Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
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“Ah,” Kier greeted happily as he heard the stairs creak and half-turned to see his protégé descending. He stopped his tapping and smiled at him as he sat next to him, knowing to make himself smaller. “Very well, Laertes, thank you,” he answered cheerfully, mightily pleased by the kit’s politeness. “I’m very happy to see you behaving more obediently,” he continued in that same merry voice, a smile in his eyes. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of yesterday, would we?” he teased, leaning in and tilting his head conspiratorially like it was an inside joke.
Grinning brightly, satisfied by the progress Laertes’ breaking in was making without him needing to do very much at all (that was the wonder of an anxious kit; they did most of the work themselves), Kier stood and started in the direction of the back garden they’d been in the day before. “Come, Laertes,” he called behind him without looking back, like the kit were a dog. Padding serenely out the back door, he trotted down the outside steps and headed into the thick, grey undergrowth. It massed around him like monstrous claws, forming vague tunnels through the overgrown thickets. When he reached the wrought iron back fence, he slipped through a break in the twisted iron and turned to wait for his protégé. “Tell me,” he broke the silence as the kit slipped through, that happy smile still on his face even as his voice took on a slightly menacing edge, as though there were right and wrong answers Laertes could give. “What’s it like growing up with the perfect family? Loved?” There was something about the way he said the word, so slowly, over-enunciating it with his tongue, that sounded so bitterly wistful, so hateful.
Laertes hated the word obedient. Hated what it made him feel, some sickening sense of pride at being praised that didn't actually feel nice at all. He tried to ignore it, nodded as Kier spoke, taking in every word. His ears flicked like they wanted to flatten, but he kept them up, still feeling a shudder at the thought of yesterday, "no, we don't," he agreed, voice quiet and steady, giving a tight-lipped, painful looking smile.
Come, Laertes. He grimaced, but didn't hesitate to get up and follow, staying just behind him, trailing like he was walking to his own execution. He made brief mocking faces whenever Kier wasn't looking, because he was still a small bitter child. He hesitated before the undergrowth, but never as long as he would have before, squeezed in and through the iron bars, not lifting his head but staring up at him anyway, eyes hooded and heavy. A look that wouldn't leave him any time soon.
"What?" He asked quietly, taking a moment to process the words. They made him feel like he didn't deserve their love, said in such a shameful way that he felt like he hadn't earned it yet. "It's wonderful," he said simply. It didn't matter that they didn't always get along, that his sisters made fun of him more than they said they loved him (he knew they did, right?), that he felt too weak to be his father's son, that he felt like a burden to his mother now. His head was filled with poisonous ideas, dangerous, gripping vines of doubt that he hadn't been able to get rid of. He directed his eyes to the ground, something that would become common for him.
“Is it?” Kier muttered, and it was clear that Laertes had somehow said the wrong thing and ruined his good mood. Looking away from the kit like he was disgusted with him, he turned and led the way deeper into the bleak woods.
At the base of a tall, perilous pine tree, its bark peeling in great dry strips and its top branches looking dangerously close to cracking, he stopped and turned to the kit. “You have twenty seconds,” he told him without context, but the threat in his voice, mostly disapproval but with the hint of something more insidious lurking beneath, was context enough. Get up the tree, get back down, don’t fall — or do fall; maybe that would be better. The pampered little brat needed a few wounds. With Kier waiting at the bottom of the tree, circling round it or with his neck craned back to gaze up it, he would be threat enough not to fail the task. “Starting — now.” He suddenly flashed an encouraging smile, tilting his head. “Good luck.”
He shrunk in on himself, ears burning red, he thought of all the ways he should answer next time he were asked. When they reached the pine tree, he craned his neck to look at it, getting dizzy at the height alone, and fearfully looked towards Kier. It looked old, worn, unstable like it would fall at the slightest shake, and the dirt around it was dry, the life sucked out of it. You have twenty seconds. He startled like the words physically hurt to hear.
“What? To do —“ he was cut off before he could even ask. Starting — now. For a moment, he floundered, brain malfunctioning for a few split seconds before his fear drove him to move, claws digging into the base of the tree and pulling himself up. He’d never climbed a tree before, and the bark pulled on his claws. He felt he might lose them, but he continued to struggle upwards, limbs shaking with the unfamiliar weight of having to pull himself up. There were no branches sturdy enough where he could stop and rest, just little twigs poking out of the sides of the trunk. His feet scrambled to get proper footing whenever he climbed higher, sending sprays of chipped wood towards the ground. He risked a look down, instantly regretted it when his head spun and his heart felt it might hop out of his chest. Face pressed into the tree, he shut his eyes tightly like he was only in a nightmare.
“I’m scared!” He called, slowly, incredibly slowly, shimmying down the pine backwards. If Kier wanted him to reach the top, then he supposed Laertes had failed. “Can we start with something easier? Please?”
“No,” Kier snapped back immediately, pacing restlessly at the bottom. He wanted to go up there himself and hurt him until he just sucked it up and kept climbing — until he obeyed. But he knew he was too weak for it, that his body would fail him just as much as Laertes’ was failing him — that was what he needed this protégé for, to do the things he couldn’t. And he was going to give up already? “If you come back down,” Kier shouted up at him, hopping up to rest his forepaws on the trunk before angrily dropping back down to all fours, walking a tight circle with a lash of his tail, “you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
It was important that he threatened him with physical violence while Kier was still actually capable of delivering it — in time he’d be scared enough of him that it didn’t matter, but with the rate at which kits grew, the window in which he could still make him afraid was tight. If he gave in and started with something easier, that would be another day wasted.
“If you’re scared, you’ll be terrified to know you’ve already reached twenty seconds. So either way, Laertes, you’ve failed — it’s just a matter now of how badly.”
He let out a low, frustrated growl, angry that the words were enough to make him stop descending, to make him actually think. So, he continued up, tired and scared and trying not to look down, until the branches and needles began to grow thicker, but not thick enough that he could stand on. So either way, Laertes, you’ve failed — that gave him a sudden, terrible nauseousness, enough to make him almost fall, but he gripped the old wood tighter, dug his claws in until he was sure there was blood, because Oh God If Laertes didn’t make it to the top of this tree Kier was going to murder his family and eat them and then he was going to kill him too.
He took a shaky, steadying breath, and his pace quickened until finally, finally, the branches were big enough to, probably, support his weight. He shimmied across the trunk towards the nearest one, hesitating for a few long moments before reaching out, limbs still trembling with fear and with having to support himself so high up. For a moment, his back paws didn’t catch anything, causing him to scramble and scratch at the branch until he hoisted himself up, arranging his feet in a line so he could balance properly.
“Is this,” he said between pants, “is this better?” There was a tinge of bitterness, of anger, even though he had tried to chase it out, because he still felt that nobody could order him, the Warden’s son, around like this. He peered over the edge, crouching like it might negate a fall, staring down at Kier who looked so much smaller, so much more bug-like, like a little ant. Why, it looked like Laertes could almost crush him from up here, and the thought made a little, brief smirk crawl onto his face before it disappeared.
When Laertes scrambled at thin air for a few moments, Kier straightened and looked up at him with wide, dazzled eyes, a thrill of expectation or hope tingling through him — it would be a shame, but it would also be so exciting to see someone fall from such a height. He waited, waited — and when at last the kit hauled himself up Kier felt more pride and relief than disappointment; he would have been happy with either outcome, but this one made him happiest.
“Very good,” he called up, but if he’d been closer the words would have been a contented purr. With hooded eyes and a relaxed smile on his face, a purr rumbling high in his throat, Kier wandered over to the next pine tree in the plantation row. It was a good distance away from the first, and in markedly better condition: damp bark, springy branches, lush green needles. Between the branch Laertes was on and the nearest branch of the adjacent tree was a leap that would make the blood run cold in the most experienced hunter; it was an utter folly to expect a kit to be able to breach it. But though he might miss the branch that jutted out the furthest, he would likely be able to stop himself somehow before he reached the ground — if the needles and branches whipping his face on the fall didn’t get him first.
Standing at the base of the trunk, Kier smiled up at Laertes high in the other tree. When he spoke his voice held no threat or disappointment; it was warm, proud, pleased. “Get to this tree and we can go onto something more fun,” he called to his protégé cheerfully.
The simply good made his ears burn in a weird mix of pride and sheepishness — he adored any kinds of praise, but it felt different coming from Kier, the same who had threatened to murder him and his family, the same cat who had made him come up here in the first place. It was a little more special. As he moved, Laertes’ eyes followed, all the way to the next tree, leaning slightly over the edge of his branch to keep his gaze fixed. At the next request, he shrunk back. His first instinct was the climb down and re-climb the next one, but he knew Kier didn’t mean that. He was meant to jump.
He eyed the pine. “Are you …” but the question died in his throat, left to quiet, empty air. He was sure. And even though every bone in his body was telling him to not do it, he steeled himself, took in a few deep breaths, stared down at his paws like he was begging them to succeed, and he ran. And then he jumped;it was the most freeing feeling in the world. For hardly a second, it was just him, the open air, and the ground below, and as the branch he was supposed to grab grew closer, so did the feeling of fear. He was light, his limbs were long, the branch was just in his reach until he hit a snag, claws against the tip of wood, his back legs flailing, but he was able to drag himself up. Almost flipping over onto the sturdy area of the branch, stood more fearful than he had ever been in his entire life — he’d never been so close to death. His fur stuck up at all angles, his eyes were blown, his heart beat against his chest so hard it hurt, and there was a sudden ache to his paw. He may have pulled it.
“That was horrible, don’t ever make me do that again!” He cried, his own tears going unnoticed. He continued until he was pressed up against the trunk of the tree, sending daggers down at the tom below him.
Kier stayed still as he tracked the movement of the kit, pleased that he’d learned already not to argue. When he crouched down to prepare, Kier’s breathing stayed normal, not even his heart beating at any particularly rapid pace. But the second Laertes jumped, he sucked in a shallow breath and held it, his eyes following him across the great, empty expanse of air between the trees. When he came within reach of the branch, he hunkered down ever so slightly, fully expecting him to fail Kier’s expectations — but therefore fulfil them — and fall short. But then — he made it. Kier let out an unexpected sound, a great burst of air that sounded like a giddy, disbelieving laugh, his body falling in on itself slightly as he physically relaxed; he stumbled slightly to the side, too adrenalised by the kit’s success to stop himself.
“It wasn’t horrible!” he shouted up at him, ignoring his tears, a great, breathless grin on his face and a disbelieving laugh in his voice; for the first time, he truly did care for the kit. And he suspected his tears weren’t truly from the horror of it, more from the delayed fear response; he’d been expecting to fail and his body, his mind, hadn’t yet caught up to the fact he hadn’t. He was tremendously proud. “It was frightening, yes, but you did wonderfully! I never thought you’d actually make it — well done, Laertes.” He smiled up at him, genuine and warm. “You can come down now. So long as you stop giving me that look,” he added amusedly, “you know how I hate rudeness.”
If he wasn’t so terrified, he would have laughed too, enjoyed the pride and the praise shot his way. Instead, he continued to meet him with a look of contempt. He almost fell right then with relief when he was told he could get down, hurrying to scale the trunk while still trying to be careful, and when his back paws hit the ground he fell backwards, not even giving himself time to twist over.
“Sorry, sir,” he said mockingly, “you did almost kill me. What would my mother have said? You know she would have found it was you somehow. She’d have your head on display.” He thought he deserved a little bit of irritability. Despite the tremor in his entire body, after a few long minutes he turned over, unsteadily got to his paws, head still lowered. He didn’t want to do anything else, but he knew Kier wouldn’t listen.
So instead he looked up at him, trying to drown his slight disdain, “what now?”
Kier sat down when Laertes collapsed on his back upon the spongey ground, looking down at his protégé with a smile and his short tail wrapped around his paws. As the kit continued, the toes on one paw wriggled like he wanted nothing more than to backhand him across the face for mocking him, but he refrained; he was in too good a mood.
At the threat about Laertes’ mother, Kier just laughed — not taunting, just genuinely happy. “Not if I had her’s first,” he replied merrily. He was inordinately pleased when the kit rolled over and got to his paws by himself, without him having to tell him to. “What now?” Kier echoed, sounding surprised. “Why, if you don’t want to continue your training, you only need to say so. We could do something far more fun for the both of us — I know someone in these woods who would just love a live subject to dissect.” Suddenly grinning, Kier rose to his paws and wandered around the kit, giving him a nudge in the side. “See, that’s the difference in threat delivery, Laertes — you won’t go running to your mother because you know how weak you really are, but I would take great delight in seeing you cut apart. And what a shameful thing,” Kier added in a quieter voice, his cheek close to Laertes’, “to explain to daddy that you were frightened into submission by someone like me.” Eyes flicking to the side for a brief moment, he drifted away.
“Now, cheer up, Laertes!” he continued more cheerfully, eyes bright as he stood in front of him. “The difficult part of the day is over — now’s the easy stuff. Somewhere in these woods I’ve hidden three things: a gold coin, a teacup, and a little old, round portrait of a twoleg. One has a drop of sheep’s blood on it, the other has frog’s blood, and the last has cat blood. All you need to do is find them and bring them back. You have,” he glanced over his shoulder back to the vague grey mass of the Mansion’s overgrown garden in the distance, “ooh, I’d say ten minutes. One sister was out on the front steps when we left, and the other two were near the greenhouse. They can’t have gotten far. I’ll go say hello — unless you don’t want me to, in which case,” he grinned, like he was enjoying this very much, “tick-tock.”
He turned away and started off towards the Mansion. It was important that Laertes learn to track — no doubt with a great deal of racket now, crashing through dry undergrowth, but one day utterly silently. It might seem redundant to throw him in blind to new situations, but half the point was sending him in panicked so he was forced to learn by himself; swim or drown. Though he’d have to become more involved when he showed him how to kill, for now it was better to be hands-off. It would also be a test, to see if the new puppy came back when the leash was off.
This time, he hardly reacted outwardly to the threats, and whether that be because he was simply tired or that he was sure of Kier's word was up for debate. The only indication was the soft, nervous tapping of his tail. He knew he was right anyway, he couldn't doubt it now — sizing up Kier, who was no bigger than him, certainly much unhealthier, he wondered how anyone could ever take him seriously. His sisters wouldn't fall as easily as he did, they wouldn't get themselves so caught up in his trap, but Laertes, unlike them, was weak. His parents would have laughed in Kier's face. He lowered his head shamefully, shoulders hunching. He would have asked what 'live dissections' meant, but the conversation had moved on, another thing he didn't want to do but felt like he owed it to his mentor anyway.
Sheep blood. Frog blood. Cat blood. He didn't know what the first two even smelt like, but he supposed he'd have to figure it out. "You will not have to do that," he said quickly, almost desperately, and without another word he turned to leave, only sparing a quick glance over his shoulder.
He had never been out in the forest all alone. It was dark, the ground was cold and damp, and every rustle of the bushes or trees sent him jumping. He didn't care for being careful now, in too much of a rush to be careful of stones or roots or tangled plants, because he didn't even know where to start looking, let alone find them. He counted the minutes, each second of them, speeding up every time he lost one, before his foot caught on an upturned root, sending him towards the ground, and while it hurt, it gave him a few valuable seconds to think.
"Blood is … metallic. It has to smell the similar," he spoke in a whisper to himself, a habit that developed just now. He scrambled up awkwardly, tried to keep his nose closer to the ground like he was a bloodhound instead of a cat, like something would be buried right under it. The forest all looked the same, every tree seemed like it he'd already seen it two minutes before, and the cold winter wasn't helping much for smell. But he carried on, rushing and trying to take it slow at the same time, digging holes in the ground and lifting the undergrowth in places he thought he would find something.
By the time Laertes returned, it was probably well after ten minutes. He stopped keeping track of the time in favour for a constant mantra of 'I hate this. I hate this'. He barreled back towards the Mansion, scrambled between the old iron fence when he didn't see Kier by the pines. He didn't go inside, looked around almost frantically. He dropped a dirtied coin to the ground, freeing his mouth so he could shout,
"Kier! Kier! I —" he paused, hesitating between two options, even thought either way he was screwed, "I could only find the coin." He was breathless, the shame of admitting what he did — or didn't do — crept up so suddenly, painfully. The bridge of his nose was covered in dirt from where he'd been scrounging around, probably looking like an idiot, and he only had one item to show for it. He would do better next time, he had too.
Kier had kept to his threat, just for pretences. Really, he had no interest in bothering Laertes’ sisters — wasn’t overly keen on getting involved in some mindless chatter about whatever it was they found fascinating, and either way he knew they’d be more difficult to intimidate than their brother; Kier had found that while his manner was effective on toms, it rather fell apart on she-cats. They were more able to see his only actual weapon was his tongue. The former liked dominance, the latter liked fawning submission; it was what it was. So, while he didn’t actually speak to the other royal brats, he lurked nearby, lounging on a slab of marble upon which a lion statue might once have lain and keeping an idle eye on them.
When he heard Laertes desperately shouting his name, he casually turned his head toward the sound. When still the calls came, he glanced back at the she-kits and then slipped off the marble, hurrying over to find Laertes so no one started asking questions. When he saw his protégé looking utterly pitiful, with his nose caked with dirt and the coin at his paws, Kier broke into a wide grin; just like the tree, he hadn’t expected him to actually do it. He padded over to him and, reaching out a paw, dragged the coin back towards him across the earth; it would go back into his little bag of trinkets. “That’s alright,” he reassured the kit, truly impressed and utterly pleased, “the coin was all there was. I lied about the other two.” His grin stretched further, but it looked genuinely delighted. It was one of the only times Kier had ever openly admitted to lying.
“Well done, Laertes,” he praised with the grin still in place, and he meant it. Reaching out a paw, Kier caught his protégé round the neck and drew him forward, giving him an affectionate lick on the forehead. Immediately letting him go, he stood and wandered back in the direction of the woods, looking back over his shoulder with a smile. “Now, come. We still have a full day to get through.”
In the hours that followed, Kier gave Laertes task after task — wading through chin-high swamps choked with reeds and thick enough to get bogged in to find one of the familiar coins sitting neatly on a waterlogged island, with Kier shouting encouragements and insults and threats from the shore every time the kit slowed or stopped or hesitated; running laps round and round the Mansion’s jumble of staircases, up and down and up and down, until he was close to collapsing, while Kier lounged in the foyer and picked at a mouse; letting Kier back him to the edge of a perilous drop from the top of a statue, cooing reassurance, and then push him off; subtly (or, really, not so subtly) eavesdropping on half the League until he found one juicy tidbit of gossip to bring back to a delighted Kier; and on and on, until the kit was drenched in filth and sweat and Kier was walking on air, practically high.
Now, they stood beside a thundering waterfall that pooled in a freezing little pond, the spray of the water creating mist all around them. The first signs of ice were crusted around the edges. It would be the final test before Kier truly judged just how devoted he was becoming. He turned his head to his protégé. “Well,” he said, like he was wondering what Laertes was waiting for. “In you go. Five minutes. Don’t drown.” He grinned. It would be incredibly difficult to swim against the current — especially in the weak-limbed state the kit was no doubt in, hopeless with exhaustion. Kier lay down at the water’s edge, still grinning expectantly up at him.
Laertes couldn't even be mad at the lie — it meant he hadn't failed as much as he thought he did, it meant he did something right. The praise made him grin, eyebrows upturned, the lick made him briefly think of his mother, but he didn't fight it like he did with her. And even though he was tired, wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep the rest of the day and into tomorrow, he nodded anyway, following Kier into the woods.
He was shivering, his fur was still so damp, his legs felt like they would fall off the moment he stopped using them, so he stood, paced, did anything but rest because he was scared he wouldn't be able to get back up. He wasn't a big fan of water — Mother had told them all to stay away from it, one time, and he couldn't help but feel like he was disobeying her word, which was something he tried not to do — but if Kier said go, Laertes moved. He would complain once or twice, meet his words with defiance and bitterness, but over the day they had lessened, dripped into only the occasional eyeroll or exasperated look. He tried to keep his nervousness to himself.
When they reached the pond, waterfall pounding in his ears, turned to look at Kier just as he made orders. He didn't move immediately. Staring at the edges of thin ice and out into the water, how the waterfall disturbed the surface, he was unsure. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to go home to his mother and accept her warmth now, he was done with all this, surely he'd done enough. It didn't take any more prompting for Laertes to blink like he was snapping himself out of thoughts, first placed one paw into the water, resisting the urge to pull it out. The chill ran through his entire body like a shock. He went as far as he could while still standing, letting the water rise just past his knees until it suddenly plunged deeper, and then he stopped. Tail between his legs — it was just cold, he would say — he looked over his shoulder again, about to ask a question, only to be met with Kier's grinning face. It was a stupid one with an obvious answer, but he had felt the need to ask it anyway before he closed his mouth and turned back. He took another step, a smaller one this time, leg dragging against the current and half numb due to the freezing temperatures, and then another, and another, until there was no land for him to stand on and he had to swim. He'd never learned how to swim.
He tried to stay afloat, kicked his legs at odd angles like he expected them to do something, but his nose had hovered too close to the water's surface too many times and he was beginning to panic. The floating feeling almost felt nice, like he could sleep forever in this pond, but instead of succumbing, he awkwardly swam until he feet could clumsily grab hold of the ground underneath, breath heaving and eyes watering for probably the hundredth time that day. He was shaking like a twig, and standing seemed to take all the energy he had left.
"I did what I could," he tried to reason, but he feared it wouldn't be enough.
"What you could?" Kier echoed, his voice raised as loudly as he ever raised it; it wasn't quite a shout, but it was seethingly disappointed all the same. "That's what you can do? Flounder for a bit like a kit?" He suddenly whipped his paw up and caught Laertes under the chin; but rather than yanking him towards him, the resulting movement was surprisingly gentle, a confusing mix of physical softness and praise melded with the furious disapproval in his voice. Their faces were close together, Kier's grip on Laertes' chin firm but tender, without the prickle of claws. "I don't care if you cry, Laertes, I don't care if your legs turn black from cold - get back out there and swim." He swept around, releasing his protégé, and settled back down beside the water on his side. "Four minutes left," he told him, sounding rather disinterested.
"Once you're done," he added, and his voice was more gentle, more cheerful, "we'll warm you up again. Your day's almost over, and you've done very well - don't get frightened now. I'm sure your mother could do it with her paws tied behind her back." He smiled, and there was no violence in it, just genuine, encouraging care.
He wanted to pull his face away, he really did, but he fought with himself to stay, flinched at the disappointment in is voice and, when he let go, could only nod shamefully. He would have argued — I am a kit — but he only stepped back again. Of course his mother would be able to do it, it felt like she could do anything, and it made Laertes feel all the more guilty because he couldn't. Kier knew where it hurt, where to poke and prod and bring out all the sad little feelings inside of him that not even he knew were there.
He didn't take as long to plunge back in, let the cold envelop his body again until he couldn't feel it anymore, tried to get some rhythm in his strokes so he wouldn't drown. He had gone back to the shallow end at least three times, shaking and spitting up the water that had escaped into his lungs, He counted under his breath, and the moment it reached five he scrambled out, not even able to muster the energy to send Kier a glare. There was water in his eyes from where he'd accidentally splashed it in, an although his fur was thin and wiry, it still held the weight of being soaked. As he touched ground, he fell onto it, not bothering to lift himself.
"I'm cold and I'm tired," he murmured, almost (almost) angrily, moving his paws so they cradled his face. " And I want my mom." Mom. He never used that word. He'd always deemed it too informal, but there was nobody who would be impressed by his advanced speech; there was no need to bother. His voice sounded close to a whine.
"Well done," Kier soothed, standing to pad over to the kit and help him out of the water. His voice was gentle, and for once it wasn't an act. Laertes was freezing against him, drenched and shivering. As soon as he collapsed, Kier curled up around him as well as he could, beginning to wash the icy water from his pelt with licks against the grain of his fur. "You did incredibly well. No one could have done better, not even your mother. She would be proud."
He was satisfied. Even if it had only been a day, Laertes had been crushed just enough under Kier's thumb that he felt confident he could relinquish his grip and go easier on him; he was still untrained, physically, but his mind, even if he went back to being a kit with his family, would continue to foster an obedience to him. And that was all he'd needed. Now, Kier was happy to let Laertes' training develop into kithood cockiness he could laud over his sisters. He didn't want him broken - someone else, maybe, in the future would be fun to truly leech the spirit out of until they were just a shell, but he liked this kit. Liked his clumsy arrogance and his bookish head and the sweetness his parents had clearly nurtured. Whatever Kier's feelings for his own parents, whatever his jealousy, he didn't want to rob the kit of that - it surprised even him, because he felt that he should want that, but maybe there was a part of him that was kind, that was sad enough to want to protect Laertes' right to a loving childhood. He wanted a follower - an indentured companion, really - not a husk. Now that Laertes knew who was in charge when it mattered, he'd welcome insolence with no more than an annoyed flick of his ear.
"Are you hungry?" he asked gently, angling his head down to look the shivering kit in the eye.
It felt a little better to have someone so close, to try and chase away the lasting chill. He shifted a little closer, accepted the compliments with a small, weak smile. He supposed it might be worth it, to work so, so exhaustingly hard to get those little words of affirmation at the end, the pride of doing something right and doing it well.
Are you hungry? He didn't realize he hadn’t eaten nearly all day, and now that it was mentioned he was beginning to feel it. So, slowly, he nodded, turned his head so he could look at Kier properly now. His nose was stuffy, his whole body felt impossibly heavy. “Yes.” The smile had long since gone away, and while it was numbed, the little bits of pride were still there. He would feel better about it later, wouldn’t he? See how worth it it really was. He hoped he wasn’t expected to hunt on his own, half expected it, but Kier’s voice sounded softer, more genuine, so Laertes didn’t move to get up.
Kier was surprised by how quickly he slotted himself into the role of carer, surprised by how much he wanted it - maybe it was some trauma response to his own childhood, this willingness to prove to the world, to himself, that he wouldn't have treated someone who needed him like his older brother had treated him. Admittedly, he had treated Laertes a good deal worse... But we're all learning, aren't we?
Smiling back at him, he stood and, aware of the cold spray of the waterfall misting all around them here, gave Laertes the brief warning of "come on" before sinking his teeth into his scruff as gently as he could and awkwardly carrying him to a patch of dryer bracken at the treeline. The kit was almost the same size as he was, so Kier had to hold his head far back at an awkward, painful angle to avoid just dragging him, but he was still a little lighter. "Stay warm," he advised Laertes when he dropped him, not used to this whole taking care of someone thing, before turning and quickly disappearing into the undergrowth. Alone now, Kier was far more out of his depth than he had been when he was training the kit - and, with no one to see him, it showed now on his face, a certain uncertain anxiety. He stayed where he was for a few, long moments, in a small clearing, before finally beginning to traipse around for any sign of prey. Oh, he hated hunting. There was no joy in killing things that were just out having dinner. But, finally, he found a mouse nest and dragged out two before trotting a little insecurely back to Laertes.
The second he slipped back through the bracken, that insecurity was nowhere in sight. "Voila," he greeted the kit with his usual blasé, narrow-eyed confidence, dropping the mouse in front of him and sweeping around to settle down a little way away from him; now that Laertes wasn't freezing to death anymore, Kier's aversion to physical touch was back in full swing and he was uncomfortable with ever having done it at all. With the gathering gloom of dusk, his blown pupil was a little less painful and he tentatively opened his eyes a little wider, blinking experimentally. After a moment, he looked down at his own mouse, then back up Laertes, then back down, then back up - before finally opening his mouth to speak. "I hope you don't think I did this because I hate you. I really am trying to help."
Laertes may be desperate to prove himself, to appear stronger and powerful and worthy, but he was never one for fierce independence, so when Kier helped him to the treeline, left, and reappeared with a mouse, he didn't complain. By the time it was dropped in front of him, he had moved into a more comfortable position, front limbs tucked closed and back legs splayed out. The tremors continued. As he pulled the meal close, devoured half of it in the first few seconds (usually he tried to eat all proper, but formalities could wait), he didn't look up as Kier spoke. His ear flicked absently.
I hope you don't think I did this because I hate you. I really am trying to help. He considered the words while idly fiddling around with the remains he left behind. Some of his energy had returned now that he was out of the cold.
"I know." He wanted to say something else, like 'why did you threaten my family then?' but he didn't, because eventually he'd see that Kier was just trying to help. "Thank you." The words were closer to hollow than he wanted, less genuine than he'd really meant them, but perhaps it was just his exhaustion. Hooded, heavy eyes, his gray face drawn, he wouldn't have looked too impressed with anything anyway. He picked a small, uncomfortable bone from in-between his teeth, finally turning to look at him. He was feeling so many things at once — anger, resentment, guilt, pride, appreciation — that it was confusing, overwhelming, almost so that he hardly felt it at all, that it simply played in the background of his mind. He would feel them later, or not at all, who was to know.
"Do I come back tomorrow?" He asked after a few more long, silent moments, apprehensive of even asking the question because he didn't really want to go tomorrow, or a part of him didn't. He was still driven by protection, failing self-worth, wanting to get rid of the parts of himself that he knew others didn't like, to come back regardless of if he wanted to or not.
