no choir | willowroot

[robinheart]

It is an odd feeling to be stuck between wanting to spill one’s guts and wanting complete isolation and privacy. Robinheart had never considered herself a gossip and she really wasn’t a fan of sharing about her personal life unless asked directly. So why then was she standing before Willowroot, thoughts and emotions prepared to be laid bare before her former mentor? To seek comfort? Answers? Perhaps just to say what she needs to say aloud to free it from her conscience?

”She left me.” The tortoiseshell’s voice wavers just above a whisper. Her world feels like it is collapsing and all she can do is face one of the strongest mollies she knows in the hopes they can somehow help her put the pieces back together. "Brookstorm… left me. A-And I don’t know what to do.” I didn’t know who to go to remains unsaid, though teary citrine eyes betray the thought.

@willowroot ​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) willowroot counts herself lucky to be apart of so many young cats' lives. from her own children, whom she's raised to the best of her ability, to her former and current apprentices, with whom she tries to attain a comforting figure, she finds satisfaction and contentedness in helping the younger generation. with robinheart it had been no different- willow's friendship with the girl's mother, as well as welcoming nature when the tortoiseshell girl had returned from skyclan had allowed the two to form a natural bond. the smoke likes to think she's similar to an aunt or older sister to her former apprentice, and she feels that same sort of adoration for the girl that she does for her own kin.

the sun is drawing ever closer to the horizon as the feline settles comfortably in a secluded spot of camp, watching patrols return and kits hassle their older clanmates for the best pick of the prey pile. it brings a smile to their face to see their clan behaving as normal- after so many moons of strife, new-leaf has brought change for the better. emerald eyes catch on a familiar mottled pelt, on a honey gaze that crumples with upset. brows furrowing as robinheart approaches, willowroot is quick to sit up, beckoning the girl in with their tail. their good ear twitches, narrow head leaning in to catch the other's whispers, words that barely make it out through a fog of tears.

"she left me," robinheart admits, and willowroot's eyes widen. "brookstorm left me."

brookstorm, daughter of one willowroot will always call sister. brookstorm, daughter of one of riverclan's strongest warriors. brookstorm, abandoned and alone after death had sliced through her family, leaving only her behind. pseudo-niece, vague younger friend, all things willowroot feels about the smoke hued she-cat. they'd thought that robinheart and brookstorm had been great comfort to each other after the deaths, had thought they'd become mates and begun settling down together. all this being said, it is a shock to hear their former apprentice's words.

"oh darling," the feline murmurs, gently pressing their muzzle against the girl's own. sympathy pours from their very being as they smooth away tears with a delicate paw. "i'm so sorry, robin," verdant optics attempt to meet citrine, searching for the right words to say. "i thought you two were so strong together. did she say why?"

willowroot is a gossip at heart, always eager to hear whatever scraps of information her clanmates pass around. but this.. this is different. when she speaks, it is nowhere near a place of rumored interest. her words ring with the desire to help her young former apprentice, to comfort and soothe. "whatever happened, if something did happen, i will support you, love. do you want to talk about it?"

THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // " speak "
  
  
  
  
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  WILLOWROOT ☼ SHE / THEY, WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORING ROBINPAW. PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a long-haired black smoke oriental with sage-green eyes. smokey long fur coats the length of willowroot's lithe body, with friendly sage green eyes that narrow in an almond shape. her muzzle and limbs are thin and long due to her oriental heritage.
  
  
  
  

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[robinheart]

Like porcelain dropped from a great height Robinheart shatters. Whether it be Willowroot’s motherly tone or gentle touch that acted as the catalyst remains unclear. The tortoiseshell sits and leans into the smoke molly, letting the burden of her emotional pain slide down sob trembling shoulders and collect like fallen teardrops at her paws. She lets the tears fall without fear of judgment for Willowroot has shown her time and time again that they are safe. Her words, her feelings, her kits will be safe in the paws of her former mentor.

When she feels the burst dam of her heart has relinquished the majority of its water Robinheart blearily meets Willowroot’s verdant gaze. She opens her maw to answer the other but no words come. Her head shakes and mouth closes once more as tears threaten to choke her again. Brookstorm and Robinheart should have been so strong together; would have been so strong together if they didn’t jump the gun. Willowroot continues on with words of support and another opportunity for Robinheart to speak. Does the tortie reveal what really split them up? Brookstorm was the only one who knew of Robinheart’s predicament. The whole clan would know soon enough but did that warrant spilling secrets now?

With Willowroot, she decides, the answer would always be yes.

”She wasn’t ready.” The long and short of it. Robinheart’s tail gingerly sweeps across the ground and curls around her paws as she glances away from Willowroot. Her citrine gaze rests on the nursery and the kits who tumble and play in front of it for a long, telling moment. "She came to me asking to be mates. I gave her my life and my word to always be there for her… I might as well have made her my world," Robinheart murmurs through trembling chin and wet eyes. "And now my world expands… my life is about to be turned upside down because of h-her and she’ll have nothing to do with me. With us." Only then does she look back at her former mentor, brows furrowed and ears crestfallen against her head.​

[ penned by kerms ]​