backwritten skies abundance. smogmaw

[THORNPAW]

It was strange knowing of her father's return. A figure of her mind now come to life with healing herbs clasped in their maw. She had only ever heard tales of him and his triumphs. When she had first seen him it shook the she-kit to her core. So much so the little scrap had hid within the safety of her siblings legs. The fluffy child was far too afraid of the potential disappointment in his eyes.

She couldn't argue the truth of her existence nor the loss of her mother. With Halfkit and Tanglekit's absence Smogmaw had been hard at work to find them. Leaving Thornkit to watch owl-eyed from the sides. Dodging any attempts Smogmaw made to speak with her in what little free time he had. Guilt was another factor at play but she couldn't muster up the heart to admit it.

In his absence Queen's had swathed her in care and when babysat her older siblings did their best to connect. Yet, only Swanpaw had managed to coax Thornkit from her hiding spots. The rest were left with awkward silences and frustrated searches. Said distractions managed to keep the sadder thoughts at bay. Now her mind was soaking in the reality that the journeying cats had made it back and those sick cats were going to be okay.

Having been spotted tiptoeing around her father a Queen had taken the time to boost her confidence. Assuring the timid kit that there was nothing to fear. Shyly, the blonde and white cat peered from the nursery. Easily spotting the grey tom standing in the clearing. Anxiety coiled in the youth's gut as her eyes soaked it all in. A soft nudge to her rear urged the kit forward.

Shooting a questionable look back at the Queen she was only given a smile in turn. Okay. Okay I can do this. Tail low and ears twitching she slowly made progress towards the busy deputy. Paw steps timid and quiet as she stepped to the side of her father. Shakily she called up towards the taller cat. "H-Hi." Voice squeaking as she trembled from the unknown outcome.

//Father Daughter moment as promised! @smogmaw​

 

[smogstar]

Though he puts immediate emphasis on the former half of her revelation, it is the latter which holds deeper implications. A second litter, she says.

Hell, of course he wants to have another.

"For peace of mind's sake, let us make it a long-term goal," he replies, voice founded upon gentle purr. "Maybe when our four are almost done their apprenticeship."

⁂​

He still hasn't visited Halfshade's gravesite. Starlingheart, unswayed by the disparaging narrative he'd woven around her, had suggested he do so. Scalejaw too, though her motion came more in the form of a demand. Halfhearted reasoning built a barrier between his body and the dirt patch which buried hers. It felt too farcical for comfort: grave-visits as ritual, as a means of coping, as mourning. None of that applied to him or his circumstance. She's gone, and that's it. Accepting it is strenuous enough as is, let alone remembering the life she once embodied, and how drastically she'd altered his own.

The kits were a parting gift. Halfkit, Tanglekit, Thornkit. Dreamkit, too, but like her mother, she shall forever remain a haunting absence. That makes four loved ones stolen away. Two from fate's unforgiving touch, two from the nursery in which they slept. Poignant grief has slithered into a low-lying dread, and stomaching it down proves more cumbersome with each coming sunrise.

Patrols. Border patrols. Hunting patrols. Excursions out to Carrionplace, and an outing to restock the herb stockpile. A deputy's errands are monotonous, yet not in a tiresome manner. Mundane tasks shield against invasive worries, duties distract. He takes up as many as he can in order to fleece a sense of normalcy.

His breath all but hitches when a squeaky voice wiggles its way into his ears. "Oh, hello." Smogmaw swivels his head to catch a wee kit sprouting from the camp's muddy ground. She wears her mother's cream colouring, and decorates it with his patterns. He forces a soft, subtle smile. He doesn't know why it doesn't come naturally. "How are you today, Thornkit?" he asks, a palpable, paternal warmth in his voice regardless. "Are you hungry at all?"​