She must have been rightly paranoid to want to sit in the shadow of the tree, but he offered no protest and moved to take a seat. Settling his paws under him in preparation for whatever sort of chat she wanted, he was not prepared for how immediate it started with a fear scent and a rambling of accidental kittens and how dangerous it was in WindClan right now. This felt terribly blasphemous to be speaking, it felt traitorous and disloyal and he almost wanted to tell her she ought to reconsider her stance if she was going to go ranting clan secrets to another cat, but then she got to bloodshed. His orange gaze darted to the scar on her chest that all of the WindClan high positions had borne during the gathering before drifting back upward to both blue-violet eyes. He didn't know what to say.
Why come to him with this? He wondered, and she answered almost as quickly as the thought crossed his mind. How his clanmates viewed him…? Smokethroat frowned thoughtfully at that, but understood. While his seriousness and gruff mannerisms had been met with various responses, none had been cruel. None of them expected no more from him than what he was capable of giving. Once again he thought of Cicadastar speaking to him like he was a small flame on the verge of being put out while not infantilizing him, how Willowroot talked to him as an equal while still emphasizing her gift of interacting with others so naturally-like it was breathing. How cheerful, laughing Clayfur continually told him to lighten up but treated him no differently from any other clanmate.
To come to him, of all cats, with this. To open yourself for scrutiny from a known enemy.
Smokethroat wanted to feel annoyance at being burdened with her distressing life-it was not like it had anything to do with him or his clan, but he only felt a pang of sympathy. That Hyacinthbreath would so openly pour her soul out to a RiverClanner she must have had no one else to go to.
An entire clan of cats on the moorland, yet hopelessly alone.
He’d felt similar, at first, RiverClan was a foreign thing invading the peace of his solitude. He had joined out of a sense of wanting purpose and for the convenience of shelter and prey, threw himself into their fold to provide and be provided for. The dark tom did not expect to consider it his home so comfortably, to bask in the presence of his clanmates and enjoy their existence in his life. While he was not the sort to sit around and chat or show his affections, simply being there fulfilled him in a way he had never thought he could be and they had accepted him for what he was. A quiet cat who did his duties and could be depended on, but one who struggled still at times.
He tried to imagine a RiverClan where Cicadastar maimed a cat for standing against him for his decisions and could not. Though he did not think the leader frail and unable to do so if necessary, he also found his strength was more his kindness and understanding; that he would seek to reconcile things in a nonviolent manner. The dappled tom fought his battles less with claws and more with words, yet his claws were no less sharp for it. It was a thing to be admired and he admired it he did.
But if, for any reason, Cicadastar had done what Hyacinthbreath described her own leader doing; He knew what he would have done. He'd have responded with claws, dug them into the dappled tom’s throat to tear the vocal cords that had caused him such grief. He'd have ripped him wide open, dragged his obsidian blades over the ivory ridges of the bones in his neck; crushed them under the weight of his body so that StarClan would have nothing, his only act of kindness ending the tom swiftly, repeatedly so that the heavens themselves would weep and keep him in their claim. He would be screaming, demanding to know why, but giving no quarter, no mercy.
It was only when her voice grew ragged, insistent, did he finally snap from his thoughts to speak. “Relax. Relax….I wouldn’t even know how to go telling this to anyone anyways.” And he didn’t, how did you even start with that? It wasn’t something you could even vaguely imply to gauge opinions for either, it was the sort of thing that got cats killed. He’d not let blood coat his paws that he didn’t put there himself, WindClan or not.
“Secrets safe with me.” Smokethroat added for emphasis, just to ensure she understood him. He did not know the full situation, were other cats okay with this path being forged? Was it only her who dissented? Were there others?
"I'm not...I'm not exactly the...best with...offering guidance. I'm not even sure if that's what you're after...or if its confirmation. I have no idea. But I can tell you in RiverClan we do not punish with claws. To lead with fear, I can't imagine that was what StarClan wanted when it first appeared."
He finally stood back up, tail lashing because he couldn't stay comfortable when his thoughts were racing so aggressively.
"We've both come from places where violence was always the answer, or so I imagine if you've struggled to understand otherwise, but I have learned that to rule cats in such a way leads only to conflict...you've at least one cat who understands as you do now. You'll need to decide who your loyalty lies with. Sootstar or WindClan...because those are two distinct things."
Finally with a sigh he added on, almost uncertain, "...if you're truly so afraid for your kits...I make no promises...but worse case scenario...I can try to get them into RiverClan for the time being."
It wasn't the fault of the youth where they were born into.
