TREES AND FLOWERS ⛧ thriftfeather

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ The battle is over. Everything is way too quiet, and way too still - and Vulturekit feels horrible. He can't stop staring at the caked blood around the golden tom's neck, a strange sense of guilt earing away at him. "My d-d-duh - my d-dad, he -" He had thrashed the cat in his teeth, wild and ragefilled. It was as if the invasion lent a bloodlust to even the clan's gentlest, frenzy sweeping through all like a plague. "...He hurt you," is what they settle on, voice small.

Their ears press back. It felt wrong, to see Periwinklebreeze do something like that. "He d-didn't... m-m-mean it, I puh- I p-promise." He couldn't have. He's kind, he's comforting. Even with the scars trailing across his pelt, he is gentle as a greenleaf breeze. What Vulturekit saw was wrong, it has to be. "...He's - um. He's a good cat. I'm sorry." He feels responsible, somehow. He doesn't like the feeling.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• @Thriftfeather
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftfeather hadn't known the kit belonged to Periwinklebreeze until they spoke. He tries to keep the surprise from his face. Rather, he points his nose elsewhere to hide his unsubtle reaction. He hadn't known—how could he have? The wrongness of Vulturekit being here redoubles. He doesn't belong here, just as those ShadowClan kits hadn't belong to WindClan. Just as he didn't belong to WindClan, despite himself. When he looks back, Vulturekit is still apologizing for Periwinklebreeze.

Thriftfeather cannot help but think of his mother.

"I know," His voice still comes harsh and crackling. It will take time for it to recover, "I—we used to be clanmates. He used to..." Thriftfeather doesn't know what to share with Vulturekit, at once. Periwinklebreeze was his first source of kindness in WindClan. When he had been an apprentice, Thriftfeather had accused Perwinklebreeze of manipulation for no reason other than that kindness and because, selfishly, he wanted to sever whatever scant association was between them. Cutting that away would have meant pleasing Ghostwail and that would have ensured Thriftfeather more security.

Or, so he believed at the time.

"When I was little—when I was even smaller than you—Periwinklebreeze gave me a feather because I was sad and—and he was just trying to make me feel better. It was my favorite feather." Had Periwinklebreeze's grip been just a little tighter, or had Thriftfeather not struggled as harshly as he had, he would be dead. It stands as a difficult thing to reconcile with now, attempting to comfort a kit with stories of that same tom's kindness.

"So don't—please don't apologize for him. What he did..." It had been terrifying. Thriftfeather never knows how to settle from fear—it follows him now. He hates the sound of his damaged voice and he hates the blood tangled in his fur and he hates the possibility of a following fever; Periwinklebreeze hadn't killed him then, but the wound lingers. Thriftfeather pulls in a shuddering breath, refocuses on the now, "That's what love looks like, sometimes. It's just—he was scared of what he thought I was... He was scared that I was going to hurt you."

Perhaps had Thriftfeather not been a distraction, Vulturekit wouldn't be here now. The guilt that thought brings could choke him, should Thriftfeather allow himself to linger on it.​

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

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　This yellow cat knows his dad. It seems strange, that this cat he's never seen before would, but... There's a lot about Periwinklebreeze that Vulturekit doesn't know. The scars that trail across his dad's form tell a story they're too scared to ever ask after. The whispers of Sootstar like a nursery-tale ghost seem impossible, even if he knows his dad would have been there for it. He doesn't like to think about Periwinklebreeze before him and his siblings come along. The enormity of that void, that gap of knowledge - it scares him.

He puts the thoughts aside, nods decisively at the feather story. "He's - um, he's like that. He's good." That much he does know. It sounds like him, to give a little gift to help the a kitten even smaller than them feel better. They ease a bit -

And tense up again at the idea that the thrashing was love. Now their head shakes, furiously. That, he knows is wrong. He can feel it, in the nausea that threatens to rile up when equating blood with love. "I d-d-d-don't - um, it d-didn't look like..." The words are clumsy. What does he know? He's never seen love like that - or anything like that. "Love shouldn't buh-be... scary." Is what Vulturekit settles on, less confident than he would have hoped.

He is quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "Did you t-tell him? That you weren't... gonna hurt me?" Pleading eyes blink up at the golden tom. A misunderstanding, that makes more sense. Some cats get bitey when they're scared, and that's okay. He was just scared. "He d-didn't know. He didn't. He's good."

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Love shouldn’t be scary, the kit says.

It shouldn’t, it shouldn’t. Thriftfeather feels something turn over in his chest. For how long has he been afraid? How long has he conflated those two emotions—how long has his mind mixed them with countless others? Love shouldn’t be scary; Thriftfeather held Ghostwail’s life in his jaws and squeezed.

“Love for you,” Thriftfeather corrects in as gentle a shape as he can force upon his voice, “Periwinklebreeze, ah—the times we got along are gone now. They have been, for a long time. Part of love is keeping… you keep the ones you love safe,” Unexpected want folds over Thriftfeather at once—who in DuskClan would protect Thriftfeather with the same amount of ferocity?

Thriftfeather had almost died. His mind cannot leave that thought alone.

Already the battle is reduced in Thriftfeather’s mind to narrow points—emotions come more readily to his mind than events. Vulturekit asks whether Thriftfeather had tried to tell Periwinklebreeze and Thriftfeather freezes. Hadn’t he? There is the shape of words on his tongue, something he had said before. Nothing Thriftfeather had committed to memory and something he will recall with perfect clarity only when dreaming.

“He knows me, he should know that…” …that I wouldn’t, that I couldn’t—not by my own teeth. He tries to correct his words before they can spiral—Vulturekit doesn’t need to hear this—but instead Thriftfeather finds himself burying his face against the ground as if he could hide there. He could have died, he could have died—this was far more than when he and Periwinklebreeze had fought before. He could have died; Periwinklebreeze could have killed him.

A breath shudders through Thriftfeather, following a track down his body. Composure finds him like that: he needs to turn away from this thought, he needs to leave it alone. Periwinklebreeze knows him—but what reason has Thriftfeather given Periwinklebreeze to think any differently of him?

“Sorry,” Thriftfeather rises as he speaks, rights himself from a coward, “Sorry, I—sorry, I meant to say that,” He could have died, “There wasn’t—there wasn’t a chance. I’m sure that… I’m sure that Periwinklebreeze wouldn’t have done that, had he known,” A comfort to Vulturekit or to himself? Thriftfeather feels moisture behind his eyes, “I know he’s good, I know. It’s alright—you’re alright and I’m—and I’ll be alright”

A final swallow. Thriftfeather’s pain doesn’t lessen, “He didn’t know.” ​

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

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　"Love for me..." he echoes softly. It doesn't ease the twisting feeling, no matter how gentle Thriftfeather tries to wrench his words into being. It makes him want to apologize all over again, that he could be the cause of such pain. His eyes catch yet again upon the blood - he needs to stop looking at it.

His tail droops and his eyes fall along with them. This cat knew Periwinklebreeze once. There was something there, he thinks, some kind of care. There had to be.

There is no love in the blood that mats his golden fur.

No one kept him safe - and all at once that seems terribly sad to the kit. Breathless insistences that Periwinklebreeze knows him fall flat and pitiful into the stagnant air, stained putrid with metallic blood-scent. He keels over, head upon the flat earth as if the weight of it has crushed him. Shuddering, shaking breaths. The bloodied cat is brought low.

Vulturekit does not know what to do. "Uh," spills softly from his maw. They take a step back and curse themself for it. Adults are supposed to be... Better at this, confident and comforting. A paw raises as if to so something - a pat on the head for comfort, maybe? They do not have the courage nor the familiarity to move. Their eyes dart around to search for help, but there is no one to soothe the hurt. It feels enormous, impossibly so, bleeding out from him to them, to his guiding spirit and every bloodstained cat.

He hates this place. He doesn't feel safe here, he feels crushed by the pain that hangs like smoke and copper over every cat's head.

He takes a shaky breath in unison as Thriftfeather rises to his feet, babbling apologies. "It's - It's okay," he placates without much conviction. A misunderstanding, that's all it was. Periwinklebreeze was just scared. "He d-d-d-didn't. He's... I'll tuh-t-tell him, okay...? And he won't be... Upset, anymore. You can g-g-get along again, okay? Um. Please d-don't be sad." He doesn't like the way this cat's voice shakes, the way his vibrant eyes waver with something too terrible for him to fix.

He wants to make things better. He wants to erase the battle and the blood and the fear - Nightingalecry's body lying in red, Periwinklebreeze's teeth sinking into flesh. "D-d-do you... d'you still have the feather?" His voice is small. He doesn't want to think about now. "Can I... see it?" He adds quickly, more softly. A piece of his dad's kindness. He doesn't want to think about anything but that.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Vulturekit’s paltry comfort is enough to soften the stone in Thriftfeather’s gut. He knows it will do nothing to repair his reputation towards Periwinklebreeze, nor has that been Thriftfeather’s worry, but he pulls his expression into a wavering smile, regardless. He’s already nearly shattered in front of Vulturekit once—he cannot allow such a thing again. Thriftfeather has had almost an entire kithood to practice disallowing himself from things: expression, reactive, genuinety.

It isn’t such a difficult thing to swim back to those days; Thriftfeather’s smile fixes itself into something far more casual than he feels.

“Feathers don’t last forever,” Thriftfeather doesn’t falter—a refusal to break again. He turns away from those thoughts and finds himself instead confronted with something new: Vulturekit cannot stay here. It feels like a dangerous thing to think. He doesn’t dare speak it. Vulturekit cannot stay here—Vulturekit had taken up space in WindClan that is now left empty. Absence has found a home in Vulturekit’s place.

“Remember that I was younger than you when—” Thriftfeather feels his ribs shake—he doesn’t falter, “It was a long time ago when Periwinklebreeze gave me that feather. With time the down had come off and the stem of it had bent,” This thought, burgeoning and righteous, is what had broken WindClan in the first place. Thriftfeather knows he must tread carefully, if he is to tread at all.

“Maybe,” Thriftfeather leans close to Vulturekit; his whisper leaves him as gravel, “You could help me find a new feather, later.” When his chest doesn’t burn with a bruise-like afterimage or when each sound isn’t a thorn to the inside of Thriftfeather’s throat. When he is no longer tacky with blood, when he doesn’t fear he may shake apart.

Strain settles over the corners of Thriftfeather’s mouth—he prays in equal measure that Vulturekit can somehow sense his true intentions and that he remains clueless, “What do you think about that? When we find it—when we find it, you could keep it safe in your nest for me.” ​

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

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ 　Vulturekit's face falls. He tries not to feel silly for hoping, for asking. He thinks it'd be nice, to touch a little memento of his dad, to see this affirmation of all that he knows is true. A kindness, soft and gentle. "Oh..." He thinks of the twisted, gnarled form of it, love bent out of shape. The panic threatens to rise yet again, and he tries his best to swallow it down.

And then - the golden cat leans in close, voice lowering. Tiny ears prick, tense and attentive. A soft and hopeful suggestion, a rekindling.

His eyes are wide. "I - C-can I? I want tuh-t-to," It would be nice, to have something soft to keep as his own. A gift, just as Periwinklebreeze had given long before they can imagine. Their head nods jerkily. "I'll k-k-keep it safe - the safest - promise." They'll cradle it in their nest, keep it from any harm. Preserve every last thread of down so it doesn't get twisted. It feels like fixing things.

Thriftfeather's intentions slip past the kit, wisps in the wind. They grasp onto the promise of a gift, a naive trust born of inherited guilt. It feels like hope.

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​