- Oct 7, 2024
- 16
- 4
- 3
@Starlingheart
Does being the eldest give him better privileges than his peers? No, perhaps not. His parents are keen on equality amongst him and his siblings, and thus with him and his denmates too (though in his youth, equality and equity are not defined as separate beasts yet.) But his grandmother... Certainly kittens with sickly lungs and thorn-scratched pelts get love and care freely from the bicolored molly, but he and the rest of his litter - the sweet ilk that slides off of her tongue is drenched in love and adoration held only for them.
Promisekit dwells in his perception of a gilded lineage. He cares not how they died but instead treasures the legacy they lived through and created. Starlingheart presses on with her history, a still breathing relic of seasons that the tom will never know. She has seen many of the changes that the Clans suffered through - created them. He idolizes her, but no less does he revel in the height it brings him.
In that despite her harrowing tale of life and heartbreak, he lives. That her sacrifice has somehow lead to him today, to him thriving. Her one eyed gaze floats to him and his littermates on occasion, and he grasps the attention like prey between his teeth. He needs it, desperately, and feels cold when it disappears. More, he whines in silence.
His paw hurts today. He sits just inside his grandmother's den with half lidded eyes, watching her flit about her hovel to find a remedy for her grandson. His tail twitches and unknowingly, he switches which paw aches.
"Do you..." he trills with the kittenish soft voice he always has, ears folding backwards, "... still have honey? The sweet stuff?" A treat, for being such a good patient.
Does being the eldest give him better privileges than his peers? No, perhaps not. His parents are keen on equality amongst him and his siblings, and thus with him and his denmates too (though in his youth, equality and equity are not defined as separate beasts yet.) But his grandmother... Certainly kittens with sickly lungs and thorn-scratched pelts get love and care freely from the bicolored molly, but he and the rest of his litter - the sweet ilk that slides off of her tongue is drenched in love and adoration held only for them.
Promisekit dwells in his perception of a gilded lineage. He cares not how they died but instead treasures the legacy they lived through and created. Starlingheart presses on with her history, a still breathing relic of seasons that the tom will never know. She has seen many of the changes that the Clans suffered through - created them. He idolizes her, but no less does he revel in the height it brings him.
In that despite her harrowing tale of life and heartbreak, he lives. That her sacrifice has somehow lead to him today, to him thriving. Her one eyed gaze floats to him and his littermates on occasion, and he grasps the attention like prey between his teeth. He needs it, desperately, and feels cold when it disappears. More, he whines in silence.
His paw hurts today. He sits just inside his grandmother's den with half lidded eyes, watching her flit about her hovel to find a remedy for her grandson. His tail twitches and unknowingly, he switches which paw aches.
"Do you..." he trills with the kittenish soft voice he always has, ears folding backwards, "... still have honey? The sweet stuff?" A treat, for being such a good patient.
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