private EAT YOUR YOUNG [ soot jr ]

[mothmoon]

( ✧ ) bruises litter the pretty molly's frame, clawmarks and bites littering her throat and belly. the ache of the past fight has not abandoned her yet- both physically and mentally, she mourns. her body hurts more than it has in quite some time, and she has not forgiven herself for fleeing camp, for taking shelter under endless trees that block the stars' gaze. one thing that has replayed in her mind's eye since the day before is the gaze of her rescuer, the short, wiry frame and low growl of a voice. the moor's prince, quiet and sullen, had come to her aid. it is more than flattering (she can't help but think of romantic undertones, the beautiful star protected by royalty), but when she snaps out of her delusions, she finds herself curious. the tomcat barely knows her. certainly they had been apprentices together, but he's a tunneler, trained far underground from the breezes that carry the moor runners along. interaction has been brief, respectful, but not necessarily an indication of friendship.

it sets off mothmoon's alarms, even as she tries to ignore them in favor of romanticizing the tomcat's actions. what does her queen's son want of her? he is a calculating one, smart and quiet, unlike his mother in many ways. yet he still is her son, and must have her best interests at heart. the curiosity eats away at the moor runner the longer she thinks about it.

the day is lulling to a close, changing leaves glowing gold beneath a rare leaf-fall sun as windclan settles in yet again for another night in this strange territory. eyes of amber flick between familiar faces until she finds who she is looking for. the gray and white tunneler sits by himself, similarly sullen as he always is. mothmoon straightens herself, picking a fleck of moss from her tail before she approaches, telling herself she will be guarded, won't be beguiled. sitting a tail length from the prince, the pretty molly blinks, head tipped to the side. "thank you for coming to my aid," she will state, offering the tomcat a nod. "it is appreciated."

@SOOTSPOT <33 ​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

There had been no greater threat to WindClan than itself. When self-interest and greed had taken over, it was the council who acted first, then the Warriors, following what they believed to be a just cause. The battle against the rogues had been no exception. In solitude, the little tom replayed the scene over and over, the pleading to run away, the certainty he had felt that his mother would be cast aside by the lot of them if she hadn't complied, the shifting of power from the Queen of the Moors to those who lacked the cunningness to rule it. His own actions in the battle had been a blur to him, he had fought for someone's sake, but StarClan knows who's. His teeth had been too blunt to pierce the neck of the one who would harm his clan, his body too small to do much else than weave through the combatants and pray they did not knock him off his feet. Out the corner of his eye, a sandy shape began to approach him and the two-toned tom whipped his head around to face the near-stranger. The one he had tried to save from death, the one he had actually saved from death, though he didn't feel much like a hero for it.

A sharp nod was offered as she approached him, acknowledgment of her existence and little else, as his bright eyes found other things in the temporary camp to look upon. The way some cats lamented the position they put themselves in, the way others held onto hope that they had not earned. Sootspot thought deeply about how to let their treachery come to light until Mothmoon spoke up and severed any intricate web he was trying to build. He blinked incredulously and turned his attention once more to her. Gratitude was... a rare thing. The obligation of duty left little time to consider whether one had gone out of their way to help or because there was no other choice but to, Mothmoon at least seemed to think that he could've left her if he wanted to. It would not have taken much to do so, perhaps he didn't see the struggling tortie or perhaps he had just been 'too late' to stop the rogue from choking the life out of her. Had it been anyone else, that may have been the story he told. "You are quite welcome," a serpentine smile coiled upon his face as he spoke, the corners of them pressed with an awkwardness that suggested he had no clue how to take such a gesture from the other.

Did she seek an explanation? If so, Sootspot truly did not know if he had one to give. Instinct had guided him faster than logic, instinct had demanded he save the life of a loyal WindClan warrior, and so he had. "You put the council to shame, the way you fought. A few more of you and I doubt we would be where we are now." Truth was like a killing bite, yet here, there was nothing the chimera felt he could say but it. Sunstride had been weak, his own aunt too influenced by the Deputy to see reason, and Wolfsong? He would dare not forget the Medic's absence from battle anytime soon. Mothmoon had fought as fiercely as his own mother. someone who seemed to have some interest in WindClan, or at least, had an insatiable bloodlust that benefited WindClan; either way, he had noticed. "Moons of sleeping out in the fields with nothing but the Stars to protect me, yet when I close my eyes now, I feel more danger than ever before."



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