private RISE // snakehiss

[cottonsprig]

[ retro his warrior ceremony teehee ]

Frustration itches at her paw pads, though anxiety just the same tickles her ears. She understands her father's toughened stance, however Cottonpaw still finds distress in the coldness of Weaselclaw's eyes. They served well against Adderpaw, when her brother was being a bit too stubborn. But against her? It hurts. She wonders if she needs another reminder of how far she's fallen - but then again, she's been paired up with Snakepaw for another chore (cleaning out the nursery, namely, whilst the queens take their kits out for a walk.) Is it a punishment, she wonders?

"Hey - Snakepaw?" she calls his name, rolling a ball of dried moss under her paw. She looks towards the dark furred tom, and for a split moment she spies Magpiepaw. That imagery is quickly dashed when his gaze lifts to her, spilling with annoyance and venom. She ignores it, "Is your dad tough with you, too?" she decides to ask, sitting on her haunches and pausing their chore for a quick moment. "Mine - Weaselclaw - was confronted by some ShadowClanner, and they wanted to give me a gift... and now he's all worried that I've done something wrong." She talks as if she's disgusted by the act, though her chest hurts somewhat with knowing how much she did like Magpiepaw. If only he were a WindClanner instead... She chases the thought away.​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

It wasn't often that Snakepaw and Cottonpaw were paired together to do much of anything, especially considering that they were training in different specialties, but today the ashen-hued she-cat was his partner. At least her voice was less grating than it used to be, and she seemed to be growing out of her kitten-like hyperactivity. She was just another apprentice to him now; as long as Snakepaw continued to work hard, she wouldn't stand in his way of earning Sootstar's favor.

Cottonpaw suddenly poses a question to him, to which Snakepaw glances up and considers before meowing, "Unbelievably so." A vague undertone of indignation accompanies his response, though not so much to suggest that Snakepaw's relationship with his father is necessarily soured. Strained at times, yes, but Shadowsight was still a warrior that he respected and wanted to please. He believed his father only wanted the best for him; isn't that what all good parents wanted?

He pricked his ears, watching with a cool gaze as Cottonpaw explained her predicament, only slightly raising his brows once she mentions the ShadowClanner. Why wouldn't the lead warrior be upset with Cottonpaw? Harebrain. "You are Sootstar's daughter. You, of all cats, are expected to display the utmost sense of loyalty to WindClan." Weaselclaw can be strict at times but it seems that he truly and genuinely loves his children. He's certainly more lighthearted and loving toward them than Shadowsight could ever care to be with him. There was no doubt that Weaselclaw was likely looking out for his daughter's own safety, especially after the incident with RiverClan. No other clan could be trusted, especially not around WindClan royalty. There were many cats in the forest who were itching to sink their claws into Sootstar's pelt, and if not her, then her own flesh and blood.

Still, Snakepaw knew what it was like to have a father who was overbearing at times. He was no leader's son, but his family had lived in the moors for as long as Sootstar's. There were many pressures and expectations to bring his bloodline honor, which included becoming a respectable and fierce warrior. "I understand why he'd be upset. I surely would not want one of my kits mingling with the wrong sort." The dark-furred tom admits with a shrug before he picks up a clump of old bedding in his jaws and carries it toward the nursery's entrance.

He then turns around and pads back into the nursery, shadows cascading across his sharp features as serpentine-like emerald hues glint with inklings of curiosity. The thought of Sootstar and Weaselclaw's oh-so-perfect child running into trouble─with ShadowClan, this time─is admittedly amusing to the tom. Instead of choosing to humiliate Cottonpaw and take this as an opportunity to shun her for her actions, Snakepaw inquires, "Which ShadowClanner? Why would they want to give you a gift?"​

 

[cottonsprig]

In truth when Cottonpaw questions the other, she does so selfishly. She wants to talk about her plights in her family with someone so far outside of it - and Snakepaw happens to be the surprise victim. That said, when he replies after a moment, she reconsiders the topic. Cottonpaw is unsure if she's properly spoken to the tom's parents - prideful folk, certainly, but do they push Snakepaw to his limits? Are they the reason why he's so often unbelievably bitter?

Cottonpaw twitches an ear and sorts her questions away for later - she wants to neg him now for answers, but she can see in his eyes how he's nonverbally calling her an idiot. Her tail lashes, instead, when he does speak. "And you don't think I know that?" she bites, brow furrowing. "I don't know - maybe I thought with five of us, the... responsibility of being perfect would be shared." It's a childish idea, she thinks, now that she's heard it out loud. She grits her teeth and knocks the dry moss ball towards Snakepaw in a thinly veiled playful manner, trying to hide her personal frustration and embarrassment.

He continues to speak, and she's quick to pitch, "You'd have to find someone eager to settle for you, first, before y'can think of kits," once he leaves the air to. Her smile is faint, her jests and attempts to create a lighthearted situation out of a short lived mess - failing. At least, from her perspective. Cottonpaw's ears flick backwards for a moment as she returns to work, pulling out threads of dead moss from a nearby nest.

Her gaze flicks up towards Snakepaw as the tom moves towards the entrance. She tries to picture him a father - surely several, several moons older. Maybe a mouse length taller? Broader shoulders, more scars, an attitude that still won't quit. Frankly, everything he is now, but slightly more mature. Cottonpaw wonders if his kits would be lucky to have him - either in the way that he's lucky to have his dad, or in the way Spiderbloom's litter is lucky to not.

Cottonpaw's thoughts trip and run, and it doesn't take long for the blip of a thought to appear; He'd be kind of cute, if he acted sweet to kittens... Her brows furrow and the idea is dashed (at least, she thinks it is, though it lingers just outside of her mind's eye.) He seems unbothered by her standing silence, positing a few questions of his own. And she, for one, is grateful for the distraction, and much more grateful for her flighty attention span.

"Magpiepaw. You might've met him on border patrols - he was a warrior apprentice, but I guess he swapped into learning about leaves and stuff," again, she's rolling moss under her paw, staring aimlessly towards it. She's quicker to recover her thoughts this go around, however. "I was friendly with him a few moons back. And then again at the gathering. I... guess he got the wrong idea. Wanted to be friends, or whatever," Cottonpaw is glad that her infatuation - if one can call it that - with the wobbly ShadowClan tom was short lived (as far as she can tell.) She's be in deeper trouble if she actually felt something for him.

"I'm going to the border to tell him off soon - Weaselclaw demanded, and Badgermoon approved." She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, though her ears tell a different story of annoyance. He had seemed annoyed to speak of his dad before, however frankly she wants the attention off of her for just a moment. "What would your dad do? If some cat from another Clan asked for you, I mean,"​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

The wad of dried bog tumbles across the way before wedging itself under Snakepaw's awaiting claw, ivory dagger curling out of its sheath so that it could poke and prod the spongy surface. It has some give, though it is not as fresh and damp as it once was. Viridian hues focus on Cottonpaw, triangular ears pricking with a rather newfound interest as she delves into her frustrations about upholding familial expectations and the like. It's a rather curious perspective; he's never taken it upon himself to have a conversation with any of Sootstar's children. For a long time, their very presence spurred a boiling jealousy that constantly threatened to bubble over the edge. Now, they were older ─ all of them were, with Snakepaw nearly being a warrior now.

Cottonpaw attempts a friendly jab at him and his apparent lack of romantic charm, and though Snakepaw seems to take no genuine offense, he snorts, "Please," He swishes his tail, hooking the moss ball on his claw. "I won't have any problems in finding someone, not when I'll be the best moor runner this clan has ever seen." The prideful tom boasts, smugness peaking through a faint grin as he tilts his chin upward. Even as a warrior he'll still be considered an apprentice, a mere juvenile in the eyes of the other clans, though he's already thinking about when he'll take a mate. Truthfully, Snakepaw hasn't given much consideration to romance, but he knows that his parents expect him to settle down and have a family earlier than later. They want grandkits to dote upon, to ensure that their legacies carry on strong in WindClan even after they've passed. Whitekit had tainted blood, even as his kin, so his family's bloodline solely rested upon his shoulders.

He tosses the wad in the direction of the den's exit. Magpiepaw, she mentions, and he wracks his brain for any memory of a cat by that name. Unsurprisingly, Snakepaw can't recall anything ─ ShadowClanners weren't worth any corner of his brain, and he really only cares to take note of their leader and deputy. Other than that, they were all just the same to him ─ mud-covered, toad-breathed fleabags.

Anyhow, it seemed that Magpiepaw ─ a newly-made medicine cat apprentice from what Cottonpaw implies ─ wanted to pursue a friendship with the Moor Princess. Snakepaw slightly cocks a brow; only friendship, he wonders? He briefly entertains the twisted thought of that smelly ShadowClanner catching legitimate feelings for Cottonpaw; cross-clan relationships were strictly forbidden and frowned upon, but that wasn't to say that they never occurred. Cottonpaw would land herself in a heap of trouble if that was the case! That was probably the reason why Weaselclaw was being so harsh on her.

When Cottonpaw once again tries to pick his brain on the subject of his father, Snakepaw shakes his head and lets his gaze flit toward the empty wall of the den. "Probably the same as Weaselclaw." Those two were not very different, after all. "That, or disown me." The admission is bitter on his tongue, a tough herb to swallow, but reputation meant the world to Shadowsight. It was the very foundation of his being, of his status, and without it... he would be nothing. For his son to risk his and his mate's respectability in the eyes of the clan and Sootstar... it would be absolutely devastating.

Emerald hues flick upward, once again meeting an aqua-hued pair, though this time they linger for a little longer than usual. A realization settles upon the tom's brain like daybreak ─ here they both were, with the issue of family reputation and legacy weighing heavily upon their shoulders. What if they could both be of benefit to one another? "We're not so different, you and I." Both born of moor blood, both heirs in their own rights. "Cats like us can't afford to jeopardize the names of our parents. We are their legacies, and it's our duty to uphold them." Snakepaw speaks, narrowing his pupils, hoping that somewhere in Cottonpaw's burr-filled brain she could find an understanding in his words.

Ah, yes, their chores. Snakepaw approached a nest and began scraping old pieces of bedding off of the sides, though not bothering to look over his shoulder as he inquired, "So what are you planning on telling this Magpiepaw? I'm sure Weaselclaw won't allow you to 'let him down easy'." Cottonpaw, being upfront and direct ( and perhaps even cold ) to a ShadowClanner. That he'd like to see, but he's sure that Weaselclaw has already sorted the members of his patrol. A shame.​