Stinging [Honeypaw]

Smokefeather dropped a small quail onto the fresh-kill pile, eager to be rid of the rogue escort that had trailed her hunting patrol. Beechface made a beeline for her own den, the bundle of herbs she carried likely the only thing keeping her from muttering oscenities under her breath at the unwelcome cats, and Smokefeather found herself agreeing with her daughter's anger.

She turned to sit, only to let out a small growl of frustration at seeing her usual spot by the warrior's den occupied by a rogue. Disgusted, the pale tortoiseshell turned away, intending to find a quiet corner of camp for herself. Only, a quiet corner would be practically impossible with all the filthy, pelt-wearing rogues around camp.

A light ginger form caught Smokefeather's eyes, and she approached the apprentice wearily. Honeypaw, Redfall's kit. She'd promised the apprentice that she would find Maplekit after she'd gone missing, and had failed at that. Just like she'd failed to raise a loyal son. It was hard to shake the thoughts away, it seemed that everywhere Smokefeather looked was a reminder of her failures. Still, for one of the kits she'd helped raise after Redfall had brought them to the clan, she managed to muster up a smile. Weak, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

"Hey, Honeypaw." Smokefeather mewed softly, "Mind if I join you?"

Honeypaw's ears pricked up as she heard a familiar voice. Whirling around in surprise as Smokefeather appeared, the light ginger apprentice attempted a small smile. "Hey. Yeah, sure." Shifting away to give the warrior more space, Honeypaw huffed as she spotted Smokefeather's down look. Her...erm, adopted mother wasn't usually this negative. "Something wrong? I know Bloodstrike is injured...badly. He'll be okay, right?" Honeypaw didn't really know the deputy well, but it had been very concerning to see him be tackled by the Asylum cats.

Was her mood truly that obvious? A quiet sigh left Smokefeather as she glanced at the she-cat she'd taken in.

"They've taken him who-knows-where, and we know nothing. I raised a traitor who led the rogues to us. I'm fine." Smokefeather cut herself off with a quiet huff, forcing her fur to lie flat and shook her head. She didn't need to burden the apprentice by venting her frustration at Honeypaw, it wasn't her fault and had nothing to even do with her.

"How are you holding up with everything?" Smokefeather asked, gaze softening as it shifted back to the ginger apprentice.

To her own surprise, Honeypaw made a sympathetic noise and even shifted closer towards the warrior to give her more comfort. It was true, Dawnhawk was a traitor...but not because of Smokefeather. "I am...sure you tried your best." Giving her a half-hearted smile, Honeypaw's gaze seemed somewhere else for a moment. "I am...doing okay. It's...frustrating, to be followed around camp and even to the territories all the time. I just want to be alone for once." Letting loose a small snarl of anger, the ginger apprentice's hackles rose slightly, before she smoothed them down with great effort.

"It is frustrating." Smokefeather agreed, gently pressing against the apprentice in turn.

"They have the numbers, unfortunately." Smokefeather's voice made it clear she appreciated them even less than Honeypaw did.

"How is your training going? Maybe I can take you out hunting one of these days, if you'd like?" The questions was a distraction, though Smokefeather wasn't sure who it was meant for. She knew that Honeypaw's relationship with her father was... rocky, at best, but maybe talking about the training itself would be better than dwelling on what they couldn't change for the moment.