Gently, Gently, He Would Rock Me To Sleep [Closed]

Sweetkit was not the type to reminisce.

That was a very big word for a kit to know- at least, that's what her father, Brackenlark, used to tell her. It was in that tone that always made her fur puff up in pride, so she always went out of her way to try and impress the tom. There wasn't much she could do- she was a kit, after all, and confined to camp, but she still found ways. Telling him things she had learned about the Warrior Code while visiting the elders' den or had overheard the other Warriors talking about. He would always purr and lick her on the forehead, just once, and she would puff up, her tail drifting high above her head.

Now, though, it seemed useless to know all of that information.

Sweetkit was a lot smarter than she looked- she was small for her age; her entire litter had been born too early, and she was the only one to survive. The others didn't talk about it when she was around, like talking about it would somehow tip her off. She already knew, though. Even if the whispers between the queens and elders hadn't reached her ears, her father had told her anyway. Some might criticize him for telling a kit so young such a sad thing, but it was hard for her to be sad about something she couldn't even remember. Besides, she was happy enough. She had Brackenlark, and he always made sure to make time for her.

"My warrior duties are important," he would tell her, "but you are, too."

Sweetkit was fine with it. She was happy as she was. She didn't really try to talk with any of the other kits much, preferring the company of older cats, and her mother was fine at reassuring her, even if she always did have that same, sad look in her eye when she talked to her. Sweetkit was smart enough to know that she was grieving for her other kits, the siblings that Sweetkit never got to interact with. But, she served as a good comforter, and Brackenlark could do the rest.

He couldn't anymore, though. When you're young, it seems as if your parents are immortal, safe from all harm. That's how they seemed. Her father was so brave and warm and alive, and he always told her the most fantastical stories about the Clans and the leaders and fights with foxes that he would always come out of unscathed. But when they dragged his body in, still and ragdoll-like as any other piece of prey, Sweetkit was forced to face the fact that no young kit should have to be exposed to: her parents, like any other cat, were mortal.

Sweetkit had never cared enough to be particularly religious, but she hadn't disbelieved either. She trusted the ones who spoke of Starclan, and when it came down, she was a hopefully optimistic enough cat that, even if she wasn't sure she believed, she could hope it was true. Hope wasn't very helpful, though, when you are waiting, alone and hidden away from the other cats to softly mourn.

Her mother had gotten worse. Her vacuous stares and constantly having to clarify what others had said to her were enough evidence that she wasn't really listening to Sweetkit when she spoke. She still carried out her duties, but Sweetkit could see that her mother was slipping, farther and farther away into a realm of detachment. At first, she had tried to stop her mothers' gradual slide into complete dissociation, but now she didn't bother. She heard the rumors that, after she became an apprentice, her mother would be taking up permanent residence in the queens' den. It hurt, a little bit, that her mother was distancing herself from everything, including herself. But Sweetkit tried to stay positive. The words from the elders were enough to excite her about her future.

At the moment, though, she wasn't in the mood for idle conversation or listening to the Queen's gossip. Instead, she found herself waiting outside the Queens' den, tucked away on the side of camp as she observed the comings and goings in a quiet, thoughtful way.

She wouldn't mind it if someone came up and tried to make conversation. But she was too unsure, too shy, to try and ask for herself. So instead, she simply waited. She was fine, after all.

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(OOC: Sweetkit is open for some conversations if you'd like to reply. If not, she's perfectly fine just thinking haha.)

"Duck!" Sneezingpaw cried, then blinked, "Er- moss? Dahh! Watch out!" It was too late. Wincing and shutting one eye she made the 'hah, ooohhh..' face, the one when some cat gets unfortunate enough to be smacked in the with a mossball. Like right now. "I'm real sorry, S--sniff--weets!" Sneezingpaw apologized, thumping her way over to the kit.

Bending down onto her her forepaws, her haunches up in the air, she grinned. "Oh! 'Ts Sneezingpaw! Y'know, that's my name!" The speckled molly introduced herself, her father's, although she didn't know, characteristic goofy smile on top her maw, tongue poking out. "What'cha doin' over 'ere in corner of the nursery? Are'ya playin' hide-and-seek?"

Sweetpaw would have stayed there, probably all day, if not for the moss ball that suddenly found its way into her face.

Sneezing, she pushed the moss ball away from herself with a heavy paw, sitting up as she blinked the rest of the moss out of her eye. That had been unexpected. It didn't take long to locate her perpetrator- a speckled molly with a clumsy gait and confident stride. The other cat picked her way over to where Sweetkit was now waiting, her face almost curious, but mostly apologetic.

She spoke in quick succession, and the wards seemed to jumble into each other as the cat sneezed once, twice. The other cat was bigger than her, but not by much. She gave her a friendly gesture, obviously waiting for Sweetkit to answer.

Sweetkit didn't mind the chance to socialize, even if she hadn't quite been able to catch whatever the other she-cat had said. She assumed it was an apology of sorts, and decided it best to try and be polite.

"It's all right," she said quickly. "It's not like you could've seen me back here, anyway. I was just thinking, I guess." She eyed the moss ball hesitantly. "...Would you let me play a game with you?"

Blinking happily, Sneezingpaw grinned. "'Course you can play! Not much fun with-- sniff-- just one cat, aft'r all!" She chirped, happily sitting up. "What were you thinkin' 'bout, Swe-- achoo!--etkit?" The large molly asked, green eyes shining happily. Maybe Sweetkit would want to be friends with her. She'd like that, after all the more friends you had the more cats you could play with!

Sweetkit blinked up in surprise at the eager apprentice. She was friendly, unlike many of the other older cats, and had offered to play moss ball with her. Sweetkit couldn't help but smile back, standing as her tail rose in warmth.

Her question was odd, too. Not many wanted to know much about Sweetkit.

I'm just... thinking, she answered. It was a lie, but she didn't feel comfortable opening up to the strange sneezing she-cat quite yet. Before the other cat could answer, she stepped forward and slapped the moss ball so that it rolled out of the shadows. She quickly gave chase, determined to get to it before the larger cat.