*+:ｑ.ｑ //TW: cruel IC opinions and thoughts, please forgive my silly girl
Frightkit had whined and screamed and pled for this day, you'd think she'd be more excited to be here. Shadow-shaded fur lightens very little past a slight tawny gleam reflecting on her silver speckles as she stands beneath freshly birthed morning light. Her eyes trail after the few clouds scattered above, thoughts as light and airy as the globules of condensed mist. Frightkit understands that the new life growing all around her ought to be her main focus, the sprouts of green breaking through suffocating ash, new names taking flight from outgrown nests of old, a clan reinvigorated by the promise of a future neither set in stone nor erasable by even the most unpredictable of flames...But Frightkit doesn't care.
Her eyes drift from the empty-eyed heavens to stare, equally dull behind her irises, at the man carved out of amber and bloodstone. Sunstar stood tall as his namesake, but she was unfooled by his impressive aura. One needs only to look at that missing leg of his, or the dried tears in his baby blues, to know he is mortal like the rest of them. Nine lives or not, death comes for us all. Nine lives or more, and he's still more than capable of wailing as loud as the rest of them. His smile, his roar, it bothers Frightkit in a way she can't place. She just knows, in one way or another, he's challenging her. They all are - those who stand so unabashedly beneath tomorrow's new light.
She'd be angry, if she could bring herself to care.
Instead, she returns her gaze to the skies, watching the clouds drift, picked up by the breeze. By the time she's followed the snail's race to it's subjective conclusion, melting so thoroughly into it's neighbor that a cotton-tailed rabbit becomes nothing more than a white smear upon the blue wall of sky, four new warriors are welcomed into Windclan.
Downyfur, Pinkshine, Quietcrow and Kitecall...oh, and a fifth- Harefoot.
Frightkit knows none of them, so she keeps her eyes upon that bloody corpse of a cloud, letting the cries of new names dance around her like untouched flowers still at war for their chance to bloom. She sees no point in wasting her breath to join the chorus. Her voice, after all, holds none of the petals or colors any of these cats wish to hear, just in the same their flowers are useless to her cloud-watching efforts.
But like Icarus, she's soon brought down to earth and it's unfavorable present day, both because the rising sun's light has made her moon-drop eyes begin to water and because Rattleheart's voice caught her attention. A snake's bite upon waxen wings, poisonous despite the lack of flesh that created them. Frightkit watches with those chilly river stones for eyes that she has, as Rattleheart coos at his brood.
"isn't that exciting?"
No.
We're very proud of them both.
Good for them.
Not too fast though, please."
I hope your kits never make it then.
A maliciously sympathetic thought, at least that's how Frightkit chooses to see it. It's for Rattleheart's sake, for her spoken wish, that Frightkit stares at the little ones bumbling at her paws and longs for them all to perish. She hopes it's all of them who get plucked from their nests, all of them who are taken to the border and left to rot. She hopes, more than anything - entirely for Rattleheart's sake, really - that those kits die before they can bite their parent's ankle and paint the nursery red.
Before she can resume finding solace among the star-groomed clouds, Sunstar's booming voice jostles her back into the world where wishes are made to be unfulfilled. She would've glowered at Sunstar for dispursing her pleasant fog with his unwelcome morning light, but she's gotten used to dawn giving way to day, so she can't really complain, can she? She watches him closely, this father of many including a buried body, and where those tear-stained blues fall. A kinship blooms in her chest when she spies where his eyes linger. Even for a moment, she wonders if he feels it too. That
disgust that so closely resembles longing. She wonders if he's thinking about kittens dying before their parents, too. She wonders if, for a dad who's experienced it, which fate would he prefer. Bearflight's, or Nightgalecry's?
When he speaks, it's not to answer her unspoken questions, but instead to continue the farse that all is bright and new. She resumes her careful sentinel of the clouds. The one she's been following has disappeared at this point. She moves without grief to a new interesting shape in the sky.
She doesn't register it when change comes. She watches dawn give way today as it pursues the misty tails of clouds across the unbroken moorland of golds fated to flood by noon. She can't tell you when exactly dawn became day, she's almost certain she'd managed to stop it's progression simply by staring at its transformation. She might've believed that if she never blinked again, stared with unaffected focus on those newborn white golds, that day would have never taken its first steps, not ever again, but time doesn't work that way. After all, no amount of watching her mother's blood dripping from her open neck had stopped that progression of change.
In a blink, her mom was dead.
In a blink, it was tomorrow.
In a blink, she was Frightpaw.
In a blink, the past was the past and the future lay before her.
And Fright
paw could only sigh, bothered by the challenge she had no hope of combating.
So Frightpaw takes her step forward, too tired to fight the pull of tomorrow and seeing no use in denying the sky's shifting of colors, instead coming forth to step before her new mentor. She regards the man before her, scarred and narrow-eyed, and does her best not to comment on how ugly his fur color is. Instead, she says, "
Hi. Foxglare, right? Nice to meet you. "
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" Speech "
GENERAL:
βΎ Frightpaw
βΎ DFABβ She/Her β Unsure
βΎ 6 moons β Ages 1 moon every month real-time
βΎ Windclan apprentice
βΎ Sister to Deatpaw, Witherpaw, Grasspaw, Whitepaw and Midnightpaw
COMBAT:
βΎPhysically very easy | mentally mediocre
βΎ Attack in bold #1b1e21
injuries: None
