private silki ok ærlik pæl — scorch jr

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 His latest encounters with the young Scorchkit have led Wolfsong here, to a relatively quiet space not far from the nursery, the tunneler's daughter in tow. Before seeking her company, he'd gathered varying stones— many flat, or partly flat, but of a range of shapes and sizes. A challenge by design, and one he thinks may be suited to Scorchkit, though it is –admittedly– not entirely for the selfless reason of her entertainment. In a way, it feels that he resurrects his mother in each stone tower, chasing a glimpse of her darker eyes and the forgotten murmur of her voice.

Still. It will do the young feline some good, he thinks. She expressed an interest in the tower to Periwinklebreeze, and he is aware of WindClan's tendency to forego certain interests in favor of others. He values much of what they do, but there is more to their world than hunting and training and giving thanks to StarClan.

"I did this with my mother when I was your age," he says as he sits, smiling at her warmly. "I liked to find the hardest stones, but she always stacked them better than I did."
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[SCORCHSTORM]

TAGS — There's a strange air over WindClan, and it lies in more than just the gales that buffet their moorlands. It is an air of defeat: one that Scorchkit has trouble reconciling. Her parents have always taught her of WindClan's unmatchable strength, wit, and loyalty-- that they could overcome any challenge thrown at them. Whether it was their strength that carried them through, or their connection with StarClan to aid them, or their cunning in the tunnels, WindClan would triumph. But it's not the case now, is it? Sootstar had lost a life, a fact that even now makes her head spin with confusion. She's hardly old enough to consider her own mortality, let alone her indomitable leader's. What did it mean for Sootstar? What did it mean for WindClan? What did it mean for Scorchkit?

She's not sure. It swirls behind her bicolored eyes as she trails Wolfsong, unsure of what exactly he is leading her to, but too obedient not to follow. But as they come upon the quiet hollow, the girl's ears prick with interest. Stones litter the ground- stones like she'd been collecting with Periwinklebreeze, she recalls -but these ones come in different shapes. Harder shapes, she thinks-- and Wolfsong seems to confirm it with his own anecdote. Scorchkit doesn't reply for a moment, too busy taking in the scene (and, admittedly, a little shy to be talking to a lead warrior, whom she has been taught to treat with the utmost respect). But her tail betrays her seeming indifference, twitching with curiosity. Her eyes shine, too, as they sweep across each contour of the rocks Wolfsong has collected.

Finally, she finds her confidence: "did your mother like WindClan?" It's a silly query to a warrior, but despite Scorchstreak's history lessons, her daughter struggles to grasp the idea that WindClan has not been around for eons upon eons. Further, she fails to consider that a warrior as dedicated and kind as Wolfsong could originate anywhere except for the moorlands. In fact, her imagination creates addendums to her question: I bet she was a tunneler, because she liked rocks. Just like Scorchkit would grow up to be, she is sure.

Amid her thinking the kitten has moved forward to select a particularly suitable base for her tower. It's wide and flat, a nearly-perfect circle that would do well to support any stone she stacks on top of it. Her limited experience with Periwinklbreeze has taught her that much. Now, she just has to pick the next piece.... But lost again in her daydreaming, she glances to Wolfsong, white-tipped ears twitching. "I like WindClan because we're strong." Beneath her words, her chest stirs again with the thought of their recent defeat. It's a quiet frustration; one she can't fully understand the reasons for feeling, but she thinks that her words are true. It's what she's been told, anyway.​

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[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── He remembers his own disillusionment as a child, the day a dog's teeth tore the veil of innocence from his face. He saw the final courage of his mother follow his father's cowardly surrender, each meeting the same fate but only one with honor. A then-Ellisif knew many losses below that howl-stained night sky: his parents, his home, his eye— and his childlike assurance that nothing could defeat his mother. Though it is many moons since he was that child, the memory has not faded as others have. While their situations are not entirely comparable, he can understand and empathize with what Scorchkit and her siblings are experiencing.

His remaining eye watches her, discerning but soft for all that it pierces. I have piqued her interest. A good sign. She does not wear her excitability on display, does she? He gives her time to continue absorbing the environment, and he admits to surprise at her question. Chuckling deep in his chest, he shakes his head. "My mother never stepped upon these moors. I was not born in WindClan, either— I come from a cold land, of mountains that disappear into the clouds and snow so deep it can swallow you whole." But she has yet to see snow at all— he does not know what she would make of that image. "Sunstride was born there too, but not quite in the same place."

The eve-and-flame brushed kit begins to pick over the stones, making her selection after visible consideration. A solid choice. His expression reveals little, though it remains warm, and his gaze lifts from her smaller paws to her face when she speaks again. A slow, gradual inhale. "WindClan is your home, and the people here are strong— but strength is not alone drawn from winning battles. Defeat teaches us what we need to become stronger." He touches a stone idly, smoothing a callused paw-pad across it. "I know it does not feel that way."
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN
ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can treat prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

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[SCORCHSTORM]

/ SORRY for how late this is!!

She expects the words out of Wolfsong's mouth less than she expects rabbits to fly. Sap and amber gaze widens just slightly; her pink jaws part with her surprise. The yarns that Wolfsong spin about his home pile up into a craggy, skyward-reaching maw, each vicious peak dulled by a sparkling white cap of icy flakes. She has never seen snow herself, but she imagines it cruelly. After all, Leafbare was the cruelest season to a cat, was it not? She has heard the stories of scarce prey and scarcer comfort; she is anxious to live through it herself, one day. How could Wolfsong and his mother (and Sunstride, for that matter) lived there? Had they not realized the beauty of the moors back then? Had they not had a taste for warm sun?

"I didn't know that," she remarks, the new knowledge fermenting at the back of her skull. It is in these moments that her stone tower is forgotten, though she is quick to pick it back up again-- Scorchkit turns her gaze to the small pile, a discerning glint in her eyes. She picks another wide stone, only slightly smaller than the base she'd chosen, and places it on top. It's an easy fit. She knows that her next pick will be slightly more of a challenge, though; she'd picked the flattest rock she could see, but it held a slight dome to it, a risen dough. A small white paw presses its crest, as if she could shape the earth. No success. She should have expected that, anyway.

As she stacks, Wolfsong continues. He speaks of strength and she brightens; he speaks of defeat and she dims. He says there is strength even in defeat, and Scorchkit finds herself in a sort of limbo, unsure of how to understand the lesson. How could failure make them better? But she wants to understand; she wants to show Wolfsong that she's smart, that she can learn. And so she tries to fit his words into her own lesson. "Is it like... um...." She squints as she tries to picture it. "Like when a warrior comes back from hunting with no prey. They know what to do different the next time?" She assumes this to be the case, anyway.

She picks up the stone that he has been considering carefully and adds it to her stack, though it teeters unwillingly atop the previous piece. Scorchkit frowns; this wouldn't do. She'd never be able to stack another stone if this one was not sturdy in its foundation. But she asks not for help. Instead, her mind drifts back to Wolfsong's mother; to his childhood in mountains draped in snowy mystery; and she asks, "Does StarClan give us strength?" It must be true, or else they would not bless Sootstar with her many lives to protect them all. Surely the clanmates that look down on her from silverpelt must guide her pawsteps somehow. Maybe they'd even help her pick out what rock to stack next. And then, a more harrowing thought strikes her; the image of Scorchstreak wrought with blood and brimstone, her neck split like their leader's with none of the blessing to support her. The young mirror swallows, shooing it out of her mind, but the curiosity remains. "... Is your mother with StarClan now?"​

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