Berries Sweet as Poison {Closed for Oryx}

His paws itched for the satisfaction of entertainment, anything to fill the growing and all consuming void persistently itching under his pelt. The state that the now older Yewkit constantly felt, he was unable to put a name to. It left him restlessly seeking something without an answer. This was the very reason he trotted through camp with a leisurely pace, endlessly pestering cats of all thanks. Some of the queens had remarked a time or two that perhaps releasing him onto the moors under the supervision of a harsh manner might wring out the young tom's undesirable traits. He had grew to understand their sentiment and was firmly convinced no car could whisk away the nature of his very being. Yewkit would be in perpetual pursuit of answers, or rather, chasing to cast the feeling away with the swipe of a paw.

After allowing his flickering gaze to drift carelessly the length of the camp, the twin flecks of amber finally fell on a familiar pelt. Heronfeather had taken him as a kit. It was possible to imagine snuggling against the pelt of another cat. In the few peaceful moments they shared, he would drag his little needle claws delicately through her fur in various patterns. Between her tasks as deputy and now a mentor, Yewkit hardly saw her. To admit he missed her presence was something he wouldn't freely do around many cats, not because he cared for how it would make him look but rather since there was no need to share that sentiment. Shaking his coat to dispel hints of his foray in shredding the nest once more, the little tabby trotted after Windclan's deputy.

"Heronfeather," He called out as her reached her side, butting his head into her side rather unceremoniously, "Where are you going? What are you doing?" Yewkit struggled to keep pace and strained forward to round the front and stop her pace. Attention from her was what he sought and he was going to make sure it was what he got. A low purr rumbled in his chest and he crashed his nose to her a few times in a rather unusual greeting.

The gathering that had taken place that past moon had left the molly incredibly frazzled, eyes seared with a permanent glaze of exhaustion and worry, soft features rounded with concern and stress. The shocking news of Firestar's death rang in her ears in a loop, the heartbreaking cry of Magpiewing seemingly stuck in her head like a particularly tough piece of prey lodged in one's throat. Not far after that came the appearance of rogues, and her throwing herself right into harm's way as a result of the actions of a stupid apprentice who she hoped was still currently cleaning out the elder's den and picking off their ticks. Bruiser's harsh voice still stained her face, and she truly thought she may never wash the rancid smell of his breath out of her nose, let alone his general scent, and the threat in his words. The threat had lead to careful choices of patrols, and extra stress in taking out her apprentice - being on the constant lookout for a band of rogues was not something she was taking any joy in, and it was taking away time from her kit.

Her beautiful, charming son, who she had recently received an earful about from Shrikecall, who had proceeded to rant about his disrespect as if he hadn't been the exact same at Yewkit's age. As her thoughts drifted to the son she had adopted, her nervous pacing had immediately slowed and her tail twitched increasingly less in worry. Taking a deep breath, Heronfeather decided rather than fretting she could spend time with him, and as she turned to seek him out, his little voice entered her ears and he was bumping into her, before stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Hello, my love," she immediately burst into a purr, craning her head down to touch her nose to his, before swiftly licking stray fur on his head down. "I am going to get something to eat and sit down, if you would like to join me?" her voice lifted at the end in suggestion, although she already knew full well the little tom would follow her regardless. True to her word, the deputy collected a grouse off the growing pile of prey, settling onto her side, leaving plenty of room for her son to snuggle into her like he had the tendency of doing. She frowned briefly, wondering if he'd still do that with her - Yewkit seemed to be in a little bit of a rebellious phase, and Heronfeather wondered if that extended to not showing her the same amounts of affection he did when she first took him in. Regardless, she gave him a look of love. "So, Shrikecall tells me you've been a thistle in the paw lately," she began, and although her words sounded like she was about to scold him, her voice was free of any tension, "I would just like you to know I'm incredibly proud. He was incredibly snarky as a kit and apprentice himself, and just as prickly now. Someone has to put him in line, and I could not be more happy that it was my kit," she chuckled, taking a bite from the grouse as she looked over the brown tabby tom, excessively relieved at how the knot in her chest was beginning to loosen.

After the repeated battering of his tiny snout against hers, there finally came a response that signaled the return of attention and brought him levels of satisfaction. Yewkit ducked his head at the rasp of a tongue and his whiskers flickered slightly. The invitation to a meal was opened and without hesitation, there came the nod of his head. Joining Heronfeather would never be a question. She was one of the few cats who commanded his respect and could capture his attention in a positive manner for more than a moment. He trotted after her to the fresh kill pile, batting at the nearest rabbit as she picked out what she wanted to eat. Any cat who had ever witnessed the creature that was Yewkit would have likely been perplexed by the calm and obedient nature displayed under the watchful eye of the clan's deputy.

He skipped underneath the cool shade cast off by her larger frame. The tom kit had grown quite a bit since his youth but still only reached about to her shoulder. Once Heronfeather feather settled down, he made a point of wriggling under one of her forepaws and stretching out comfortably. Claws stretched forward to attempt to snag at the feather's of the prey absentmindedly. As she mentioned Shrikecall, the kit rolled onto his back, her leg strapped over the length of his stomach. A protest was mounted in the back of his throat, ready to defend himself against the accusations of pestering the prickly warrior. However, the words twisted into a form of praise. His maw snapped shut with a clattering of teeth and he peeled into a devilish grin. Yewkit twisted slightly in an effort to casually scratch the length of his frame against the worn earth. What would have been a defensive retort transformed into a self-confident snark.

"I'd never let a cat as brutish as him push me around, Heronfeather, you taught me better than that." Yewkit glanced up at her through slitted eyes and a contented expression, "I'm almost an apprentice. I don't care if he has a warrior title, if he's going to get in my way, I'll go around." Although the words drifted up, the tabby's ears pricked as if he remembered something. Tilting his head to the side, he began to pry the deputy for a question that crossed his mind a day or two earlier, "When is my ceremony? You're the deputy, you have to know. Rainpaw already has his name and I'm twice as smart." There was a brief pause before he admitted, "I just want to leave camp. I don't care if my name is Yewpaw or not."

She couldn't help the way surprise momentarily rocked her lithe form at his height- sure, she was short, but she didn't realise he would grow to be this tall already. Suppressing a fond shake of her head, the molly internally pondered the thought of how she was truly going to be the shortest fully-grown cat in WindClan, and this once small kit would be staring down at her. Taking a bite of the grouse, she was careful to leave the feathers of the prey in a pile next to her, olive eyes carefully trained on her son's playful antics with them. The plan was to add them to her shared nest with Yewkit later, but if the tom wanted to use them in a fake hunting match, Heronfeather wouldn't be opposed or attempt to stop him.

Amusement coursed through her at the way he wriggled around under her paw, settling himself in to prepare a retort in response to her mentioning Shrikecall, only to be stopped in his tracks. Her whiskers twitched with humour as he asserted himself, dangerously bordering on bragging about a lack of respect for his elders but she held her tongue - it would do her no good to attempt to edit this part of his behaviour, all she could do in response was nurture him in the right direction. Her ears perked up a little as he asked about his apprentice ceremony, and she fought off an excited purr - Softcloud was considering taking the young tom on as her own, but the deputy was not to breathe a word to anyone.

Not even her son, who was currently threatening to exit camp with or without his apprentice name. Was it really a good idea to allow him free reign of all five territories? StarClan help us, Heronfeather thought with nothing short of affection, giving him an affection tap on the nose with her paw. "In due time Yewkit, just because I love you dearly does not mean I can spoil that surprise and excitement for you. However, if you do sneak out onto the moor, I can guarantee you'll be spending another moon as a kit until you learn some patience!" she chastised him lightly, sparing a look wrought with love. Though her words were harsh, they were almost certainly an empty threat - Brindlestar may not enjoy this knowledge, but the molly had a particular soft spot for the brown tabby. "Although, your ceremony is sure to be soon, I promise. Do you think you and your incredible smartness can manage just a little longer my love?"