so loathsome; so lonesome [closed]

inspo song: unknown / nth - hozier
the injury of finally knowing you! ;3

---

Sleep promptly dies on Kestrelpaw's tongue with exceedingly limited fanfare to be found.

The early morning air was made fragrant with the taste of an earth-deep chill. The wan, retreating darkness of fading night was tempered by the rosy stainings of first light; soft threadings of quiet color melding and taking shape against the quiet vanishing of glinting stars. Somewhere far away and well beyond the near-sight of the forest, the looming teeth of the highstones began to take rough shape on foreign skies. It would take little time for the final washings of late night to flee the gathering strength of encroaching dawn, heralded forth with the first, sleepy chords of birdsong. It was a little early, but inoffensively so; the world tilting further onto the familiar axis of the quickly waking inhabitants of camp.

If Kestrelpaw was deliberately choosing to wake up early to escape the cramped confines of the unfamiliar den, well. It surely was of little consequence, was it not?

Of course, she wasn't responsible for the menial task of waking just herself- the newly assigned babysitter of the day for Auburnpaw. The mere whisper of thought dedicated towards Kestrelpaw's newest peer set her teeth alight with the sticky finishings of a petulant sigh; already made half-mad by the disbelieving, disgusted ravings of her father on the manner of allowing the weak to return with little more than a singular once-over. Being made to consistently mind over the young tom as though he was a hapless, witless, pointless kit would do little other than resulting in a proper chewing of her ears again. Rising to her full height in the muted darkness of the apprentice's den, wreathed in soft shadings of lingering sleep and sticky moss, Kestrelpaw was decidedly not gentle in her attempts to rouse Auburnpaw.

"Wake up," Kestrelpaw complained, heavy voice weighted with the lingering vestiges of drowsiness and made all the more pirckly with irritation, sliding a singular foreclaw in the hollow space between ribs. "You snore like a badger."

Haphazard limbs were strewn out in every direction, splaying the side of the nest and threatening to spill over into those nearby. Kestrelpaw's jab was closer to an admission of truth, given the way that the young brown and white tom was strewn out in what was perhaps the most comfortable sleep of his life. Between having medicine cats back in the forest and plentiful patrols, Auburnpaw felt as contentedly healthy as a sheltered kit. Vinecrawler had taken his duty as mentor seriously and worked the new apprentice to the bone with long training sessions. The result ultimately left him drifting into long nights of otherworldly rest.

For that reason, as Kestrelpaw prodded his side roughly, a growl of protest rumbled in his chest. Before opening his eyes, Auburnpaw knew who was responsible for the sensation. One eye slide slid open to fix the she-cat with a brief glare. The display of rising onto his paws followed several slow blinks and over-exaggerated stretches, purely to aggravate his patrolmate. He held no malice for the young molly regardless of the contempt in which she regarded him but found it far more enjoyable to prod her in ways that transcended the physical. Today they were supposed to gather moss together. It was a welcomed break from stretching his muscles beyond their limit.

"You know I might sleep more soundly if I wasn't waiting for sharp claws to prod me awake." Auburnpaw said with one final, arduous stretch before righting himself in a similar manner to the other apprentice. He turned and flicked his tail across her nose while heading for the entrance, "Try to keep up, Kestrelpaw. I'm halfway out the entrance while you stall by the nests. I don't want Vinecrawler to think I'm slacking because of a slowpaw." The words were called back over his shoulder and a slight grin turned up the sides of his maw. Quickening his pace, Auburnpaw slipped through the gorse tunnel and out into the snow-laden territory.

While his paws itched to dart through the forest as a result of his renewed energy, the warriors had cautioned to not roam to far. He wanted to roll his eyes at the concept. Several sunrises ago, he had traipsed the deadened foliage of his own accord, without any cat to tell him otherwise. If it weren't for the fact that he had officially sworn himself to the ranks of Thunderclan, Auburnpaw might have ignored their words to fulfill his own selfish desire. Maybe he still would if he could briefly shake the prying eyes of Kestrelpaw whose furious wrath he could already feeling burning on the back of his pelt.

Hmph!

"Perhaps you would sleep more restfully if you didn't require such intensive coddling from all those around you," Kestrelpaw politely returned, delicate voice falsely dressed with the polite and chaste cheer of one discussion something as menial as the weather; condescension an airy, inscrutable undercurrent atop the chilly bite of morning. "Alas, I fear we might be discussing things above what you care to understand."

The audible click of pristine teeth accosted the faux, cloyingly sweet inflection of Kestrelpaw's overly-practiced words at the disruption of Auburnpaw's tail pointedly straying close, an immediate whisper of threat that would yield more trouble than immediate benefit. It seemed trouble was her shadow more than not, in days such as these. The brittle cold grey of the densely claustrophobic forest seemed an ambivalent, all-knowing reflector of the little molly's poor mood; the evidently innate distaste for her companion further drawn all the more to fury-point by the her reliance on directly following Auburnpaw's established steps in the swathes of particularly deep snowfall. Unable to stray from the guiding brace of the older tom's steps without fear of sinking to the shoulder in the frigid teeth of frost-kissed drifts, left to do little other than retain a semblance of dignity by tilting her little head skyward, soft chin and throat bared to the chilly winter morning sun with a quiet sense of grace. The bite of chill nipping at the fine arch of Kestrelpaw's exposed ears made the blood ring hot and pertinent; almost enough to drown out the usual routine internal dialogue that took shape and familiarity in the pristine-wearing of her father's scolding at the company she was designated to keep.

The ache of her half-frozen paws only served to worsen her already somber proceedings.

"The moss by the owl tree will be driest," Kestrelpaw eventually mewed, delicate features dusted in the iridescent fleckings of hard-earned frost, words left to simmer atop a whirling cloud of rapidly dissipating breath, "if we are quick enough, we might return with enough time to join morning patrols."

Without looking back, his eyes narrowed. Kestrelpaw was quite keen on prodding him in more ways than one, clearly woken with more than one burr clinging to her fur. His tail whisked in a mild annoyance as he called back over his shoulder, "Why don't you come up here and hold my paw then? Might make the trip easier for us both." Another fleeting smirk danced across his features, relishing in the fact that at the very least, he was capable of prodding her back. It quickly became apparent that she was following in his pawsteps and so Auburnpaw purposefully lengthened his stride as he bounded through the snow.

Finally stopping as she spoke, the brown and white-pelted tom peered down at her with curious blue eyes, "An expert on moss and ever so devoted to extra patrols? I'm sure your parents are so proud." While his maw remained neutral, the overgrown apprentice couldn't help the flickering image of his own kin as it ran through his thoughts. He wondered what they would think if they could see him training as a Thunderclan apprentice. Would they ever know? It was an oddly haunting idea that echoed as he pulled away from the she-cat in pursuit of the moss they had come here to find.

Much to his dismay, it was exactly where Kestrelpaw had said it would be. Despite her proclivity for forgetting pleasantries, there was no doubt that her keen mind matched her sharp tongue. Drinking in the sight of plentiful green tendril, peeking up from their hidden cavern, he quickly decided there was too much here to start in on his own, "I need your claws. There's plenty here." Without waiting, he set to work with his own sharpened claws, cutting rough and jagged patches of moss, throwing them to the side haphazardly.

The delicate lines of Kestrelpaw's petulant features shaded a touch heavier under the bemused weight of abject disbelief; pale gaze pointedly reflecting an immediate display of surely-you-must-be-joking at the testy reply of Auburnpaw, seemingly inherently made to chafe against the ragged edges of her formally designated counterpart. Wisps of conversation reluctantly traded upon sharp tooth and barbed tongue, friction-bound personalities made to clash as though the relentless toil of churning riverwaters lapping at stone. The transient, shapeless ghost of her mother's face dances behind the shaded reaches of Kestrelpaw's peripheral vision, the voracious thump of blood against knotty circulatory twists and dour nerves set aflame.

"Correct!" Kestrelpaw mews, the taste of her own teeth and prominent dislike feverish and bitter below the purposeful gall of cheer glazing her sing-song reply, "my father is quite proud- so much so that he ensures to tell me just how proud he is every evening." The venomous remainder of the thinly-veiled jab hardly even needs to be spoken aloud, undeserving of the additional effort required to achieve the same half-measure victory. To be welcomed home with so little kin to be shown for such happenings.

Though, in truthful speaking, was it even truly an insult? Did such a little cretin even deserve any positive reaffirmation from his family?

"Stop." Kestrelpaw huffed after a lapsing interval of deserved silence, little face unusually expressive at the sight of Auburnpaw absolutely massacring the moss. Jagged, entirely too deep rivulets of wet earth left exposed as though in protest to the young tom's despairingly rough treatment- no finesse, no care left in mind for tending to the future production of moss. Toms, Kestrelpaw blinked in dismay at the shoddy piling of moss haphazardly strewn by her denmates paws, so crass and uncaring for the damage left in their wake. "Who taught you how to collect moss? They certainly wished to set you up for little other than failure."

Small paws pointedly batted Auburnpaw's own away; a surprisingly genuine demonstration of the delicate movements required to effectively strip moss without risking the elders also stripping your pelt, the entire interaction shaped by the awkwardly polite distance spanning the width of the two apprentice's shoulders.

"How miserable it must be to live off your dad's praise." He muttered crossly, not even sparing her a glance. Thoughts of Stoatfur always made him bitter. It wasn't like the former leader had been a bad parent, rather, being cooped up with only his parents for so many moons had proven to be awfully stifling. Neither of them spoke with honeyed words or coddling antidotes. The pair was oddly indifferent to his lofty goals, wrapped up in an unplanned retirement. Maybe if he'd had any littermates it would have have been tolerable. Regardless, he was free from constant hard stone under his pads and happy to be here... shredding moss.

Auburnpaw sheathed his claws and backed up with a protest mounting on his tongue as she shoved her way forward. Tail flickering with annoyance and his eyes mere slits, the tom managed to briefly hold his tongue and watch. It was easy to see the difference between their efforts, even if he did not think it mattered much. Fine, he thought to himself, if she wants to do it herself, then she very well can. His eyes rolled at the she-cat's overly delicate paw swipes before regarding her down the bridge of his nose. Kestrelpaw was smaller than he was, her coat pale, with dark markings around her face and pads. He wondered if her fur would grow darker with each fowl thing she said, like raindrops gathering up in an angry cloud.

"No cat ever taught me. We didn't have moss where I was born, downbrain. Can't exactly scrape up stone for a nest, can you? Unless you happen to know. We could go to Sunningrocks now and you could show me." Indignation and sarcasm rolled off his tongue. Her self-righteous behavior was grating on the best days. He couldn't wait to move into the warrior's den. However, he would miss being able to pester her. There were some perks to a cat who was easily prodded.

It was tedious work, entirely too delicate in nature. Required the utmost deliberateness of grace, movements as fine and practiced as the late moon laving morning dew against the silky tresses of fresh spiderwebs. The shortened, irritation-laden inhales of Kestrelpaw allowed her to momentarily focus upon the menial task at paw, the precision required to separate the moss without shredding it into fine little bits of breakage. Of course a cat like Auburnpaw couldn't handle a task like this, she thought crossly as she made to free another delicate little strip of soft greenery, it was fine in nature and required caring about something outside of yourself. Two things he apparently had so little patience for.

Fine currents of tension dusted the slim expanse of Kestrelpaw's shoulders as Auburnpaw continued on, evidently more adept at complaining than contributing anything of practical use. Though, well-mannered as she always portrayed herself as being, it wasn't entirely visible to the passively unobservant eye. Great stars, was there anything likable about this tom? Nobody ever wanted to find themselves burdened with the pitiful task of collecting moss, but they could usually manage to survive the ordeal without an entire spiel! Kestrelpaw remained focused raptly on the carefully dislodged tendrils of moss that came free with the meandering movements of her paws, purposefully avoiding giving Auburnpaw the good fortune of meeting her gaze.

"Birds learn how to collect moss without having another creature sitting on their shoulder, feeding them instructions the entire time. Rabbits are able to do it as soon as they leave their birth warrens," she mewed, the saccharine stickiness of her faux manners more prevalent than ever, "even mice can collect moss without being taught. I'm certain you could've figured it out had you actually tried."

Kestrelpaw was quick to snap back with the lashing of her tongue, how on brand. His own patience was quickly growing thin at the relentless onslaught of her inability to utter anything halfway decent. Narrowing his eyes, the brown and white patched tom glared into her pelt. Collecting moss with a badger would have been a more pleasant experience, at least it would be upfront in dragging it's claws across his pelt.

"I bet you're proud to have the sense of a mouse but I have better things to think about. Ones fitting of a cat." Auburnpaw snorted, willfully ignoring the truth behind her words. So what if mice and birds knew how to collect moss for their nests? He had better things to worry about. Surely the camp would be grateful for whatever they brought back. Moss was moss, weather delicately trimmed or quickly shredded. Both methods successfully accomplished their task.

"Here, let me help." The words were even enough in tone that Kestrelpaw would have to crane her neck to see their intent. Claws unsheathed, he raked them down the expanse of her tenderly trimmed patches of moss, shredding them into more delicate strips instead of perfect swatches of bedding.

Wrong choice.

An abrupt, nefarious chill blossomed upon terse early morning air. A newfound, stiflingly derisive stillness weighing down upon the forest with all the gracious welcome of a death march into the maw of an unmarked, shallow grave. At first, it was if there was no contending reaction to Auburnpaw's childish display of disrespect, little to no immediate reaction to the newfound stimuli keying up in the tightly-clinched confines of Kestrelpaw's sordid gaze; mottled nostrils flared under the sharp pretense of an unseen strain descending upon the bleached remnants of her intermittently failing bodily systems. The alabaster bleakness donned in Kestrelpaw's frigid gaze gleamed sharp and poignant as she merely turned to glare over at Auburnpaw, made eerie without the reaction likely intended to be sought. Teeth sticky and clogged with the sour burden of a desperate desire to see the mottled tom tore apart at the unyielding jaws of wolves as she had laid witness to just several short moonrises ago. Kestrelpaw's pale gaze fixed upon Auburnpaw for several lingering heartbeats, evident consciousness suddenly blooming to life with a ghastly flicker of rage, pupils expanding with the hazy permanence of awareness.

Her father was right; how could one ever trust outsiders? They were selfish, purposeless freaks. Common decency, respect- all attributes far beyond their comprehension.

"How dare you," the ensuing murmur was verging on whisper-permanence, lacking the gracing absoluteness commonly made certain in Kestrelpaw's placid voice, a disdainful shrug freeing her of the incidental bespeckling in stray moss pieces. An unfamiliar, entirely foreign ghosting of tension framed the slim lines of the little molly's shoulders, an outright spectacle of immediate aggression instinctively raising her hackles. "How dare you." There was little warning, no accompanying foresight to warn idling onlookers of the sickening crack! that exploded across the frosty morning air as Kestrelpaw suddenly launched herself at Auburnpaw, the hard weight of her angular shoulder bearing sharply against the rounded jut of his jaw. A curious shower of snow, moss, and fur curled tentatively across the frigid sky, an unsightly rain to accompany the effectively brawling pair of denmates.

"You sniveling foxheart," Kestrelpaw snarled, the delicate bones in her forepaw aching with the raw force with the hard strike she bears down upon Auburnpaw's unseemly little rat-face, "does the idea of common decency frighten you so much that you find yourself compelled to act out? Are you some mewling whelp, are tantrums the only way you know of garnering any modicum of attention?"

---

Sparring Match Initiated!

Kestrelpaw used Front Paw Strike, Dealing -6 in Damage & Costing -7 in Stamina!

Kestrelpaw
20/20 [HP]
53/60 [SP] [-7 in SP]

Auburnpaw
14/20 [HP] [-6 in HP]
60/60 [SP]

For several long and stretching moments, Kestrelpaw gave no indication of a reaction to the way he had so callously shredded what bits of proper bedding the pair had managed to collect. Truth be told, as he stared down at clinging tendrils of moss, there was a brief pang of guilt. The action had been driven purely by a desire to prod at the self-righteous and pious she-cat. However, the result was a lack of proof that he had managed to accomplish a menial apprentice task alongside his denmate. Auburnpaw's teeth ground together. If she was more bearable, we wouldn't have had this issue in the first place.

How dare you. The venom-laced words drew him from the childlike seething. Immediately, his icy blue gaze landed on the frame of the molly. Each twitch of her muscles was purposeful as she slid into a crouch. As his eyelids slid shut for a mere second, a response to his confusion, Kestrelpaw came barreling forward. Pain immediately radiated from the stop in which she struck. What had been a creeping tension from constantly clenching his jaw grew into a throbbing pain, protesting the strike that had permeated through fur and flesh. He took a few stunned steps backwards with one sheathed paw raising defensively.

"You're insufferable" Auburnpaw shot back, grimacing slightly at the way his muscles instinctively winced in protest, "I'll have you know none of my other duties have been interrupted by an attack from a clanmate. I think any cat would go mad having to spend any length of time around you outside of camp. Or in camp for that matter." Behind the brown and white patched tom was a lashing tail, twitching in endless frustration. His nostrils flared as he glared down at the remains of their less than fruitful efforts, "I'm taking this moss back to camp." Cramming his mouthful of what he could carry as his mouth protested at the earthy flavor, Auburnpaw stomped off through the forest and back to camp, uncaring of what Kestrelpaw's next move would be.

Auburnpaw has chosen not to fight back.