private point of no return ] stormywing

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit crouches low to the ground, ears flattened against its head as it moves silently along the edge of the camp. It takes care with each step, glancing around to make sure no one's watching. The camp is still, the warriors and apprentices busy with their daily tasks, their attention elsewhere. Perfect. Howlkit's heart beats steadily in its chest as it nears the wall of the camp, a place it's been eyeing for days now. It's tired of sitting in camp, always under the watchful eyes of others. The walls feel like they're closing in on it, like they're suffocating it with their unspoken judgments and endless expectations. So it sneaks out, slipping through a small gap between the brambles with a practiced ease, paws landing on the cold earth outside.

The air outside feels different. Cleaner, sharper. Howlkit breathes in deeply, taking a moment to savor the freedom of being alone out here. It gazes up at the wall of the ravine, the steep incline towering above it. The smooth patches of rock alternate with areas cluttered with tufts of grass and scraggly bushes, but to Howlkit, the path is clear. It's climbed smaller rocks and brambles before—this can't be much different. With a determined huff, it begins its ascent. Its claws dig into the rock, small paws gripping onto whatever ledges it can find as it steadily pulls itself upward. The ground below falls away inch by inch as Howlkit climbs higher, its muscles straining, but the adrenaline flooding its veins pushes it forward. This is what it needs—focus, a task, something that makes it feel alive and separate from the weight of its thoughts.

Yet, as it climbs, the wall becomes trickier. The rocks here are smoother, slick from recent rain, and the gaps to grab onto grow smaller. Howlkit narrows its eyes, concentrating, its paws trembling slightly as it reaches for the next ledge. Its pads slip against the wet stone, a cold spike of fear shooting through its chest for the first time since it began. Howlkit ignores it, reaching higher, willing itself not to fall. Suddenly, its back paw slips. It happens in an instant. The stone underfoot gives way, and for a breathless moment, Howlkit hangs suspended, its front claws scrabbling uselessly for purchase. Its heart seizes in its chest, eyes widening as it feels itself begin to fall backward, paws flailing in the empty air. Then, it's weightless. The world tilts, and the ground rushes up to meet it.

@STORMYWING ​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing was in the middle of organizing her own hunting patrol when something at the edge of her vision catches her attention. She looks away from her friends, golden eyes narrowing as she spots the small shape of Howlkit slipping out of camp through the brambles.

With a flash of alarm, the warrior’s heart leaps into her throat and she abandons the other cats with a quick “Be right back.” She’s no snitch. She doesn’t want to draw attention to this little rulebreak, but she also is intent on keeping her former apprentice’s kin safe. As she slips out of camp with a frown, she immediately begins to round the bramble barrier to try to find the kit and comes upon it scrambling up the slick ravine, paws slipping dangerously on the rocks. With a gasp, she bolts toward the base of the slope, her swift paws barely touching the ground. She reaches the bottom just in time to see Howlkit lose its grip.

"No!" She shouts, bunching her muscles before leaping forward. The kit tumbles down, but Stormywing is already there, eyes locked onto Howlkit as she stretches out her neck and snatches the kit’s scruff in her teeth just before it could crash to the ground. The momentum jars her slightly, but she holds firm, tucking protectively around Howlkit as she slides back onto solid ground.

"Gotcha," She breathes, her chest heaving as she carefully sets Howlkit down. She steps back just enough to look it over, making sure it’s not injured. "What in StarClan's name do you think you're doing, Howlkit? You know better than to sneak out like that!" She sternly scolds, but there is remarkably no anger in her voice, just fear and relief. The tabby’s heart is still pounding from the close call, though, and she lets out a slow breath, shaking her head. "You could've been seriously hurt, or worse." Her tone softens as she meets the kit's amber gaze. She has now placed her body strategically between the child and the ravine wall, making sure it won’t try the stunt again.

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit feels the world spin as it slips down the ravine, sharp stones scraping its paws and sending jolts of pain up its legs. The ground vanishes from beneath its feet, and for a split second, there is only air—the rush of the fall and the hollow sound of failure in its ears. It was so close. It could have made it. But as its paws slip, the reality of what is happening settles in fast. Its heart pounds in its chest, beating louder and louder until—sharp teeth grip its scruff, pulling it from the brink of disaster.

It dangles, weightless in the grip of Stormywing, before feeling solid ground again beneath its paws. Howlkit winces as she sets it down, muscles still tensed from the adrenaline. The cold stone of the ravine is no longer beneath it, but it can still feel the sting of humiliation more acutely than the physical pain. The warrior's voice cuts through the air—sharp, but not angry. Howlkit hears the words, but they are distant, as if Stormywing's scolding is coming from somewhere far away. Its amber eyes flicker to meet hers for a moment before glancing away, scanning the path up the ravine again, still thinking about the path it should've taken to avoid slipping. It hadn't gotten far enough. Not far enough to be free of the camp's eyes, not far enough to join the world outside properly.

Howlkit doesn't respond right away. Its mind is still whirling with the failed escape, with how close it had come. All it had wanted was a moment of silence, away from the constant watchfulness of the camp, away from the shadow of its siblings and the weight of everything it couldn't say. But the moment is gone now, ruined by the slip of a paw. Stormywing's words hang in the air, warning of the danger, the injury, the supposed 'worse' that could've happened. But isn't that the point? Howlkit isn't afraid of being hurt. Pain is something it knows—something it expects. What Howlkit fears is the constant feeling of being trapped, of always having someone between it and an escape. Stormywing's presence, now standing protectively between it and the ravine, only makes that feeling worse.

It finally speaks, its voice low and steady, but carrying that familiar edge of distrust. "I would've been fine." A lie, perhaps, but one it tells itself as much as it tells Stormywing. Its eyes dart back to the path it had been climbing, scanning the way it had slipped. "You didn't need to catch me." There is no anger in Howlkit's tone, no challenge—just the quiet insistence that it could have done it, that it didn't need saving. The disappointment isn't in Stormywing or the scolding; it's in itself, in not being good enough to make it on its own.​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing watches the kit carefully, her sharp eyes catching its tense posture and the flicker of defiance behind its amber gaze. Her chest tightens with familiarity when it finally speaks. It certainly is an independent little creature, isn’t it? It brings her back to her apprenticeship, that constant gnawing need to prove herself, to push past everyone's expectations. So yeah, she gets it.

She sighs, her tail twitching lightly as she steps closer. "Maybe you would've been fine," She admits calmly. "But that's not something you can know for sure. We both know how dangerous that climb was - one wrong move, and it could've gone way worse." Her golden gaze softens, but her voice remains firm as she trills, "You remind me of myself when I was a kid. I thought I didn't need anyone either." She gives a small, rueful smile. "But let me tell you something - being strong doesn't mean doing everything on your own. You're allowed to let others have your back sometimes."

Stormywing steps back again and shrugs casually. "But I get it. You want to get out of camp, feel like you can breathe. But here’s the thing - your sister will kill me if I let that happen. So why don’t we work something else out?” She tilts her head, brow raising curiously. “Climbing with someone who knows the ropes might be better than trying to do it solo, at least until you've got it figured out. Why don’t we try the ravine wall in camp next time?" Her golden eyes watch the kit carefully, waiting to see if Howlkit will take the offer or push back again. Either way, she's not about to leave it alone - they will be heading back to camp even if she has to drag it by its tail.
​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit's muscles remain coiled, tense, even as Stormywing speaks. It doesn't trust her, doesn't trust anyone, really. Its gaze flickers between her paws and the dirt beneath them, refusing to meet her eyes. It curls its tail tighter, a small, instinctual defense. It doesn't like being compared to anyone, especially not to an older cat like Stormywing. She doesn't know what it's like—being so small, so vulnerable, but still feeling like it's got to carry the weight of its world. No one's been there for Howlkit, not really. Not since Baying Hound. They all see it as a troublemaker, a wild thing, something to be controlled. So when Stormywing talks about letting others have its back, it's hard not to bristle, hard not to feel like this is just another adult trying to box it in.

'Maybe you would've been fine,' she says, and Howlkit clenches its jaw. Of course I would've been fine. It knows the risks, knows every step of that climb, every loose rock and unstable ledge. It's been watching, learning, even when the others aren't paying attention. Howlkit's always watching. The thought of her implying otherwise—it sends a flash of anger through its chest. She thinks it's just some reckless kit, doesn't she? Like it can't handle the world on its own. She's wrong. Even though it slipped, it would have simply been bruised and then stood up, and tried again. Stormywing steps closer, and instinctively, Howlkit stiffens, its claws digging into the ground. Its teeth flash, bared at the warrior in front of it, a low growl escaping its throat as it takes a step back from her. A warning not to get closer, lest it bite yet another of its 'clanmates'. Her golden eyes soften, and that just makes the anger simmer hotter. It doesn't need her softness, doesn't need her pity.

When she talks about not needing anyone, it almost feels like she's describing what Howlkit tries to hide—the loneliness that gnaws at it when the camp is quiet, when it's sitting by itself behind the warriors' den, chewing on its thoughts. But letting others have its back? Howlkit's stomach twists at the idea. Letting others close means giving them the power to hurt you. Baying Hound taught it that. Howlkit won't be vulnerable again, won't give anyone the chance to turn on it. Stormywing steps back, and for a moment, Howlkit thinks this conversation might end. But no—of course, she keeps pushing. Offering an alternative. The idea of climbing in camp doesn't sound completely awful, but still, it's a risk. Howlkit doesn't want to admit it, but there's a knot of frustration, even a bit of shame, curling tight in its chest. It doesn't want to be dependent on anyone. But... maybe she's right about one thing. Maybe climbing with someone could help it learn, get stronger. And strength is what Howlkit craves most—strength to keep itself safe, to never feel helpless again, to never fall beneath the claws of something bigger and stronger than it is.

Howlkit narrows its eyes, still unsure if it's willing to take her up on the offer. It doesn't like the idea of owing her, doesn't like the idea of having to trust someone else, even a little. But if it pushes back now, it will not be any better off. That much is clear. It huffs, a small, begrudging sigh escaping it, though it tries to hide it. "Fine," it mutters, voice low, but with an edge of defiance still curling through its words. "But I don't need your help. I can do it myself. You just... watch." It turns away slightly, unwilling to let her see the flicker of uncertainty in its eyes. Even if it agrees to this, it'll be on its terms. It'll make sure of that. After all, it may have agreed, but the only reason it's doing so is so that it will be able to get out without falling next time it makes the attempt.​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing’s brow lifts in a surprised response to the defiant flash of teeth and the little growl. She steps back to give it more space, but there's no flinch in her posture. She's faced worse threats than an angry kit’s tantrum. Still, the tabby knows better than to push too hard when emotions are running this high.

"Alright, easy," She says firmly. "I'm not here to trap you, okay? I just want to keep you safe." She flicks her ears, the offer to climb the ravine wall in camp reluctantly accepted. There's fire in this kit, a stubborn streak that reminds her so much of its older sister it hurts. Howlkit's independence is fierce, but she knows from experience that pushing it further right now will only make things worse. She learned that with Fallowbite.

“Good, now that that’s settled,” The she-cat flicks her tail once towards the bramble barrier nearby, standing taller, “let's head back to camp. The last thing we need is your kin panicking when they realize you’re gone." Her tone is lighter now as a smirk plays on her maw, almost teasing, but she still keeps a close eye on Howlkit, ready to pivot if the kit's defiance flares up again. She's prepared to carry it back if need be, but she's hoping it'll take this olive branch and walk beside her instead.
​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit narrows his amber eyes, watching Stormywing with a mixture of defiance and suspicion. Her easygoing tone and the way she steps back as if giving him space don't escape his notice. She might say she's not here to trap him, but he's heard words like that before. His teeth clench as he considers her—strong, unflinching, acting like she's just waiting him out. Adults always think they know best, always pushing him around like he's some lost kit who needs guidance. But he's not lost. He knows why he left camp. He knows that, out here, no one can hover over him or give him pitying glances. Alone, he can pretend for just a moment that he's in control of his world. But now she's here, this warrior he barely knows, trying to tell him she's not a threat. His lip curls slightly. She mentioned safety—his kin worrying—and, somewhere under his anger, the reminder tugs at him. His littermates might miss him if he didn't come back. They might think he abandoned them. And that thought gnaws at his heart in a way he hates to admit.

He doesn't answer her immediately, letting her words hang in the air. There's a part of him that's tempted to keep growling, keep lashing out, to see if she's really as unbothered as she's acting. But another part, smaller but growing louder, feels a kind of weariness at this endless fight. Being angry all the time is exhausting. Maybe, just this once, he can give in without it feeling like he's lost a fight. So, with a stubborn huff, Howlkit finally speaks up, his voice gruff and guarded. "Fine," he mutters, keeping his chin lifted, eyes still narrowed. "But only 'cause I don't want them looking for me." He casts her a sideways glance, still unwilling to fully let down his guard. "And don't think this means I want your help." The kit begins to pad back toward camp, every step heavy with reluctance, but he keeps his eyes forward. If Stormywing wants to follow him, that's her business, but he's not going to wait around for her, nor give her the satisfaction of caring either way whether she follows.​