Private can i trust you, can you trust me / milkheart and skykit

[Hawkstar]

LEADER OF SKYCLAN

.

Whatever had happened to the warrior that had produced this, Hawkstar could not offer them a snide thought. There was kit that needed warmth now, a kit that she had put her paw down in front of to separate from her littermates, a kit that should have been SkyClan's if her warrior had not been such a coward to just come to her and taken a temporary punishment for the good of their litter. They had caregivers, they had warriors available to care for them.

What drew them across the border, beyond the clans, in place of their loyalty to their leader and their clan?

She had tucked the little kit under her chin almost in defiance to the other leaders: this child is mine, I will raise it how a SkyClanner should be raised. I won't let the rest of you taint it now. But in truth, she trusted Milkheart to do the raising more than she ever would herself.

She doesn't announce herself before she steps into the nursery. She steps inside and sets the child down gently, her one good eye soft in the shaded privacy of her friendship.

"I have another one for you. Another kit, a daughter if you'd like. I thought I'd name her Skykit."

pointed torbie

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67 moons

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she / they

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bio

 

[skykit]

She sways from the jaws of the king herself, tiny paws toeing at the air and weak cries following their path. She is cold, hungry. She misses the warmth at her flank, the little bits that her siblings could have provided. In the coming moons she'd forget all about them, but something would feel like it was missing at all times. Regardless- that was irrelevant now. When they enter the nursery, her nose twitches, scenting at the milk and warmth in the air, tiny cries shifting into mews of want, of hunger.

Skykit, as the King proclaims not moments later, touches the ground with four paws then her belly, squirming against the dirt and moss, trying to find her way to a lifeline.

__________________________ IM RUNNING WITH ☆ THE WOLVES TONIGHT _________________________

• "speech"
  

• 

• SKYKIT she/her, skyclan kit, 2 moons
  ☆ a limber long haired lilax lynx point with blue eyes and low white.
  ☆ mentored by who / mentoring no one
  ☆ whichever relations / want listed
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

[Milkheart Milkheart]

I like it better when the sun shines,
Give me those good times, then I'll be alright

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MILKHEART, He/Him / 37 moons / Skyclan Caregiver
Seal Sepia tom with high white, has scruffy tipped ears, a long fluffy cream-white tail and amber-caramel eyes
Former mate(...?) of DUCHESS, Father of CREAMPAW, SWIRLPAW and CHESTNUTPAW
Radiates Dad Energytm​, good with kits, warm and amicable (totally doesn't look like a hot chocolate, except he does)
Tagging [@]

‎

Milkheart wondered just what was going on with the cats that had gone out recently, it took slightly longer for one group in particular to return- the one that Hawkstar herself decided to go with. There was something odd in the air today, like a tragedy of sorts had struck. Milkheart was unsure of how or why he felt that way but given recent occurrences he figured that he should trust his gut.

Only time would tell if this feeling of his was right. Weird feelings or not, the days would continue on, and there was no point in dwelling on what may or may not be happening.

Eventually, it sounded like a few cats had returned to camp. With a quick peek out of the nursery, Milkheart noted familiar pelts in the distance. As he returned to his tasks, Hawkstar of all cats had entered the nursery! The other occupants of the den were either resting or asleep so they weren't going to immediately take notice.

"Hm?" Milkheart looked over his shoulder towards Skyclan's leader, and down to that which she had placed on the carefully maintained ground of the nursery. Without delay, Milkheart scurried over at the sight of an unfamiliar kitten. "Easy, easy. You're safe, little one." He purred reassuringly as he chose to lay down to provide the kitten warmth at least. With a quick sniff to see if he knew roughly where the kitten was from, Milkheart noted an odd scent combination.

All of the clans. All of the clans? What.. What in the world did this mean?

He shook his head out of the stupor of confusion as Hawkstar addressed him. "You know me, Hawkstar. Whether I see her as a daughter or not, I will do all in my power and more to ensure she is raised properly. Skykit is a fine name for her." Ever the kind one, it was no wonder he was given the suffix he had. "I.. Could smell the scents of each clan on her." His expression was soft, yet saddened as far as those that didn't know him well would be able to tell. However, Hawkstar was one that would know better. Within this soft sadness was a boiling fury that crackled within Milkheart. He despised the very thought that any kit would be orphaned for any reason, be it that their parents were taken from them or abandoned them. One way or another, he knew one of these was the case.

"Where did you find her?" He asked.

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I tell you what— you better not be bringing bad vibes,
Leave your troubles behind, then I'll be alright​

​

​

 

[Hawkstar]

LEADER OF SKYCLAN

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Hawkstar stiffens at the question - the intrusion. "Fourtrees. There were five kits, one for each clan, one to replace each of the warriors we lost." Exactly who went missing from SkyClan's ranks would be apparent in the days that followed. Skykit would grow without that tie, and she would blossom despite the back-foot her selfish parents had put her on.... and her siblings, though Hawkstar could not concern herself them anymore than she concerned herself with the nameless kits of any foreign queen.

"We are her family now. I won't make her stare at her brother across the border, or meet her sister in battle. Those kits will grow up to be strangers to her, just a few more bodies in the crowd at the Gathering. It will be ... kinder that way. She can't miss something she doesn't even know is gone."

pointed torbie

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67 moons

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she / they

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bio