𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 They don't understand what's happening. One moment, they're curled gingerly into their littermates' sides, hungry but content to simply nap with their head pillowed by soft fur—the next, they're squealing in protest because the warmth they'd been swaddled in has been ripped away. Or at least, a part of it has been. One sibling is taken from the shelter they've curled up in, then another, then another, until it's just them and the final bundle of warmth at their side. Their sister presses closer, and they respond with the slightest noise, nose dipping into mottled fur as they cling to her just as she does to them. For a moment, they bask in the familiar scent, the closeness of the last sibling who hasn't been separated from them yet.
The final comfort doesn't last long. This time it isn't their sibling who is ripped away, but the brown ball of fluff themself, stirred by the feeling of something against their head, brushing at the thick fur there. They shift, trying to move closer to the touch, eager for the new sensation. As a moth is drawn to light, so too are they drawn to the greater feeling of comfort that the rasp of a tongue against their head brings. The scent of something sharp, something oh-so-appealing yet unnamable to them. They reach for it, and are met with a new sound, rumbling to their ears yet a comfort all the same. And then, at last, they are removed fully from the touch of their littermate—and though they cry out and squirm, the outcome doesn't change. They are still carried away, though quickly they are soothed by the scent that emanates from their new guardian. The kit slips into sleep easily, lulled by a new comfort.
The final comfort doesn't last long. This time it isn't their sibling who is ripped away, but the brown ball of fluff themself, stirred by the feeling of something against their head, brushing at the thick fur there. They shift, trying to move closer to the touch, eager for the new sensation. As a moth is drawn to light, so too are they drawn to the greater feeling of comfort that the rasp of a tongue against their head brings. The scent of something sharp, something oh-so-appealing yet unnamable to them. They reach for it, and are met with a new sound, rumbling to their ears yet a comfort all the same. And then, at last, they are removed fully from the touch of their littermate—and though they cry out and squirm, the outcome doesn't change. They are still carried away, though quickly they are soothed by the scent that emanates from their new guardian. The kit slips into sleep easily, lulled by a new comfort.
- ooc: —
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PRICKLEKIT ˚𓆛˚｡ they/them, kit of riverclan
✼ stocky, fluffy chocolate and white kit with thick fur hiding their eyes. clingy and oblivious, a sleepy kit who prefers naptime over games.
✼ enhanced sense of smell ; gets nauseous easily
✼ sibling to branchkit, hollykit, saffronkit, skykit ; adopted by pikestar
✼ peaceful or healing powerplay is allowed ; they appreciate physical contact
✼ played by foxlore