LOW LIFE FOR LIFE ✧ reflecting

[Hawkstride]

Hawk could hardly believe that Smogstar had just vanished. It made no sense. He would never leave. The stalwart tabby had been a fixture of Shadowclan since the day he'd arrived. Admittedly, Smogstar hadn't taken to their arrival well at first. He'd thought Pipitclaw too loud and seemed to have some grudge against their father. But when Hawk had been assigned to their grumpy deputy as a pseudo-apprentice before being allowed to take a warrior name, he'd seen a glimmer of expectation in his eyes. A certain measure of confidence. Smogstar knew that he could live up to the example he was setting, and he hadn't been given any room for failure.

Thinking that he might be lost to them now, after only a short time serving as their leader, made his hackles bristle with a heavy feeling of despair. There were days when he wondered why he bothered to stay. For his siblings, of course, but they were settled enough not to need him now. His father had remained a distant figure, and his mentor was gone. He had few cats left that he genuinely admired; Starlingheart and Lilacfur were two reasons he had yet to slip away. And... he did not want to disappoint Smogstar. Even after all these moons, he was determined to prove he was a dedicated clan member. A life of solitude was calling to him, but he had bonds here that would not be so easily broken. His internal conflict was tearing him apart, but his determination to find Smogstar was unwavering.

He sat now, gazing up at the Burnt Sycamore, his moss-painted eyes shining with memory. This was the place where his worth as a warrior had been tested. Smogstar, then Smogmaw, had brought him here one frigid leafbare morning for his assessment. "This is a simple test," he'd said, squaring up to face a young Hawk. "Your goal, Hawk, is to climb this tree. My goal is to stop you." The Burnt Sycamore, with its twisted branches and charred trunk, was a symbol of his perseverance and the beginning of his journey as a warrior. He had earned his name not long after that day. Hawkstride. For his dedication and forethought. He might not have made it without such stern guidance. A twig snapped nearby, shaking him from his reverie, and the shadow-furred warrior whipped around to see who had found him.

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‎‎ooc ✧ info

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• HAWKSTRIDE ✧ he / him, warrior of shadowclan, 21 moons
  ⭃ lh black smoke w/ low white and moss green eyes. heavily scarred and tall
  ⭃ skunktail x porcupine // littermate to lizardthroat and pipitclaw
  ⭃ single, crushing on no one // mentoring no one // mentored by smogstar
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted // underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by limerence ↛ @limericks. on discord, feel free to dm for plots

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[MIRESTAR]

Evidently, a lifetime spent learning the art of stealth matters little when you are too down on your luck to utilize it. Mirepurr freezes when a twig snaps underneath their paw, just as startled — if not more — as Hawkstride himself. For once, the hunter is more scared than the prey.

"So- sorry." Mirepurr intentionally makes more of a ruckus as they emerge from the undergrowth, fumbling with an apology. It is entirely plausible of Hawkstride to snap at them for interrupting a private moment... and he would be entirely in the right, but Mirepurr has always found it difficult to keep their nose out of others' business. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that, I just..." They swallow around the unsaid truth. I don't want anyone else disappearing on me. Not long ago, the Burnt Sycamore had seen Twoleg activity. That threat feels like an eternity ago, but Mirepurr cannot disclose it either way.

Surely Smogstar would find the display of their anxieties pathetic. Not because he did not care, no, but because he had always taken such matters in more of a graceful stride.

So, Mirepurr settles on something more undemanding to handle. A certain truth presented in something easier to present. "I was worried."
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