private SONGS AND SAGAS | STORMPAW

[OWLEAR]

This is not the first time that Owlear had taken to teaching another– it is, however, the first time that he felt it more than a passing kindness. He was a senior warrior of ThunderClan, one trusted for their experience in this life, in this forest. It was admirable, many seemed to think, that he had lived this long without so much as a debilitating injury to follow him. It was not to say that his life was without injury or pitfall, but it was overall successful. It was good. And Stormpaw...Stormpaw was to follow in his steps. He is to train her in the life that she should lead, for herself and ThunderClan both. The thought is daunting. How silly a thing it is, for someone as old as he to feel timid! In the early hours of the morning, before he has roused his apprentice for their first full day together, Owlear allows himself a quiet laugh at the thought. He was nervous. How ridiculous and pleasant that is.

The old tom walks the unfamiliar path towards the apprentice den and pokes his nose inside. Most of them are still resting, Stormpaw included, and he simply observes for a moment. How long had it taken her to fall asleep, without her mother's comfort? He supposes part of his duty as a mentor would be in wearing her out. Hopefully it would make the transition of dens easier. "Stormpaw," Owlear whispers, hoping to rouse as few of the other apprentices as possible. He takes a few more steps in and gently prods the young molly with one large paw.

˗ˏˋ〚  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〛´ˎ˗

• ooc: —
• 
  ──── owlear. senior warrior of thunderclan. cis male.
  ──── approximately 90 moons old, yet still youthful.
  ──── pansexual and single,   though with past flings.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with long, thick fur and a broad-shouldered build. despite his age, he is still a strong, imposing tomcat with clear, attentive eyes. though they are a muted hazel, they seem to twinkle with silent wisdom and a warm, deep-seated joy.
• "speech"

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[STORMFEATHER]

The transition had been harder than she thought it would be. The very first night alone in her new nest, resting after all of the new sights and smells and responsibilities, Stormpaw had sniffled a little. She blamed it on a late cold, turning her back to her denmates and burrowing her head into her paws. Her mother was not gone, but she felt so far away. And her father was more unreachable than ever.

Stormpaw had eventually fallen into a deep sleep, the side of her face pressed flat against the moss. When her name was called, she woke with a startled snort, blinking wide blue eyes up at Owlear. She smiled and chuckled nervously, using one paw to brush off some of the moss that got caught in her ear. "Are we training?" She whispered, eyes brightening.

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