private simple securities ❀ smogmaw

[valerianpaw]

It was ticking closer, to the eventual meeting where Valeriankit and her siblings would be earning their apprentice names and begin training for the clan they call home. However, while her sisters were obviously very excited about it, Valerian has been a bit more lackluster about it. She enjoyed life in the nursery, its crowdedness notwithstanding. She had a routine and wasn't quite pleased with the concept of changing it. However, when hearing apprentices speak of it, she had an idea. She had no knowledge of how mentors were chosen, but it wouldn't hurt to ask her father would it? So she had waited and purposely stayed up in the later hours of the day when most of the clan was beginning to rest. Dual-colored eyes peered out of the crowded nursery before spotting the blue fur of her father and bounded over. "Papa?" She spoke up to get his attention, butting her head against his legs. She peered up at him, a small smile on her maw. "Can I ask you something?" She inquired softly as she lightly swatted at his tail with a clawless paw. "How do mentors work?" It was an innocent question to lead with, especially with the goal she had in mind.

// @smogmaw ​

[sweet like honey]​

 

[smogstar]

Children grow up too fast. It's an overworked saying, spoken from the maws of roughly every parent, grandparent, and mentor who's watched a little one take their first wobbly pawsteps. Yet it remains as a universal truth no matter how often it's been said, and only as a father himself does Smogmaw truly fathom the significance of those words. It's bittersweet. Achingly bittersweet. Thoughts of Applekit, Garlickit, Swankit, and Valeriankit occupy his mind at sunrise and sunset, and during all ticks in-between. They've transitioned from wriggling lumps of fur to bright-eyed future warriors in what felt like a few blinks and a heartbeat.

When the night takes hold of the territory, stripping the light from the sky above and heralding the stars in its wake, Smogmaw shoulders his way out of the warrior's den, jaws torn asunder with a heavy yawn. Moonhigh patrols were in the imminent future, hence the initial item on his itinerary was to gather all those heading into the greater marsh at this early hour. But during his brief journey across the breadth of camp, his immersion in deputy duties is shattered by perhaps the sweetest of distractions.

"Good evening, daughter," salutes Smogmaw as he marches past the nursery, pawsteps stopping entirely while the words spill from a blithe smile. The hearth of family forever burns brighter than professional pursuits. He'll always make time for his kits, especially now, given the growing awareness of how fleeting such moments are. "Mentors?" he then echoes, black-capped ears flicking at the query. "Mentors are teachers. They guide young cats like you along the path towards warriorship, instructin' them on all the skills they need to know - how to hunt, how to fight, how to hide from watching eyes - so that their apprentices will one day become distinguished warriors."

A slow blink and a dip of the noggin follow his answer. "Does that make sense?"​