will you share this with me? (c)

If there was anything in particular to be said about the way Riverclan seemed to function, it was that they relied on what others did more than what they said. Perhaps it was as a result of their leader, whose poise and nature of being of few words had infiltrated deeper than most in the forest would have anticipated. However, such would have easily been refuted given the beaming heart of their deputy. Poppyshine practically held enough emotion, love, and affection within her heart for every member of every Clan, as well as over half of Starclan at any given moment. Perhaps, instead, it was a result of the way the forest seemed to flash its hideous teeth towards its youngest inhabitants in one way or another, pushing them to be quiet out of some deep-addled fear. Many of Riverclan's members were young, not knowing the pain that some of its olders members did. Most of the Clan hadn't even yet taken their first breath when the twolegs had invaded their territory, their perverse acts of desecration ultimately forsaking the hallowed Fourtrees ground in what became an escape attempt for many.

Mistwalker certainly wasn't there for that. No, the only tumult she had ever known was that of her family life, and that of the greencough which had plagued her body at an all-too-odd time. The pressures and weights that came with being Perchstar's daughter, the tingling of loss in knowing that there was no father figure to shape her life alongside her mother. In truth, it didn't bother her too much. A lot of what she felt, her true opinions of things, really seemed to take after her name. They were shrouded in mist.

That didn't stop her from knowing that she still cared about her family, though. The warrior made it a note in her mind to spend some time with her siblings soon, especially to ensure they harbored no feelings against her due to the molly earning her name before the rest of them. It was a turn of events that she certainly hadn't anticipated, but perhaps it was a reward for the trouble that had fallen her and bound her to the medicine den while her siblings otherwise got the time to learn. In attempting to catch up to them, she had charged too far ahead. The anxiety that crept along her pelt at that idea had her stirring in the night a few more times than she would have liked to admit. Several more times than she would have liked to admit. If anything, she longed to be back in the apprentice's den, curled up in that back-right corner with her siblings. Willowpaw always easiest to exit, Wrenpaw towards the middle as the glue between them all, Tinypaw in the back corner as the last-named, and Mistwalker... wherever else there was room. She found herself wherever made the others most comfortable.

"I've been alright, Ma." Memories came and went as the young warrior found comfort in her mother's scent. An intrinsic part of her, one that was primal and existed far beyond the stars, would always take comfort in it. Perchstar's scent carried the distinct river's call as they all did, but beneath it was something more... stoney. Not quite like the grassy hints that came from her clanmade Brookstone. No, if she had to describe the way she could tell her mother apart from a crowd of cats, the place that they went would be the easiest way.

Sunningrocks.

Perchstar's scent reminded her of sunningrocks, of the stones smoothed and shaped by the water that had long-ago washed over them. After a particularly strong downpour, that scent was strongest, and Mistwalker relished in it. Felt like home in it. Sure, the rocks were a favorite among many cats not only from Riverclan, but to have that deep pull towards them... it was why she considered them even more special. The youthful look of being lost in her daydreams faded from her face as she pulled back away from the wistful memories, reeling herself back in to that calmness that allowed her to be the longer-pelted image of the powerful molly beside her. Tilting her head just slightly upwards, her ear turned to give Perchstar its full attention as she spoke again. "Have I ever told you how Sunningrocks always remind me of you, Ma?" The molly blurted out. Should her mother spare a glance to study her daughter after that statement, the way her own set of blue eyes seemed to trace the ground indicated she felt bashful about her comment. A tinge of shame that burned at her cheeks for such a kittish idea. "Your scent-you obviously smell of Riverclan. The river and fish. But you have the smell of the stones after the rain, too. Deep. Not quite cold, but... smooth. Earthy, but... not quite." It was almost impossible to describe it. She wasn't quite sure what spurred the current tangent, but the moment she ran out of words, Mistwalker seemed to pull herself back in. Showing the glimpse of herself, only to recoil right back into that mist, waiting to see what reaction her words drew.

Truthfully, it seemed like she was playing some sort of game, as if she were afraid to let more of herself show at any given moment. Like the molly was scared of being hurt for her feelings, so she reeled too far in. Walking that secret line of heartless and too heart-filled, always in the mists. But this was her mother! Surely, she could trust her with how she felt, and knew it would never end in scorn!

Perhaps that was why the warrior also let her slight limp show as her front paw twinged in pain, the weasel bite that was hidden beneath the fluff of her fur making itself known. Perhaps that was also why she admitted to it in her own way. "...I learned I don't like weasels."

As the well-known, certainly well-loved former mentor and deputy to the warrior had been mentioned, Mistwalker's gaze had drifted out in contemplation. It certainly made sense. There was a particular element of warmth that radiated outwards from the calico that could have easily given her the descriptor of being the sun sentient. Had there ever been a story to pass down to kits about the forest's mother, it was no doubt that many in Riverclan would have the visage of their deputy appearing in their mind's eye as they told of or heard such a tale. Near imperceptibly, she had given a nod in response. For all the time she had spent in the calico's presence, truth be told the young warrior had never truly taken the time to decipher much of the unique indicators that it was Poppyshine over another clanmate. Simply seeing her, and feeling her presence was enough. In a way, the molly supposed that was enough to make her mother's observation a truth.

When it came to her own scent, her reaction could only be discerned by an affectionate twitch of her whiskers. There was little in the way of new information when it came to being told such. Somehow, she found her name to fit in her in several ways. Not to mention, Egretswoop, the fox-hidden warrior, had told her something similar before. "I wonder if your mother knew that you were like the mists incarnate when she named you. A mystery, but visible to everyone all at the same time. You walk an interesting path." She still was unsure if she was to take that description as a compliment, or as an offense. In an attempt to save herself from the risk of causing tensions between herself and a clanmate, ultimately, the two-toned molly had taken it as neither. Simply a statement of fact, an observation. Especially given the one who had bestowed such an observation onto her was a molly that seemed to notice almost everything while appearing as if she saw nothing all at once.

Discomfort was very quick to nag at the warrior's belly, however, as her mother seemed to easily call out the fear that rippled beneath the many layers of her pelt. Silver and white legs that otherwise stood steady had tilted inwards in a quiet show of how she felt, her claws pricking at the ground to uproot whatever dirt of pebbles were beneath her steps in an anxious knead. Be like mother, mother is strong. The self-soothing mantra had repeated itself in her mind almost as quickly as that anxiety had begun, working as the key to ignore the way it nagged at her belly.

Then, her mother took her tell, exposing it like a wide-open wound.

Well, perhaps it still was. From the way Perchstar had darted closer, a slurry of emotions were very quick to fill the young molly's body. Even as she stood near exactly to her mother's height, she was just ever so slightly shorter. Yet in that moment, beneath the loving, scrutinous eyes of her mother and leader... she felt as tiny as the kit she once was. Swallowing hard as the guilt ebbed a stinging bile at the back of her throat, Mistwalker took each question as they came.

"I'm healing, ma."
"When I went hunting with Hawkshriek."
"...No, I haven't."

Shame burned a near searing heat beneath all of the layers of her pelt as she had to deliver that final admission. When the dark tabbied tom had assisted her back to camp after their hunt, they had found Sandyshell's den empty. No doubt had she simply gone to collect herbs, and given that Mistwalker hadn't exactly been on the verge of collapse, they had grabbed a small wad of cobwebs to hold the wound together. Since that point, it had actually been a more humiliating idea for the warrior to return to the medicine cat's den and show what had happened now that she had attempted to treat it herself. Whether it was a curse or a blessing, her time in the medicine den as an apprentice had taught the warrior the fickle nature of the pale molly who knew the herbs as well as the silver feline knew how to hunt fish. Mistwalker's maw had parted to deliver her cover-up, her apology and story to her mother, that forest-burning shame eating and consuming at her like a wildfire--

Sorry?

Her mother was sorry for loving her kit?

Frozen with her mangled paw hanging for the leader to see, it was gently lowered to the ground as the warrior once more reeled herself in. That everlasting mist of her heart cooling whatever it was she felt, back into the neutrality that was mirrored before her. Even then, she knew what to look for in Perchstar's eyes. Her own had taken after them directly. Behind that gaze of the collected leader, she saw it. Saw the worry for her daughter, the care that came from a bond nurtured by blood. Even if all the young molly could feel was that roiling guilt in her belly for somehow failing the one cat she looked up to the most, the one she wanted to keep happy over them all... that love was there. The love that told her it was okay, that she had not failed or upset her mother. Even if she had not gone to Sandyshell to properly get her leg looked at, and that it had been through sheer luck at this point that it hadn't ended worse.

Mistwalker wanted to speak. But the words... they failed. Each one that tried to surge upwards got lodged in her throat, only to then be pinned down by another, and another. As much as she wanted to share with Perchstar, it was becoming blaringly obvious that there was a singular, fatal flaw. She didn't know how. Instead, it was action that would indicate how she was feeling. While the sleek leader before her had lept back, poising herself in the image of cooled regalia, it was her daughter's turn to close the distance. One of Riverclan's princesses, coming close to the empress who ruled with a calm, just paw.

Tenderly, she pressed her head into the alabaster shawl that decorated her mother's shoulders and chest. It had always been her favorite place to hide from the world when it was too bright in the early mornings of her youth, tucked against perhaps the most vital part of the leader's body. Here, it was where the strong heartbeat of her mother had lulled her to sleep on countless nights where worry nagged at her young mind. Innocent thoughts, like the shadows of the nursery morphing into being countless creatures that could bring her or her siblings some part of harm. Like the thought that she wasn't good enough to be an apprentice, that she couldn't catch up to her siblings as they had charged ahead, full of vigor for life. The thought that the water had terrified her, felt unnatural, like it would simply soak her coat and pull her down, down down into an abyss that she couldn't swim up from. Now, it still symbolized that. But it also was the only way for Mistwalker to truly tell her mother...

"I love you too, ma."

That's what it was, wasn't it? That care that had seemed to dethaw that eternally icy gaze of Riverclan's empress, the care that parted the shrouding mists of the princess's true thoughts. Her ears found themselves flattened against the feathery tufts of her head as she simply kept her head pressed there for some time, both in comfort to herself and to provide a bonding touch to her mom. It was love. It had to be.

She didn't pull away-couldn't pull away-as she allowed herself the tender moments to pass. If she was overstepping some unspoken boundary between the two now that she had grown up, she didn't want to be the one to pull away. Not as the otherwise neutral molly found herself wrapped in the secretive warmth that told her it was okay to be herself, to open up about the feelings and thoughts that rippled beneath her pelt. It was certainly kittish, and not fitting of her name, to be tucked up against her mother in such a way. Those anxieties shuddered through her pelt as she stayed pressed close. Had it been leafbare, there was no doubt that the extra warmth the eternal layers of her pelt provided would have been appreciated. Now? They didn't exactly provide the comfort she would have wished, but hopefully brought at least some kind impact alongside her close proximity.

"I'm healing, ma." The warrior repeated again, breaking the fragile silence that had existed between the two of them. "Being with you helps. You checking on me- it helps. Because then I do have to think about how I am doing." It was true. For the most part, she had simply shoved it away. Tucked the pain in the feathery tufts of her pelt, shaking it out as she moved. Ignored it, because to entertain it would mean admitting the weakness. A failure. Much as she did with every other anxiety that rippled. Simply ignored it, even as they ate away at every part of her being. Even if they got nearly suffocating, when it should have been her long pelt suffocating her. No, it was the thoughts that roiled beneath that threatened to drag Mistwalker away from what she knew. It was why she found herself walking that line. The line that shut everything out, or dared to let everything in.

She was going to let her mother in.

"I am scared to let you down, ma. I'm scared I've hurt Willowpaw, Wrenpaw, and Tinypaw's feelings by getting my name first. Willow has always deserved it first. I'm scared I've hurt Sandyshell's feelings by not going to her for my paw. I'm... I don't know if I deserve my name, ma."