STONE WALL, STONE FENCE ⁎⁺˳✧ scorchstreak

[SCORCHSTORM]

She's only been an apprentice for a few days, but Scorchpaw can't forget the way her mother's posture had stiffened; the surprise on her face when her daughter had been apprenticed as a moor-runner; the bristling of her fur at the news so unexpected. Maybe they all should have seen the signs more clearly. Now that Scorchpaw has gone on an outing or two with Badgermoon, she has recognized his broad shoulders in her own, his barrel chest and heavy jaw; she may have her mother's pelt, but it is draped over her father's bones. I should have known. But she can't turn back time to be less disappointed when the announcement had come. Really, she thinks she can work through it; she thinks she can still be a good warrior, should she be allowed to try. But will she be good enough? She can't get Scorchstreak's reaction out of her mind; each time she closes her eyes she sees the image as if it were seared into the inky black behind her lids. Can she still be her mother's daughter if she doesn't slink beneath the grasses? Does being her mirror image mean anything when the reflection is only skin-deep?

Scorchpaw isn't sure. She returns from a hunting patrol empty-pawed; she still has much to master in the art of stalking, running and catching. The defeat stings more when she is obsessing over the divergence between her planned life and the one she lives now. I should have seen the signs, she thinks, over and over again, as she pads empty-eyed through camp. She isn't sure what she is looking for, and nearly finds her white-dipped paws leading her back to the nursery. She stops abruptly; turns back to the fresh-kill pile. Aimless otherwise, she supposes she'll eat. It's only once she approaches the pile that she realizes the cats around her-- her mother among them.

"Mom," Scorchpaw calls, instinctive and without thought. Remembering herself, she noses a hearty rat out of the pile. Her whiskers twitch anxiously. "Do you want to, um, share?"

@SCORCHSTREAK​

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[SCORCHSTAR]

Since her kits were each apprenticed, Scorchstreak has found herself returning to the nursery from time to time, as though her paws have grown used to the path enough to walk it on their own. But she must remind herself—she is no longer trapped within the nursery. She has free reign of the camp now, and so she has returned to her usual quarters at the dead end of a small, branching dead end of one of the tunnels within camp. She does find herself missing the warmth of her litter curled into her side most nights, but to say that the quality of her sleep has not improved would be a lie.

It’s while discussing such thoughts with another former queen that Scorchstreak glances up from her paws to spot her mirror image moving closer to the prey pile. "Scorchpaw," the tunneler greets, a carefully blank expression settling onto her face. She fights to keep the ice that fills her chest from creeping into her voice; it is not Scorchpaw’s fault that she would make for a poor tunneler. Truthfully, Scorchstreak should have seen it before. She should not be so disappointed that the kit who spawned in her own image would take more after her father. At least Luckypaw and Frostpaw will follow in her own pawsteps, traversing the moors from the underside.

Scorchpaw produces a plump bit of prey from the pile, offering to share it, and the warrior nods once. She’s called back, momentarily, to a time when she had shared each and every meal with Dappledsun. They had been close, closer than anything—and he had still turned his back on her, on WindClan. Fiery eyes narrow, but she responds with a nod and crosses one dark paw over the other. "I’d love to share with you," she agrees easily. "Have you caught any prey yet, out there on the moor?" If a bit of harshness slips into her tone, then so be it. Her daughter’s mentor is the clan’s deputy; Scorchpaw has only been an apprentice for days, but surely she should be making progress already. Moor runner training is much simpler than tunneler training, after all.​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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