private DREAM OF BETTER THINGS — graypaw

[Thriftfeather]

Camp feels larger in the absence of the missing patrol. Even with the aid of time, Thriftpaw still expects to see more here — he expects Periwinklebreeze on the heels of Gravelsnap, or Luckypaw inviting him to another game as he had before. In the distance, the mountains cut beveled lines into the sky. Thriftpaw has to hope many things: that the patrol had even made it to those far-made-blue peaks, that they will find the herb they seek, and that they will return with enough to rid WindClan of the sickness before anyone else can die.

They are sour thoughts and useless worries; there isn't anything for Thriftpaw to do other than to continue as he has. He's grown adept in realizing when he needs a distraction, preferably before his thoughts swallow him. It's this that sets him across the too-quiet camp, his white paws pressing prints against the sand, until his eyes light on Graypaw. Thriftpaw exhales, reminds himself that he needs to inhale in turn, and approaches.

"Need company?" He offers, because it is far easier than admitting that he's the one that needs company. His nervous tail twitches like a startled snake, but his expression settles into an easy smile, "I don't think I know — I don't think I know you all that well, and clanmates should know each other."

@Graypaw​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 7 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Graypaw.]

It had been difficult times in the past moon and more. Illness spreading across the Clan, almost plague like, and it had left many on their toes. A simple sneeze could sent a shock of fear throughout the she-cat. She had been blessed to rarely experience illness on a personal level. Her mother, Bunnypounce, had kept her safe - or so she believed. Sickness drawn from pain was a different story all together.

"Need company?" the words drifted toward her and settled on her mind as her ears twitched with curiosity. Spinning around to face the speaker, a small chirruping sound passed her maw. Her golden green eyes twinkled with curiosity. "I don't think I know — I don't think I know you..."

"I don't know you either!" chuckled Graypaw. "What's your name? Do you have a mentor? What's their name?" her tail wiggled behind her as she grinned at the apprentice. "You look... sad?"

 

[Thriftfeather]

Graypaw speaks in a flurry with only the smallest of promptings from Thriftpaw. He takes a startled step backwards, his head held further back than his forepaws. As soon as she is done Thriftpaw settles as much as he ever can and, after a marked hesitance, he sits. One of his paws touches his torn ear, an old habit that he hides by running the same paw over it again as if grooming.

"You talk a lot," Thriftpaw says, gentle if not kind, "But um, but to answer your question, my name is Thriftpaw." Although his resemblance to those bulbous pink flowers has waned as Thriftpaw has grown from that shivering kit, he still often sees something of himself in his namesake, "And my mentor is, their name is Gravelsnap."

As for the last one...

Thriftpaw stretches his smile to the edge of uncomfortable, "I'm not sad," He reassures, "I'm always grateful to be living in WindClan."​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 7 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Graypaw.]

"Thriftpaw?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Wow! I like your name." Her tail swayed and she watched as he batted at his torn ear. "Woah! What happened to your ear? Did you get in a fight? I've never been in a fight." Her words came in rapid succession as a rumbling echoed from her chest. A purr, something commonly emanating from the young, gentle, enthusiastic apprentice.

"WindClan is pretty great, I love it!" she rumbled. Quickly she ran her tongue along her left paw, dragging it across her face a few times before she returned to staring at the other apprentice. "What are you training to be? I'm going to be a tunneler!"

 

[Thriftfeather]

More questions — Thriftpaw cannot help but wonder if this is what others feel when they find themselves on the wrong end of his curiosity. He's overwhelmed, or just on the edge of it. Not enough to tell Graypaw to slow down; Thriftpaw had wanted a distraction and, unwittingly, Graypaw acted as an excellent one. He considers what she has asked, even touches the split in his ear in the mindless sort of way that suggest he isn't aware of what he is doing.

"Those bushes that surround camp," Thriftpaw indicates with his head the bushes in question, "The gorse. It wasn't — I don''t think it was actually anywhere near camp, but a gorse — a gorse thorn tore my ear when I was a kit."

He still remembers it well: the sudden pain in his ear and the yelp he failed to choke. The gorse that surrounds camp is both a protective barrier between himself and the world and as a tribute to his past. He'll always be as trapped as he is safe; a heart and a wreath of ribs, their points curved inward.

Graypaw's next words perk Thriftpaw further. His ears twist subtly forward, and he leans ever so slightly towards Graypaw. A tunneler, she says. "Moor runner," He responds, and continues, "I've always wondered about being a tunneler, about how you can stand having your whiskers brushing against something the whole while."​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 7 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Graypaw.]

"Oh! So you got in a fight with a bush?" giggled Graypaw. "I practice hunting with moss balls. Do you play mossball? I was told I should spend more time training than playing the other day. But it's so fun! Do you like games?

I'm loving being a tunneler. It's weird, though, with my whiskers brushing against the sides of the tunnels, Sometimes I get scared that I'm going to be trapped forever." she scratched at her ear as she spoke, eyes twinkling. It was not often anyone stuck around her long enough to have such vibrant conversation. Admittedly, she felt as if most warriors were annoyed at her and her excessive optimism. It was rare that a frown crossed the expressions of the WIndClan apprentice. "Sometimes I think it'd be fun to be a moor runner. Are you fast? Wanna race? No, wait, you'd definitely win at a race."

"Do you have family in WindClan?" she asked. "Any littermates? My mother is Bunnypounce." she swayed her tail. "And one of my littermates is Coldpaw." She stated the names of her family in calm expression. She hid her mask of slight sorrow - she was not as close to her siblings as she had been once they became apprentices. Her mother, a youthful soul, was far less motherly than she was a friend. Perhaps a best friend. Still, the thought of her mother gave that little string in her heart a twang of pain.