BANDAID ON A BULLET HOLE ♡ MUSHROOMKIT

[DAWNGLARE]

He nearly can't believe that she isn't one of Blaise's.

Perhaps if he hadn't been there, he would mistake her for such. Cloudbodied with a bright, sunburst face. Thickly-plumed in the face and tail. Attached at the hip of that other one– and, he too sported a painted face and soot-dipped mits. They fed off of each others inane ramblings, squeaking their childish questions unrelentingly, regardless of how they flattened beneath his pinprick gaze. Little monsters, the two of them.

She was alone today.

Nudged forward; offered to him on a silver-tinged platter. The air is different. The same, but not quite. A sort of look he is not prepared for, and is nearly... bothered by. But he does not relent, no. Wielding a too-curled smile and daggered eyes– mashed between the rise of his lips and furrow of his brow– Ears press back, as if displeased. But he isn't, not really. Nor is he as gleeful as his face paints him. Odd mash of conflicting, clashing language. Frustrated narrow of his brow and bright, bright smile, suspicious narrowed gaze and a tail sagged across the ground. A body as unsure as the mind, and... irritated too. Oh, he itches.

"Hi," dragging greeting. Instinctively, his eyes rake for imperfection, defect. Eyes are further slitted at the tentative weight on her paws. Caked and bloody. There's a light of recognition, though, not urgent. He never is. "Here again, and... it doesn't seem s-so... intentional this time... hm?" chittering giggle in his throat, and really, he doesn't know why he's laughing. Flare of breath through his nose, and he's stifling them with tongue against lip. Long pause and a distant look, before he turns to her with a pout. Suddenly sad, so sad, as if he hadn't the resources to press webs to a bloodied paw. Pitying, drooping face. "I'll see what I can do..." spoken sad and dreary before he beckons her closer. Dawn sky and midday sun enveloped in shadows.

Bloody spatter spells to him... cobweb. He does not wait to begin swathing around his paw, and by the time he turns back, he expects to see her settled. Hum along with squinted eyes. "Your paws," commanded with an expectant blink. His lip curls, slight, as he examines their state. Battered and torn... "Mm, Mm–hmm, and how... did this happen?" Pin-pricks are suddenly a scrutinizing stare, wide-eyed without a tilt of his head.

[ @MUSHROOMKIT ]​

 

[MUSHROOMPAW]

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There's still clumped fur under her eyes where the tears have dried when she's ushered into Dawnglare's domain, and that all too wide smile stays on her face, matching the medicine cat's own. It stays that way until the warrior leaves, asured that even if she's not in good paws, she's in competent ones.

"Here again, and... it doesn't seem s-so... intentional this time... hm?"

Her smile weakens, loses its half polished shine as she shakes her head, padding behind him on light feet while her tail drags on the floor. Mushroomkit silently, dutifully, sits back on her haunches, and holds out her paws to let the medicine cat inspect them. "I went out..." Its not the whole story, and even she in her naivety knows she cannot leave it there. "I scraped them up on the rocks near the river while I was adventuring." That too wide smile tries to return in full, tries to convince not only Dawnglare but herself that she's just a kit who got in trouble as kits do.

But she's not. She's not and they both know she's lying.

No kit who got hurt from fun would have such dull eyes, no kit who went out adventuring would come back with a mask in place of a smile. Mushroomkit, the one who had so almost valliantly lied to 'save' Fireflykit, who then went on to find solace in Dawnglare's shared knowledge of Mother, her of all kits....would not come home from an adventure alone and seemingly awash with emotions too big for such a tiny molly.​

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ALL I CAN DO IS DREAM ─

─ FOR I AM SO, SO TIRED.

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Moss would be better, he realizes. Easy to press between those hard-to-reach places without getting closer than he'd care to... Side-eye and a smile to her haunted little face, a stretch of a grin she was trying– and failing– to match herself. Bubble of a laugh at her expense, before he moves on. Shifting, switching gears; digging for moss tucked somewhere, somewhere in here. He perks as he uncovers a heap, bristled and dry, but it will do.

And she speaks. "Adventuring?" Pitched high as he repeats it, incredulous tone. He was hardly one to wander where he was not comfortable, but never in his moons would he return home with scraped claws and bloodied feet (Not unless he wanted to). He crooks a smile at the thought. And thoughts, indeed they fly free along with the web he sheds. Flex of his own paws, pale snow, the kit's a mere mimicry of his own, though, smaller, and bloodier. His lips buzz with a made-up melody. Again, giggling; slitted eyes. "Oh, I'm sure you were." Not like he cares. She of all cats would know what makes a sinner.

Lacking decorum, he kicks the moss ball to her upon reapproach. And here, at last he gets a good look. Hunch of his back to lower his eyes further, further still. Torn, but fixable, if anything. "With what you've done for the sake of it, I'd certainly hope you had a grand time," he meets her little frown with a close-lipped purr, before the moss is gripped between teeth. Careful– and he has to be, fragile as she seemed. There's a gradual shift from bleached green darkening into a brownish-ombre. With the occasional lick to jostle free it's holding on her fur; eventually, eventually fine.

Marigold, that's what had been mentioned, ah, remembered, and with such a little wound, surely the dandelion wasn't so necessary along with it, (nevermind that it's aching scarce this leaf-bare...) Bright sun-blossom, difficult to miss, really. He turns and he reaches, brows furrowed, determined. "I'm afraid you won't get to do any more adventuring for a little while." Well, not necessarily. If pain excited her, she could. "Or at least, you shouldn't."​

 

[MUSHROOMPAW]

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He lets the lie pass, and though a tiny voice is rather saddened by it, much of her is relieved that the awkwardness of it does not pave itself further in this path. She's rather silent as he goes about his work, green and red alike stripped from white paws into a slight dusty staining as grit is released from between the confines of the split nails. A grand time? Maybe if she'd actually intended to sneak out, instead of running from the weight crushing down on her body and the thoughts that wove into her mind like briars.

"No...I think I'm gonna end up grounded honestly..." There's a nervous, halfhearted chuckle to accompany her words as she continues to observe Dawnglare, noticing that despite everything in his den seemingly being a mess, he knows exactly where everything is. The sorting style utterly disorganized, but to him it is as clean as a filing cabinet. Her eyes return to her paws, picking up one to inspect the claws for a moment.

"Hey...Dawnglare?...How do you apologize to Mother?" Young was she when her nana spoke of The Great Lady, but too young to know much about the intricacies of Her following. In the way only a child could, she felt horrible for, in her own eyes, taking out her emotions on someone who had done nothing but give. However, atoning for it felt like it would be different than saying sorry to her friends. But Dawnglare, the all knowing, surely, surely he would have a solution. ​

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ALL I CAN DO IS DREAM ─

─ FOR I AM SO, SO TIRED.

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Grounded. The concept is lost on him. Was she not already confined to camp without a mentor? A face in the crowd? Was the dragging of her torn claws not punishment enough? And if not, what hope is there really for a mind already so muddled... Hypothetically, that is. Not that his faith in her is the same... There's something different to be said. Enlightened mind, despite the blood of the fallen...

He lets lose an impassive hum as he chews sunburst drops into something usable. Less than convenient, he thinks, but Honeybee had told him so... and Mother's parasites worked in wondrous ways. So nearly useless, you would think; but with time and care and the prying of teeth and leaf-bone, then they may shine. Some, not all. Others were about as useless as they initially seemed.

Now, here, the cobweb may be of use. When the wound is cleaned and the marigold is lain to work, slowly, he begins wrapping her paw within its willowy wisps. Though, a question while he works. "Hm?" Inquisitive hum, his gaze flickers to meet her own. Apologize for what? he can't help but wonder. Though, he forgets for others, their mistakes aren't so few and far between. At the very least, this one does her due diligence. There's a moment of consideration. Not of his answer, but of her. His head lulls to the side just a moment, before again, he's upright. "It is simple, really... For those who are trusted." And did the one before him fall under this? He certainly wasn't the one to say. He knew too little. But Mother whispers nothing ill of her. She's as good as a candidate would be in this place, anyhow. "The hardest part is knowing where to look."

He falls silent once again, brows furrowed as for a time, he allows himself to focus on her paws. Maybe he's tad excessive. She's learned her lesson now, hasn't she? Has never seemed the type to disobey, to run out on little adventures like this. He trusts that she will keep off her paws when told. But maybe, just a hint of precaution...

Carefully wrapped, at last, and he purses his lips. "Focus on Her. In whatever way you can, let her know you're here to listen. Here to learn." His eyes narrow with his words; a silent question. "Let Her know how much you love Her." Let the earth stutter and shake beneath the weight of your loving care and the breadth of your shame. "And then, you can tell her you're sorry."

Young as she was, Mother would surely forgive. "Something nice will happen when She accepts it."​