- Jan 12, 2023
- 172
- 62
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tonight, she dreams.
not entirely uncommon, though not familiar enough to ignore ; shadows stick to her sleeping thoughts like leeches, lying in the river scum of her mind where she blots the babblewhispering of her homeland until peaceful morning. tonight, she curls in her nest tight — moss drawn near mingling with that of her mottled friend, lilac pressed close for the sunwarmth that emits from pinepaw's short pelt. her nose tucked under the plush of her tail, ears low against the curtail of wind sneaking through the gaping maw of riverclan's apprentice den. sleep finds her easily here, bones worn from the cold of late leafbare . . she eases into the blackness without a thought, awaiting morning in quiet tranquility.
tonight though, there are no shadows. tonight, there is rushing water ; ice, the crack beneath her paws groaning as she steps towards cold, misted rock. . she dreams of greedy, pearlescent mouths — oozing red like the pits of smattered cherries, fragrant darkness pooling at chomping maws. pouring like a stormcloud into the pale earth, rivuleting the alabaster of her paws with a kiss of scarlet warmth. fog ribbons the land around her, frosting rheumy eyes against a whipping front and she can't see, not really. there is fur flying in the white around her and then . . there is a glint of ice blue, snapping, threadbare bones drawn and cold and the red, the red . . ! then. there is only song. birdsong, a coo at the back of her skull like a broken mourning dove. it feels like a dying sigh.
her eyes open before the bleeding rise of dawn, the image of sunningrocks imprinted on her hazy mind.
with a gasp, a snort around the ever - drip of her ruddy nose, she jerks her head upward. her head aches and blood rushes through rabbitveined ears, stumbling to ivory paws like a wounded fawn — something. something, howled her name riverbound. something. something. the stars call to her, she knows it in the sleepdrunk haze of her mind that there would be. reverence pulls her into camp long before weariness leaves her, stepping tenderly around slumbering bodies of younger apprentices and into the buffeting breeze. she shocks awake, ducks behind the stone and lichen of her den and to the icy pathways behind . . memories of her early moons repeat in bigger pawsteps. she leaves through a tear in bramble, out into the algae - ridden night.
a lifelong plague of incorrect decisions, heart driven and whimsy - colored ; a disobedience rosetinted by a cloudy head and ears craned where she believes the spirits guide her. blessed by ancestors that whisper dreams and prophecy and belonging into her head when little else does. the stars speak through frozen waves and she can only answer them in stride. there would lie an answer where they coax her, there has to be ; in the same way she'd ventured out in search of something that could make her an apprentice, she does the same at fourteen moons . . to become a warrior. bravery and foolishness is a line she dances along with tippy toes.
it takes longer than expected for the land to open around sunningrocks. the sky has begun to tint a rosen pink, the first blush of morning oozing crimson across the plumdark clouds — smog curls her paws, pads wet with dew and melting frost building as she treads the slippery river surface. her panic is dulled by skyward eyes, nerves steeled by the need to cross, to see, to find out what called her here. the wind roars against her face and through the cattail, she sees . . nothing. only a wide, empty space and nose too clogged against the breeze to scent a thing. fur buffets around rounded face and she sniffs, feels a tightness grow in her throat and suddenly, the undergrowth shifts behind her.
through her stuffiness, she knows — turns around with a drop of her heart to her paws. tears well. uselessness etches hooked claws into her and tears, tears, tears.
" you, you didnt have to come out here for me, i just . . i thought — " pinepaw would understand. pinepaw was always there for her, even when she did . . this. they were nearly old enough to do it, anyway! if she could only prove herself, if she could prove that she was worthy to be a warrior in the coming moon. with this, probably not, " i thought there would be something here. something that would impress lichenstar enough to, to make me a warrior, something . . i had a dream, and i just thought — "
a dream. humiliation brims her blood hot at the childishness of it ; pinepaw had never been childish. not when they'd seen that twoleg smoke and she'd charged toward it without hesitation, and never once since. now, there would be only consequences for sneaking out if they're caught ; punishment for insolent apprentices, and another moon of restriction. her voice eases into a whine that she swallows into taut throat and finally, finally, shellpaw hangs her head with a hiccuping, " i'm so — sorry. " it had been so stupid . . and all for nothing.
behind her, there is a crunch.
not entirely uncommon, though not familiar enough to ignore ; shadows stick to her sleeping thoughts like leeches, lying in the river scum of her mind where she blots the babblewhispering of her homeland until peaceful morning. tonight, she curls in her nest tight — moss drawn near mingling with that of her mottled friend, lilac pressed close for the sunwarmth that emits from pinepaw's short pelt. her nose tucked under the plush of her tail, ears low against the curtail of wind sneaking through the gaping maw of riverclan's apprentice den. sleep finds her easily here, bones worn from the cold of late leafbare . . she eases into the blackness without a thought, awaiting morning in quiet tranquility.
tonight though, there are no shadows. tonight, there is rushing water ; ice, the crack beneath her paws groaning as she steps towards cold, misted rock. . she dreams of greedy, pearlescent mouths — oozing red like the pits of smattered cherries, fragrant darkness pooling at chomping maws. pouring like a stormcloud into the pale earth, rivuleting the alabaster of her paws with a kiss of scarlet warmth. fog ribbons the land around her, frosting rheumy eyes against a whipping front and she can't see, not really. there is fur flying in the white around her and then . . there is a glint of ice blue, snapping, threadbare bones drawn and cold and the red, the red . . ! then. there is only song. birdsong, a coo at the back of her skull like a broken mourning dove. it feels like a dying sigh.
her eyes open before the bleeding rise of dawn, the image of sunningrocks imprinted on her hazy mind.
with a gasp, a snort around the ever - drip of her ruddy nose, she jerks her head upward. her head aches and blood rushes through rabbitveined ears, stumbling to ivory paws like a wounded fawn — something. something, howled her name riverbound. something. something. the stars call to her, she knows it in the sleepdrunk haze of her mind that there would be. reverence pulls her into camp long before weariness leaves her, stepping tenderly around slumbering bodies of younger apprentices and into the buffeting breeze. she shocks awake, ducks behind the stone and lichen of her den and to the icy pathways behind . . memories of her early moons repeat in bigger pawsteps. she leaves through a tear in bramble, out into the algae - ridden night.
a lifelong plague of incorrect decisions, heart driven and whimsy - colored ; a disobedience rosetinted by a cloudy head and ears craned where she believes the spirits guide her. blessed by ancestors that whisper dreams and prophecy and belonging into her head when little else does. the stars speak through frozen waves and she can only answer them in stride. there would lie an answer where they coax her, there has to be ; in the same way she'd ventured out in search of something that could make her an apprentice, she does the same at fourteen moons . . to become a warrior. bravery and foolishness is a line she dances along with tippy toes.
it takes longer than expected for the land to open around sunningrocks. the sky has begun to tint a rosen pink, the first blush of morning oozing crimson across the plumdark clouds — smog curls her paws, pads wet with dew and melting frost building as she treads the slippery river surface. her panic is dulled by skyward eyes, nerves steeled by the need to cross, to see, to find out what called her here. the wind roars against her face and through the cattail, she sees . . nothing. only a wide, empty space and nose too clogged against the breeze to scent a thing. fur buffets around rounded face and she sniffs, feels a tightness grow in her throat and suddenly, the undergrowth shifts behind her.
through her stuffiness, she knows — turns around with a drop of her heart to her paws. tears well. uselessness etches hooked claws into her and tears, tears, tears.
" you, you didnt have to come out here for me, i just . . i thought — " pinepaw would understand. pinepaw was always there for her, even when she did . . this. they were nearly old enough to do it, anyway! if she could only prove herself, if she could prove that she was worthy to be a warrior in the coming moon. with this, probably not, " i thought there would be something here. something that would impress lichenstar enough to, to make me a warrior, something . . i had a dream, and i just thought — "
a dream. humiliation brims her blood hot at the childishness of it ; pinepaw had never been childish. not when they'd seen that twoleg smoke and she'd charged toward it without hesitation, and never once since. now, there would be only consequences for sneaking out if they're caught ; punishment for insolent apprentices, and another moon of restriction. her voice eases into a whine that she swallows into taut throat and finally, finally, shellpaw hangs her head with a hiccuping, " i'm so — sorry. " it had been so stupid . . and all for nothing.
behind her, there is a crunch.
- i.
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frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. FOURTEEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO
SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS-----------------° ❀ ⋆she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with stubborn baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
