Fear.
It's a familiar feeling to the boy, one he knows as well as the back of his paws, or the color of his own eyes. It's a basic, primal thing - all gnawing teeth and slashing claws as it cuts through him, white-hot and blinding. But it is better, he thinks, than this. As the baleful howls reach his ears and the damp scent of canine clogs his nose, he can already feel it creeping in - that sinking, spreading cold, that icy numbness of feeling
nothing. He is empty - frozen in time.
Heavy gaze can only link slowly for a moment as brain tries to process the sight that meets his blue eyes, as hair begins to raise and ears go deaf. It happens so fast -
too fast, truly. Really, he's not even surprised anymore - he can't believed he'd ever thought their troubles would be over now that they'd found the lungwort they'd so desperately needed - no, it had been only just the beginning. Eagles, badges, foxes - it is as though starclan had turned it's back upon them at last. Little Wolf was dead, Magpiepaw not even certain she'd make it to starclan until he'd seen a vision.
' How cruel of them, to let us hope,' he thinks absently.
... and now,
this.
He has half a mind to give up before he ever begins, paws heavy as stone beneath taught limbs and frail figure. Why bother, why try - he'd seen it in the visions of blood that bathed his dreams and waking moments alike, this inevitability. This
end. Starclan sent him here not to live, but to die - so why should he try? He knows what it'll be like after all - he's been here before, trembling pale figure pinned by slobbering red. There is no Vulturemask to save him this time - no Dustpaw, no Nightinggalecry. They are back home, safe and sound - and he is here, waiting to die.
Instinct is a funny thing though - because staring into the jaws of reality is much different than what frazzled mind expects. Despite his expectations, his paws move on their own, an unconscious thing as he he
flees - and for a moment, it's almost like he's floating, wind against his face and breath hot on the backs of his heels. Voices calls out what he already knows, the words echoing in his eardrums relentlessly.
' Dogs - dogs dogs dogsdogsdogs- Run - run run runrunrun '
As if it is not enough that he's moving, the world itself has turned to a blurr. Flashes of black and red dance across his vision, burning imprints upon his lids like the gaze of the sun itself. Heart races, lungs heave, as cats scatter and dogs pounce upon them and still he
runs - and runs, and
runs. All he ever does is run - a coward through and through, always fleeing. Rabbit hearted. He hardly recognizes himself, and he hates it.
He hates it. He hates that this is who he is almost as much as he hates sootstar, or firefang, or smogmaw, or the very stars themselves. When had he gone from a child who could laugh and smile and batt leaves around beside the moorland queen herself, to this pitiful whinging creature? When had he fallen apart at the seams, his pieces trod upon by endless paws until there is nothing left but an empty shell? He doesn't know anymore. He only knows that he is not okay - he is not alright.
He is not okay, and he hasn't been in a long time.
A cry catches blackened ears, and it's just enough to have him pausing - to have head turning and paws slowing. Orangeblossom falls behind, injured or tired he cannot tell from here - and for a moment, he thinks to keep running. Like he always does.
He should choose to save himself, really. They're already almost home, lungwort in paw - she won't even be the first to be caught, not now, stormpaws cries echoing loudly in his ears from somewhere nearby as she's dragged off and duskpools pained snarls catchign his ears from elsewhere. Soon enough, they will all go back to their own clans, to being strangers, to being
enemies. Wouldn't it make more sense to have one less cat at his throat, one less worry. He has never been a fighter anyways - only a weak fool. The thoughts are startling, but maybe it's only to be expected. He knows this is what he's become now, a monster of starclan's own making. Trail after tribulation, end endless cycle of death and loss and grief and pain.
But as he watches, it is not orange and white fur that meets his vision, flickering and fading as it is - no, it is inkstained smoke, as thin and transparent as his emotions. A flash of blue-violet as they meet, as blood splatters across his vision and screams meet his ears, his limbs twinging at the familiar scene, phantom pain spreading through as though they have been split open once more. It's over as fast as it starts - no, there is no child standing there, tiny form trembling in fear beneath a fox. There never was - there is only Orangeblossom and a dog closing in on her.
No - he will not run. Not now - not anymore.
Ashen figure moves with a confidence he'd not known himself capable of, charging forwards with charcoal paws outstretched as he rams his scarred shoulder into the she-cat, pushing her forwards and out of the way.
"Run," he barks out between grit teeth, voice coming out shockingly legible in spite of the rush of blood to his head, already turning his focus elsewhere. There are more important matters at hand after all. Anger boils in his blood, back arching as he lets out a snarl more appropriate for a badger than a cat - but he will not back down.
"Hey f-fox breath - over h-here!" In that split second, he feels better than he
ever has - memories flashing by, as though every moment of his pitiful life has led to this. Jaggedoak, Vulturemask, Bluepool - all their training these past moons, all their encouraging words,
all of it comes to him now, as flesh and fur meet sharp claws in a panicked flurry of blows. Yelps meet his ears as his blows hit home, confirmation of what he already knows, the metallic tang of blood filling the air as he dives beneath the creature, distracting it, catching it's attention as they both turn - leading it away.
There is no time to think things through, no time to regret his choices. Already the feel of hot breath and spittle touches the backs of his legs, the tip of his tail barely grazing sharp teeth and snapping jaws as they move forwards. For every pawstep he moves, limbs pulling and stretching and burning painfully with every movement, the dog takes
two - already, he can tell it is going to be over before it ever begins. He can only hope it is enough - that his efforts will buy her and the others enough time. Periwinkle gaze closes for a moment, a whisper fluttering through minds eye.
"Sorry - I'm s-so sorry," A whimpered apology, a final goodbye. He'd did his best to keep his promise, hadn't he? He can only hope that gravelsnap won't be too disappointed in him. He'd
tried.
He'd tried.
At last, he feels jaws enclose around him as teeth yank upon his tail, sending him stumbling, movements clumsy as he tries to keep his balance. He spins on his paws, ready to face his enemy, to face his
death - if he is to go out, he will do so swinging. Like a windclanner. Like a warrior. Sharp claws meet flesh once more as he rake's them across and muzzle and snout alike, tearing deep before a heavy paw comes crashing down upon his skull in return. The blow is dizzying enough on it's own, but what's worse is the searing pain he feels as something catches and snags his flesh - dull claws dragging across his eye and cheek like a blunted knife, hot and burning in its intensity. Teeth sink into flesh best they can with vision impaired and mind addled by the pain, drawing a another cry from the snarling beast, but it's too little to late.
Teeth sink into his scruff, drawing a high-pitched
scream from him as he feels his flesh tear, blood splattering across his fur and the ground. It
shakes him, as though mocking him - sending stars across his vision as head rolls wildly, limbs flailing about as he tries to sink claws into
anything. He doesn't expect it t work, his desperate, half-delirious attempts - but paws connect, hitting
something's. Whatever he managed to slash, it seems to be just enough - with a final painful swing it lets go at last, tossing him to the side like discarded prey. Whimpers and whines fill the air, drowning out his own pitiful cries, until finally the sound of heavy pawsteps leave him laying there utterly alone.
For a moment as everything finally calms, there is nothing. The world has vanished before his very eyes, drowned by a sea of red blood. Ears have turned deaf, the silence echoing painfully until the only thing he can hear is his own heart thump-thump-thumping like a startled rabbit. Is he even alive? He can't tell.
Eyes flutter for a moment as vision swims before his eyes a final time, his prone form gone still.
And then it
hurts. Everything hurts more than it ever has before - so much so, it almost doesn't hurt at all. He wants to scream, wants to cry - wants it to end.
"M-mom," he whimpers - he doesn't even know who he's calling out too. The one who'd abandoned him without a word, or the one who'd left while telling him to keep strong. He doesn't know - he doesn't know. Sleep threatens to take him over as he lies there, crying out silently through tears that burn wounded flesh, the ground beneath him slick with blood, but he can't - he won't. He wants to live - wants to go home.
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