private Two feet underground - maggotfur

[greywhisker.]

The grey and white splotched elder sauntered forward to the medicine den, a large crow in his jaws. Blue eyes settled upon his granddaughter, setting the bird down before gently pressing his head against hers in a gentle greeting.

"Ave ah told ya, ahm so proud of ya, my lil bird?" he asked, probably having repeated it for the seventieth time since she gave birth to his great grandchildren. Unfortunately, the nickname was a common one for those in his family- especially ones with names he couldn't bare to say. To call her maggotfur, yes it was her name, but he was never keen that she was named "maggot". It seemed unfair that she had to keep it- but he never told her this. He just never called her that.

"Ah brought this fer ya- so eat up! Ya got to regain that energy from all that hard work ya did, ya deserve it." He had brought her something, every day it seemed. Flowers he could find to brighten up her nest- feathers, prey- gifts to help her feel better while cooped up in this den. Hopefully it helped her feel less alone- right?

@Maggotfur.

​

 

[Ternfrost.]

FROM COFFIN TO THE CRADLE
I GOT DEMONS, I GOT ANGELS​

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ternfrost ♛ 23 moons ♛ female ♛ she/her ♛ shadowclan queen ​

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With evry interaction between them, there is an awkwardness - the discomfort of a cat unused to affection, receiving it from one who seems to have everything. She does not hate him, to her own astonishment - it's hard to hate a cat who at least tries to do... right. But there is a level of independence she can never shake, that leaves her stiffening against the touch to her forehead no matter how touch-starved she might seem. " Hello, " she says blandly, blinking slowly. 'Proud' he says - and this, at least, Maggotfur can agree on. She's worked hard to get where she is now - and even motherhood is simply a new challenge she takes to with fervor.

" Thank you, " its a perfunctory thing, as teeth sink into feathers and flesh - unlike most, she's hardly picky - only plucking a sparse few wing-feathers that get in her way. The rest is eaten greedily - she does not offer the older tom even a bite, no matter their relation. Only when it's nerly half-gone does she speak again, tongue swiping across her jaws as her tail flicks, carefully crossing the wriggling bundles that shift at her side. " Are ktis... always so... needy, when they're little? " She asks - because if anything, Greywhisker is at least experienced.

One can't have so many kits and grandkits (and great-grandkits) without being so.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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I - S H O U L D- H A V E- B E E N- B O R N- W I T H-
A -W A R N I N G- L A B E L

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