private summon strength, bravery // doepaw

[sunshinespot]

@doepaw ࿔

He doesn't like visiting the medicine den, if truths could be said so bluntly, but it's better than making a fool of himself time and time again out in the snowy woods. More often than not, Sunshinepaw would land in Gentlestorm's den by happenstance. Being sick whilst so young has had lasting effects on his immune system, and one too-long walk oftentimes sets him back at least an afternoon. Today, however, he takes the detour not because his chest aches or his eyes itch, but because there are new faces among them, and Sunshinepaw likes to think he's got one of the kinder sets of eyes around... even if they tend to be a bit dull otherwise.

The mouse he brings with him is meager, but enough to feed a young soul such as Doepaw. Sunshinepaw turns the corner, green eyes fluttering about for a second, before landing on the brown she-cat. He nods to her - something simple, given he doesn't know her well - and drops the prey at her paws.

"It's for you," Sunshinepaw offers, "A welcomin' gift, if anythin'. Welcome - to ThunderClan...!" he's no Emberpaw or Pigeonpaw, however. The dramatics can be left to them. He pauses something uncomfortable, before trying to ease himself into a seated position, unsure if the new girl is interested in having friends about or what. "'m Sunshinepaw, if you'd like to know. No worries if y'can't, mmm... remember it," the humming habit has yet to leave him, but he does nothing to correct it. "You're one'a Fallowpaw's siblin's, right?"​

 

[doepath ࿔]

Picking up her head at the sound of shuffling paws, Doepaw feels like she's finally getting pretty good at pin-pointing where others are at. If only it made it easier to tell who they were... if she could just see them maybe dedicating their names and scents to memory would be easier. What is simple to understand is the enticing smell of prey... and it is dropped, unceremoniously before her feet.

A small smile, a squinting thank you as a tufted paw gingerly slaps atop it to pull it closer. "Thank you," she mews shyly, though still confused what a already promised meal means as a gift. Unless it was the act of having caught it himself that made it special? His introduction is brief, offering an air of patience to not be remembered though it isn't quite as generous as he thinks (in her opinion). "No it's okay," she replies quickly, "I can remember that.. Promise I will."

Had to like.. figure out what set his smell out against the other forest-y scents of his clan-mates so that she wasn't just calling any dilute blob Sunshinepaw. "Yeah I'm Fallow's sister. Uh, uhm, Fallowpaw. My name's Doepaw now," she purrs softly, still trying to get used to the name as it drips off her tongue. "Are you pretty good at hunting? I've never tried to before- Oh wait... can we share? You guys do that a lot right. Sharing feet?... No... wait that's not right. Sharing teeth?"​

 

[sunshinespot]

Does it make him less caring if Sunshinepaw doesn't spend time attempting empathy? He has no lingering want to wonder, to be curious of how Doepaw must feel in a new environment, with new cats and customs around her. Everything just... is to the mottled tom, for better or for worse. Her gaze would fit on him the same way, whether he wondered if he would shake like she does or not.

She insists on remembering his name before trading hers for it. He slouches a bit, feeling a bit comforted by the slip ups the other has. No need to be perfect (or his haphazard, lazy version of it) with the girl who doesn't know much different. "You were Doe before, then? Must feel a lil' different, bein' called a 'paw' now." He pauses, sliding down to lazily lay before the she-cat, "I'd be called Sunshine, I figure. Or just Sun?" The thought comes and goes and doesn't beg for a reply, just a flippant comment to continue the conversation.

"Hmm?" he hums, skybound mind coming back to earth just as she stumbles over her words. "Oh - no, not really. 'm pretty awful at it, actually," Sunshinepaw's gaze darkens, only for a moment. Mousenose would laugh to hear any praise like that. "But - ah, y'mean sharin' tongues? I mean, I don' mind keepin' ya company while y'eat," he scoots a bit closer. The leafbare air is frigid, after all. He wouldn't mind cozying up to a future denmate for a bit of warmth, "Y'eat it all. 'm sure your siblin's want you toughened up for, er - sparrin' and stuff. Don' want ya fallin' behind them too much."​