children were apt to wailing at odd hours. The motherless ones, her charges taken under a gossamer wing, were particularly given to noisy cries for semi - realized demands in the small notch of moonhigh along the night's spine. She seizes her sleep when she can, dreams of strange places and blurry faces, memories long lived and forgotten, walks her mind called by a thousand names left behind in a trail of blood. Today, though, a little scrap complaining of an aching head ( a likely story, but one she would always indulge ) had pulled her from these half - buried things and taken her on a drowsy cross - camp trek.
" Come on, sleepyhead, " she murmurs softly, yawning widely to expose pearly canines and then nosing gently the lagging kit behind the ear, an affectionate nudge meant both to expreess care and push the kit forward towards a pine - ringed pool. Under the high moon, her voice is a sweetly sleep - rasped whisper. " We'll get you a drink of water and see if you feel better then, alright? "
// If desired, any kit can feel free to be the one accompanying her!
In actuality, children were apt to wailing at odd hours. The motherless ones, her charges taken under a gossamer wing, were particularly given to noisy cries for semi - realized demands in the small notch of moonhigh along the night's spine. She seizes her sleep when she can, dreams of strange places and blurry faces, memories long lived and forgotten, walks her mind called by a thousand names left behind in a trail of blood. Today, though, a little scrap complaining of an aching head ( a likely story, but one she would always indulge ) had pulled her from these half - buried things and taken her on a drowsy cross - camp trek.
" Come on, sleepyhead, " she murmurs softly, yawning widely to expose pearly canines and then nosing gently the lagging kit behind the ear, an affectionate nudge meant both to expreess care and push the kit forward towards a pine - ringed pool. Under the high moon, her voice is a sweetly sleep - rasped whisper. " We'll get you a drink of water and see if you feel better then, alright? "
// If desired, any kit can feel free to be the one accompanying her!
" speech "
