private WHICH WOLVES ARE PREY ♡ KESTRELSONG

[mockingbirdcry]

Privately, Mockingbirdcry has always wondered if her daughter aspired for more; she herself had never felt the deep, illuminating aspiration for power that led so many of ShadowClan to that poisoned pool, grasping at falling water with bared claws. Ambition runs in her bloodline, she knows, even if she'd missed some vital gene of hunger, of gnawing desire to wield one's words like a well - honed sword, directing those who lacked a will of their own this way and that. She can admire those who strive from a safe distance, ever - relegated to her role as a queen by her own choice; the comfort of her lifestyle meant forsaking the potential for greater power . . . though perhaps the very lack of it is why she didn't crave it. One could hardly long for a taste they'd never had.

" Kestrelsong, darling, " she greets in husky tones. She loves her daughter; though she doesn't quite strive for the closeness the other cat seems to, she will accept it. Out of love, yes; but if @Kestrelsong should ever achieve any hidden ambitions, all the better that she be in favor with one on the top. White jaws part to drop her gift, tabby - esque feathers fluttering to the ground in a black - and - brown pattern reminiscent of her daughter's own pelt . . . obviously, given that they spring from the same well. " Kestrel feathers for you. "

A pale muzzle curves into a smile; she'd been fortunate to discover the feathers of one of those great predatory birds, given how rarely they flew over the swamp. Such a gift is a signifier of her affections for her blood, and she takes a seat by the reclining warrior, tucking her heavy tail about her paws as though cold, despite the sweltering heat of a greenleaf dusk. " How have you been lately? Doing well, I hope? "

OOC : —

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[Kestrelsong]

Kestrel had spent the day tracking the peregrine that her mother admired. Her limbs felt a hint of soreness in the joints from climbing trees to check branches for stray feathers. It seemed moments after that she found herself back at the safety of the camp. The familiar voice of her mother quickly caught her attention. ” Mmm? ” Her rugged voice inquires curiously as she turns to face her mother and she notes the feathers which reflected her appearance and name. Was this some destined joke of sorts? The umber tabby places an ivory paw onto the feathers gifted by her mother, whiskers giving an awkward flicking. ” Thanks, ma. I also got something for you. ” She admits as she strides off a couple of steps to a brush where she had hidden the feathers, grabbing the neutral-colored feathers.

” It looked like you wanted one the other day. ” Kestrelsong would murmur as she places the peregrine feathers before the queen. The rabid dog of the family could climb to power if she wished, however, that required tending after clan mates and more. Her mother always seemed more interested in the politics and gossip of the clans, and the thought of ever attempting to pursue the path of Lead Warrior never interested her. She was a rabid dog, an unleashed ferocious beast on the battlefield. Her tongue struck like a viper, with no remorse or retaliation for those who the lashing of her tongue faced.

A part of her wished that the war between Windclan and Shadowclan broke out. The desire to be the tigress on the battlefield, the predator hunting her prey. It wasn't technically lead warrior material. However, if the day ever came, she would accept. ” I'm doing well. Nothing of interest recently to entertain me. ” Kestrelsong states with a bored yawn as her long tail whips to the side, resting on her flank. How could her mother stand being a permaqueen? In her mind, it was suffocating and a constant repeat of the every day, similar to an endless loop of torture. ” How are you, ma? ” She inquires as a heterochromatic gaze flicks to meet her mother's doe brown eyes.

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