pafp watch for pedestrians — question

[lambkit]

A small and stumbling form proceeds across the makeshift camp, a trek as long as if not longer than their true home to Lambkit. She moves with a not uncommon singlemindedness, the bottom of her thick tail dark with the oily dirt of the Thunderpath tunnel as opposed to the light pine-needles of camp as it drags behind her. Swirling two-toned eyes are wide and determined, the pair of overlarge green wings tucked snugly behind her ears fluttering their tails in the greasy smog of the temporary camp. Lambkit's dark and vacuous eyes are trained on a specific form: a black one streaked with a thunderclap of ice-clear white, so different from the smudgy cream of Lambkit's own fur.

They have not been raised as traditionally as some of their denmates may have been, and as such, Lambkit holds little concept of the respect many cats hold for the leader. An instinctive, childish honor is given to them, yes, but Lambkit knows precious little of the intricacies of Clan politics and manners. Her thoughts are simple, inquisitive as kits her age are prone to, direct; a positive opposite to smokescreen Clan politics. Lambkit's tricolor form wobbles across camp as quick as she's able, surprisingly not falling down, and comes to rest in front of a monochrome form resting in the shadows of the temporary camp.

She pauses, contemplates a moment, decides in the simple linear thought of a kitten despite her adult syntax. The kit sets down a little curved thing she found right outside of the camp, all shiny and sharp-smelling; not the kind of treasure she prefers, perhaps more suited to Crowkit, but it felt ... appropriate to bring something to Chilledstar, like an offering. And she left all her treasure in camp, and is somewhat still mourning this small loss. But she has a question, a surprisingly burning one; by the simple osmosis of kithood, soaking up information like a sponge, Lambkit has heard of Chilledstar's death at the swamp monster's claws. Her sentences' syntax is that of an adult cat, but their tone holds a kitlike solemnity and curiosity as Lambkit inquires, "I brought you a present. Can you tell me what it's like to never die?"
​

// ooc: @CHILLEDSTAR. !!
the curved thing is a metal earring lamb found. someone hucked it out their window or something idk lol

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

there is a certain amount of morbidity that comes with a question about death. no matter how innocently placed, or how innocent the one who asked may seem, it wasn't exactly the grandest of subjects to speak about. they're staring off into space, the sound of the wind picking up outside the tunnel making their ears twitched. they only pull from their thoughts– or lack thereof– when they hear the pitter-patter of tiny paws upon the ground. their gaze angled downwards, nose twitching before their fur spiked up. what...?

"uh..."

they furrowed their brows. but i did die. they almost say, but they realize that this is a kit. they can't say that, can they? oh, they doubt that the little one's parents will be very... happy with that. with a gentle thump of their tail against the ground, they just stare for a moment. i'm doomed to die over and over and remember every agonizing detail, young one. they do not voice their thoughts.

"that's... not how that works, kit. it's more like, if I happen to make a mistake and I do... err... die... starclan has allowed for us leaders to come back a few times. i wish i could ask them to do the same for some of you, but those starred fellas are a bit... stingy."

they shrugged for a moment. it was true. if they could give away their lives to offer second chances... they'd do so in a heartbeat. but this was not the way of starclan. they just had to accept it as is.

"thank you for the gift, little one. i will keep it forever."

they promise.
​