pafp THE SUN WILL BE GUIDING YOU — request

[Thriftfeather]

There have only been a few times in Thriftfeather's life where he had commanded something of someone—his voice small and wavering as a warrior still wet behind the ears, or more recently when frustration and exhaustion had made passing responsibility onto another the easier option. Only Rumblerain stands over Thriftfeather now—presumably the authority Thriftfeather holds is limited only by Rumblerain. Choice is not a new thing to Thriftfeather but permission for it is.

It is a need to know exactly what he is and is not capable of that leads him to Privetpaw. Even before Granitepelt's death, Thriftfeather held rank over him. This should be a predictable first experiment—a safe place to start.

"Come along," Standing before Privetpaw now, his moor-roughened pads against the well-trodden dust of camp, Thriftfeather has lost his previous certainty, "There's a—I found a beehive nearby. I need you to help me with the honey."

@PRIVETPAW ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Gaining Privetpaw's respect was like clasping onto a rope that ceaselessly tugged the other way. As hands resisted force and palms roughened at the brunt, the rope would simply pull back equally. One could work with the rope, gain its trust and tail its movements - and eventually, fall right into its rhythm. Respect reserved itself only for those that proved themselves worthy, a merit drawn out of pooling blood and victor's silence. The new deputy of his clan had not yet earned his trust.

Thriftfeather, newly-crowned deputy with laurels still fresh, stood in front of the wine-dark apprentice. Perceptive ears caught upon how he almost spluttered out his words, tripping upon tangling words and scraping along the thorns of his own uncertainty. Cold green eyes blinked, wide and owlish in manner, with all the lack of humanity of a stalking predator. "Why should I help you? It's a beehive. It should not be too much trouble." The boy's tone almost cusped into a challenging note, like mutiny blotted the sanded edges of his inflections, a rising wave that otherwise faded into the vast sea of his verses. He was not one to often challenge authority, but he valued his group and his being over any sort of imposure of obligation. Privetpaw rooted himself in the same place that Thrift had found him in, wondering what the golden tabby would do with his newfound power, staring at him as a wolf would to the dying surd of the fell deer. Would Thriftfeather command him further, doling out demands as if becoming loud were the solution to disobedience? Would he back down, admitting defeat at such an impasse? Or, perhaps something entirely unforeseen? The art of watching those around him granted him much satisfaction, as though socialities and niceties were nothing but a game to bend and twine around the rules.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​