private summer breeze ;; vulturemask

[cottonsprig]

[ mobile !! @VULTUREMASK ]

Cottonpaw sits quietly at the mouth of the medicine den. Her eyes follow the movements of her Clanmates, many leaving or returning from patrols - patrols, of which, she's been barred from attending whilst she heals. Most of her doesn't resent the detention placed on her - she can understand why it exists, after all. The cobwebs still gobbed on her backside are clear enough reason as to why. Plus, Vulturemask hasn't completely banned her from busying herself around the camp itself - a blessing, maybe, for one of them. The past week has shown Cottonpaw less and less interested in reinforcing the camp boundaries and checking the prey pile for rotten pieces, and more and more enamored with helping the very tom that saved her initially.

The young apprentice still hasn't gotten a handle of social cues - and thus far, Vulturemask has yet to properly scold her for overstepping boundaries. It started with replacing old moss in the nests littered around, and that carried into sweeping out dust and leaf litter that've blown in with recent storms. She's been tempted to ask about the poultices the tom mixes, or the difference between the leaves and petals he stores, but even she doesn't push that limit. Not yet, anyways.

Bored with her people watching, Cottonpaw twists to pull herself further into the medicine den. The herbal scents that once bothered her have slowly become normal - though she's still unsure if she would ever come to enjoy them. She wonders if the dark furred medic even does...? Her tail twitches and she tries to seek him out; she can tell that he's around here, somewhere, though it's difficult for her to differentiate his scent from that of his den.

"Vulturemask?" she calls, ear twitching as she cranes her neck to look further into the den, "D'you got anything for me to do today?" Cottonpaw figures that if it's something in-den, then she can continue to pester him with curious questions.
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[VULTUREMASK]

He had been keeping an eye out on Cottonpaw this past couple of days after the hawk incident even demanding her to remain in camp for some extra days just so he could make sure she really was fine. An incident like that could leave emotional scars that might take time to heal..if they even did. Vulturemask was a master of having unhealed scars that never would heal, his soul damage beyond repair. Didn't meant he wished for the same fate to befall somebody else, a kit nonetheless.

Vulturemask had been resting in his nest when Cotttonpaw had called out for his attention. Picking his head up that cold gaze would linger on the young apprentice as he watched her observantly. " Hmh, you never run out of energy, do you." it was a satement not a question. Cottonpaw had enough energy to work for both of them. He wonderd...did he used to be that energic too?. Vulturemask felt like his childhood self was drifting away from his memory more and more for each day that past... Soon he would forget all about the innocent kit he once had been.

" Come on in then." he would say as he stood up from the nest and turned his attention over to the shelf made of dirt. " I've some leaves and herbs that have gone bad. You can help me sort them out." he would continue as he made himself over to the shelf only to sit down and waited for Cottonpaw to join him. He know for an fact he was digging his own grave by giving an open opportunity for Cottonpaw to be the noisy and talkactive pest she was with her million of questions..but.. he rather her be that when her becoming a quiet and empty shell of who she used to be and all because of trauma.He did not wish that for her.

// apologize for the wait <33


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[cottonsprig]

[ ur all good!! <3 ]

She almost feels bad when she notices that she's disrupted his sleep - almost. A good bit of her feels more superiority than guilt and so she doesn't offer any often apology, even as Vulturemask huffs out his statement. In fact, Cottonpaw catches herself nearly responding to it. Of course she has so much energy! If she were allowed to leave camp and do as she pleases again, then she'd be far less intrusive!

But she doesn't. Her mouth opens and closes and she just offers him a kittenish smile instead. It's not a question to be answered - something Vulturemask does often, and a trick that she's caught on to. She still dignifies many of his scathing statements with replies, but not this time. Cottonpaw feels as if she's won a game, finally catching on as she did, but she doesn't indicate much further. After all, she requested something to do while she healed, and he stands, shakes the sleep from his bones, and leads her away just as she wanted.

Cottonpaw is quick to follow the black furred tom, careful only to not trip over his paws or ruin any of the nesting material left around the den. The young apprentice knows not why Vulturemask tolerates her (even less knows why she must be tolerated in general.) The idea of trauma locking someone's voice inside of them is not something she's familiar with - an illness that he fears could threaten her, too. Perhaps thankfully, her trauma of the hawk incident manifests in other ways - fears of overhead shadows and the moorlands, large avians and talons alike... but not silence. She would not be Cottonpaw if she were silent.

"Oh," she chirps, sitting beside him and looking on. She can tell that some of the plants look more wrinkled and spotted than others, but she's far from confident enough to tug them apart. After all - what if they're simply different herbs? "How should we sort them?" she poses the question easily, blue eyes tilting up towards Vulturemask. She wonders for a moment how he had learned all he knows - but maybe that question can wait for later in the task. "Should we... hmm..." she lifts a white paw and daintily taps one of the more withered stalks, "pull out the wrinkly ones, maybe? Or is this meant to be like that?"​