private what i hate less ] doepath

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit crouches low in the thick underbrush, the tangled ferns and gorse swallowing him whole as he burrows deeper into their protection. The plants weave tightly together along the camp’s walls, creating a barrier that few can pass through easily—and that’s exactly why Howlkit has chosen this spot. He presses his small body against the damp earth, feeling the cool dirt cling to his fur, blending him even more into the shadows. His dark pelt, flecked with bits of dried leaves and moss, makes him nearly invisible among the greenery. The air here is heavy with the scent of wet soil and crushed foliage. The occasional thorn snags at his fur, but he doesn’t care. It’s a small price to pay for the security this hiding spot offers. Amber eyes, sharp and alert, flick from side to side as he listens intently to the sounds of the camp beyond the undergrowth. He hears the distant murmurs of the warriors, their voices low and rumbling like distant thunder. Occasionally, the sharp, high-pitched voices of other kits ring out, playful and carefree. Fortunately, the gorse and ferns block out most of the noise, wrapping him in a muted cocoon where he can finally be alone with his thoughts.

Howlkit’s ears twitch, catching the faintest rustle nearby—a bird hopping through the grass, maybe, or a breeze stirring the leaves overhead. His muscles tense instinctively, coiled and ready to spring, though he knows it is unlikely someone could sneak up on him here. Still, he can’t help it. Every shift of the wind, every sound, every flicker of movement keeps him on edge. It always has. Baying Hound taught him that nothing is ever safe. Not truly. That lesson burns into his very soul, and even here, among the supposedly secure walls of the camp, Howlkit can’t shake it. There is always something, someone, waiting just beyond sight, waiting for him to slip up, to make a mistake. And if he does, if he lets his guard down even for a moment, the consequences could be dire. He digs his claws into the soft dirt beneath him, feeling the cool, gritty texture ground him for just a second. His mind races, thoughts spiraling like a storm inside his small skull. Do the others wonder where he’s gone? Do they care? The other kits rarely bother with him, too caught up in their games, their laughter, their normal friends. They don’t know what it’s like to carry the weight of constant vigilance. To always expect danger, even when there shouldn’t be any.

Out here, tucked away from their carefree play, he can finally breathe. The camp feels too open, too exposed. Eyes always on him, voices always pressing in. Howlkit hates it. His heart beats steadily in his chest, though there is a familiar tension in his limbs, a readiness to bolt if he has to. Even now, crouched and concealed, he is prepared for the worst. What if someone comes looking for him? What if they find him? His throat tightens at the thought. He doesn’t want to be found. He isn’t ready to face the open, to be pulled back into the light where every twitch of his whiskers might be scrutinized, judged. He isn’t like the other kits, able to abandon fear to engage in play. Howlkit narrows his amber eyes as he presses himself even lower, his small body nearly flattening against the earth. If they come, he will stay hidden. He will let the gorse and ferns do their job, let the shadows cloak him until they give up, assuming he has wandered off somewhere else. He can stay here for a while longer, just until the feeling in his chest loosens, until the sharp edge of his awareness dulls enough for him to emerge.

[ @doepath ࿔ ]
​

 

[doepath ࿔]

The trouble with trying to navigate their fears is that... they are the same as hers once were. To confront them demands confronting herself... a tiny, feeble version still bristling whenever something moves too suddenly. The same one that had bared its fangs at Gentlestorm when pain inspired blind terror. Her muzzle still feels sore where over-eager teeth had sunk into it... it was her own fault really... and though she tried not to make a big deal of it, to not further encourage its separation from its clan-mates... it stung and had taught her a new wariness.

Stubbornly, Doepath was just as persistent to be a source of comfort for her younger siblings. Those that slink in the shadows like they were intruders here rather than welcome guests... contributing, beloved members despite their quirks. Fallowbite had been equally prickly, if stories were to be believed... It just took consistency to break through the shell. Yippingkit and Thrashkit had made the job far easier... generally more willing to talk and put at ease by her softer composure. Howlit's resistance felt like a rejection of another kind.. one that burned, stung the corners of her eyes....

Maybe giving him space might've been the better call but... something about his soured experience just urged her to give him another chance at normalcy. If he hissed and spit and tried to snap again... she'd just walk away. His boundaries, even if formed out of irrational fear, ought to be respected just as hers had been. It had been an exceedingly difficult task to both track and successfully hunt down a meal for him... Its freshness was the most important part and had demanded her patience. By the time she'd finally done it, the sun had risen well into the clouds and the chill of the windy autumn air had settled in for the afternoon. Drawing back through the greenery that shielded the camp with her nose overwhelmed by the hearty scent of a fresh muskrat, the new challenge became something like a game of hide-n-seek.

The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to the poor, shadow-dusted kit should he be brooding and so, with a heightened level of caution, the pale toned she-cat began sniffing about the nursery for signs of his last escapade. It took far longer than she cared to admit... and if he squinted watchful eyes, he may very well have noticed her pass him once... twice... an insistent third time... before finally realizing that his scent had veered off into the camp's lush wall itself. Lifting her head to be out of immediate slashing range, she gingerly abandoned the muskrat just beyond his arm's length- a peace offering.

"I thought you might be hungry," she meows, offering a nervous smile in hopes she has not already aggravated the young cat. "It's all yours... I promise. I won't take it from you, won't even ask for a bite." She couldn't anyways... lest she risk defying the warrior code over a tiny nibble. "I just wanted to say I was sorry for... for invading your space... and if you want me to go away, I'll go, swear it." Anything she could do to mend what little trust it might've had in her as a big sibling...

please dont leave me ➺ in the dark

• DOEPATH
  fourteen month old warrior of thunderclan
  she/her fawn sepia with low white and yellow eyes

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit sits quietly, concealed in the shadowy embrace of the camp’s wall, as still as the cold autumn air that hangs around him. His body, tense and guarded, resembles the silent watcher he's grown to be. He sees Doepath moving through camp, her fur catching the sunlight as she searches for him. It isn’t unusual for others to miss him—he has a way of blending in when he wants to. But Doepath isn’t giving up, like others tend to when he makes himself scarce. He shifts slightly, narrowing his amber eyes when she passes him again, and again. What does she want? His siblings, Yippingkit and Thrashkit, seem content enough to accept a bit of the presence she offers, but he isn’t like them. Doepath’s persistence scratches at an old wound in his chest—the vulnerability he despises showing. Yet, he can’t help the way his heart twists when he catches the scent of fresh muskrat, his stomach tightening in response. His eyes flick to the prey as Doepath finally seems to realize where he's hiding and approaches, and for a fleeting moment, he contemplates slipping away into the shadows.

But something keeps him rooted to the spot.

Her approach is cautious, calculated even, as she places the muskrat just out of his immediate reach. The sight of her backing away, head lifted, her words soft and apologetic, pulls at his defenses. She’s not like Fallowbite, he reminds himself, though the memory of his mother’s death at her littermate's claws lingers, tightening his throat. He doesn’t like this, this feeling of being seen, but the sincerity in her voice keeps him from spitting the venomous retort that rests on his tongue. He stares at the muskrat for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken tension. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, and deliberate.

"I don’t need your pity." The words leave his mouth harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t retract them. Though she seems genuinely sorry, he isn’t ready to forgive so easily. His amber eyes, watchful and wary, flick up to meet hers, scanning her for any sign of false intentions. She isn’t Fallowbite, he reminds himself again. "I don’t want your help." His gaze shifts back to the muskrat, the scent filling his nose, tugging at his hunger. "But…" His voice softens, just barely. "Thanks." It’s the closest he will come to an olive branch, for now. He doesn’t reach out to pull it closer right away, instead sniffing at it warily, once, twice. Finally, after a thorough inspection, he reaches out and tugs it closer with outstretched claws. He takes a tiny bite, chewing, swallowing, and when it doesn’t make his stomach lurch, he deems it safe. He takes a bigger bite this time, taking a half-step forward from his hiding place to properly reach the prey that Doepath has brought him. His guard is still up, ears still alert and eyes still flicking towards the warrior every few seconds as he eats, not quite willing to fully let down his guard despite his acceptance of the food.​

 

[doepath ࿔]

She's content to sit under the scrutiny of its stare... the same summer shades that match her own. Though its eyes are careful, crafty, wary... their similarity ends there. Stripped of the chance to see in clarity, Doepath found that fawning through her life had been the only chance she stood against harm's way. Would she have been so bristly and prone to snapping had she the vision to see illusionary threats? Was Howlkit haunted by 'what if's that it couldn't predict? She expects to be cast away, with the rodent taken between hesitant, fluffy paws... but the low growl tones of her sibling do not bid her to vacate. They do not hiss at her to leave. Do not accuse her of any malicious intent....

Instead... he fears her pity...? Ears sit forward to hear him better, wondering where on her face she's convinced this smoky kit that her only thoughts of him are piteous. "Why would I pity you," she asks, scrunching her nose in confusion despite the way a fresh bite mark stings to be stretched in such a fashion. "I pity myself for getting bit, really," she laughs nervously, hoping that her lack of anger surrounding the incident might be refreshing or reassuring at least. She can tell by the way the colors grow that it has lifted its stare to glower at her more completely but... pays it no mind. It just always has a glower on its face... "I don't want your help... but... Thanks."

Her lips pull up into a smile, not daring to move an inch outside of breathing for fear of being misread as a liar keen on stealing its treat. "I'm kind of required to hunt for you guys," the fawn warrior explains, praying that it doesn't come across as a woeful obligation but rather, provides context that it isn't a show of pity either. "It's the rules... kits always eat first. But... you're about to be big enough to start hunting for yourself." Whoever got this scrappy burr of a cat for an apprentice would have their paws full... and wistfully, she wonders if Flamestar has the foresight to make sure his mentor isn't someone that's prone to pushing buttons. No one quite so hot headed as Stormywing (though she seems plenty busy with her two apprentices as is). But not someone so soft as to let the monochrome youth walk all over them... "Once you're an apprentice, I could take you with me... if you want? You're already pretty good at crouching and staying hidden... I bet you'll be a natural at it." Which... is great.. if it means sparing Howlkit the humiliation of being anything like her.

please dont leave me ➺ in the dark

• DOEPATH
  fourteen month old warrior of thunderclan
  she/her fawn sepia with low white and yellow eyes

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit's amber eyes narrow slightly, his ears flicking as he listens to Doepath's words, every syllable filtered through his innate skepticism. Her light laugh, her lack of anger at the bite—it all unsettles him. It doesn't fit with the way the world usually works, with the way cats react to things. Cats should react with anger or scorn, or at least disdain. Even pity, though that is something he dreads. His gaze is heavy, scrutinizing her face, trying to find any flicker of deception beneath her words. The way she scrunches her nose and smiles doesn't feel like a trick, but Howlkit doesn't trust easily. Why wouldn't she pity him? He's the kit that everyone looks at sideways, the one that barely talks and stares too long. The one whose own past claws at his insides like a living thing. His chest feels tight as she speaks of hunting and apprenticeships, a life that feels distant and uncertain to him.

He doesn't know if she's mocking him or being genuine, but her tone doesn't have the sharp edge he expects from those who speak with pity. There's no softness in her voice that he can cling to as a reason to reject her, only a practicality that he finds himself unwillingly drawn toward. The thought of being able to hunt for himself, of not needing to rely on anyone else... that's the kind of future he could stomach. "Why would you want me with you?" he says low, somewhere between a regular tone and a growl though the bite is missing from his tone. It's not an accusation, but a question born from a life of uncertainty and distrust. He studies her carefully, as if waiting for the mask to slip, for her true thoughts to show through.

But she only talks of rules and practicality. He hates rules. They remind him of everything that was stolen from him, everything he can't control. But the way Doepath says it, as if it's just a matter of fact, makes it harder for him to argue. The idea that he's almost big enough to start hunting for himself stirs something inside him. The prospect of leaving the nursery, of doing something that gives him control—it tempts him. He lowers his head, eyes flicking to the prey between his paws. His grip tightens around it, though his voice, when it comes, is quieter. "Maybe. If I feel like it." It's not a promise. He doesn't make those. But there's a part of him that knows he'll follow her, if only because he has to learn to fend for himself. The thought of being pitied might make his fur prickle, but the idea of being helpless is far worse.​

 

[doepath ࿔]

"Why would I want you with me?" Her head tilts slightly, surprised by the question and seeking an answer within herself that might not upset him. It isn't pity... It isn't fear... Doepath felt reassured that no matter who wandered these forests with her young siblings that they would be cared for, despite the way their teeth are keen to seek flesh. "I just feel like you might feel more comfortable that way," that feels right... but she isn't entirely sure about the deeper meaning- was it just another desperate attempt to bond with a young sibling that still bristled at the sight of her? "I won't hover over you... or touch you to correct your crouch... Promise." He seemed to value his autonomy a lot... and few had the patience to accept that sort of thing, mistaking it for disrespect.

Her smile is light as, after a pause, the fog-colored youth grumbles a soft non-answer. A maybe is better than a no... and it had not yet jumped to its paws to chase her away. It was an improvement... one she relished in with a short-lived purr to herself. "Only if you feel like it," she repeats, "That's okay with me."

Her whiskers twitch, glancing behind them to look at the bustling camp, "Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow with more food? Maybe I can steal a shell from the riverbank for you... They're kind of spiny and sharp along the edges sometimes but they're pretty... so I'm told." They are much too small for her vision to sift through.

If the way to win over Howlkit was with gifts, space and patience, Doepath was the perfect warrior for such a task! She had plenty of love to give and would expose her belly just to make sure it felt comfortable. Even if the bite definitely hurt... it wasn't like she'd never been hurt before- which reminds her, "Is your scratch feeling okay?"

please dont leave me ➺ in the dark

• DOEPATH
  fourteen month old warrior of thunderclan
  she/her fawn sepia with low white and yellow eyes

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit shifts, not meeting Doepath's gaze directly, but keeping her in his peripheral vision. His amber eyes narrow slightly, suspicious of her soft-spoken words and her gentle tone. It's a good question, one that scratches at the back of his mind, the answer buried beneath layers of uncertainty and caution. Part of him wants to snarl something back—to tell her she doesn't know him, that her soft reassurances are wasted on a kit like him. But something in her voice, a quiet sincerity, gives him pause. She doesn't sound like the others, the ones who insist he's nothing but a troublemaker, biting and snarling like some rabid creature. No, Doepath sounds… different. Less certain, maybe. And her words aren't laced with the expectation of obedience or change. Comfortable? He scoffs inwardly, as if he could ever be comfortable around others, let alone one of them. Still, there's a tiny flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—that makes him linger.

"I don't need you to watch over me," he says in a low voice, almost a growl, though it lacks real bite. "I don't need… any of that." The words come out blunt, defensive, though he feels the weight of their hollowness even as he speaks them. But she's offering him space alongside everything else, something that no one else has given him. No hovering, no correction, no expectations. He doesn't know if she means it, or if it's some trick to get him to fall in line like the others. But something about her promise feels real, or as real as anything can be in his guarded world. He watches her with narrowed eyes as she mentions coming back tomorrow with food or even a shell—a shell?—something strange and foreign that's sharp along the edges. He's tempted to roll his eyes at the gesture, yet there's a spark of interest he can't quite snuff out. Why would she go to all that trouble for him? Most warriors keep their distance, letting him lurk in his shadowy corner without a second thought. But Doepath… she doesn't flinch or scold, doesn't even seem hurt by the memory of his bite.

When she asks about the scratch, Howlkit hesitates, feeling a slight pang of something. "It's fine," he mutters, a little softer. Thinking about the scratch given to him makes him think of the bite he had given her. He didn't mean to hurt her, not really. She'd just… been too close, said too much. But looking at her now, with that gentle persistence in her eyes, he feels the faintest tug of remorse. "...You can come back tomorrow, if you want," he finally grumbles, though he refuses to look her way, focusing instead on some imaginary point in the dirt. "But I don't need a shell. I don't need anything."​