Private Backwritten Territory asking for advice ~ Swirlstrike

[Swirlstrike]

{$title} Takes place before the Skyclan/Windclan border fight.

Swirlstrike, -- 13 Moons / Skyclan Scout -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creamcurl and Chestnutjaw.

Tagging @Victoryscorn

---

The day was bitter and cold, with snow decorating the ground in patches. Ice dusted the ground and grass, some of the trees crackling from the weight of the wet rain frozen onto the limbs and bark. Two trails of pawprints zig zagged through the snow, meandering like a small stream, one set larger than the other. The two cats were on a quick patrol, checking up on a small area of the border and hopefully finding a peice of prey to snag before heading back to camp.

One warrior, old and scarred from countless years of expereince, and another, freshly promoted into the position, named for her loyalty and unbreakable spirit. Victoryscorn and Swirlstrike trotted together, side by side, almost silent.

That is, until Swirlstrike broke the silence. The mottled she-cat turned her head to the larger warrior, looking up as him as she opened her maw to ask a question. "...Hey, Victoryscorn?"

It had been weighing on her. All of it. So much had happened, yet so little at the same time. It was so... offputting to have Duchess around the clan. Her mother... or, she was supposed to be, but she truly didn't know a single thing about her. The only things she knew were what Milkheart would tell her. The new litter... it made something inside her chest squeeze with dejection. A whole new litter. New children, for Milkheart and Duchess to raise together, the perfect little family... she didn't know how to feel. One part of her felt the gnawing heat of jealousy, and she fiercly rejected it. She wasn't a kit anymore. She didn't need her father's affection and attention all of the time.

Not that he had been negligent. Not in the slightest. But... well, the kittens were newly born, and they needed attention and care. They were important. The future of the clan, special and blessed by the stars to be here before them. They were...

She hadn't even seen them yet. She refused to visit the nursery when Duchess was kitting, and hasn't been near it since. It felt.. wrong. Like they weren't her siblings. Duchess certainly didn't feel like her mother. But Milkheart loved them... so they were her siblings. She sighed. She just didn't know what to do. How to feel. She had thrown herself steadfast into her warrior duties (as if she had ever slowed her determination in the first place) to distract her from the heavy weight of it all, but... she couldn't avoid it. Soon enough, the kits would be exploring camp, and she would have to face them- and Duchess eventually.

"...Can I ask you something?"

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn had always been grateful for his size, even now that age had worn him down around the edges. His build stayed broad and heavy, muscle packed beneath a coat gone rough and unkempt with time, pale where old scars split the fur uneven. Snow clung to his legs as he moved, but his paws—wide and thick, tufts spilling between each toe—spread his weight with ease, carrying him across the white-drowned land without sinkin'. SkyClan's territory lay hushed beneath winter's grip, the ground smothered in rolling whites and silvers, broken only by frozen grass and the dark ribs of trees.

For once, his pelt looked… wrong. Victoryscorn usually wore berries, twigs, and bits of dried leaf tangled through his fur like stubborn badges, but winter had stripped the land bare. Nothing left to snag but ice and brittle stems buried too deep to bother with. Still, the blue stains lingered faint along his shoulders and tail, dulled but stubborn, and the sharp-sweet scent of crushed fruit clung to him no matter how much snow brushed past. Even without the clutter, he smelled like old habits that refused to fade.

He didn't care much for patrols paired with younger cats. Too much chatter, too much bounce in their steps, too many questions they weren't ready to hear answered. Swirlstrike might've earned her warrior name, but to Victoryscorn she still carried the shape of a kit in his mind—clumsy-footed once, all sharp energy and mismatched eyes that burned too bright for her own good. Time had hardened her, sure, but it hadn't scraped the memory clean.

Her voice cut through the quiet, and Victoryscorn's ears twitched at the sound of his name. His pace slowed just enough for the snow beneath his paws to crunch, ice crust crackling faint as bone. He didn't look at her right away. Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the treeline, where frozen rain glazed the branches like glass. Wind rolled through them in low groans, setting the limbs creaking and shuddering like the forest itself was complaining about the cold.

"Ain't much point hollerin' my name," he finally rumbled, "if you're gonna choke on it halfway through." His voice came out rough, worn thin by seasons, but there wasn't much bite in it. After a moment, he turned his head, one scarred brow lifting as his eye settled on her. "Spit it out, kid."

They moved again, falling back into an even trot. Victoryscorn watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to stare. He caught the tension in her shoulders, the way her steps struck the ground just a hair too hard, too measured. He'd seen that stiffness before—on warriors fresh from loss, from change, from things that dug in deep and refused to be named. Snow crunched steady beneath them, her smaller tracks drifting closer to his own as the path narrowed.

"If it's weighin' on you enough to drag it out here in weather like this," he said after a beat, breath fogging the air, "then it ain't nothin' small." He gave a quiet snort. "World don't get any lighter just 'cause you keep your jaw shut an' hope it fixes itself."

His tail flicked once, slow and grounded, stirring loose snow behind him. He turned his gaze forward again, eyes sweeping the border, but his attention stayed firm on her. "So go on," Victoryscorn added, voice low and steady. "Ask. Ain't runnin' off."

___________________ YOU KNOW THIS MOMENT, ☆ DON'T YOU? ___________________

• "speech."
  "thoughts."
  actions.
  

• 

• VICTORYSCORN he/him, skyclanner, one hundred one moons.
  ☆ an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
  ☆ mentoring no one.
  ☆ no current relationships or family ties.
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by egg ↛ eggmcbaconboy on discord, feel free to dm for plots!

 

[Swirlstrike]

Swirlstrike, -- 13 Moons / Skyclan Scout -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creamcurl and Chestnutjaw.

Tagging @Victoryscorn

---

"Well-" she stuttered, the sentence that was meant to come after dying on her tongue, hesitating in a way she knew Victoryscorn wouldn't like. She sighed, paws halting until they came to a stop. "You... you know Duchess, right? And, well... Milkheart." Of course he did! Why was she stating the obvious? Even if he didn't personally care for them, information in the clan spread within hours of anything happening. It was impossible to avoid information and rumors.

"Well- you know what happened, with Duchess being made to stay with her twolegs when we had to go on the journey... and now she's... well, back." her words haulted, feelings a bit too much, like they were going to spill over and drown her. "And, well, now they're having a new litter together and... I don't know. It's weird. I don't really... know her, and I don't know what to do. I haven't even gone to the nursery yet to see the new kits!"

Swirlstrike's words got faster, more pressed, like she had to get them out immediantly or they would be too much for her to handle. "I just! I don't know what to do! They're not really- they are my siblings, but I don't really know Duchess, and I don't know these new kits, and I don't know if I should!" mismatched eyes looked up at Victoryscorn, worry and doubt and confusion reflecting in them.

"They're gonna be old enough to be walking soon, and I'm not gonna be able to avoid them, but I don't know how to treat them! They aren't like Creamcurl or Chestnutjaw or Milkheart!" She didn't feel any connection to them at all. They weren't family. Should she try and connect with them? It was all so weird! She didn't know what to do!

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn stopped when she did, the quiet closing in around them like a held breath. Snow whispered as it settled against the pine needles overhead, the tall trees standing close and solemn, their trunks dark and straight as old sentries. Frost clung to the bark in pale veins, and every so often the wind shook loose a dusting of ice that fell in soft, glittering curtains.

"Yeah," he said at last, voice low and even. "I know Duchess. An' I know Milkheart." His tail brushed the snow once, slow and absent.

And he did know them—but the knowing snagged sharp. When he tried to fit them together in his mind as a pair, as her parents, something old and jagged twisted in his chest. For a heartbeat too long, he wasn't here in the pinewoods at all. He was moons back, before the great journey, when winter had been crueler than claws. When grief had hollowed him out day after day, night after night, until every breath tasted like loss. Faces blurred together—fur stiff with frost, bodies still beneath snow—and the ache had been so constant he'd barely remembered how it felt to stand without it.

Victoryscorn's jaw tightened. He'd buried most of those moons deep, shoved them down where memory dulled and edges softened. He had to. No cat survived mourning like that forever. Blocking it out had been the only way he'd kept going, the only way he'd saved himself from drowning in sorrow after moons of it gnawing him raw.

He pulled himself back with a slow breath, the cold pine-scented air grounding him. "Ain't exactly news that travels quiet," he added gruffly, as if nothing had snagged at all.

He shifted his weight and turned more fully toward her, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the snow. The blue stains in his fur looked muted against all that white, but the sharp-sweet scent of old berries still clung stubbornly to him, out of place in the clean cold. Pine boughs groaned overhead, needles bowed heavy with ice, the forest creaking like it shared the weight on his shoulders.

"Listen," Victoryscorn went on, voice rough but steady, "you ain't wrong for feelin' like this. World don't stop an' sort itself neat just 'cause StarClan says somethin's s'posed to be family."

Truth be told, it felt strange—downright awkward—being the one offering advice at all. Family had always been the only thing that mattered to him, the one belief he'd clung to harder than any code or promise. He'd lived and bled for it. Lost it. That kind of devotion shaped a cat, bent their spine whether they wanted it to or not. And he didn't want that weight pressing down on her choices. Her path wasn't his. Her wounds weren't carved the same.

So he chose his words careful, like stepping over thin ice.

He watched her while she spilled it all out, fast and tangled, words tripping over each other like paws in deep snow. He didn't interrupt. Just listened, ears forward, tail still. When she finally ran out of breath, the forest filled the gap—wind sighing through pine boughs, the distant crack of ice splitting somewhere unseen.

"Blood don't make closeness," he said after a while. "Time does. Choice does." One ear flicked as snow slid off a branch behind them. "An' sometimes… neither one comes easy." His gaze drifted toward the direction of camp, where warmth and milk-scent would be tucked behind bramble walls, the nursery low and guarded. Then back to Swirlstrike. "You don't owe Duchess anythin' more than respect. An' them kits—" He huffed softly. "They ain't done a thing yet. Ain't saints, ain't strangers. They're just… small. New."

His voice dropped, gravel softened by something quieter beneath it. "I ain't sayin' you gotta feel the way I would. Stars know your place in this mess ain't the same as mine ever was." A pause. He lowered his head slightly, letting one sharp eye peek through the tangle of fur that hung over his scarred brow. Every snap of ice or whisper of wind made his ears twitch, picking out sounds that younger cats might overlook. When the pale light caught him just right, the subtle blue stains along his pelt shimmered faintly, a ghost of berries past clinging stubbornly to the thick, tangled coat. "You don't gotta force yourself into feelin' somethin' that ain't there. That only breeds rot." Snow settled against his whiskers as he continued, gentler now. "But you also don't gotta collapse the tunnel so hard it falls on you, neither."

Victoryscorn stepped a little closer—not crowding, just solid, his presence like one of the pines themselves. "Treat 'em like kits. Not reminders. Not symbols. Just kits." He tilted his head. "An' if all you can manage right now is standin' at the edge of the nursery, sniffin' the air, then leavin'? That's fine. Ain't a race." He met her mismatched gaze, steady as frozen ground beneath the snow. "Family's a strange beast, Swirlstrike. Sometimes it grows on you slow as moss on bark. Sometimes it never does." His tail flicked once. "Either way, you ain't broken for feelin' stuck halfway."

The wind stirred again, pine needles whispering overhead. Victoryscorn looked back toward the forest path, then at her once more. "Take it at your own pace," he said, a faint country lilt softening the words. "Stars know winter's taught us all what happens when you try to rush grief."

___________________ YOU KNOW THIS MOMENT, ☆ DON'T YOU? ___________________

• "speech."
  "thoughts."
  actions.
  

• 

• VICTORYSCORN he/him, skyclanner, one hundred one moons.
  ☆ an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
  ☆ mentoring no one.
  ☆ no current relationships or family ties.
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by egg ↛ eggmcbaconboy on discord, feel free to dm for plots!

 

[Swirlstrike]

Swirlstrike, -- 13 Moons / Skyclan Scout -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creamcurl and Chestnutjaw.

Tagging @Victoryscorn

---

Swirlstrike looked up at the greyed senior warrior as he spoke wise words filled with knowledge and experience. It was comforting, almost, to hear that she didn't have to force something on herself. To force them to be a family, force closeness that would inevitably be uncomfortable and wrong. Though the idea of not being part of it all filled her with dread, it was nice to know she could... choose.

Milkheart would be disappointed, surely. He would want them to all get along. Grow close to Duchess and accept her as their mother. Swirlstrike just... didn't know what to do with that. Would he even be disappointed, if she chose to stay away? Only keep close to her sisters and father? She just... didn't know. The only thing she knew for sure was that Milkheart would love her through the disappointment. Steadfast and solid in his affection for his daughter, no matter her choice.

The kits... they were kits. Victoryscorn was right. They were just small, and new. She wasn't small and new anymore, and she had to take those duties upon her, to be a warrior for her clan, to fight and hunt and keep everyone fed. The duty to treat them as kits, even if they would remind her of her odd estrangement from her mother, the tense looks when she sees Duchess, the discomfort... they were just kits.

She would have to see them eventually. Whether it be now, or later, when they're older with their own minds and thoughts and legs to run and jump. It would be inevitable that she would end up training and fighting beside them. With that, a new anxious thought took bloom. What if she treated them badly? What if she was awful to them, without even realizing.

Looking down at her small paws in the snow, her ears folded back as she pondered Victoryscorn's words, and then opened her maw to speak once more, worry dripping from her quiet words. "But... if I do choose to... make them family... what if I do it wrong? What if I mess up?" What if she hurts them? What if she's mean? What if the bitterness and jealousy is too much to handle?

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

"Kid… you worry too much 'bout doin' it right," he rumbled, voice rough but patient. "Ain't no one's born knowin' how to handle family. Ain't no one that figures it out the first time 'round." He shifted, one broad shoulder brushing a fallen branch as he leaned lightly against it, the forest silent but for the distant creak of pines heavy with ice. Snow fell in soft flakes from the overhanging boughs, landing on his back in small, glittering piles. "Closeness don't mean everythin'. You treat 'em like they are—small, learnin', needin' you to just be steady. That's it. Not everythin' else."

Victoryscorn shifted his weight again, paws crunching in the ice-crusted snow, tail flicking once as he regarded her. He leaned forward to sniff at a faint scent trail, whiskers brushing against frost-crusted needles, before giving a low chuff and shaking the snow from his shoulders. The tufts of his fur, tangled and streaked faintly blue with old berry stains, caught the pale winter light, making him look almost comical to anyone not used to seeing him without twigs and leaves stuck in his coat. "It's a funny thing," he muttered, almost to himself, "lookin' all neat… don't suit me none, but reckon there ain't much chance o' findin' fresh berries this weather, anyway."

He flicked his ears, scanning the path ahead, sniffing the wind, pressing a paw into the snow to check for hidden tracks beneath the white. "An' I don't say this lightly, kid. Life… it's a weighty thing. Piles on faster'n you reckon, sometimes without warnin'. Choices you make—or don't make… consequences that don't care 'bout your comfort… they stack up like snow drifts in a storm." He nudged a small branch aside with a careful paw, the ice cracking softly, and watched as it tumbled into the white. "But your path? Ain't mine. You take it slow, step by step. Ain't no one else's way gonna fit your paws."

He padded a little closer, careful not to crowd, watching her ears fold back in worry. His claws scritched against ice, sending tiny shards sparkling in the sun. "The kits… they're just kits. Little paws tryin' to find their own footing. You don't gotta force somethin' that ain't there. Ain't no harm in takin' it slow. Worried 'bout hurtin' 'em? Means you care. Means you're payin' attention. That's all any of us can do—be steady, be watchful, an' try not to let the distaste creep in."

Victoryscorn leaned back slightly to lift his head, eyes scanning the frozen treeline, nostrils flaring at the scent of pine, distant prey, and the faint lingering sweetness of berries in his fur. He gave a slow, satisfied sniff and then turned to Swirlstrike. "You're gonna see 'em. You'll train with 'em, hunt with 'em, maybe fight beside 'em. That's inevitable." He gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug of his broad shoulders. "But you don't gotta fix the whole world on the first try. Ain't your burden to carry alone, and it sure as stars ain't somethin' to fear."

With deliberate care, he brushed a paw through the snow, testing the depth and noticing the small prints of squirrels and other critters nearby. "You take it at your own pace, Swirlstrike. The forest'll wait. The kits'll wait. An' StarClan… they'll understand."

Then, with a faint, awkward rumble, he flicked his tail and added, "Besides… if they start runnin' wild and you think you've messed it up, you just throw a pinecone at 'em. Works on varmints an' kittens alike, I reckon." He gave a low chuff that almost sounded like a chuckle, tail twitching lazily as the wind rattled the icy needles above. "Just… don't tell Milkheart I said that."

___________________ YOU KNOW THIS MOMENT, ☆ DON'T YOU? ___________________

• "speech."
  "thoughts."
  actions.
  

• 

• VICTORYSCORN he/him, skyclanner, one hundred one moons.
  ☆ an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
  ☆ mentoring no one.
  ☆ no current relationships or family ties.
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by egg ↛ eggmcbaconboy on discord, feel free to dm for plots!

 

[Swirlstrike]

Swirlstrike, -- 13 Moons / Skyclan Scout -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creamcurl and Chestnutjaw.

Tagging @Victoryscorn

---

Swirlstrike had a small smile, and laughed a little at his last comment. "Of course not," she replied. Milkheart wouldn't hear a word of it! Her smile slowly fell, after a second, and she glanced around at the snowy forest around them before looking back up at Victoryscorn, earnest and emboldened, just a little. "...Thank you." she mumbled.

This all gave her a lot to think on. She felt... better, getting it out of her system. Having someone to talk it through with. Someone uninvolved. She knew if she had spoken to her sisters about it, they would both have their own feelings and opinions. Victoryscorn was someone with... a lot of life lived, and good judgement, she thought. An impartial party. His advice was good, and she was glad she asked.

Swirlstrike... will have to consider what her choice will be. She doesn't know yet. Talking about it hadn't helped her make up her mind, but it instead eased her worries by just a bit, reassured by the older warrior that whatever path she chose would be alright. Her paws were a bit lighter, when she stood to continue their patrol, side by side.