private Big Iron - gravelsnap

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

Sitting in a secluded part of the camp, Houndthistle laid, prey bones he hadn't gotten to burying still next to him, glistening fresh as he watched the sky paint with colors of gold, crimson, and purple as the sun set. Over the lip of Windclan's hollow, he knew the breeze was blowing, sending the grasses to wave in just the most prettiest way that he could imagine. His heart ached, wanting to be out there, watching the sun fall across the horizon while the wind that his home was named after roustled his fur, but he remained in camp, as ordered. Houndthistle licked the remaining morsels of prey from his muzzle, hulking scarred shape stirring finally as he pulled his gaze away from the sky and prepared to take his bones to bury. His muscles ached, tired as usual, but they ached for familiarity, the forever need to just... return to the forest having become particularly unpleasant after Gravelsnap earned his warrior name. He had crossed off his past, forever burying it when he took on the mantle of "-thistle" to his father's name, holding his badge as a Windclan warrior with his own sense of pride, but the past has a way of rearing it's decaying head, huh?
"Ain' nothin' to do 'bout it," He grumbled to himself, yet he still laid there, eyes staring at the bones, still aching, still wishing for two different things he couldn't have in that moment.
@GRAVELSNAP ​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

As the sun sets over the flat, open expanse of WindClan territory, the monochrome warrior lies flat on their side, night-black tail flickering against the dirt. Half-lidded eyes watch the colorful sky with dull interest, but what interests them more is the hulking form of Houndthistle. The older tom seems to be staring blankly at a pile of scattered bones. It’s not a particularly concerning sight, but still the young moor runner is intrigued.

He stands with a grunt, shaking out his dirt-dusted pelt. His steps toward the older cat are careful, measured, and he doesn’t speak until he settles once more beside Houndthistle. His clanmate’s muttered words reach his ears and he wonders whether they were meant to; it seems much like something one would say to themself than something meant to start a conversation. Besides, Gravelsnap isn’t sure the gray-pelted warrior knows they’re listening. "To do about what?" He peers at his former mentor—no, Houndthistle will always be his mentor in his mind—with open curiosity, hoping that he doesn’t come off as too nosy.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

Though not typically jumpy, it was clear Gravelsnap's appearance by him was a surprise as his head turned with a bit of uncharacteristic speed toward the black and white tom, ears perked. Silently, he cursed himself for being so blind in that moment, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he adjusted his weight to better face his apprentice. Seeing as he wasn't as alone as he had thought when he muttered, and with Gravelsnap being one of few cats he actually trusted, he figured he may aswell share a bit. "'Bout the past, He mused, voice as thoughtful as that day he shared about his "brothers," "Seein' ya graduate stirred up some ol' feelin's in my ol'noggin. Things I thought I buried long go."
"Windclan is my home, I'll die on these moors 'fore anything could think a movin' me from 'em, but I wasn't born on these grasses," Houndthistle explained, making sure to make it clear his loyalties lied with Windclan with a pointed glance at Gravelsnap before glancing toward the entrance of camp, "I come from Thunderclan's home 'fore it was Thunderclan's. And, well... I not only had my brothers I tol't you bout, but I had... I had a son aswell." His tone was a bit more forlorn, almost sad despite the gravelly tone his words took. Grief taking strong in his heart as the image of the young golden and white tabby's form returned to his memories.​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

The monochrome warrior has grown fond of listening, of allowing others to fill silence with words—they sit quietly, intense eyes focused on their mentor’s face. Houndthistle speaks of his past beyond the moorland; Gravelsnap remembers that they, too, had lived in territory that has since been claimed by a clan. Born to the river, they recall. But unlike their mentor, they do not remember much of their life outside of this land.

The expression on the older tom’s face says all that Gravelsnap needs to know about Houndthistle’s son; they can see the conclusion that this part of the conversation will likely come to. Still. "Had…?" They hate to press, if it bothers him so, but they are curious. Had their mentor lost a son along with the rest of his family? No, surely not. He would have mentioned a son when he’d told them about that, wouldn’t he?

They wonder how old Houndthistle’s son was. Had he been Gravelsnap’s age, would he have been an apprentice alongside them? Would he have taken after his father? As they await the older warrior’s response, they are forming their own idea of what Houndthistle’s lost son would have been like. Would they have been friends? "I’m sorry. It sounds like… you’ve lost a lot of important cats." It does not feel like a loss for Gravelsnap, but they feel sympathy for their mentor nonetheless.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

The question lingers in the air, pressing Houndthistle softly for more information before Gravelsnap continues. His sympathy made Houndthistle chuckle lowly, the sound almost bittersweet as he shakes his head. "Death an' I are long time friends," He answers dryly, ears flicking, "His name was Sun. I came 'cross his mother one day, beggin' me to save her kits. I didn' know her, never even came 'cross her 'fore that, but... well, she'd been attacked by a dog, I think. She was already dyin', her only wish was her kits would live and that I make her death swifter... Sun was the only one that lived outta that. I took 'em in, raised him like my own, but, one day, I came home from huntin' and all I could smell was fox. He was only 3 moons old... there was no way he'd survived, but I hoped..." The story came out short, muddled, clearly having never told this story to another before. His claws curled into the dirt, inhaling deeply. "I searched... I searched for a whole moon, hopin', prayin' that he was alive, that I'd find him and we could go home and everythin' would be normal again... eventually I just hoped to find his body... but I couldn' even find that," He shook his head, letting go of that breath with a shudder, "That was my last straw... I left the forest, came 'ere where I heard the clan was, an', well..." Houndthistle shrugged, motioning with a paw to the camp.

"Ain' nothin' made me prouder then seein' ya get yer warrior name," He added after a pause, looking at Gravelsnap, but there was an unspoken addition to that. If only he could have gotten one, if I had brought him here, maybe I'd be able to see him get his own. "Mine was jus' given to me, an assimilation to the clan, but you? Ya earn't that name, you worked for it, and I helped you. That's somethin' ain't nobody can tell me is wrong. An' not to brag, but I think you've begun to turn out alright," He adds, chuckling as he raises a paw to ruffle Gravelsnap's head fondly.​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

Death an’ I are long time friends. The phrase, the idea of losing so many friends, family members, that death itself greets the older warrior as a friend—it sets something rolling in Gravelsnap’s stomach. They avert their gaze for a moment, blinking slowly against the wave of sympathy that crashes down over them. It’s the feeling of being dunked in a snowbank, ice-cold and oppressive. Houndthistle speaks of how he’d found his son, aptly named Sun, and then speaks of how he’d lost him.

It must be the worst fate, to lose someone and not know whether they are dead or not. There’s no closure, there, only hope that cracks one’s heart further with each passing day. At least Gravelsnap knows that their mother is dead, knows that their sister is alive even if she is an enemy. He wonders—does Houndthistle’s son still live, somewhere out there? In another clan, maybe? It’s not likely, not if a fox had been at fault, but for the gruff tom’s sake he hopes so.

"I’m sorry that you lost him." His voice is soft, each word spoken with uncertainty. From the sound of it, his mentor has not told this tale often, and the monochrome warrior is unsure how to put into words the sorrow he feels for Houndthistle. "I know I’m no equivalent to him," they say, flicking a dark ear at Houndthistle’s words, "but I’m glad that I’ve made you proud." The older tom is right; they’ve only begun to turn out alright, not fully there yet, but they finally feel like they’re on their way to it.

Normally, Gravelsnap would flinch away from the physical contact, from being touched without warning. But this is Houndthistle, the mentor who showed them all they need to know about being a warrior. The tom is rough around the edges, but kind, and certainly a better teacher than their own father. Lynxtooth hardly ever seemed impressed by them, always pushed them to work harder, expected more from them. Houndthistle… he’s proud of Gravelsnap. He ruffles the fur of their head, and they find themself leaning into the older tom’s paw, a smile flitting across their muzzle.
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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