private dream for better 𖥸 howlpaw

[mottledpaw]

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There's a taste of freedom right on the horizon line... but it's a nebulous sort of glory at best. Her last outing had been what put her in that den, nursing an emerald gem plucked from her face by a shadowy figure. She supposed that was true of all injuries... that one day you were healthy and the next... an extended stay with a grumbling badger. Gentlestorm did not suit his name; he was gruff, frustrated, clearly high-strung... and though he cared for all his clan-mates with the attention they deserved, Mottledpaw still can't help but flinch at his touch. It hadn't been that long ago he'd called for Wrathpaw's death... and the tortoiseshell isn't sure he would've stayed his claws from ripping her apart too if given the chance to do otherwise.

Slinking around the camp whenever her head doesn't ache is the closest thing she has to normalcy... peering around and stumbling over her paws, trying to get used to the way her vision feels shrunken and wrong. If there are piteous glances sent her way, they go unnoticed... the last thing she expects from anyone is any sort of empathy. Stormywing may have made it clear her feelings have changed about her apprentice but that seldom rang true in the ears of her den-mates. At the very least she could take solace in the little moments she was able to share with her litter-mates but since they are not haggard as she, they have duties to attend... She can't waste away her days in their company, lamenting how far behind this will push her.

Maybe it's that sense of loneliness that keeps her distracted, a suffocating feeling of isolation that grows more daunting with every set of paws to leave the medicine cat's den before her. There are so few left... and as she stares vacantly out at the busy bodies of her clan-mates, Mottledpaw hardly notices the shuffling gait of someone trying to skirt past her- likely also looking for a brief escape from this herb-reeking den-

Her pelt bristles the moment it becomes aware of another presence, an impatient, starving dread running down her spine with a hiss of urgency. She whirls to face her ambusher, an echo of fright measured by the thinness of her pupil- Lips that had been drawn back in a threatening snarl drop near immediately, recognizing the mess of fur for the litter it comes from. She liked Thrashpaw... Considered him an unlikely friend... Would it be just as easy to form that association with this one? "Oh... it's just you..." Her embarrassment twitches in her whiskers, hoping her fur lies flat quicker than it had raised. "Scowlpaw, right? Or is it... Yowlpaw?" For the umpteenth time, she fails to actually recall someone's name... "Anyways you startled me... don't sneak up on me like that again..."

@HOWLPAW​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlpaw steps back from Mottledpaw, its amber eyes narrowing as it takes in her sudden bristle and sharp movement. It stays silent for a moment, letting the tension settle before speaking, its voice low and even. "Howl," it corrects, its tone devoid of offense but harsh nonetheless, as though unwilling to let its name slip away unnoticed. Its ears flick, betraying an undercurrent of unease, but its expression remains guarded. It doesn't apologize for startling her. Howlpaw knows better than to show too much softness—it's learned that such things can be used against you. Instead, it tilts its head slightly, studying the other apprentice. Her fur is still ruffled from her earlier fright, her eyes weary with an edge of frustration. Howlpaw wonders what it would be like to feel comfortable enough to let its guard down like that, even for a moment. But then again, Mottledpaw doesn't seem comfortable at all.

"I wasn't sneaking," it says after a pause, its voice carrying the faintest rasp of irritation. "Just walking." Howlpaw shifts its weight, uncomfortable under the weight of her attention, even if it's fleeting. It glances back toward the medicine den, its nose wrinkling at the sharp, cloying scent of herbs. The place makes its skin crawl—too many vulnerabilities in one confined space. Mottledpaw looks away, her embarrassment twitching across her face, and Howlpaw watches her without pity but with a flicker of understanding. Isolation is something it knows well, though it doubts she'd want to hear that. Instead of offering false comfort, it settles into a seated position a tail-length away, maintaining just enough distance to keep from crowding her but not so far that it appears to be retreating.

"You're jumpy," Howlpaw observes bluntly, its amber gaze steady. There's no malice in its words, only a simple statement of fact. "That's dangerous." It doesn't elaborate—Mottledpaw can take the warning however she pleases. Howlpaw isn't here to coddle anyone, but something about the way she carries herself keeps it from walking away entirely. After a long moment, it exhales softly through its nose, breaking the silence. "What's wrong with your eye?" It doesn't ask out of cruelty or curiosity but with the detached practicality of someone who has learned to assess others for weakness. It doesn't expect her to answer, and if she snaps at it, so be it. Howlpaw is used to hostility—it's learned to bear it like armor.​

 

[mottledpaw]

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Howl. Right.... They're all sort of doggish in their mannerisms aren't they? Different from those looming, deer-like sisters of theirs. Fallowbite's hardly as graceful as her prefix might suggest... more like a buck with its antlers lowered at an angle perfect for skewering someone. Whatever... hardly worth considering Stormywing's former apprentice lest she got frustrated by all the ways she drags behind it. "Howl," she repeats, trying to commit it to memory in earnest. The last thing they wanted to do was offend kin of a friend. They'd remember next time.

"Hmph..." Not sneaking... whatever. It felt like sneaking to her. The molly's ear twitches, trying to sift through her own 'sensitivity' about her new predicament, not doing more to argue about it (mostly because Howlpaw was right... walking wasn't that sneaky, she just wasn't paying attention). It seems at the very least her grumbly disposition hasn't scared it off, settling down somewhere close but not too close... this is enough to earn him some amount of respect. He's polite, despite the stories of how prickly it tends to be towards others.

There's comfort enough in the silence that bleeds between exchanges... and Howlpaw wastes no time cutting right to the bone of the conversation. It's sharp, to be forced to confront such things so suddenly but... It's refreshing not to be held at an arm's length at any given moment for fear of setting her off like some sort of... rattlesnake. "Yeah well.... whatever... Not every day you lose your eye," she answers flippantly, trying to act like the admission is casual even though it really grates at her to acknowledge her reality.

"Your walk's funny," she comments dryly, glancing towards his paws, "Guess we're both a little broken right now, huh?"​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlpaw's ears flick at Mottledpaw's flippant remark, but its expression doesn't shift. It's seen that kind of casual dismissal before—the way someone tries to brush off something raw and painful, hoping it'll hurt less if they act like it doesn't matter. Howlpaw doesn't buy it. It watches her for a moment, amber eyes steady, before letting its gaze drift toward the camp's bustle beyond them. "Not every day you lose your eye," she says, but the words carry a weight that her tone can't quite hide. Howlpaw doesn't pry. It isn't here to dig into her wounds. Still, her attempt at detachment tugs at something buried deep in its chest—a recognition of the way pain becomes armor.

When she comments on its walk, Howlpaw's tail lashes once behind it, but the reaction is muted. It looks down at its paws briefly, as if considering her observation, before its shoulders lift in a slight shrug. "Guess so," it says, voice clipped. Broken is a word it's heard before, but it doesn't dwell on it now. Instead, it lets her words settle between them, the quiet stretching like a thread that might snap if pulled too hard. Mottledpaw's dry humor doesn't grate—it feels honest in a way that most things aren't. Howlpaw respects that, even if it doesn't say so. "Broken or not," it murmurs after a beat, "you can't afford to act like prey." Its gaze flicks back to her, sharp and unyielding, as though daring her to challenge the statement. "They'll treat you like it if you let them."

Howlpaw knows the world doesn't make space for weakness, not in a way that keeps you safe. "You figure out how to move forward," it says, not unkindly but with a finality that leaves little room for argument. "Or you don't."​