- Mar 1, 2023
- 57
- 12
- 8
don't rush something you want to last forever .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Since the announcement, Yukio rarely went out of the nursery, content to curl up with Lostmoon who often left him to explore the camp. He was alright with that because his brother always had the craziest of stories to tell him ( or delicious berries Jaggedstorm brings back for the nursery to enjoy ). Or when he’d venture out at moon high to wait for his father who’d take him outside these bramble walls to train until his paws were aching.
He’d been slow at first, nearly tripping over his paws, but Yukio liked to think he was improving, even if it was small. Duskpool had ruffled his fur when he’d finally memorized where to place his paws while in a hunching crouch. He nearly beamed with happiness because he was finally going to be useful. To give back to the clan that had taken him in and let him stay.
Of course, it terrified him. His mind clouded when WindClan attacked, because could he really fight? Heavens no. He’d drop dead if he had to. Yukio didn’t have a fighting bone in his body, but perhaps that was why Kyungmin liked him. Duskpool had mentioned that once, nearly threatening to pop Kyungmin’s head off his shoulder if the silvery tom showed his face. I hope that won’t happen. Yukio still loved him as cruel as it was, but Kyungmin had done a lot for the male, but not everyone saw it that way it seemed.
Shaking his helm, Yukio hummed, peering up through long eyelashes to watch the bustle of camp with a heavy heart. He knew it’d take time, but it still hurt that he wasn’t providing, to be useful. But Duskpool had mentioned that even the tiniest of progress was still progress and that helped ease his worries.
Blinking, the cream-ticked feline shifted, helm resting lazily against his outstretched paws. His back legs tucked beneath him in a loaf-like position, content to enjoy the sun’s rays despite the gloom, heavy with the scent of sick people and grief.
So many have died, taken away from their loved ones to join the flickering lights. Often when he’d finish training with Duskpool, Yukio left a flower or two near the closest tree in memory of the deceased. Wishing them a hello even if he didn’t know them personally. He liked to think they weren’t really dead, even up in Starclan, but blossoming flowers too. It gave him some comfort, especially when his kits died, taken away from him only days after their birth.
With a hum, Yukio tucked his nose into cream tendrils, owlish optics landing on Lostmoon’s frame draped over his. He giggled, optics crinkling at the drool hanging from his maw, oblivious to the world as soft snores escaped in tandem with the rise and fall of his flank. It was calming to listen too, optics half-lidded, enjoying the rare peace.
He’d been slow at first, nearly tripping over his paws, but Yukio liked to think he was improving, even if it was small. Duskpool had ruffled his fur when he’d finally memorized where to place his paws while in a hunching crouch. He nearly beamed with happiness because he was finally going to be useful. To give back to the clan that had taken him in and let him stay.
Of course, it terrified him. His mind clouded when WindClan attacked, because could he really fight? Heavens no. He’d drop dead if he had to. Yukio didn’t have a fighting bone in his body, but perhaps that was why Kyungmin liked him. Duskpool had mentioned that once, nearly threatening to pop Kyungmin’s head off his shoulder if the silvery tom showed his face. I hope that won’t happen. Yukio still loved him as cruel as it was, but Kyungmin had done a lot for the male, but not everyone saw it that way it seemed.
Shaking his helm, Yukio hummed, peering up through long eyelashes to watch the bustle of camp with a heavy heart. He knew it’d take time, but it still hurt that he wasn’t providing, to be useful. But Duskpool had mentioned that even the tiniest of progress was still progress and that helped ease his worries.
Blinking, the cream-ticked feline shifted, helm resting lazily against his outstretched paws. His back legs tucked beneath him in a loaf-like position, content to enjoy the sun’s rays despite the gloom, heavy with the scent of sick people and grief.
So many have died, taken away from their loved ones to join the flickering lights. Often when he’d finish training with Duskpool, Yukio left a flower or two near the closest tree in memory of the deceased. Wishing them a hello even if he didn’t know them personally. He liked to think they weren’t really dead, even up in Starclan, but blossoming flowers too. It gave him some comfort, especially when his kits died, taken away from him only days after their birth.
With a hum, Yukio tucked his nose into cream tendrils, owlish optics landing on Lostmoon’s frame draped over his. He giggled, optics crinkling at the drool hanging from his maw, oblivious to the world as soft snores escaped in tandem with the rise and fall of his flank. It was calming to listen too, optics half-lidded, enjoying the rare peace.
thought speech