Seasons change and so do we | Willowroot

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

Though wilful, stubborn, independent to a fault; though more likely to forge on ahead, careless of those she leaves behind, than sit still and obediently, Hazewish has always come home to roost at the end of the day, and she credits her parent for that.

Their family is a close-knit one. Their mothers’ love is absolute and expressed openly; the two litters, in spite of their age difference (and other kinds of differences, in the case of Mosspool and Hazewish), are close and know to go to each other for help and support. But if they had to pick a relative they are closest to, Haze would name Willowroot. She’s always been gentle when Haze needed comfort, firm when they needed guidance, fierce when they needed protecting and patient when they needed freedom. But more than that — because Poppysplash could be all these things as well — they have always understood each other, without the need for words.

It was a relief when Hazewish did not feel like speaking, or when her few sparse words frustrated others. And after seeing the tightness around Willow’s eyes as they struggle to make out words spoken around them since the rogue battle that saw their ear torn beyond repair, she thinks it will be a boon for them as well.

Padding up to her mother, Haze presses her whole face into Willow’s soft dark pelt with a deep purr, copper eyes made soft with concern darting to the side to catch hers in a question: how are you? Do you need anything?

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( ) she is in a period of mourning for something other than life. every day she wakes and goes to twitch her ears, to press them back as she yawns, and only one responds. she licks her paw to drag it across her head, simply grooming, and pain ricochets through her body. it's hard to understand loosing something so integral to her everyday life. beyond the physical ear being gone, a scrap of skin left to float to the bottom of the river, willowroot is struggling with her lack of hearing.

ravensong had said her hearing would be fine, that one didn't need an ear in order to hear, but either the medicine cat had been wrong, or starclan had taken those words as a challenge, because for the first few days after her injury, the ringing in her ear would not go away. now, a while later, she is beginning to not hear anything at all in that ear. it's a difficult adjustment, something she loathes to admit she's struggling with more than she feels she should.

laying on her side outside of the medicine den, a place she has barely left recently, the dark feline's gaze lightens as she recognizes her daughter approaching. hazewish, her bold, bright child, cat of few words but many actions. a rusty purr pulls from willowroot's chest and she presses up against the silver feline, rasping her tongue across the other's cheek when they pull away. vaguely, she notes that the other has approached from her good side, and something in her warms at the thought that already her loved ones are accommodating to aid her.

"hazey, darling," she'll murmur, sweeping her tail across the ground to indicate her desire for the other to join her in sitting. there is concern in her child's copper gaze- she's learned to pick up on unspoken questions, an accommodation in itself, she supposes, for hazewish's few words. "i'm alright, sweetheart. learning to manage with one ear," there's a broken kind of amusement in willowroot's tone, a sort of keep on the bright side outlook she's trying to portray. still, beyond her tone, her verdant eyes are dark with exhaustion. "sit with me?"



  • // " speak "



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  • WILLOWROOT ☼ SHE / THEY, WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORING ROBINPAW. PENNED BY LAVS
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    a long-haired black smoke oriental with sage-green eyes. smokey long fur coats the length of willowroot's lithe body, with friendly sage green eyes that narrow in an almond shape. her muzzle and limbs are thin and long due to her oriental heritage.



 
TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s funny how Willow asks, considering: she’s their mother, and she’s hurt, and Haze loves her so, so much — of course they will sit with her, for as long as she wants.

They tuck themselves right against her side, paws tucked under the silver waves of their fur, her warmth felt even through the thick coat. Very carefully, mindful of jostling healing wounds, they lick their parent’s good ear, just for good measure. ”Still pretty,” they say with a serious nod. ”Best warrior.” It’s not like Willowroot would need two ears to leave everyone else in the dust. If anything it would help others get to their level, maybe, while they acclimate to the change.

Settled comfortably, she turns her eyes to their surroundings, musing. She finds herself trying to fill the quiet, adding a familiar voice to the air in hopes of comforting her mother while she recuperates — no matter the brave space, she can imagine losing an ear hurts. A sight catches her attention and she jerks her head towards Lichentail, the blue cat easy to spot in the camp. ”Match,” she notes with a smile: the two had now similar profiles with their torn ears.