『 Inevitabilis 』- intro

[Moonwhisper]

She was waking up. Slowly, bit by bit, with each passing day it seemed like the heaviness that once pressed her down into the earth had eased enough she could lift her head and not dread the drawing of her own breathe. The accident felt like a lifetime ago now, she felt weary and gray though she had not changed a bit in appearance though perhaps now looking at her own reflection in a passing surface would jarr her more than it had before; the spitting image of a corpse in the ground, the living parallel to the deceased, she was the flower bearer at a funeral, the carrier of knowing while Morningpaw would forever be a vessel of memories. Her clan was kind, at least, knowing how she felt and her timidness once so powerful she would shy away at the slightest glance, but as the girl stepped forward from the apprentice den and into the light of a new day she held herself with a head lifted up and her shoulder's squared. No longer the slouching, meek child behind her sister, a waif shadow only noticed when within the morning's light; it was not confidence that held her upward now, but fear. A cat died and the world kept turning, time pressed onward despite her protests and pleas. She needed more of it, she wanted to dwell longer, she had to finish grieving, but the cutting cold warned her of this folly-it spoke to her of cats turned to stone from their sorrow and withered away within their dens. Would she freeze like the river of bow her head like a darkening flower?
It was not a fate she wanted to consider, so she raised herself up from the ground and forced it all down. Stomach it, you are the oldest daughter now. Present yourself with some degree of dignity and let the clan know you are alive and well.
There was no time for her to keep to her shyness, a wall flower would only grow against the grain but she wanted to bloom, delve further into the life Morningpaw herself would never have.
Loss hurt too much, she wished she could feel no pain but perhaps with patience she could fake indifference until the sting settled and the agony withdrew. Awake, breathing, she inhaled cold wind and exhaled a flurry. It was time to be productive, give to her clan, carry on.

She could not tell if the weight lessened or if the she was strong enough now to bare it.

​

 

[RACCOONSTRIPE]

He has left his anger burn into cinders, let them scatter in winds taking them away to desolate grounds. Little Wolf's folly has cost his family dearly, but he cannot continue to hold a grudge against a sister he still loves beyond reason, against her kits who have walked numbly through corridors of suffering. He means what he said to Fireflypaw and Howlpaw -- though they share blood, they've succumbed to their kittypet halves, and they've become SkyClanners. They left their kin behind just as surely as Lakemoon had in RiverClan.

The remaining kits, though... Burnpaw and Moonpaw... they are still here. They chose their forest heritage, their wild blood, to be surrounded by family and pride and loyalty. To say he has concerns about Burnpaw's abilities to be a true warrior is one thing, but Moonpaw...

A timid thing, just like her twin had been. If anything, Morningpaw had been the more outspoken of the two, the optimistic one pulling her sister through life despite the fears in her own tiny heart. Moonpaw was the quieter, the more mysterious, as her name would suggest -- and without Morningpaw to cast her as a shadow, she'd shriveled like the last of the flowers in the frosty grip of leafbare.

Raccoonstripe's dark eyes brim with feeling when he sees his young niece emerge from the apprentice's den. The look of grief isn't shed, but there's something hard and determined beneath it. Not a wilted flower at all -- there's stone beneath that pretty painted face, behind those ice-chip eyes.

He welcomes her with a dip of his head, gaze like stoked coals. "Good to see you alive today." His tone is brisk. "We have a lot to do today. If you're up for it, I'm going hunting before the snow storm gets any worse." He straightens his posture. Time to lead by example, he thinks to himself.​

 

[BERRYHEART]

Loss still stung, a surest strike. Its arrow was one that never failed to hit a spot that would linger with ache until the grave, even when it became miniscule. So he had been told, that was, until he could verify it with experience. The only loss Berryheart had ever truly felt was that for his father, and yet it seemed logistically impossible to have lost someone whom you never had in the first place. Father had never known he had even existed, for he had not been a part of the three kits they had expected. A late addition, rather. But Wisps? Wisps, at least, had known him. And he was sure he would see her again. In knowing, there was perhaps the closure that allowed the arrow's rend to heal. To scar- ever there, but not ever-felt.

The tissue was still tender, but on the mend he marched. Duty helped distract him most of the time, and when he missed her he cast his gaze to the stars and wondered if she might pay him a visit in dreams one day. Quiet, he basked in the morning silence before the chaos or peace of the day would erupt, or would bloom. Whichever one of the two, he could not predict- though the way the sky swelled with grey, he felt the former seemed a touch more likely.

From where he lay, olivine eyes slid over to the sound of his littermate's voice- and there, standing and facing this storm-ready sky, was Whispers. Her alias did not quite fit her, not in this state... so often had she hid behind Wisps, or near Dynamo or Sootypaws or Little-Little... but Wisps had seemed more of a support than others. Their family, fractured, had taken a while to heal- but Berryheart would tell lies if he claimed he did not think Whispers might take a little longer. Yet she faced the day with eyes pale as the sky, determination as steely as its swollen squall... perhaps Stripes had seen it too, in the way he spoke so stoic.

"Better hurry," he murmured, suggestion punctuated with a yawn. If hunting was his goal, and became one for both of them, it would be best to be brisk as the morning breeze. The last thing he wanted was to be treating frostbite, or some horrible cold- for reasons he was reluctant to admit.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​