WHITE WINE // INTRODUCTION

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    ⌠✴⌡ //please wait for smokekit!


    Honey got a little bored sometimes batting around mossballs by himself. His mother encouraged him to go and play with other children -she told him to do it a lot- but he didn't want to barge his way when they were already preoccupied. It was just a matter of finding another kid who wasn't in the middle of something, and the plan was to be an entirely normal person about it, but when he did spot a boy who didn't look busy, he didn't approach him for conversation like he maybe should have. If the boy's tail wasn't so perfectly fluffy, he might have been able to act with a little more respectability. It swished slowly from side to side, curling a bit at the end- better than any mossball he played with.


    Instead, he dropped down into a crouch, slowly slinking closer, tiny paws quiet before he threw himself forward, pouncing on the thick-furred appendage and nipping lightly at it. "You're dead!"

    Smokekit wasn't often told to go play with others. Probably because he managed just fine on his own. Didn't get in trouble, didn't bother the warriors, never got under anyone's paws — he was good. Waiting patiently for the day he gets his apprentice name and gets to do something cooler, even though he'd scramble around with loose sticks and mossballs pretending to be a warrior already sometimes. It's not all that much fun, really. He wishes he could do something different, but that's not something he'll ever tell his mom or dad. Being a warrior is just what people do, and even if he would rather spend his days making his mind work harder than his paws, he won't question it. Like Honey, he just wants to be normal.


    Like that'd work out for either of them, right?


    The smoke kitten almost jumps out of his fur at the sudden pinch of teeth on his tail, making a rather undignified noise as he scrambles to pull away. It takes a moment for the words themselves to register, and his fluffed-up fur slowly settles back down, though his tail still flicks behind him — probably a beacon to Honeykit. "That's cheating!" he protests, which probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. Maybe "don't do that" or "I don't want to play", but that's not nearly as fun.

    ⌠✴⌡ He didn't think he was a bad child. His mother didn't say he was- she just said he needed to make more friends, really. That was all he paid attention to, anyway; lately he was more excited about nearly being old enough for apprenticeship. Just two more moons and he wouldn't be a kitten anymore, would be learning how to actually hunt and fight instead of just pushing around mossballs all the time. Sometimes it was fun, being a kit, but it seemed like it was so much more important to be older. Honey could help more- and if he did get bored, maybe he'd have all those friends his mom wanted him to make. There couldn't be any drawbacks of getting older.


    Though maybe he couldn't jump on people's tails. He'd miss that- this one was so fluffy. Although the person it was attached to didn't think so favorably of it, but puffing up just made his fur look even more like clouds.


    Honey snorted and tilted his head up indignantly. "You're dead. You can't talk. Besides, nobody ever says it's unfair when they bring back freshkill." A glint entered pale eyes, and he leaned in. "Maybe I should put you in the pile."

    n i g h t w i n d --

    Watching the kits play from where she sat in the shade by the elders' den, Nightwind's dark green eyes were narrowed, tired slits. The molly remembered being young, having that much energy as she and Hawkblaze chased each other around the moors to their hearts' content. But as clearly as the elder could remember it, those days had been so long ago and her mate was long passed, among the ranks of StarClan with their children. The kits of theirs that were still alive resided here in WindClan, but they didn't often interact with Nightwind - not because they were estranged - but because they were warriors and spent their days busy with patrols and the like. The black she-cat didn't blame them for their dedication. In fact, she would likely box their ears if they wasted time coming to speak with her.

    Yawning largely, Nightwind wondered exactly what kind of game these rowdy kits were playing. It seemed like some kind of battle, but one could never be sure of the complexities of kits' games.

    speaking thoughts

    "Nah, no one wants to eat kits. They're all blood and bones, no meat," he chirped, recalling a jokey phrase that Duckpaw had once said to him when he was a kit. It was clear he was somewhat joking, what with the goofy grin on his face, but that was a pretty pointless observation seeing as he always had that fang-toothed smile carved upon his pale maw. Fluxpaw had been observing the two children frolic for a little while, from a shadowed place (since, for such a bright-white feline, he was rather good at hiding) and just now had allowed his night-tipped paws to carry him over to them, offering them both shining positivity in the form of his renowned expression. He then turned to Stormykit, deciding he'd play along with the little game they had going on. "So what's it like being dead?"