private WHICH WOLF WINS? [weaselclaw]

[SCORCHSTREAK]

The coming of spring has finally turned around, bringing good things rather than bad. For one, Sootstar seems confident that the threats posed by ShadowClan, RiverClan, and possibly SkyClan are not going to come to fruition. Cicadastar’s promises of retribution cannot be ignored, but he doesn’t seem focused on WindClan right now—the mad king seems to have honed in on ThunderClan, instead. And ShadowClan simply doesn’t pose a threat, in the calico’s eyes.

The better part of the season comes with the clan’s youth. Sootstar and Weaselclaw’s litter show promise as apprentices, and while Juniperfrost’s death was unfortunate, his kits are causing plenty of trouble around the camp. It’s trouble that Scorchstreak doesn’t want to discourage, though, just like Cottonpaw and Burnetpaw’s adventure into the tunnels when they were both kits. WindClan’s next generation is shaping up to be loyal and capable—an appreciated change, after the betrayals of winter.

The she-cat has been spending more time within the camp lately, finding that she enjoys the time spent around clanmates. Some of her most trusted clanmates are moor runners, now, a fact that she would never have considered before the raid on RiverClan. And one of those moor runners just happens to be just across camp—she can’t tell what he’s doing at first glance, but she strides over to greet him anyway. "Weaselclaw," she says in lieu of a hello as she approaches the tabby tom. He’s a clanmate who Scorchstreak greatly respects for both his loyalty and for the fact that he’d saved her life. (Or rather, they’d saved each other’s lives, she supposes.)

The calico settles onto her haunches, multicolored tail shifting to curve around her paws. "How are your kits doing? They’re all growing so quickly." Thoughts of kits, of the clan’s next generation, seems to be all that fills her head.

// @WEASELCLAW
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[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw rarely allows himself to truly relax. WindClan has been surrounded by enemies since the birth of all five Clans, it seems. He's diligent, keeping his tension and his battle-readiness in his shoulders and sturdy limbs. But with newleaf has come peace, even if it is short-lived. Their moorland is rich with prey again, and the scents of nectar and heather are rich on the air when he leaves camp.

Battle flashes through his mind when Scorchstreak approaches him, as it always does when he sees the small calico. He dips his head to her, one lead warrior to another. He'd admittedly been very pleased with her appointment to Sootstar's council. Though she is a tunneler, she shows a ferocity and cunning befitting of a moor runner. Were she constantly patrolling borders, she'd send a fierce message, he thinks.

His blue gaze meets her amber steadily, and he can't help but curl his tail in pleasure at her question. "You should see Adderpaw in battle practice," he boasts, tilting his chin high. "Moorpaw, too. She's the quickest apprentice, and they're both so fierce! Harrierpaw is the cunning one. I think he'll be a strategizer, like Sootstar."

Thoughtfully, he realizes he does not know nearly as much about Cottonpaw and Bluepaw's training. His youngest two daughters spend the bulk of their time training beneath the earth, like Scorchstreak herself. Weaselclaw decides on, "I've heard great things about Bluepaw and Cottonpaw, too." He has, but he doesn't understand what's praise-worthy and what's not sometimes. Tunneling is complex. All he has to worry about is racing through their golden prairie, snagging hares and ensuring their territory is safe.

He wonders about the question about his kits, though. Scorchstreak, despite her status as a former queen, has never struck him as the type to take an interest in the youth. He realizes with a start he knows little about her own kits... except for the one who had died in a failed rebellion.

Weaselclaw's question gets struck in his throat, and he feels himself flailing on dangerous territory. He's not perceptive enough to realize how harebrained his line of questioning might be, but even the tabby lead warrior knows a mother would not relish discussing her dead child. "Are you... thinking of..." He gives her a sheepish look, shrugging his shoulders. "Was he your only kit?" Perhaps this is a safer turn of subject.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[SCORCHSTREAK]

The calico’s smile is warm while Weaselclaw discussss each of his kits in turn, seeming very familiar with each of their strongest points. Adderpaw’s battle prowess, Moorpaw’s swiftness, and Harrierpaw’s cunning. She chuckles at the tom’s obvious floundering when it comes to complimenting his tunnel-bound daughters’ skills, a dark paw lifting to cover her mouth. "Cottonpaw and Bluepaw show amazing potential. They’re naturals, I’d say." Their presence in the tunnels beneath ShaodwClan had been appreciated; both seemed enthusiastic, but not so immature as to leave the tunnel system to explore.

Weaselclaw’s next question is one that very few clanmates have asked; likely for fear of broaching such a subject. But it’s evident to her that the tom intends no harm. Curiosity doesn’t simply wither away when one grows from kithood, after all. "Oh, Dappledsun?" She shakes her head, shaking off the name that echoes in her mind, the name she’d bestowed upon her beautiful boy. The name that he never deserved, in the end. She recalls the moments after, when numbness had begun to replace grief, betrayal. When she’d asked for Houndthistle and Weaselclaw to drop him in the gorge. She wonders if they’d actually done it.

A wistful smile crosses her scarred face, and Scorchstreak looks up at the moor runner once again. "Yes, he was my only kit. My precious boy, he was. I did my best to keep him safe, to keep him protected." She winces at her own words—perhaps it was the preservation of such childlike innocence that carried his paws down that broken, twisted path. Had he thought he was doing the right thing? She supposes she cannot ask him now, but knowing whether or not she had created such a monster could do wonders to settle her guilt. "Your kits are twice the WindClanners he ever was," she adds, because she doesn’t wish her decision upon anyone else—and she doesn’t believe the tom would ever need to make such a decision. Weaselclaw and Sootstar’s children fit perfectly into the clan, and she would bet her life on their loyalty.
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[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw dips his head gratefully to Scorchstreak as she fills him in on his daughters' aptitude for tunneling. "Just like their mother," he says, though the hint of nervousness that is always present when he discusses their specialty shows both in his eyes and his uncertain tone.

His question about Dappledsun causes a reaction he hadn't anticipated. Scorchstreak tells him he had been her only kit, and she had done everything in her power to protect him. Weaselclaw well remembers the day he'd tried his own paw at rebelling against Sootstar, and Scorchstreak herself had slain him for his uprising. He remembered feeling a kind of awed respect for the tortoiseshell queen then.

"Did he ever show any signs of... turning out that way, when he was growing up?" His blue gaze is troubled. "Did you ever have any idea he could betray us--you--like that?"

Scorchstreak assures him his kits are twice the WindClanners he had ever been, but Weaselclaw's worries are not immediately assuaged. He trusts himself and Sootstar to have reared five fine young kits, and Kestrelsnap, of course, but -- who knows what could happen between now and their warrior ceremonies. And even after. Had Dappledsun been influenced by other traitors? How easily could such a thing be done to a cat brought up by a fierce and loyal queen like Scorchstreak?

He doesn't doubt her motherhood anymore than Sootstar's, which is why he finds himself troubled.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

The calico nods her agreement when Weaselclaw asserts that his daughters are just like their mother; she sees much of Sootstar in both of them, though the traits that they’ve picked up from the clan’s leader seem to have manifested differently in each of them. Scorchstreak doesn’t see much of their father in them, though that may simply be because they are tunnelers and not moor runners like Weaselclaw. That’s quite alright, though, she thinks—the tabby doesn’t seem to be confident in his statement in the first place.

The shift in conversation is marked with a grimace as the tom asks whether Finn—whether Dappledsun had shown signs of his traitorous nature. "I… I’m not certain. He was always a particularly gentle child," she admits, speaking slowly. Each word is chosen with care, treading lightly around memories of playing with her son in his kithood, of tiny claws catching in her pelt, of entertaining question after question about the world and how it worked.

She does not grieve him.

"He was reluctant to join the clan, didn’t want to change his name when Liz and I did." Both things she had passed off as normal, back then. He had been young, then, and slow to trust. If she had pushed harder, would he have revealed his snakeskin then? "I think, sometimes, cats get caught up in their own ideals that they forget to consider logical decisions." Or perhaps it was simply fate’s paws that guided her son to make such decisions; every cat has a predetermined death, a time to go, and perhaps it was Dappledsun’s time to go. If she hadn’t gone after him, another WindClanner would have, and the result still would have remained the same.

She straightens, golden eyes sharp as she clears her throat. "These kits are my second chance. But still, I worry…" She cannot say with certainty that the litter she carries will grow up to be loyal warriors. What if she is bringing more traitors into the clan’s midst, dropping cuckoos into their nests?

Still, she has lost one child to it, already. She cannot lose another.
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[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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