father/daughter bonding time (Birch/Shadow/Open)
Jul 30, 2022 16:10:17 GMT -5
♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 likes this
Post by Jos on Jul 30, 2022 16:10:17 GMT -5
[googlefont="Pathway Gothic One"]
er apprenticeship was going well, and soon she would do her assessment and receive her warrior name. Birchpaw wondered what Cloverstar would name her? Birchfang? Birchfire? Birchstorm? Something powerful that would strike fear into the hearts of her enemies and make her allies respect her. Maybe Birchstrike! That would be a good warrior name. Whatever name Cloverstar chose, Birchpaw was just happy to soon be accepted as a full warrior of Mistclan.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she was rescued by Shadowchaser from the boggy woods Birchpaw had gotten stuck in. Whenever she thought about that, she would think about her family, but nowadays she found she thought about them less and less. It made her sad. Her brothers should be hunting and fighting alongside her, and surely her mother would have been proud to see how well she was doing in Mistclan.
Luckily there was very little time to be sad when one was training for their warrior assessment. Birchpaw remained one of the smaller apprentices, likely her growth had been stunted by lack of food when she was a kit. It didn’t matter though, she was fast and strong and being small meant that cats underestimated her and she could get in to places some other fully grown warriors could not. Hawkeye had been an excellent mentor. He knew she was stubborn and so let her learn some important lessons on her own, for example: why you listen to your mentor. Birchpaw promised herself she would catch him the juiciest vole when she got her warrior name, as compensation for putting up with her shenanigans.
Birchpaw had just been on a hunting excursion and had caught two mice. The warriors in camp congratulated her on her fine catch. Stoatclaw, Newtstripe’s sister and Birchpaw’s de-facto aunt, nuzzled Birchpaw proudly. “You should take the big one to Shadowchaser,” she suggested, “You know how medicine cats can be. Workaholics!”
“Okay Stoatclaw! I’ll do that.” she nuzzled the she-cat back before picking up one of the mice by the tail and trotting it to the medicine cat den.
The den was cool, but not cold, and smelled of fresh and dry herbs. She plopped the mouse down just inside the entrance to the den and took a big sniff, her fur prickling with joy. This smelled like home. It was almost like burying her face in her mother’s fur. “Shadowchaser, come see what I caught today! I’ll probably be getting my warrior name soon. Do cats ever finish their training early? I bet I’ll be the first.” She bragged, sitting with her fluffy tail covering her paws. “What did you do today?”
In truth, Birchpaw visited Shadowchaser every day to share tongues. After all, he was her adoptive father, and she loved him and his mate Newtstripe. “Do you want to eat outside?”
ISHY of THQ & ADOXOGRAPHY
| Birchpaw NO ONE CALLS YOU HONEY WHEN YOU'RE SITTIN' ON A THRONE
|
H
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she was rescued by Shadowchaser from the boggy woods Birchpaw had gotten stuck in. Whenever she thought about that, she would think about her family, but nowadays she found she thought about them less and less. It made her sad. Her brothers should be hunting and fighting alongside her, and surely her mother would have been proud to see how well she was doing in Mistclan.
Luckily there was very little time to be sad when one was training for their warrior assessment. Birchpaw remained one of the smaller apprentices, likely her growth had been stunted by lack of food when she was a kit. It didn’t matter though, she was fast and strong and being small meant that cats underestimated her and she could get in to places some other fully grown warriors could not. Hawkeye had been an excellent mentor. He knew she was stubborn and so let her learn some important lessons on her own, for example: why you listen to your mentor. Birchpaw promised herself she would catch him the juiciest vole when she got her warrior name, as compensation for putting up with her shenanigans.
Birchpaw had just been on a hunting excursion and had caught two mice. The warriors in camp congratulated her on her fine catch. Stoatclaw, Newtstripe’s sister and Birchpaw’s de-facto aunt, nuzzled Birchpaw proudly. “You should take the big one to Shadowchaser,” she suggested, “You know how medicine cats can be. Workaholics!”
“Okay Stoatclaw! I’ll do that.” she nuzzled the she-cat back before picking up one of the mice by the tail and trotting it to the medicine cat den.
The den was cool, but not cold, and smelled of fresh and dry herbs. She plopped the mouse down just inside the entrance to the den and took a big sniff, her fur prickling with joy. This smelled like home. It was almost like burying her face in her mother’s fur. “Shadowchaser, come see what I caught today! I’ll probably be getting my warrior name soon. Do cats ever finish their training early? I bet I’ll be the first.” She bragged, sitting with her fluffy tail covering her paws. “What did you do today?”
In truth, Birchpaw visited Shadowchaser every day to share tongues. After all, he was her adoptive father, and she loved him and his mate Newtstripe. “Do you want to eat outside?”
