- Nov 29, 2022
- 25
- 4
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It was about time Daisypaw made herself a proper nest.
On her first night in SkyClan's camp - that is, the night they got there - she had been directed to a den to sleep in. She didn't have to peek for long to realize it was the nursery, where the kits slept. In spite of it all, that moment had filled her with a sense of indignation. Yet by the time she turned to inform the guiding warrior that she was an apprentice, they had already walked away.
Off she had gone, then. Not into the nursery, but a secluded spot near the edge of camp where she had managed to settle down on the earth and curl up tight, wishing for it all to have been a bad dream. It wasn't.
In fact, the bicolor apprentice had only wormed her way into the nursery only once, late on a particularly cold night, instead opting to seclude herself in the furthest corner of the den despite the soft words of an awoken queen.
She didn't want to sleep on her scraped-together makeshift nest (under stars that felt dull and faded in comparison to the expansive skies of the moor) anymore. She wanted a real one. A soft one.
The thought had struck her sometime the following day. Daisypaw wasn't quite sure how to go about it, really. She couldn't leave camp. At least, she had never tried. She would just get lost. Everyone seemed intent on treating her like a kit anyway.
Briefly, she recalled the time Echolight let her help with making their nest, patting down moss with plenty of breaks to play with it. Her throat tightened a little, and she firmly shook herself, biting back the threatening tears. She wasn't a kit anymore. Wasn't, wasn't, wasn't. She couldn't cry all the time. Only kits did that. So with a sniffle, she went off in search of moss.
Well... ferns, then. After all that, she only managed to find a scrap of moss clinging to a rock, barely enough for half a nest. She would just have to make do with it, carefully pressing it out just like her mother did. It felt like so long ago. Plucked ferns lay scattered about. She didn't want to ask anyone for moss, and the thought made her nervous, so she worked intently with what little she managed to gather.
On her first night in SkyClan's camp - that is, the night they got there - she had been directed to a den to sleep in. She didn't have to peek for long to realize it was the nursery, where the kits slept. In spite of it all, that moment had filled her with a sense of indignation. Yet by the time she turned to inform the guiding warrior that she was an apprentice, they had already walked away.
Off she had gone, then. Not into the nursery, but a secluded spot near the edge of camp where she had managed to settle down on the earth and curl up tight, wishing for it all to have been a bad dream. It wasn't.
In fact, the bicolor apprentice had only wormed her way into the nursery only once, late on a particularly cold night, instead opting to seclude herself in the furthest corner of the den despite the soft words of an awoken queen.
She didn't want to sleep on her scraped-together makeshift nest (under stars that felt dull and faded in comparison to the expansive skies of the moor) anymore. She wanted a real one. A soft one.
The thought had struck her sometime the following day. Daisypaw wasn't quite sure how to go about it, really. She couldn't leave camp. At least, she had never tried. She would just get lost. Everyone seemed intent on treating her like a kit anyway.
Briefly, she recalled the time Echolight let her help with making their nest, patting down moss with plenty of breaks to play with it. Her throat tightened a little, and she firmly shook herself, biting back the threatening tears. She wasn't a kit anymore. Wasn't, wasn't, wasn't. She couldn't cry all the time. Only kits did that. So with a sniffle, she went off in search of moss.
Well... ferns, then. After all that, she only managed to find a scrap of moss clinging to a rock, barely enough for half a nest. She would just have to make do with it, carefully pressing it out just like her mother did. It felt like so long ago. Plucked ferns lay scattered about. She didn't want to ask anyone for moss, and the thought made her nervous, so she worked intently with what little she managed to gather.