- Sep 12, 2024
- 12
- 0
- 1
Keeping to the fringes of WindClan life, watching his denmates succeed around him while he can't seem to stop making mistakes, takes a toll on Deerpaw's heart. He tries not to let it show, that he knows he'll never be a warrior, all because his father isn't here anymore to tell him what he's supposed to do with himself. Papa would expect progress in his training, give him goals to reach, and Deerpaw did not want to disappoint him, so he met them to the best of his ability - he wanted Papa to look at him with pride instead of quiet despair. He could never tell if it was lingering grief for his dead mother and siblings, or if his failures truly hurt his father that much.
Now Papa is gone, taken by yellowcough, and Deerpaw is left floundering with no guidance.
He crouches in a lonesome corner of camp, watching his Clanmates greet each other with bittersweet smiles. The lingering effects of the plague still hang over them all, but at least they know what they're doing with their lives. The grave his father lies in holds Deerpaw's purpose, folded neatly and tucked inside the corpse's mouth. Thinking about him makes the tabby's eyes sting with unshed tears, but he stubbornly blinks them away. The Clan can't see him cry.
Approaching pawsteps make his heart start to flutter nervously in his chest. Is he about to be upbraided for slacking off? No - the scent of herbs wafts over him, unhelpful to his efforts to not think of his father and cry, and he looks up to see Celandinepaw standing near him. "Good afternoon," he greets her, trying to hide the querulous sound of tears in his voice. "Is there something you need?"
@CELANDINEPAW
Now Papa is gone, taken by yellowcough, and Deerpaw is left floundering with no guidance.
He crouches in a lonesome corner of camp, watching his Clanmates greet each other with bittersweet smiles. The lingering effects of the plague still hang over them all, but at least they know what they're doing with their lives. The grave his father lies in holds Deerpaw's purpose, folded neatly and tucked inside the corpse's mouth. Thinking about him makes the tabby's eyes sting with unshed tears, but he stubbornly blinks them away. The Clan can't see him cry.
Approaching pawsteps make his heart start to flutter nervously in his chest. Is he about to be upbraided for slacking off? No - the scent of herbs wafts over him, unhelpful to his efforts to not think of his father and cry, and he looks up to see Celandinepaw standing near him. "Good afternoon," he greets her, trying to hide the querulous sound of tears in his voice. "Is there something you need?"
@CELANDINEPAW
[ JUST LOOKING FOR A PROTECTOR, GOD NEVER REACHED OUT IN TIME -- 
]
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