private PLEASE, WHICH IS NO INVOCATION FOR PEACE — milkthorn

[Thriftfeather]

Confinement has made it easy for every one of Thriftfeather's worries to mushroom into something nearly all-consuming, only to collapse over itself and leave his overfilled chest as suddenly, dizzyingly, empty. He doesn't stand and pace, despite the wants of his body—the scant space provided by the nursery wouldn't allow for it, the action would be too disruptive to those he shares the nursery with.

This hadn't been the place of Thriftfeather's youth; he spent a shivering moon in here, less. It shines as another schism between himself and WindClan; so many of his peers were raised beneath the tangle of overhanging gorse branches, so many of them would feel an automatic comfort when cradled beneath this thorn-filled ceiling. His faith in StarClan has lapsed, and still he prays that his kits will grow up with this comfort that Thriftfeather lacks.

A silhouette appears in the mouth of the den while Thriftfeather's eyes are busy tracking the branches. He cannot suppress his flinch when he notices and then, in the space of a moment, the silhouette rights itself into a form far more familiar.

"Milkthorn?" Strangely, Thriftfeather recalls visiting Milkthorn in the medicine cat's den. His green eyes flick down, away, back to his squirming litter, and a humorless laugh puffs out of him. He feels as though he has a thousand things to say to Milkthorn and yet none of them reach his tired mouth.

"One of them is ill," Thriftfeather explains instead—his voice quiet, "Bluefrost needs to—she needs to visit the medicine den to feed her. Try to, anyway. Um, are you—did you want to see them?"

@milkthorn. ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[milkthorn.]

He didn't want to visit right away. But curiosity got the better of him, seeing Bluefrost leave the den, to the medicine den. Eventually, she would return. And he noticed. He noticed the disdain from nearby clanmates as she moved into the open. The white hued warrior would want to cast a sympathetic look, but he was sure she would swipe what's left of his ears off for it. It was a mere day of waiting, watching, before finally, he'd hope he would not disturb them.

It had been a day of sparring with Lakepaw, who he knew would be quite a fine warrior. Even if he only got the tail end of the apprentices training, he was proud of the kid. His pelt was still dusty, and his fur even more scruffy than normal, but nonetheless, he would make his way to the nursery. He would've greeted, and his mouth opened partially to, but instead he ducked his head in, and pushed through the bramble to smile softly towards its inhabitants. Fortunately, it seemed to just be Thriftfeather and the kits.

Blue eyes caught it but did not show that he did, a larger smile on his face as he seen the golden warrior. But before he could say anything, or even greet back, Thriftfeather speaks again. his smile dissipates, and turns into more of a slight frown- sadness creeping into his body. "Yes... Id love to see them, Thriftfeather. I'm glad to see you too- in one piece," he commented, moving beside the other and giving a gentle bump against thrifts shoulder. "I'm sorry about your kit... But Celandinepaw and Cottonsprig- she's in good paws. What are their names?"

Milkthorn felt like he should know, but he didn't follow the gossip of the clan anymore. He stuck to himself, and merely listened. But lately, he's been distracted- training his apprentice and keeping his ass low and away from Sunstar- trying not to gain too much attention from anyone. It was unfortunately habit, anyways. To lay low, sit back, and do the duties required of him.

He didn't used to be like this, and it was weird how much more interaction was required with others while having an apprentice. But he was still proud for it, why shouldn't he be? It was a big step of trust. But- he was sure all of that was gone now.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather doesn't uncoil from around the litter entirely, but he loosens the curve of his body—moves the plume of his tail away to allow Milkthorn the space to see them. As impossibly small as they still seem, already they have grown. Thriftfeather finds that fact as a surprise every time he looks at them; finds the quiet wonder that these endlessly-squirming things will somehow grow into proper cats.

"This one—his name is Foalkit," Thriftfeather's voice remains as a hush as he gestures towards the darkest kit—worried that anything louder might disturb the brood's small ears, "And the other tom-kit is Comfreykit. The two she-kits are—they are Asterkit and Sootkit." He doesn't touch each one in turn, but it is a near-thing, "The one in the—the one staying with Cottonsprig is named Rimekit."

He looks down at them for a moment longer before dragging his attention back to Milkthorn.

"I never thought—" Never thought he would be back here, never thought he would have a family—never thought he would speak to Milkthorn again. Thriftfeather swallows the end of whatever he was to settle on, and with it, each possibility the words would elicit.

"You defended me." He says instead. It isn't a question: the why hangs behind his teeth, "Vulturepaw—I brought Vulturepaw to Bluefrost and Periwinklebreeze... Vulturepaw must have told that to Periwinklebreeze." They had reason to put faith in Thriftfeather, despite everything that came before, "You—I considered you a friend. I thought—after everything, after I left, you had every right to be angry with me."​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[milkthorn.]

Help I swear I responded to this SMH//

He settled down lower as Thriftfeather uncoiled around his brood, eyes filled with awe and amazement as the golden tom introduced them each to him. Milkthorn couldn't help the smile that tugged at the edges of his maw as he was revealed the small bodies, his expression genuine.

Though, Sootkit caused a small alarm in the tom, but he does not bring forth the question to his lips, it stays contained in his mind. He was not to judge a name, and a name meant nothing to who this child will be. "they're yours," he utters as if it wasn't common sense. But he meant plenty by it. The way they looked so similar to him and bluefrost. "They'll be strong warriors one day."

Thriftfeather handled them as fragile as flowers. He spoke so softly to them, but met milkthorns gaze, blue to gold, and he spoke. And at first, he was confused by what the tom was meant, and he gave a small head tilt towards the golden tom.

But he continued, and milkthorn would only let him do that, and his head tilt faded to intake a breath. "You're even still, my only friend Thriftfeather." His head turned to where dimmingsuns form would be out of the den before murmuring softly. "I have felt nothing but an outsider here in Windclan. I was born here, I went on the journey, I fought for the "good". But I am not looked at like the other warriors. They still look at me but a child, I feel."

Get to the point he reminded himself, giving a soft chuckle and licking his chest. "I could be angry. I could hate you. But one thing I learned through my life, is you cannot hold onto that anger. If you hold onto anger, it'll kill you itself. It'll drive you mad. Cats can change, and I know that well. I've changed. And you-" his gaze rose back up to the golden cat before him, leveling blue eyes with his as he rose up.

"You were never one against Windclan. Were you? You were following your leader, doing as you were told. And there's nothing wrong with that. Mistakes were made. And you are still my friend. You have come here, wishing to be apart of us again, in a home where you belong." His mind drew him back to snooping outside of Sunstars den. Listening to words he knew he should not be listening to. Of ghostwail, and the impact on the tom before him.

The white Tom rolled his shoulders, shifting on his paws. "Should I be mad at you? What wrong have you done to me, personally, Thriftfeather?" His words were nothing but genuine, soft.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Milkthorn calls Thriftfeather his friend as if it could be that simple and, perhaps dangerously, Thriftfeather considers the errant possibility that maybe it could be. He could allow for Milkthorn to still be his friend without protest or question, and at least one thing could remain as it was before in his life.

He listens to Milkthorn explain an all-to-familiar sense of isolation—one that exists despite Milkthorn being clanborn—and feels a strange sense of unfairness for Milkthorn. It isn't the way of things, it shouldn't be Milkthorn who feels as though he is only peering into a group that he exists on the fringes of. And yet he does, and yet Thriftfeather does, and there is little either of them can do about it beyond exist in this space.

You were never one against WindClan, were you? Milkthorn asks as if it is an uncomplicated thing.

"Everyone else seemed to know not to follow that leader," Thriftfeather cannot look at Milkthorn as he speaks, even as readily as he would admit the enormity of his shame, "I would have hurt you if it was asked of me. That—it can't be nothing. Whatever breaking point that everyone else had that—whatever it was that made everyone else lose their faith in Sootstar..."

Thriftfeather had thought he was choosing the winning side; had mistook shows of power for a promise of safety, and yet Milkthorn forgives him as if Thriftfeather there wasn't anything to forgive at all.

"I wasn't blind to how she was but I still—I pretended it wasn't so bad. And when it finally came to make my choice I just—I chose wrong, that day. I chose wrong." His voice tapers without fading completely, struck with the sense that he isn't going to convince Milkthorn of his fault, "But that doesn't—it doesn't bother you, does it?" ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[milkthorn.]

"I didn't know." He admits that so easily, without hesitation. He remembered that confusion when it all started. And he didn't even know why, he couldn't remember what led his paws away from Sootstars lead. But he knew the difference between right and wrong, but he was barely out of actually knowing. "I always dreamed, of being in Sootstars rank of lead warriors, of being respected by her, y'know."

His paws led him in a strange moral area that wasn't even where Sunstars paws tred. A strange visage of his face as a young child, beaming up at Sootstars great image, standing upon the rock, calling forth the clan- naming him Milkpaw. Telling him he would go on the great journey.

His face and body remains unmoving as Thriftfeather admits he would have hurt him, of it was asked of him. "It doesn't bother me, because you weren't the only one. My sister, she died that day, y'know. Killed by the loyalists for trying to.. turn sides last minute. Killed by our own ma." Her face twisted in a painful way, eyes having just been begging for his forgiveness, body contorted and covered in blood. And pain ripped through him as he threw himself her way, as if it was happening even know, killing her. Looking down on her with misery and regret.

His face remains neutral despite the thoughts, but his blue eyes held a grimness to them. He had never told anyone this. "I don't expect, that by defying the loyalists, you would want that same fate. If .. if you had turned against them, you wouldn't be here- with your children. With Bluefrost."

Maybe there was a slight pain in his eyes that his clan still didn't accept him even now. All he had ever wanted, was someone to be proud of him, really. But he tries not to let Thriftfeather see his emotions. "I was never mad at you. I couldn't be."

​