Private EVERYTHING YOU THOUGHT YOU KNEW [ hawkstar ]

[starlitpath]

(˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗) there's a trepidation that follows the young warrior as he hovers just outside his mother's den. sea-foam eyes flick about anxiously, as if he might get in trouble for approaching such a sacred space. starlitpath has never been in the leaders' den, and she doesn't know how she feels about the fact that her parents now live there. not for much longer, she supposes, recalling hawkstar's announcement - they will be leaving the gorge at first light. another ripple of anxiety pulses through the feline and they clear their throat. "mom? er, hawkstar?" she calls out, muzzle poking into the mossy overhang of the den. she can smell her mother's scent strongly - the multi-hued woman is present, and so starlitpath pushes into the den.

it is not supposed to be a soft space, she thinks, but looking around, the leaders' den still seems quite barren. a mixture of moss and feathers lines the corner, sand stone walls curving as if to protect the one who now lives here. she had imagined, during coffeestar's reign, that the den must have been fuller, alive with trinkets and treasures. the old leader had seemed the type. hawkstar is the opposite. her den is orderly and empty. starlitpath has lived with this her whole life - she isn't upset to see it. "how are things going?" she asks, gaze falling upon the singular-eyed she-cat. in the dim evening light, hawkstar looks comforting, and starlitpath feels almost a kit again. just a little.

"are we all ready, do you think? uhm, is there anything else i can help with?"

LIKE CONSTELLATIONS ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ IMPLODING IN THE NIGHT

• // @Hawkstar " #dcccf0"
• 
• STARLITPATH, HE / SHE / THEY, SKYCLAN WARRIOR. 19 MOONS, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a shorthaired dilute calico point with low white and aqua eyes. short, thick fur decorates her frame, cream hued, swooping into a cowlick on her head. their face, paws, and tail are dappled with fawn and slate gray, broken through by speckles of white. a star shaped white splotch on their forehead offers them their namesake. eyes like ocean water, a deep aqua blue, pierce out of almond shaped sockets.

 

[Hawkstar]

HAWKSTAR, 59 moons / SKYCLAN LEADER
A long-legged short-furred seal point tortie with one electric-blue eye; heavily scarred
Mentoring ROSEPAW ; mother of STARLITPATH
Prone to corporate attitudes, harsh words, hazing practices ; generally morally dubious
Tagging person here

---

The crown sits crookedly upon her head. Worn easily and happily by previous leaders, a symbol of hope and boundless, tireless energy in generations past... it only felt rusted against Hawkstar's hardened brow. How Coffeestar had taken on the mantle with such unwearied abandon, the new monarch would never know. The SkyClan she held now was so small, so fragile that if she gripped it too hard, it would surely splinter into a thousand little pieces - all shards that would no doubt slice her nose to tail-tip in their angered, unbridled fury (death by a thousand cuts, the cruelest end by far.)

Within her softly cradled empire, however, stands her heirs apparent. Her four children, each some image of one of their mothers in some fashion. For Starlitpath, it was Hawkstar's visage she blurrily mirrored (unregal compared to her mother's iron sword, more... hopeful than a tyrant would ever believe a child could be. her saving grace, the grace of a hundred starry eyes rested coolly on her back) a wavering, twinkling planet orbiting her mother's dark sun. Hawkstar's most precious delicate shard, cupped protectively in two hands (because, surely, any harder of a grip and she would lose her... too...)

"Flowercloud and Tigerfoot are pooling our remaining resources," clipped. but not all-together unwarm. "We have little and less, but it'll have to do. This gorge -" one electric blue eye climbs the walls of the den (her den?) scrutinizing every crack and imperfection, glaring at every one as if it were a personal sleight against her, and not simply a feature of the weathered stone - unburdened by the leader's hard stare. "- is full of nothing now. A wasteland best left to the rats..."

Dark ears flick towards their child: attentive, even if her eye was occupied elsewhere. "Are you ready to travel? Have you seen Tigerfoot for your herbs? I can get you some if he's too busy. I want you at your best for the morning. No... no slacking, clear?" she tries for aloof, for commanding, but the words twist in her mouth (unbidden) into a mother's plea. Embarrassing... but uncorrected.