Difficult Lessons

Mourning had known from the start that their newest apprentice would need a particular level of care. The poor thing was a wet kitten in the most literal sense; small, alone, and afraid in this big world. The way his fur rose on his back whenever anything upset him a little too much was proof of it. He knew better than anyone else that this life was cruel and he would not be forgiven for failure.

Better than anyone else—except Mourning.

“It’s okay to mess up, little one…”

A tiny sniffle met them in reply, Beast’s ears folding back and head lowering further. He was trying—and failing—to hide tears.

“I’m not little…”

Mourning couldn’t help but smile a bit. It wasn’t the time, so they stifled it. But it was a good sign, Beast was not distraught beyond repair just yet. Mourning let a wing rest gently on the young kitten’s back.

“Everyone is little in my eyes, Beast. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not little, though. I’m perfectly sized.”

He really was quite small, not that it made him any less fearsome. But Mourning understood the insecurity one’s size could impose in such a world. Where defense was necessary, and you’d be treated with no respect if people assumed you couldn’t handle yourself. It made sense.

“Of course you are, and you’ll grow bigger with time,” they pressed a paw over Beast’s. “As will your skill. You have much to learn and a limitless amount of time to learn it. Don’t stress.”

Another sniffle, but Beast lifted his paw to wipe the wetness from his face.

“Don’t tell me what to do..”