private she breathes // sunflowermask

[cottonsprig]

Cottonfang - the name feels odd on her tongue despite the mornings and nights with it. Some cats have accepted it for fact despite the dastardly way its come to be, whilst others fumble, and some disregard entirely. Cotton, she's been shortened to once or twice. As if she's one of the horseplace loners, her rank stricken from the scheme of it all. Perhaps she's deserving of an end in the hay. Her thoughts narrow themselves to less fortunate hopes as of late. She's watched by former friends and Clanmates as if she's a threat to them, and though it annoys her, she cannot blame a single soul. She came late, after all. She almost feels like she shouldn't have come at all.

Her shoulder taps into that of another, mind elsewhere once again and her gaze flicks up to see just who she's knocked into. No malice holds in her tone as she sputters a quick, "Oh, shoot - sorry," though her following words taper into something of a mumble when she sees Sunflowermask. It feels like moons since she's seen her friend last. Her ears fold back for a moment, before she continues as if she hadn't paused at all, "I didn't scuff you or anything, no?" she doubts it, but she doesn't want them to disappear so quickly.​