- Dec 27, 2022
- 359
- 51
- 28
WindClan just can't seem to win lately, Gravelsnap thinks. First they'd lost to ShadowClan, and Sootstar had lost another of her lives. Does the leader fear death, he wonders. Does she see anything on the other side, any confirmation that StarClan is real? Does she resent that force which granted her such deathless deaths, or does she thank them each time she returns to life? He wonders about a lot of things. But that wondering stopped immediately when a WindClan patrol had returned to camp, speaking of an attack. A RiverClan ambush, holding Cottonpaw hostage and drawing the patrol into a battle. RiverClan attacked with the intent to kill, he'd heard. With the intent to scar Cottonpaw, to send a message to Sootstar. Without any intent to let a single WindClanner on that patrol escape with their lives.
The reality hits him at the most inopportune time—while he's lying in the dirt, sprawled under the high afternoon sun, hoping to pass the time before he has to go out on another long, hot, grueling patrol. Peri could have died. And the anguish that wracks him at that thought is truly unnerving. He doesn't—listen, he doesn't want Periwinklebreeze to die. But the thought of his own father dying doesn't provoke such a visceral reaction. Neither does the thought of his mentor dying, and upon the patrol's return to WindClan Gravelsnap had truly believed that Houndthistle was about to keel over and die right there. So why is Peri different?
They're not even friends, right? Or they're only friends sometimes, when Firefang isn't around. Is it friendship if it's kept secret? Is it still considered a kept secret if Peri has given him a gift that he keeps in a safe, hidden space so it won't get lost or mixed in with his regular battle-rocks? Is it considered a kept secret if he cheered for his friend as they received their warrior name, even when very few other voices joined in? Is it considered a kept secret if he sat by their side in the den of a healer who he despises, just to see for himself that they were going to wake up?
Groaning aloud, the tom rolls over until his face is pressed into the dirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stars help me, I'm absolutely hopeless. He rubs his nose into the ground below for a few moments, and then lets out a great heaving breath. "Shit," he grunts, dragging himself dramatically to his feet. It's time to get to work.
Hours later, after his sun-soaked, wind-blown, hare-brained expedition to whatever border the patrol leader had decided upon, Gravelsnap returns to camp with a gift. It's tucked between teeth that, for once, are gentle, and it isn't a rock. They have too many rocks already; they cannot risk it looking as though they've simply pulled one from their collection. He strides through the camp with purpose, though, long strides that fall just short of a run.
His head pokes into Vulturemask's den, and for a moment his nose wrinkles at the scent. Somehow, it even smells of treachery in here. But he isn't here to spy on the healer, or investigate possibly traitorous cats. He's here for…
Hazel eyes settle upon a black and white form, and he sucks in a breath of relief. He'd known they weren't dead, but hearing it and seeing it for himself are two separate things. They look horrible, though—as though death could have claimed them easily, if it had so wished. He ignores the way his heart lurches at the thought. Instead, the black and white warrior marched straight up to Periwinklebreeze, looking down on them with anger that, for once, isn't directed at them.
He gently places his gift before his friend, tail lashing behind him. His eyes are hard, narrowed and alight with fury. "Who did this to you," he says, and it isn't a question. What RiverClan scum does he need to claw to shreds? Even if Periwinklebreeze doesn't respond, the tom will gesture to the flowers that he's laid at the paws of his friend. "I got you these as a get-well gift. So you have to get better soon." Once again, it isn't stated as a question. It's a demand, silent as it may be, and Gravelsnap hopes the other will follow it.
They gesture with their black-capped paw to the flowers. "They're daisies. Bluepaw said that darker would look better, but I could only find white."
// @Periwinklebreeze.
The reality hits him at the most inopportune time—while he's lying in the dirt, sprawled under the high afternoon sun, hoping to pass the time before he has to go out on another long, hot, grueling patrol. Peri could have died. And the anguish that wracks him at that thought is truly unnerving. He doesn't—listen, he doesn't want Periwinklebreeze to die. But the thought of his own father dying doesn't provoke such a visceral reaction. Neither does the thought of his mentor dying, and upon the patrol's return to WindClan Gravelsnap had truly believed that Houndthistle was about to keel over and die right there. So why is Peri different?
They're not even friends, right? Or they're only friends sometimes, when Firefang isn't around. Is it friendship if it's kept secret? Is it still considered a kept secret if Peri has given him a gift that he keeps in a safe, hidden space so it won't get lost or mixed in with his regular battle-rocks? Is it considered a kept secret if he cheered for his friend as they received their warrior name, even when very few other voices joined in? Is it considered a kept secret if he sat by their side in the den of a healer who he despises, just to see for himself that they were going to wake up?
Groaning aloud, the tom rolls over until his face is pressed into the dirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stars help me, I'm absolutely hopeless. He rubs his nose into the ground below for a few moments, and then lets out a great heaving breath. "Shit," he grunts, dragging himself dramatically to his feet. It's time to get to work.
Hours later, after his sun-soaked, wind-blown, hare-brained expedition to whatever border the patrol leader had decided upon, Gravelsnap returns to camp with a gift. It's tucked between teeth that, for once, are gentle, and it isn't a rock. They have too many rocks already; they cannot risk it looking as though they've simply pulled one from their collection. He strides through the camp with purpose, though, long strides that fall just short of a run.
His head pokes into Vulturemask's den, and for a moment his nose wrinkles at the scent. Somehow, it even smells of treachery in here. But he isn't here to spy on the healer, or investigate possibly traitorous cats. He's here for…
Hazel eyes settle upon a black and white form, and he sucks in a breath of relief. He'd known they weren't dead, but hearing it and seeing it for himself are two separate things. They look horrible, though—as though death could have claimed them easily, if it had so wished. He ignores the way his heart lurches at the thought. Instead, the black and white warrior marched straight up to Periwinklebreeze, looking down on them with anger that, for once, isn't directed at them.
He gently places his gift before his friend, tail lashing behind him. His eyes are hard, narrowed and alight with fury. "Who did this to you," he says, and it isn't a question. What RiverClan scum does he need to claw to shreds? Even if Periwinklebreeze doesn't respond, the tom will gesture to the flowers that he's laid at the paws of his friend. "I got you these as a get-well gift. So you have to get better soon." Once again, it isn't stated as a question. It's a demand, silent as it may be, and Gravelsnap hopes the other will follow it.
They gesture with their black-capped paw to the flowers. "They're daisies. Bluepaw said that darker would look better, but I could only find white."
// @Periwinklebreeze.
[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]
