DUSKPOOL
"Alright, kiddo, reckon today will see where ya were with yer old mentor." He remarked dryly. His head twistin' to peer down at the small fry with a raised brow, mangled ear twitchin' against a scared helm. "Anythin' ya were excellin' in? Things ya found troublin' to get a handle on. Things ya wanna excel in before ya become a warrior." He listed with a slow rumble.
In the grand scheme of things, Duskpool wanted Sweetpaw to be well-reversed in just about everythin' to keep her safe. If she had the tools, then at least it'd give her a fightin' chance come warriorhood, hell, even apprenticehood if the tom ain't there in time to protect the squirt. He sighed softly, twistin' back around to push toward a quieter place to discuss and train. "Suppose once the talkin' is done we can focus on fightin' or huntin' today, kiddo." He mused, glancin' sideways at the kid. "Get a look at how we both go about doin' things, mhm?" He grunted.
"Reckon folk have asked you this, but tell me, kiddo, why do ya wanna become a warrior, eh?" He mused after a heartbeat, wooly plumage sweepin' the ground, starin' forward.
"Reckon folk have asked you this, but tell me, kiddo, why do ya wanna become a warrior, eh?" He mused after a heartbeat, wooly plumage sweepin' the ground, starin' forward.
we're only haunted by the things we refuse to accept
-
DUSKPOOL he/him a storm carved in flesh and smoke, duskpool towers with the bulk of a maine coon and norwegin forest cat. his wooly black pelt bristles with ghost-stripes and scars—old wounds etched like lightning through dusk. one copper eye burns like molten steel and the other a mangled ruin of war. every step is heavy, thunderous—war-born, death-burdened, and unflinchingly alive.
ᯓ★ senior warrior of skyclan (sun guard during coffeestar's reign)
ᯓ★ brother to outlawbite & thistlestrike, half-brother to flowercloud
ᯓ★ eighty-three moons; ages on the 1st of every month
ᯓ★ speech thought action
ᯓ★ peaceful/healing powerplay permitted -
