private Poor George, poor George ☁ Whitepaw

[VIPERPAW]

*+:｡.｡ "WHITEPAW!" Viperpaw's ever-howling cry tears through the quiet evening as, per usual, he forgets his indoor voice despite stepping through the threshold of the medicine den. Blinking rapidly through the darkness, he trains his eyes immediately on his friend and scurries close. "Howre' you feeling? Uh - you don't look too bad!" he barks helpfully, dropping down into a crouch beside his injured clanmate. He isn't sure what to say in moments like these, but a hero never balks in the face of uncertainty! "Are you hungry? Thirsty? NAME IT AND ILL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU!" he promises with a determined nod. After all, he was certain his friend fought valiantly to earn a cool scar like that! And...losing a sibling couldn't have been easy.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 10/11/24

• "SPEECH"
  
  
  GENERAL:
  ☁ Viperpaw
  ☁ DFAB— He/Him
  ☁ 10 moons
  ☁ Son of Snakehiss and Berrysnap
  ☁ Brother to Rowanpaw, Snakepaw and Privetpaw
  ☁ Windclan — Tunneler's apprentice
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☁Physically easy | mentally medium
  ☁Attack in bold white
  ☁ None currently

 

[whitepaw]

Whitepaw shifts slightly on the nest, grimacing as a bolt of pain shoots through the muscles in his face. He doesn't bother to greet Viperpaw as he bounds in, the other tom's voice crashing into the quiet like a boulder dropped into a still stream. His single eye narrows at the noise, the corner of his mouth twitching downward. Of course, it's Viperpaw—who else would burst in here like the medicine den is his personal stage? The eagerness in Viperpaw's tone is exhausting, but Whitepaw doesn't have the energy to bristle. He hold still as the other crouches beside him, though his fur prickles at the proximity. He doesn't want to answer the question, doesn't want to talk about how he feels—because how he feels is heavy and raw, like the edges of his wounds. Instead, he stares at Viperpaw, unblinking, his expression neutral.

The rush of words continues, tumbling out in a frantic stream. Whitepaw cuts him off with a sharp flick of his tail. "I don't need anything," he says, his voice low and flat. He doesn't look at Viperpaw, his gaze fixed instead on the shadowed walls of the den. "You don't have to shout about it." The words come out harsher than he means, but he doesn't care enough to soften them. He doesn't want pity, or help, or questions about how he's feeling. He wants silence—silence and space to figure out how he's supposed to keep going now. For a moment, his claws flex against the moss beneath him. Viperpaw looks at him like he's some hero who fought a valiant battle, like Whitepaw chose this. Chose to lose part of himself. He exhales sharply, his frustration barely contained. "If you really want to help, maybe try not acting like this is some kind of... grand adventure." He glances at Viperpaw then, his gaze sharp. "It's not."​