Since early childhood Esma had been a very uncomplicated and easy child to have around. She had been happy to eat and sleep and not make any noise as a newborn. She had been timid and shy as a toddler, preferring the safety and darkness of their den to the world outside that her siblings had been so eager to explore. Once coaxed to go out and explore, she had limited her playground to the rendevouz's site. When it came to her - unlike 99% of the rest of the children in the world - you could be absolutely sure of two things: 1. Esma stayed and waited, where you told her to stay and wait; 2. If it was suspiciously quiet, you could be confident that Esma was not getting in trouble or cooking up mischief. Most often the kid would be simply daydreaming with a far-off look in her eyes and a smile of a person, who was witnessing something that remained hidden to other people's eyes. 

Now - almost an adult in her body - but very immature, naive and childish in her mind, she preferred to spend time in her own company. If necessary and required she was there with the rest of the family to work and help, but her quiet presence helped her to blend in the background. So much that one would forget that she had been there in the beginning and be surprised to see her. There weren't many things Esma was proud of about herself, but the ability to become invisible gave her a bit of gratification. The rest of the time she spent her days going around Riverclan's territory, practicing hunting small game and living inside her own little world. Evenings she returned to settle next to Ash Paw for the night and occasionally, when it felt right, to ask some questions about the faith. 

Today she had come to the western edge of the hollow, where the line of the forest gave way to a meadow that appeared endless to Esma. There were numerous small rivulets and creeks feeding the river inside her home and she went to see and greet them all. You see, to her the river to which her home owed its name, felt as a living thing to her, therefore it felt important to respect and express her gratitude to the smaller entities that kept the river strong and going. Then her attention was drawn to cattails, which grew on the banks and appeared so odd. Mom had never told, what had those cats been, who had left their tails here, and whether they would ever return here. Esma also did not dare to ask, because she was convinced that the vast knowledge about plants of Ash Paw's was something you were born with or that you simply had to know. And silly questions like these fit children not wolves, who were about to enter the adult ranks. 

However, this did not mean that she could not come up with a story, in case anyone asked, right? So, she sat down, fixated her gaze on the meadow of cattails and willed herself to imagine. 

it was not often that wren parted from silvertongue. ash paw did what she could, as did wren; she hunted for her, gave medicine, slept at her side. talked to her. held her. hoisted her while she began to find her steps again. all of the things one was meant to do for their — girlfriend? not-girlfriend?
in a rare window of time where she was not tending to the sharpfang, wren paced beyond riverclan's border. she had grown restless, having not stretched her legs in days, and so she wandered. today's choice was the meadow, for she had never truly seen it in all her forays within these lands.
it is vast and empty; little else aside from cold, dead marshland grass. a small stream made more of mud than water cuts through rather garishly, and the finches who she imagined usually perch along the treetops seem to all have left in droves for somewhere warmer. but there is someone here.
between rows of cattails is a lanky, chestnut-dappled broad. not girl, not woman. wren could not recall if they had crossed paths before.
if you're trying to find lunch, there's not jack shit out here, she calls in rusty greeting, tail swaying up over her haunches into her own attempt at a friendly wave. unless you like to eat rats.

By the time Wren found Esma, she had spent a considerable time alone coming up with a story about a cat rebellion that had ended up in a defeat and all the mutineers had been buried in the ground with only their tails sticking out. A horrible state for any animal and especially for cats, who thrived best in high spaces and not underground. Esma had also attempted to pluck one and have a chew on it, ending up with a mouth full of fluff and her spending time clearing her palate and tongue from the stuff. 

She turned around to face the adult and she crouched in a submissive manner, averting her gaze and wagging her tail just a little bit, so that the woman would know that she meant no harm and knew her place in the ranks. Then she approached the lady gingerly and sat down, looked up at her expectantly, as if waiting for a permission to talk or a task to be required. When that did not happen, she furrowed her brow and bit her lip, trying to figure out, what to do about the protocol now? 

"You want to go hunting?" she asked eventually, her green gaze meeting Wren's for a second and then she turned her eyes away. 

Wren was not good at picking up the body language cues, Esma was not good at picking up double-meanings and tones. She took all the words spoken to her literally. Therefore, when asked, whether she had any hunting skills, she looked at the ground, feeling embarrassed. It was difficult to be at this age, when you were no longer a child, but not an adult yet either. You knew some things, but were not fully equipped for an independent life.

"A little," she mumbled and shrugged. This was not a lie. Esma knew a little of everything, just not enough. "What about you?" she asked out of an old habit of redirecting any inquiries about herself back to the one, who asked. She noted only afterwards that this was a stupid question to ask an adult wolf.

"Rabbit?" Esma's raised her voice a little, aware that she tended to mumble and be inaudible when nervous. Which was most of the time, when in the presence of other people. She liked deer better, but rabbit seemed a safe choice as something she would at least be able to catch and not fail miserably.

"Ash Paw is my mother," she replied glad to have been asked something she was confident about. "You?"

Eventually nothing came out of it, because Esma heard her mother calling and had to take off.