pafp LIKE MY MIRROR ⊱✿⊰ questions

[heatherkit]

( ⊱✿⊰ ) dusky blue eyes follow the form of a dappled warrior, piercing judgmentally into tufty, windswept fur as sedgepounce pads into camp, a sturdy rabbit swinging from his jaws. muscles contract and stretch with ease under his skin, long legs covering much ground as the tomcat strolls to the prey-pile, setting down his catch with satisfaction. from where she is sitting, heatherkit studies the man’s frame, glazing from his rabbit-like hind legs to her stubbier ones, from his long neck and slim head to her smaller, sturdier looking appearance. a frown appears on the girl’s face, quickly masked as she realizes the facial expression has mussed up her carefully de-tangled whiskers.

twitching them back into place, the almost-apprentice gets to her paws, allowing them to carry her towards the now resting tomcat. she halts in front of him, nearly full grown and yet drastically shorter than the moor runner. powder-blue eyes meet ones of deep amber as the girl cranes her neck. a confrontational tone begins her conversation, as it does often without her meaning it.

“what’s so good about being a moor-runner?” she asks, tail tip twitching behind her. this man must know, content as he looks coming back from patrol. she has been groomed from birth to expect the life of a tunneler, and she looks forward to it much more than she’d ever look forward to running all day. still, the lynx-point has heard whispers amongst the gossips in her clan that nightkit and bramblekit might both be too big, too lanky to be of use in the tunnels. if her siblings are going to be promoted to the worse position, she wants to know why anyone would ever enjoy it.

“why isn’t everyone a tunneler?” she will add to her question, face impassable, eyes still connected to the umber ones that gaze back. “did you want to be a moor-runner? why?”

SAY WHAT YOU WANT ⊱✿⊰ BUT SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT

• // please wait for @SEDGEPOUNCE <3 "#b2a0bc"
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• HEATHERKIT ⊱✿⊰ SHE / HER, WINDCLAN. DAUGHTER OF SOOTSPOT, SISTER TO BRAMBLEKIT, NIGHTKIT. 4 MOONS, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  
  a longhaired blue lynx point with blue eyes. her body is cloaked in pale snow-white fur, a storm of blue flooding her face, tail, and paws. stripes of darker blue accentuate her eyes nose, and band around her legs. shining eyes stare out from the angular shaped face, a deep, faded blue color.
  

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

It's been a pretty peaceful day out on the moor when Sedgepounce is cornered by one of Sootspot's curiously cavalier kits. She finds him fresh from the hunt, licking hare-blood from his paws in the filtered light of afternoon—unable to spare so much as a "Hi there, Heatherkit!" before he's being pelted with questions.

"Um. Well," Sedgepounce starts. Heatherkit's rounded kitten face holds blank, impassive eyes and a no-nonsense frown. It ages her more than her looming apprenticeship does. She's at the age, though, where clan kits start obsessing about their futures and the divisions of warriorhood they'll be split between. He's sure Sootpot's expectations do little to assuage these concerns. "The moor's really beautiful. We get to spend all day out there, in the meadow and under StarClan's eye. I think it's pretty nice, at least." He raises a pink-tinged paw, swiping away the final remnants of his hunt. Heatherkit levels him another question.

"Not everyone can fit in the tunnels," Sedgepounce responds patiently. His maw splits into an amused smile. There was never any question that Sedgepounce was destined to be a moor runner. He was always lanky—more like his tall, battle-scarred mother than he was his tunneler father. He grew up knowing his place and never worrying about anything else. There was no reason to be disappointed.

Except for a brief stint in the medicine den. A moon or so spent with the herbs and their meanings and a nagging hope that he could do more than just fight and kill his whole life. A future just out of reach.

Did you want to be a moor runner?

"I...That decision was made for me." His smile goes a little rueful at the edges. It's an anger that's long been snuffed out. All that's left is a chasm of bittersweet memory, better left forgotten. "I'm happy being a moor runner, though. I've been underground a couple times before—definitely not for me." He won't complain about the cold, dark, claustrophobic corridors of Mothermouth or the caves along the Journey. He doesn't want to scare the kid.
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