Long days ahead

Starling had grown a lot since he and Motif had trained together. Not only had he entered what should be (possibly) his last growth spurt into his full adult body, but he matured and learned a lot as well. He grew more confident in his craft, and slightly more confident in his still awkward and gawky form. So much so that his stutter was becoming less of a nuisance. He had friends, teachers and even students, and he gained a higher rank to match. Everything was looking up for him, but one thing was still one thing he longed for. He longed for the skill to fight, to be able to feel absolutely comfortable in his body, and be...better. To him, his lack of physical strength meant he wasn't...better. In a pack of mercenaries, with a father who pretty much couldn't understand or care about herbs and healing and would rather fight, with Lark casting a rather hefty shadow...Starling felt, well, inadequate. Perhaps it was because of that that he strove so hard to be better at healing, to be more knowledgeable, because really, what else was he good for or at?

So when Motif called for him, he was excited, he was ready...and waist deep in organizing his collection. With delicate movements he extracted himself from his store and trotted in the direction of the call. He had been meaning to meet up with Motif again, but he had kept himself so busy. With winter coming soon he had to be prepared. It was like a squirrel with nuts or a bear ready to hibernate, he had to be ready. He also had his mother's birthing to prepare for, and it seemed Limno's. And he had fight training, which...didn't seem to be going over so well. Which is why he was happy to see Motif! With a gentle smile on his lips he moved towards her on quick and nimble paws. "A-aunt Motif!" He called happily, moving towards her to nudge his forehead into her shoulder with a grin. "I've m-missed you! H-how're you?"

"Burn Baby Burn"
"Italian"