you have learned, way too soon ] losing tooth

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit sits alone behind the warriors' den, its usual spot for hiding away from the bustle of the camp. The cool afternoon breeze ruffles its fur, but it doesn't mind. The solitude is comforting, familiar. Its amber eyes scan the surrounding camp from the shadows, watching as the other kits play, squealing and tumbling in the dirt. Howlkit doesn't want to join them, not today. Not ever, really. It doesn't trust their carefree laughter, their ignorant joy. As it observes the camp a small, nagging ache flares in its jaw, sharp and insistent. Howlkit grits its teeth, its lips pulling back in a silent snarl. It's been like this for days now, an irritating throb that won't go away. It brings a paw to its mouth, pressing lightly against its aching canine tooth. A low growl escapes its throat, more out of frustration than pain. The tooth feels loose, wobbly. Howlkit knows what that means. It's one of the last baby teeth, clinging to its place, refusing to give way even though it's clearly time for it to go. Howlkit bites down harder, testing it, and winces as a fresh stab of pain shoots through its jaw. The tooth shifts under the pressure, and it feels both satisfying and unsettling at the same time.

Without thinking, Howlkit starts worrying at it with its tongue, poking and prodding at the loose tooth as if it can coax it out by sheer force of will. The more it fiddles with it, the more unbearable the sensation becomes. It can't ignore it anymore. Each poke sends a dull, aching vibration through its skull, and the taste of blood fills its mouth. The metallic tang only makes Howlkit more determined. It's tired of the pain, tired of waiting for the inevitable. With a sharp intake of breath, Howlkit clenches its jaw down hard, feeling the tooth give way with a sudden pop. The sensation is quick and sharp, like a thorn being yanked from a paw. Its mouth fills with the thick taste of blood, and it spits instinctively, a small white shape landing on the ground beside a dark smear of red. Howlkit stares down at the tiny tooth, its eyes narrowing. It looks so small, so fragile lying there in the dirt. But the ache is gone now, replaced by a dull soreness that feels oddly comforting. It presses its tongue against the empty spot in its gum, feeling the strange new gap where the tooth used to be. A fresh wave of blood pools in its mouth, but it spits it out again, not caring where it lands. Its teeth will grow stronger, sharper. It knows this. The loss of one tooth is nothing to mourn over—it's just part of becoming what it needs to be. Stronger. More dangerous.​

 

[FALLOWBITE]

ˏˋ*⁀➷ Kits are strange. Fallowbite's siblings especially so, though they are strange in a way that is achingly familiar to the bestial molly. She keeps an eye on them, distant yet watching like a circling hawk. Swoops in at the first sign of trouble, though it is rarely much help.

The scent of blood wafting from behind the warrior's den is quick to draw Fallowbite's worried paw. Her little siblings are just as prone to fighting as she is, and already scars have found their way across the curve of Howlkit's muzzle. The warrior pads around the den swiftly, muscles tense - but it is only Howlkit, alone, who she finds.

A narrowed golden eye looks him up and down. He spits out more blood, and urgency bleeds into the bite of her voice. "I smelled blood. You hurt anywhere? Bite your tongue?" She dares not get too close for fear of startling the kit, but she hovers nonethless. A flash of sunlight glinting off of red is what draws her eye down to the pool of spat blood, a raised and pointed shape. "...Oh. I see." A tooth. Right. She had forgotten that kits lose those.

Mostly assuaged in her worries (is there supposed to be this much blood?) Fallowbite reaches out a paw to nudge the tooth. Howlkit seems wholly unbothered by its loss. "...You gonna keep it?" she asks awkwardly. It seems like the kind of thing it'd do.

‎‎A PLACE CALLED HATE ⁀➷ THE CITY OF FEAR‎

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  "SPEECH"

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  FALLOWBITE ⁀➷ she / it, warrior of thunderclan, fourteen moons.
  ➳ a scarred, pointed brown and white molly with shaggy fur and golden eyes.
  ➳ standoffish and solitary, always seems to have a dark cloud hanging over its head.
  ➳ baying hound xx npc, littermate to antlerbreeze & doepath.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[HOWLPAW]

Howlkit's gaze flickers up as Fallowbite approaches, its amber eyes narrowing. Her sudden appearance feels more like an intrusion than a comfort, and the tension in her voice grates against Howlkit's already frayed nerves. It lets out a quiet huff, spitting again to clear the lingering taste of blood from its mouth despite the fact that it has stopped bleeding. The sharp, metallic tang still lingers, and it relishes the sting, something to focus on besides the discomfort of Fallowbite's hovering presence. The question about biting its tongue almost makes Howlkit snort. It's not foolish enough to hurt itself like that. Instead, it touches the gap in its mouth with its tongue, feeling the raw space where the tooth used to be. The pain has settled into a dull ache, grounding and satisfying in its own way. Shaking its head, it grumbles, "Not hurt. Just getting rid of what's not needed anymore."

When Fallowbite's gaze lands on the discarded tooth, Howlkit feels a flicker of something—not quite pride, but an odd satisfaction. It catches her curious expression as she nudges the tooth, asking if it plans to keep it. Howlkit stares at her, feeling the urge to scoff at the idea. Keep it? What good is a dead piece of itself, a remnant of something weak, temporary? The tooth served its purpose, but now it's useless—left behind, like everything that doesn't help it survive. "I don't need it anymore," Howlkit replies, voice flat. "It's useless. No point in keeping useless things." It spits the word out like a curse, glancing briefly at Fallowbite with a flicker of defiance in its gaze, as if daring her to challenge its reasoning. To it, keeping something broken and small seems foolish. Why cling to a part of itself that was never meant to last?​