private mother knows best / thriftpaw

[GHOSTWAIL]

Pigeon, pheasant, lark - the feathers all looked the same to her, each as nondescript as the last. She has no vested interest in the sandy plumes; they are simply tools for her mission: she must find a feather to replace the one given to Thriftpaw by tainted paws. She must find a suitable replacement for it or the boy would no doubt fall back on old habits. The feather must be presented first and then the conditions must be given and that is how he would learn.

After much deliberation, she concludes that a stray black-and-yellow striped feather is good enough. The rachis is delicate and decidedly uncomfortable between her teeth, poking into her gums as she walks, but the momentary discomfort is far preferred to allowing her ward to continue his treacherous dalliances. To waste the queen's grace on such a pitiful cat... the phantom of WindClan would not stand for it.

She clears her throat as she approaches, presenting the replacement feather as if it were some grand achievement. Smaller than its predecessor with none of the familiar comforts of it, the phantom thinks it perfect. "We will not be losing this one, correct?" She reiterates to the yellow tom, her eyes a bit too wide and her grin a bit too strained. @Thriftpaw​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Ghostwail brings him a new feather.

Even with time as a buffer, Thriftpaw still finds himself sadder than one typically would be about something so frivolous. He shouldn't be so upset, he reminds himself often. A feather is a common thing, and although they come in different patterns and sizes, they are hardly unique. A bird sheds feathers rather than fur — they are only as special as a clump of fur. Hardly more clean than a hairball. These thoughts do little to cheer Thriftpaw.

This new feather is nothing like the old; Thriftpaw supposes that is the point. It isn't a gift so much as it is a test — doesn't anyone else see that? — and Thriftpaw's rabbit heart cannot keep up. He can't say no to it, not after Ghostwail went through the trouble of finding it, even if the whole of Thriftpaw wishes to lean away from it like grass under wind. By a miracle, Thriftpaw stays still, his chin tucked politely and white-tipped ears twitching with unvoiced nerves.

"I won't make the same mistake," Thriftpaw says levelly, even if some small part of him cries that it wasn't his mistake that lost the feather, or even a mistake at all. Doesn't anyone else see her? Hasn't anyone else seen what she does?

"Thank you. This — it, it means a lot to me," The lie catches on Thriftpaw's tongue but it hardly matters. This whole thing is a farce. His heart catches speed anyway, and at once Thriftpaw needs to know what it is Ghostwail is thinking, "WindClanners, we need to be quick on our feet, don't we?"​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

There is a moment, a long, four heartbeart moment where the phantom simply stares at the child. She is searching his face for dissention, for dishonesty, for ungratefulness, but there is nothing to find in that yellow face. The child is not advanced enough to sneak a lie past her. He opens his mouth and out comes the proper phrases, words that point to a proper upbringing. She looks at the child and sees progress, a progression past the scrap that she had picked out of a bush a season ago. It is good, very good, that he has begun to be presentable, manageable, useful.

"We do." She responds, her burning gaze flicking away from the child. Cats are mingling beyond their vantage point, snippets of conversation being carried by the breeze that WindClan seemed to harness when they ran. "Moor-runners are quick, tunnellers are clever. Together, we carry out the will of our Queen. It is our purpose. Our only purpose." Her eyes return to his face, his still kitten-soft face, searching again for emotions that would need to corrected. "Correct?"​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Beneath Ghostwail's scrutiny, Thriftpaw imagines himself as a rabbit under the shadow of a hawk. He doesn't have the luxury of hoping that it is merely passing over, he cannot tell himself that Ghostwail has had her fill for the day. He can't even duck and hope he hasn't been noticed — with Ghostwail's red eyes on him, there is little else that Thriftpaw can do but freeze. It's only when Ghostwail's red eyes leave his that Thriftpaw remembers how to exhale, only for him to go rigid once more when she turns his way once more.

"Correct," Thriftpaw echoes.

She wants obedience, above everything else. Thriftpaw can give her that. He needs to remind himself not to fiddle with the feather — he would hate to think of what might happen should he ruin it so soon after getting it. If Thriftpaw isn't to chew on the feather or press his paw against the down of it or fold it beneath his chin while he rests, what good is the feather even to him? He frowns before he can school the displeasure from his features, and then he is once again neutral.

"When you said — you say it's moor-runners who are quick and tunnelers who are clever... don't I need to be both?" It shouldn't be an accusation, it doesn't come out sounding like one, but it feels like one to Thriftpaw's weary heart. It feels like: I'm walking a thin line because of you, and all of Thriftpaw's other unsavory or confused thoughts that he isn't so foolish as to say outloud.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

"Yes..." The word drones on, a hornet's buzz in the air between them. The child was of a loner's brood. Whereas other children of his generation were borne of noble, proven WindClan cats, Thriftpaw came from nothing. He had more to prove, more to establish for himself. Scorchstreak's kits could afford to lean towards one direction or the next, but Thriftpaw.... Thriftpaw had to embody all of WindClan's ideals to be considered even a fraction as worthy. A better cat would offer the boy a gentle hand in the face of this discrepancy. Ghostwail, a cat who was considerably worse than an average cat, only saw this as just. The boy would have to earn his place among her clanmates. If he drowned in their wake, well, that was entirely his doing.

"Yes. You should be everything the clan needs or wants you to be. You will be these things in time, though I would consider your progress slowed if you were not already becoming in this manner." Her tail flicks once in thought. "I have not been very mindful of your training... perhaps I should take a more active role in your education so I know you are being properly taught."​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[Thriftfeather]

There are few times in which Thriftpaw felt his heart drop from his chest so completely. His chest must be hollow now, and his mouth has gone completely dry. This is a reaction that Thriftpaw should be able to stave off. Outwardly, his legs tremble until he stiffens them into stillness and his tail bushes to twice its size. He doesn't want that — he really doesn't want that.

"Oh," Thriftpaw says, soft like an exhale.

He'll need to do better. Ghostwail has just told Thriftpaw to do better. He squares himself and unsuccessfully wills his tail back to smooth. He breathes again around teeth, reminds himself rather harshly that he is supposed to be doing better. Thriftpaw sees where the trap is now, only after stepping in it. He knows now, and next time (always next time) Thriftpaw will do better.

"That's..." Thriftpaw needs to figure out what he's going to say and fast, "Gravelsnap is already training me. Sootstar chose them to be my mentor. So — so so she must have thought they would be able to — to teach me properly."​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​