private MADE IN HER IMAGE \ comfreykit

[WEASELCLAW]

When Comfreykit allows his eyelids to slip over kitten-blues, when he lets his body slip into warm fatigue, he will awaken to a new place, dense and strange. The scents will perplex him, a child who has only recently left his adoptive mother's flank — for the first time in his life, the gray-pelted child of Cottonsprig will taste rot on his tongue. There is no light here. There are no stars in the sky above him. The shadows are thick and unforgiving — the longer he peers into them, the less sure he feels about his position in this bizarre forest...

But he is not left alone for long. A lean brown tabby slips from the darkness, blue eyes piercing the gloom. He wears a scarred chest, a torn ear, and his ribs protrude through his patchy pelt — remnants of the disease that had taken him seasons ago. Weaselclaw does not speak, initially. He did not know if he would be able to walk in the dreams of a cat as young as his grandson is, and he is pleased that he's crossed that threshold successfully.

"Hello, Comfreykit." He had never been gentle with his sons — they'd both been rough-and-tumble, claws-and-teeth, dust in their fur before they'd begun to walk properly, and by their warriorhood, they'd been soldiers of the moorland. This boy is barely weaned, and his face, though reminiscent of his grandmother's, is soft with kitten fluff and youth. Weaselclaw treads carefully. "You don't have to be afraid. My name is Weaselclaw." He lowers himself to the earth, so he is on Comfreykit's level.

"I'm your mother's father. That makes us kin." He studies the child, the ash-gray of his fur, the beginnings of an ivory mane lining his cheeks and chest, the white spatter of freckles on his tail. Cottonsprig's son, certainly. He has no intention of revealing that, of course — it amuses him that his daughters play such games with their Clan now.

"Do you want to play a game, Comfreykit?" He smiles. It's a shadow less frightening than the one he has given Cottonsprig so many times.

@Comfreykit
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[Comfreykit]

For the short time he's had dreams and remembered them, Comfreykit has known only sweet ones, dreams wherein he's in the comforting hold of mother, with his siblings, with papa. Dreams of playing, perhaps some of the future where he'll become a hunter just like the Clanmates around him. Never before has he seen such darkness as he sees now, upon opening his eyes on the other side. It's cold here, colder than it is in the waking world, and there's a smell that he can't identify that makes him wrinkle his nose and frown.

Where is mother? Where are his siblings, the familiar walls of the nursery? Comfreykit furtively looks around, but sees nothing that he knows. Shadows stretch like ghosts in the darkness, and despite himself, he can feel the fur on his back start to prickle, as if there's an unseen danger in the dark forest that surrounds him now. He sits, curling in against himself against the uneasy chill, eyes narrowed as he stares into the pitch black. And then, there before him, a tom - one who looks sickly, who looks starved, and yet there is a sense of familiarity about him.

When the tom speaks, Comfreykit is quiet - he's been taught to listen to your elders, so he employs that tactic here, where he is unsure and without mother to guide him. The tom already knows Comfreykit's name, and introduces himself as Weaselclaw, father of mother. Kin, he says, and Comfreykit understands that much - he knows of kin, knows of Sootspot and Heatherpaw and Nightpaw and Bramblepaw who once shared the nursery with him; knows of aunt in Cottonsprig (and to him, she is nothing more).

"A game?" Comfreykit finally speaks, hushed, as he looks at Weaselclaw. He's played mossball before, pretend, other such kitten-games that came naturally to him. He didn't think himself very good at pretend play, but he figured he could play mossball well enough. The older kits always did better, though. "What game?" He asks, barely blinking as he meets Weaselclaw's blue eyes. Something seems to click in his head, and he narrows his eyes, accusing.

"Where's mother?"

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

• 

• COMFREYKIT ✩ kit of windclan, zero moons
  → walks hunched over.
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

The boy is quiet, though no doubt Weaselclaw's appearance and the state of this forest must be startling. He is pleased with the child's initial reaction, his obedience. Bluefrost, for all her foolish ways, had ensured her children knew their place. Comfreykit tilts his face toward his grandfather's with a question burning in his blue-tinted eyes.

"A game?" Those are his first words. Weaselclaw nods. "It will be a new game, for you. But you're not afraid of learning new things, are you? I can tell you're a smart kit." The tattered tabby tilts his head to one side, as though he's evaluating the child. In truth, he is.

But then Comfreykit's eyes narrow, and he asks Weaselclaw where his mother is. The dark forest rogue has half a mind to ask, Which one? It would be amusing, to expose Cottonsprig's ruse this way, but... he doesn't. He flicks his tail from side to side in a hypnotic manner.

"Your mother is still asleep. When you wake up, she will be there, with all your brothers and sisters." Weaselclaw stares into his grandson's two-toned eyes. "This is a special game. One that must stay a secret. Can you keep a secret, Comfreykit?"

Weaselclaw hooks something from behind him — it'd been prey, once, ostensibly, but is now crowfood. No prey remains fresh in this shadowed forest, and no matter what half-rotted scraps the cats here consume, they remain eternally hungry. That he'd even managed to find this had been a stroke of luck, and now he's wasting it for this kit.

But is it a waste? Time will tell.

"I know you've eaten prey before, Comfreykit. You're certainly big enough, now." Weaselclaw smiles and shoves the bit of carrion toward his kin. "I want you to attack this prey. I want you to break it into pieces. Can you do that for me?"
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[Comfreykit]

He holds his tongue until Weaselclaw tells him that mother and his siblings are asleep and will be there when he wakes up. That's all he needs to know: that mother is still there, even though he can't see her. There should be little problem in him playing a game with his grandfather, then, since they are kin. Mother would understand, perhaps even encourage it, if Weaselclaw had resided in WindClan - and perhaps that raises another question, of why he doesn't and where they are, but it's a question that Comfreykit doesn't dwell on.

"I can keep a secret." Comfreykit nods, and it's as if a deal is signed between him and Weaselclaw with those words. he's actually never kept a secret before, but it can't be too hard, can it? All he has to do is not tell anyone about the special game. He can do that with no problem. he still wrinkles his nose and steps back when the carrion corpse is shoved in his direction. Yes, he'd had prey - but this... mess, this didn't look like the rabbit that had been brought to him for his first proper meal.

Weaselclaw orders that he destroy the crowfood, and though it looks as though that job's already been accomplished long ago, Comfreykit doesn't say so and instead looks first up at his grandfather, and then back down at the once-was prey. Weaselclaw wanted him to hunt, then? or whatever crude form of hunting this was, in any case. He's played at hunting before. He can accomplish what is being asked of him.

Sucking in a breath, Comfreykit throws himself haphazardly at the pile of flesh, sinking kitten claws into the mess. Every part of him wants to avoid coming in more contact with the crowfood, but he soon realizes that if he is to tear it apart in the way Weaselclaw's requesting, he'll have to make use of his teeth as well. There is a slight hint of hesitation in Comfreykit's movements as he leans his head down to sink his teeth in what might have once been an ear, and the taste of the carrion leaves much to be desired, gagging the kit slightly before he tears off a small piece of meat and tosses it in Weaselclaw's direction.

"Gross." He states simply as he looks to grandfather for approval.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

• 

• COMFREYKIT ✩ kit of windclan, zero moons
  → walks hunched over.
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

​