- Sep 23, 2022
- 53
- 58
- 18
Burnstorm. Howlfire. She’d watched their ceremonies with pride, big blue eyes trickling streams of tears that dampened her cheeks and splashed her paws. Her mother had watched Burnstorm receive his name with mixed emotions—and her father’s eyes had gleamed with love and grief for his one kit who had walked the path of a SkyClan warrior.
But she had sat beside Moonpaw, an empty silhouette, unnoticed. She’d wanted to rub herself against Burnstorm’s flank, to sink her nose into Howlfire’s fur, but she’d been so distracted by the jealousy radiating from her living twin’s pelt that she’d hardly remembered to keep herself invisible. Moonpaw’s bitterness was astringent as an unripe berry, and for the first time since Morningpaw had died she looked at her sister, looked deeply into her heart, at the cat she’d become.
Morningpaw is so sad when she watches Moonpaw stride through the forest. The moon is waning from fullness, but peace is the last thing on her sister’s mind. Moonpaw’s claws reach for her mentor’s face. Her eyes are like leafbare frost, cold as the snow she’d lain in, cold as the snow that had soaked up her blood until she’d died a merciful death in Dawnglare’s den.
“Moonpaw,” she murmurs, her heart aching. The girl she’s left behind is a warrior now, but not one who leads a life of hope and pride. Her fragility has become brittle and sharp. Moonpaw has rejected Blazestar, Fireflypaw, and Howlfire. She has rejected what Morningpaw had died for, and though the StarClan she-cat does not resent her twin for this, she grieves over what could have been.
“Come back to yourself,” she murmurs, settling in a soft patch of grass to watch her sister’s assessment. “You are not as alone as you feel.” She closes her eyes against the tears that begin to cloud her vision.
She had left a broken cat—but can she really judge the way Moonpaw had put her pieces back together?
But she had sat beside Moonpaw, an empty silhouette, unnoticed. She’d wanted to rub herself against Burnstorm’s flank, to sink her nose into Howlfire’s fur, but she’d been so distracted by the jealousy radiating from her living twin’s pelt that she’d hardly remembered to keep herself invisible. Moonpaw’s bitterness was astringent as an unripe berry, and for the first time since Morningpaw had died she looked at her sister, looked deeply into her heart, at the cat she’d become.
Morningpaw is so sad when she watches Moonpaw stride through the forest. The moon is waning from fullness, but peace is the last thing on her sister’s mind. Moonpaw’s claws reach for her mentor’s face. Her eyes are like leafbare frost, cold as the snow she’d lain in, cold as the snow that had soaked up her blood until she’d died a merciful death in Dawnglare’s den.
“Moonpaw,” she murmurs, her heart aching. The girl she’s left behind is a warrior now, but not one who leads a life of hope and pride. Her fragility has become brittle and sharp. Moonpaw has rejected Blazestar, Fireflypaw, and Howlfire. She has rejected what Morningpaw had died for, and though the StarClan she-cat does not resent her twin for this, she grieves over what could have been.
“Come back to yourself,” she murmurs, settling in a soft patch of grass to watch her sister’s assessment. “You are not as alone as you feel.” She closes her eyes against the tears that begin to cloud her vision.
She had left a broken cat—but can she really judge the way Moonpaw had put her pieces back together?
[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]
