- Apr 2, 2023
- 251
- 53
- 28
It felt wrong to see Willowroot hurt. Like seeing the moon or the stars bleed, it was impossible to the point of blasphemy. Mosspaw was too recently out of the nursery to think of her mother as anything other than an authority rivaled only by Cicadastar himself, sometimes even greater than him. After all, she had been told by Willowroot what to do and not to do far more often than by Cicadastar. Her mother was the face she associated with the comfortable safety of the nursery.
If Willowroot could be hurt, then no one was safe.
Mosspaw felt a constant urge to check on her mother ever since the battle. As soon as Ashpaw was up and about, her concern for her sister had faded, but the unease that she felt at the sight of her mother's injuries never left her.
The moment she spotted her mother leaving the warriors den, she couldn't help but pad over. "Good morning mother." Mosspaw greeted with a dip her head. The moment she had stepped out of the nursery and learned about formality she had taken to it like she had been born knowing it, and she wished she had. She had always been awkward in her affections, stiff and unsure and embarrassed. It was hard for her to be certain what was too much and what was too little. Her feelings felt more clearly articulated now, in the language of rigid decorum. With a simple dip of the head she could communicate all of her respect and love for her mother. However, the gesture came with all the endearing charm of a child playing at being all grown up. Her kithood was still only barely behind her.
"How are you feeling today?" She asked gently.
If Willowroot could be hurt, then no one was safe.
Mosspaw felt a constant urge to check on her mother ever since the battle. As soon as Ashpaw was up and about, her concern for her sister had faded, but the unease that she felt at the sight of her mother's injuries never left her.
The moment she spotted her mother leaving the warriors den, she couldn't help but pad over. "Good morning mother." Mosspaw greeted with a dip her head. The moment she had stepped out of the nursery and learned about formality she had taken to it like she had been born knowing it, and she wished she had. She had always been awkward in her affections, stiff and unsure and embarrassed. It was hard for her to be certain what was too much and what was too little. Her feelings felt more clearly articulated now, in the language of rigid decorum. With a simple dip of the head she could communicate all of her respect and love for her mother. However, the gesture came with all the endearing charm of a child playing at being all grown up. Her kithood was still only barely behind her.
"How are you feeling today?" She asked gently.