private GOTTA LET GO // mottledpaw

[STORMYWING]

// @mottledpaw

The frost had yet to melt from the ThunderClan camp, each blade of grass and branch shimmering with ice as pale light filters through the leafless canopy above. The chill seeps into Stormywing's bones, but she barely notices; her mind is elsewhere, as it has been for days. Not only has Thundergleam taken up nearly every thought in her head, and her spat with Roeflame filling her mind, but Mottledpaw's words echo in her ears, the sting of them sharper than the biting air.

Get away from her, Stormywing! You've spent all this time picking on me…lecturing me...choosing her and you'll protect her now too? She isn't even from here! She wasn't even born here!

The tabby shakes her head, trying to clear the replaying memory as she spots the patched she-cat near the apprentices' den, nestled in a patch of weak sunlight. The young cat's expression is unreadable, but the tension that had crackled between them since that argument still lingers. They've got to settle this. Stormywing takes a deep breath and strides towards her with careful steps, feeling an unfamiliar anxiety. Her tail is lowered but not quite tucked - a silent signal of truce. "Mottledpaw," She calls softly, enough for her apprentice to hear but without drawing the attention of those nearby. Her breath billows out in a mist, curling into the cold air as she pauses a few tail-lengths away.

The silence lasts for a moment as Stormywing's golden eyes meet Mottledpaw's blue, searching for a sign of openness, defiance…anything that can give her a hint about how this conversation will go. "Can we talk?" She shifts her weight, resisting the urge to look away. "About what happened that day...when I defended Thundergleam. I think we both deserve to say our piece." The frost underpaw crunches as she takes a step closer, waiting for her apprentice's response. She dips her head…an invitation for her to go first.
​

 

[mottledpaw]

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Being busy isn't so bad... keeping her paws moving ere they freeze to the chilled forest floor. What tiny reprieves she has go selfishly loafed in the sunlight... it is few and far between that these patches penetrate the heavy canopy above and there aren't many willing to bother her with trying to steal her spot. Eyes close while listening for the pitter patter of the clan's wandering... the older kittens in the nursery wrestle one another in their boredom. Apprentices jabber away about gossip that Mottledpaw couldn't care less about. Warriors discuss their patrols, how poorly they've gone and what to do if things don't improve.

She's content to take this mental nap, winking open pale eyes only at Stormywing's tentative call of her name. The frost wreaths around her like a mane... making her mentor seem larger than life for only a moment. Mottledpaw never really grew tall... Maybe she's always be stuck being looked down on. She uncurls her paws from under her chest, sitting up and ready to be beckoned out for another patrol... but it doesn't come.

"Can we talk?"

It's probably the first time they've had a conversation that wasn't lined with barbs... and maybe it still wouldn't be. It makes it hard not to grit her teeth at the mention of Thundergleam. This feels like a trap. "What do you want me to say," she asks, trying to understand her role. What part was she meant to play for the silvery tabby... villain? Obedient subordinate? "You didn't listen to me then, why bother now? We both know you don't care Stormywing."

Her chin lifts slightly, trying to don a mantle of proud certainty despite the way her paws quiver, obscured by a tightly wrapped tail to keep them from growing too cold. "It was just a mistake... right? Thundergleam's allowed to make those."

And I'm not.​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing's ears angle back, her brow furrowing in confusion. Had she been blind to how they'd gotten to this point? What had caused this rift between them, what has caused her apprentice to hate her so? Has she been so terrible of a teacher?

She remembers how she'd felt to be assigned the she-cat. Skyclaw's apprentice. One who had fought for him with his other followers. Had she wanted a cat like Stormywing dead, just as her allies had? She didn't know, but she remembered the tension well between them at first. At least on the warrior's end, that tension had melted away easily like newleaf snow. Mottledpaw, though difficult at times, was her apprentice just like Coltpaw, and she truly only did want to train her to be the best she could be.

It's why this has all been so confusing for her. She tilts her head, shoulders sagging. "I didn't listen because Thundergleam was no threat to us. She still isn't. She acted in self-defense, Mottledpaw. Flamestar let her stay because she trusts her, so why don't you?" Her eyes are pleading, for she so desperately wants the youth to understand. "But I care. I have always cared. Tell me what I did to make you think I didn't." Is she too hard on the two of them during training? Is it because she makes them get up early?

Her eyes narrow then, trying to read her expression. Frustration bubbles up within her chest; what does she keep doing to cause such difficult relationships with her apprentices? Finally, Mottledpaw's final statement causes her chin to lift just as high as her charge's. "Then tell me, Mottledpaw, what mistakes have you made that you are still apparently paying for?" Is that was this is still all about? Say it then. Finally say the unspoken, about how you chose the side of my eradication. Say it. Because StarClan knows she's never acknowledged it to her face. Stormywing has tried to move on, but that can only happen if they both do. ​

 

[mottledpaw]

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Her teeth grit near instantly, already made more certain by the groveling plea for understanding that none of her words were going to breach that thick skull of hers. "You don't know that," she insists, a warble of frustration growing as thin as the pink of her gums. "You don't know anything about her but what she's told you." Thundergleam had not waltzed into ThunderClan a mere kitten, capable of being molded and shaped and cast away from her foundations. She could not change. Adults didn't change. Because if they did then what did that mean for her?

Had it meant the Skyclaw she'd adored had not been the same one to have died? Had Lightstrike been someone different when he died too? The lack of consistency makes her head spin. Makes her nauseous with the way her own path blows wide open in a hundred different directions. She was trying to be someone different from that Mottledpaw but now had the chance to roll in a whole circle right back to it later? Under a new name? When she thought she might be finalized... set in stone... The whole of herself, whatever that ended up being.

"I don't trust anyone," and least of all whatever poor sob story Flamestar chose to bleed for. Mottledpaw refused to be made a fool again.

Her jaw sets in defiance, staring down the light-glow bait that lingers in front of her. Stormywing means it genuinely (at least, Mottledpaw thought she knew Stormywing to be genuine), to ask after the shackles she has wrapped around her ankles. She knew others could see them too, even if they hid it by barely restrained sneers. "No one in this stars forsaken clan wants me here," tumbles out of her mouth louder than she meant it to. It had not been the piece of truth she intended to share, vastly different from the unbothered facade she'd fostered. "I trusted kin. Chose kin. Believed kin. I didn't hurt anyone." A lie. A small lie, given the cut upon Nightbird's nose, now matched by Beetlepaw who'd found Mottledpaw's sorest spots and poked at them.

"If blood isn't worth trusting then what is?" Her lips purse, trying to right herself internally to draw up her well of anger and indifference and brooding. She would not cry to Stormywing. "I was born here. No one trusts me." Even if maybe it was justified.

"You don't trust me, do you," she asks, an accusation hidden there, "And why would you... I was Skyclaw's apprentice first."​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing's chest tightens as Mottledpaw's voice sharpens, each word striking like a claw to her heart. She opens her mouth to object, to say that she does know Thundergleam, that she's seen the way the warrior fights for ThunderClan, but her apprentice's anguish stops her. The young she-cat's frustration bleeds out into an admission that Stormywing hadn't expected.

No one in this stars forsaken clan wants me here.

The statement shocks the tabby into silence, her ears flattening against her head as she absorbs the words. She wishes she could deny it, wishes she could refute every claim, but deep down, she understands where Mottledpaw's pain comes from. The horrible reign of Skyclaw had scarred everyone, but it left wounds on those who'd chosen the wrong side that few seemed willing to let heal. She had been one of those cats, wanting to kill Wrathpaw with her own teeth. But he killed cats. Mottledpaw didn't hurt anyone…she was hardly older than a kit.

Stormywing's eyes soften then, her breath slowing as she listens. When Mottledpaw accuses her of mistrust, her tail-tip twitches, guilt surfacing in a flicker across her features. "No," She finally admits lowly, voice tinged with regret. "Not at first." The confession burns as sharp as the icy wind. "When you were assigned to me, I thought...I thought you might resent me. Maybe even wish I'd died like my brother. I didn't know how much of Skyclaw's teachings you truly believed." She swallows hard, glancing at the frost-covered earth before raising her eyes to meet Mottledpaw's blue gaze. "But I was wrong. You're not Skyclaw's legacy. You're my apprentice now, and I need to show you that I know that." The blue warrior shifts forward, the frost crackling under her pads as she continues, "I didn't realize you needed to hear it." Her voice strengthens, and a flicker of determination lights in her eyes. "I don't want you to think for a second that I don't care or that your place here is in question. You've made mistakes, but so have I. We all have." How could she hold something against a child when she has broken the Code, too? When her unclaimed children live just across the border, the same age as the apprentice standing before her now? "I'm sorry, Mottledpaw. For not telling you that sooner."
​

 

[mottledpaw]

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"No."

As painful as it is to hear, it's a sweet relief too. No more pretending... no more hiding. Mottledpaw can finally shut her mouth... and just frown understandingly. It was the answer she was prepared for and for what it was worth, Stormywing's honesty felt like something worth clinging to. It is followed up, after a small pause, to clarify. Her feelings had changed, not unlike the apprentice that stood before her. Muscles toned by moons spent training, personality sharpened by experience rather than assumption. Her whiskers flare uncomfortably at the admission; "I didn't want anyone to die." And that part was true, even if the alternative solution had just been to chase them out instead... at least they would've lived. Wasn't that a mercy? Or was it just more cruel to displace them and call it kindness?

Her tail twitches, trying to dispel the dust-up of emotions that rattle around there. It was not a vulnerability she was familiar with having... with sharing. It was weirdly satisfying, cathartic... left something behind for her to sink her claws into. For once... she felt seen.

Her chin tilts up, trying not to admit the way her chest aches to be reassured, that there is a far younger tortoiseshell buried in there that wants to bury her face in Stormywing's chest and thank her. They are level here... confession of mistake and growth providing a ray of hope to search the horizon for. Maybe no one else forgave her yet but... it didn't mean no one did. That would just have to be good enough. The rest would come in time.

There is a small exhale, leaving etchings of her breath in the form of foggy wisps. "I wish my den-mates agreed with you," she replies coolly, struggling to maintain her facade (it fails, it crumbles under such great reflief), "If all I've got is you... I guess that's fine...." Her lips pull down in a frown (only a stubborn insistence on trying to hide a smile instead) before abruptly standing up to butt her head against her mentor's chest.

"Hey Stormywing..." The dappled apprentice pulls away, searching sun halo gaze for a moment.

"I won't let you down."​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing's breath shudders at the admission, that no, Mottledpaw never wanted anyone to die. Even if she knew it deep down, it's…relieving to hear it confirmed. She never wanted the likes of Stormywing cold and buried. And it isn't anger or disappointment that flares in the apprentice's eyes, but perhaps understanding? Grief? Hope? The tabby finds herself meeting that gaze, searching the azure depths in her apprentice's eyes for any trace of the condemnation she had feared.

"I know," She rasps. "I know you didn't." Her words catch in her throat, guilt becoming overpowering. How did she let it get this far? Some mentor she is. She pauses, inhaling deeply to steady herself as Mottledpaw's frown softens, the brittle facade of her indifference crumbling in the silence. She frowns at the subtle crack in the apprentice's composure, the momentary glimpse of the kit who once looked out of the nursery with wonder and excitement.

"It's enough," Stormywing promises, her voice firming with a conviction she hasn't felt in moons. "I'll be enough. I'll be there for you in every way that I can, kid. I swear it." A faint smile ghosts across her muzzle as Mottledpaw presses her head against her chest. And when she draws back, she catches her eyes with a nod. The amber light of the setting sun catches in the younger cat's eyes as the older warrior murmurs, "And I won't let you down either. We'll face whatever comes together. I promise." With that she presses her nose gently to the dappled molly's forehead as the wind sweeps around them.
​