private THE RECKLESS, THE WILD YOUTH [ hazemosswillow ]

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) beneath the clear blue sky of the chilled autumn day, the river winds its way through the landscape, a silver ribbon of soft moving water. muted hues of copper and gold still cling to the skeletal trees above, rattling in a crisp wind that carries scents of damp earth and decaying foliage. across the water, a solitary heron stands stoically at the water's edge, its silhouette mirrored in the gently waving water. willowroot sits with her eldest children in a quite niche of the territory, a soft yawn stretching her jaws as she presses against stormy and earthen hued furs. she reaches out lazily to lap her tongue across hazewish's unruly pelt, smoothing the locks of fluff. "i hope you two know how proud i am of you," she murmurs, tipping her head to bonk it gently against mosspool's own. "you grew up in such difficult times. my brave minnows."

there is a softness and lack of guard rarely seen in the slinky smoke as she shares tongues with her children. eventually they will get up to hunt, crouching over the river with cheerful chirps and competition like fire in their blood. for now, willowroot has issued a mandatory rest time.

// silly lil bonding thread @Hazepaw @Mosspool ​

 

[Hazewish]

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

Some semblance of normalcy returns to Riverclan in the wake of the journey cats’ return, and with it a sense of rightness in Hazewish’s life. Their mentor is dead, as are quite a few of their clanmates; they still wake up with a start most nights, thinking they heard the rogues slipping into camp. But their sister is back; their mothers are there; their little siblings are safe. All is not well, but it’s closer to it than it’s been in a very long while.

She lies sprawled in front of Willowroot in easy comfort, eyes half closed as their parent gently licks a patch of fur down. It springs up again, undaunted: Haze’s pelt, like her, is hard to pin down as it refuses to stay put. She bats a lazy paw at Mosspool, trying to nudge her sister’s tail without putting too much effort into bothering her.

She echoes Willow’s words with feeling: ”Proud.” Of Moss, for returning from the journey; of herself for following Cicadastar’s teachings to warriorhood; of them all for thriving in turbulent time. Yet her voice is tinted with melancholy. Against all odds she misses her mentor; she wishes he could have been proud of her, too.

[⋆]​

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