It had been days, now, since the fox had been run off. Since Sablepaw, assuring him along the way with hurried and quivering comforts, had helped ferry him into the medicine cat's den. He'd been unable to thank her, then- the agony etched newly in his skin has prevented him from thinking straight. It had only just started to ebb, now, without the aid of sleep and seeds.
Thankfully, his proclamation of I can't see had been one that had not lasted. His vision- most of it- had returned. It had been tears and blood and panic that had blinded him before, but- half of his vision was now obscured permanently, even without the translucent cover of cobwebs. Before he'd even been told there was no way to fix his eye, Fernpaw had been able to tell that something had changed about his field of vision. It had shrunk, made claustrophobic. And now- now the pain had lessened, he could at last see what the fox had done to him. What he'd done to himself.
Fernpaw had not shuffled far from the medicine den, straying only to the river that surrounded camp. He'd not fussed to look around as he had walked, unsure if he wanted to read the expressions of whoever was looking his was. Sunset-painted shoulders heaved with a sigh, a silent prayer in a breath, as he looked at himself.
The wound, his flesh knitted freshly together again, looked tender and easily breakable, but was at least no longer seeping blood from where the fox's claws had cut him. It was a large, jagged scar that cleanly split over his eye, the lid drooping over, quite the contrast to the vibrant wideness of its counterpart. Before he knew it, a shocked blink had dislodged a welling tear.
His ear flicked as he heard the sound of paw steps on grass, a tender approach. "I've- I've ruined..." he began, but the words hitched in his throat before he could finish the sentence. Within him, the small ginger tom could not find the strength of will that had fuelled him into this situation.
Thankfully, his proclamation of I can't see had been one that had not lasted. His vision- most of it- had returned. It had been tears and blood and panic that had blinded him before, but- half of his vision was now obscured permanently, even without the translucent cover of cobwebs. Before he'd even been told there was no way to fix his eye, Fernpaw had been able to tell that something had changed about his field of vision. It had shrunk, made claustrophobic. And now- now the pain had lessened, he could at last see what the fox had done to him. What he'd done to himself.
Fernpaw had not shuffled far from the medicine den, straying only to the river that surrounded camp. He'd not fussed to look around as he had walked, unsure if he wanted to read the expressions of whoever was looking his was. Sunset-painted shoulders heaved with a sigh, a silent prayer in a breath, as he looked at himself.
The wound, his flesh knitted freshly together again, looked tender and easily breakable, but was at least no longer seeping blood from where the fox's claws had cut him. It was a large, jagged scar that cleanly split over his eye, the lid drooping over, quite the contrast to the vibrant wideness of its counterpart. Before he knew it, a shocked blink had dislodged a welling tear.
His ear flicked as he heard the sound of paw steps on grass, a tender approach. "I've- I've ruined..." he began, but the words hitched in his throat before he could finish the sentence. Within him, the small ginger tom could not find the strength of will that had fuelled him into this situation.
✦ penned by pin ✦
