THERE IT GOES ♡ SHEDDING WHISKERS

[MIRESTAR]

To eat in a graceful, polite and neat fashion is to respect the very prey that keeps your stomach full — at least, that's what Mirepurr's mother had taught them, back when she was still free from stubborn illness and present enough to teach. Mirepurr has fond memories of tearing into bits of food in dramatic ways, just to hear the gentle lulls of her voice explain everything all over again. Those etiquette lessons are still ever-present in their mind; either because she had been an excellent teacher, or they had forced her to repeat this often... the world might never know for sure.

Either way, one thing is clear: Mirepurr is a rather slow eater. They bite off pieces thoughtfully, chew thoroughly, and avoid making a mess of their own face whenever possible. Now with an additional load of duty, this might change... but as today's sun bleeds into early evening, they find enough time to lounge about and simply enjoy their meal.

The last of bones crunch into obscurity, and Mirepurr moves into the "clean-up" stage; the pink of their tongue emerge only to wet soft paws, and said soft paws make their way down their muzzle to get rid of any evidence. Fourth, fifth, and sixth repeat of the cycle comes... and-

"Oh..."

Mirepurr freezes as they feel a light poke between their pads. Gingerly, they lay their paws down and present the vulnerable beans for inspection; sure enough, there is a fine line of a whisker caught amongst them.

An amused scoff shakes their body for a second. "Does this mean I'm getting old and wise now?"
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[Snowlark.]

[ ༻❄༺ ] Mirepurr has always seemed to be the kind to take time when it comes to things, from meals to training the deputy was ever so dutiful and respectful, and perhaps some of that had rubbed off on Snowlark amid the training that he himself realizes he too does some of the same things as his former mentor. Yet today had been different. Snowlark had been looking for the deputy to perchance to go on a leaf-fall stroll before leaf-bare hits and they could scarcely have a chance for something like this. Yet witnessing the other lose a whisker made the boy blink as he came to pause and narrowing his eyes slightly

" Or you're just stressed out beyond a doubt and need to rest" There was a twinge of teasing in the young warrior's voice, looking at the fallen whisker with wonder, perhaps that may happened to him as well and Snowlark couldn't help but lick his pale tongue of his muzzle. A smile peered on his maw when he glanced to his former mentor with a soft look in his yellow eyes while his stubby tail twitched slightly. "I do hope you aren't overworking yourself that is. And will I ever lose a whisker when I've become as old as you?" he asked playfully. It felt odd to not be following the deputy anymore or to be at their heels. It felt even weirder to speak to them not as an apprentice but another warrior amongst the crowd.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── Where I am going is right where I am ──┐‎

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  "speak""Thoughts"
  
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  Snowlark ❄ He/Him, warrior of Shadowclan, 13 moons.
  ⭃ Lithe long hair blue lynx sepia with high white, and yellow eyes. Stubby tail, permanent resting bitch face
  ⭃ Hailfreckle x Mudsplash
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted (ask first) / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by Ryn ↛ @/Rynnaro on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Starlingheart]

Starlingheart cannot say she has ever noticed when one of ehr own whiskers had shed. It was a natural occurance, she knows, something that happened to every cat, but she thought no more of it than she did any other hair on her body shedding. Especially in the ever hot moons of green-leaf. It was a small relief, she supposed, that those days would soon be over and would give way to the cooler weather of leaf-fall, but then again that just meant they were one season closer to another leaf-bare, and she has learned to dread the coldest moons in the same way she is certain the rest of her clan does. It is good, she thinks as she watches Mirepurr eat, that the prey is coming in the way it was now. Good to eat their fill while they still could.

The soft "Oh" coming from the deputies lips has her attention in a heartbeat. her head snaps to look at the brown-pelted feline, worry creasing her brows. Did something happen? She studies the other for a moment before the answer is revealed and her fur can lay flat again. Just a shed whisker... Her own twitch in amusement when they ask if this means they are getting old and Starlingheart finds herself nodding sagely "I-I fear its a sign" she says, forcing her voice to remain solemn even as her single eye glimmers with barely contained laughter "You'll be joining the elders any day now..." she glances at Snowlark out of the corner of her eye while she speaks, wondering if the newly named warrior would fall for her words.

( ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ) fly me up on a silver wing

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  STARLINGHEART SHADOWCLAN MEDICINE CAT; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO PITCHSTAR, CHITTERTONGUE, NIGHTSWARM, SKUNKTAIL, AND LILACFUR. MOTHER TO NETTLEPAW, FLINTWISH AND GHOSTMASK.
  

  A skinny she cat with short black and white fur littered with scars and one singular green eye.

  ✦ Easy in battle + has little to no formal battle training
  

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[MIRESTAR]

Snowlark emerges from the depths of camp, unveiling himself from the dark backdrop — he is a blizzard in his own right, and before his fur has been more of a hindrance in terms of stealth, the stark white is slowly going to become his greatest advantage. Mirepurr's eyes close as they smile at him; there is no need to beckon his former apprentice, for he is already on the way.

"No, no, don't worry," they assure. "It's not as exhausting as you think." Tiring, yes, but Mirepurr has only felt the bone-deep fatigue on their first few days, back when their nerves have been lit and fraying at the ends. Excitement had dipped into their reserved energy. Now they feel as comfortable as ever, even if the curious eyes looking for them for guidance still sometimes catch them off-guard. "Old? Better watch out, you might be losing a whisker or two in the next few days..."

The faux-threat comes with light-heartedness, and it stays even as Starlingheart arrives to give them her own wisdom. She is simultaneously young and ancient — only mere moons older, but her experience and the things she had seen give her an edge that Mirepurr lacks for now.

Their head drops as Starlingheart delivers the "bad news". "Oh, that's too bad... but at least I'll always have someone to rid me from ticks and fleas!"
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[FERNDANCE]

Remnants of prey still clung to Ferndance's muzzle like ticks as she moved closer to the group, blood and fur weighing down the bristly fur around her mouth. But as she fell on her haunches, there was a lash of the she-cat's tail, a sympathetic frown stretched upon her muzzle. Her emerald eyes betrayed a sense of exaggerated urgency, her neck practically straining to get as close to Mirepurr as possible (whilst still maintaining a taillength with the rest of her body). "Well be very careful.... you'll be bumping into everything from sunhigh to sundown." Then came a crack of a smile, splitting past the maternal exterior. Though her words had been half-serious, she truly doubted there was anything to fear from one measly whisker falling to the wayside.

One... measly whisker.

Her attention shifted from the Deputy and onto the strand of hair caught between their paw, unblinking, unmoving. Her pupils grew to twice their size as if she'd spotted a frog and through the demure exterior, a chirp threatened to escape their maw. "I'll probably be taking it.... just so you know," she admitted to Mirepurr, licking her lips. The aftertaste of a rat sent an idea to her stomach. "But I might eat it... or I might put it in my nest. It's your whisker, I'll let you decide..." Because Mirepurr wouldn't want to keep it... right?

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