- Dec 27, 2022
- 355
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If questioned, the black-patched apprentice will vehemently deny any emotions of comfort or happiness when they have to be around cats younger than themself. And they especially don’t like kits. Because what’s there to like about them? The loud, annoying talking and shouting? The roughhousing and boundless energy that seems to always be spent on making Gravelpaw’s day worse? The constant coddling and prioritizing?
No, Gravelpaw doesn’t like kits at all. And even when they become apprentices, cats younger than them still manage to irk them. They like to think of themself as a patient cat—a breeze through green leaves, a smooth stream—but when it comes to younger children, it’s as though someone’s laid a bed of thorns beneath their paws and told them to lie down.
How they’ve ended up fraternizing with this little rodent is beyond them, really. Maybe it started as curiosity. But now? Now it’s about pride. The two sit face to face, eyes wide as they stare at one another. The kit’s name is Dreamkit, and Gravelpaw briefly wonders if he’s a child of Nightmareface before realizing that they don’t particularly care whose blood flows through the other child’s veins. That doesn’t matter right now. Now, the only thing that matters is winning.
Their eyes are so dry. The prickling of tears has begun, and their instinct is to blink to clear them. But blinking is giving up, surrendering; they can’t do that. They won’t lose to a child younger than themself. What would Lynxtooth think? (They consider the fact that their father wants them to uphold his legacy, and that the only thing Lynxtooth would have to say about a staring contest is that it’s a waste of time.) Maybe they should just blink already and get it over with, but could their pride, cracked and barely-formed as it is, handle losing to a kit?
No.
They can’t lose this. Pointless as it is, they refuse to blink. Their eel-black tail twitches—a distraction—and Gravelpaw leans forward a bit, moving into the lilac-furred kit’s space.
// pls wait for @Dreamkit
No, Gravelpaw doesn’t like kits at all. And even when they become apprentices, cats younger than them still manage to irk them. They like to think of themself as a patient cat—a breeze through green leaves, a smooth stream—but when it comes to younger children, it’s as though someone’s laid a bed of thorns beneath their paws and told them to lie down.
How they’ve ended up fraternizing with this little rodent is beyond them, really. Maybe it started as curiosity. But now? Now it’s about pride. The two sit face to face, eyes wide as they stare at one another. The kit’s name is Dreamkit, and Gravelpaw briefly wonders if he’s a child of Nightmareface before realizing that they don’t particularly care whose blood flows through the other child’s veins. That doesn’t matter right now. Now, the only thing that matters is winning.
Their eyes are so dry. The prickling of tears has begun, and their instinct is to blink to clear them. But blinking is giving up, surrendering; they can’t do that. They won’t lose to a child younger than themself. What would Lynxtooth think? (They consider the fact that their father wants them to uphold his legacy, and that the only thing Lynxtooth would have to say about a staring contest is that it’s a waste of time.) Maybe they should just blink already and get it over with, but could their pride, cracked and barely-formed as it is, handle losing to a kit?
No.
They can’t lose this. Pointless as it is, they refuse to blink. Their eel-black tail twitches—a distraction—and Gravelpaw leans forward a bit, moving into the lilac-furred kit’s space.
// pls wait for @Dreamkit
[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]
