and if tomorrow it's all over [brookstorm] at least we had it for a moment

[robinheart]

Robinheart has often prided herself on how in-tune she was with her mind and body. She knew how her body reacted to moments of joy and sorrow, fear and anxiety, sickness and health. Her heart spoke at varying speeds. Her stomach clenched, upset, with terror or malaise. Her eyes watery with another’s happiness or despair. Robinheart knew herself and yet the prior couple of days yielded feelings she has never experienced. Subtle changes that gave her pause when they did not resolve after a good night’s sleep and meal. It wasn’t even the impending social anxiety of the gathering the night before as afterwards she still felt the lingering change, the nagging feeling coming from somewhere within her.

It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together. To retrace her steps to the only deviation from her day to day life - a deviation wholly capable of change within the mottled molly.

All day the discovery weighs heavy on her mind. Suddenly the distractions from days before make sense, subtle clues her body gave her to do some introspection and plan accordingly. She waits until the sun begins to crest the horizon, night’s inky reach not long to follow, to ask Brookstorm to take a walk along the river with her so that she may speak with her mate in private. Robinheart relishes in the time where she can be alone with her mate. Their duties keep them from each other for extended periods of time, but fortune favors them this evening as neither have a dusk patrol to attend. At least the tortoiseshell can hope it is fortune favoring them and not fate lining up dominoes to be knocked over the second Robinheart opens her mouth. She wishes she could hold onto the news, to somehow wish it away and live in the blissful honeymoon phase of their relationship, but that is not how life works. And ultimately Brookstorm deserves to know of her mate’s revelation.

“Thank you for coming with me,” the mottled molly speaks softly as the duo slow at the river’s edge, coming to a stop at the spot where Brookstorm had confessed her feelings to Robinheart. The location is intentional. It is where their story began and where the nervous tortoiseshell would have to admit that more stories were to follow. It is the admittance to come that sends waves of worry down the warrior’s spine, her breath shaky despite her best efforts to still her hummingbird heart. She eases herself down to sit at the river’s edge. Multicolored fur ablaze in reflection of the sunset brushes against silvery pelt, an intermingling of sun and moon, and it provides a miniscule amount of comfort. Robinheart stares out at the water. Fear for what may come keeps her from looking at her mate. She tries to formulate what she needs to say, hearing the metaphorical clock tick louder and louder in her head, feeling the swell of concern rising in the warrior seated beside her. “Brookstorm,” she swallows hard as citrine eyes finally unfocus from the rippling waters and find the stone blue she-cat’s gaze, “I think I’m with kits.”

@brookstorm
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( penned by kerms )​

 

[brookstorm]

Their time together is forever fleeting. Death is an unwelcome companion to all that lives around Brookstorm, and it seems that Life proves to be just as unkind. Whilst she spends as much time as she can with Robinheart, their schedules rarely align. She can count just how many mornings and nights she's been able to spend with Robinheart since their union, how many meals they've shared and conversations they've had - all on one paw. Two, if she's generous. The world must laugh at them whenever they share pitiful, longing glances, torn apart by duty once more.

Her muscles ache when Robinheart approaches her - sparring with her old denmates is not entirely easy, but she volunteers regardless in order to keep up appearances. Brookstorm readily agrees for, despite her fatigue, she would do anything for the mottled she-cat. 'For you, the world,' she would've said, if not for the half chewed meal in her mouth. She nods, instead, swallows and follows quickly.

While not empathetic like her lover, she is intuitive. The space along the river is a welcome one, given its context, and the young warrior looks towards her companion with her brow raised. "Of course," she hums back. Maybe Robinheart wants to relive the moment? Brookstorm is one to leave the past where it is, especially when warmth floods her face when she thinks of it. Her curled ears twitch as she sits comfortably close to the other, listening to the bubbling water, the breeze - watching the sky dye itself red as the sun leaves them, and -

"What...?" she hardly registers the other speaking her name, her chest paining as she clings to the following thought. Golden hues find fern green ones, and though Robinheart's may hold excitement, trepidation, anxiety - Brookstorm's pupils are pinpointed. Surprise, fear, terror. She looks as if Robinheart told her a badger had torn through camp, not as if they'll be mothers, creating a new family together.

She shirks away the other's warm comfort. "What makes you think that...?" She breathes out, almost accusatory, "Have you spoken to Moonpaw yet? Even - Even if so, she's only an apprentice. Whenever Ravensong returns, he'll be able to tell you that it's just some... I don't know, rotten fish that you've eaten." Brookstorm cannot help it. She looks at Robinheart, and she sees a wavering visage of her mother. Her memory of Buckgait is broken, shattered in an unending fractal pattern. All she sees is brown fur being lifted up, up, up, away from them, away from her. Robinheart, is she next? Is the world as she knows it going to end - will the pattern repeat once more? Cursed, she is - cursed, whilst Time, and Death, and Life even chitter and laugh at her impending misfortune.

Are you stupid?

She knows not who the question is posed for.

"This isn't funny, Robinheart," she addresses the other coldly, and her throat hurts as she does. "We - I am not ready for kits. Tell me that you're playing a stupid prank on me so we can move on from this," she pleads - demands - but she stays terribly parted from the other, waiting for the unfortunate gotcha! One that she knows will not bleed from Robinheart's lips.​

 

[robinheart]

As much as Death is an unwelcome companion to the blue furred molly, so seems Life to be its unwitting partner. Maybe to others this would be seen as a balance of nature - loved ones taken and loved ones received. However youth shines much too bright on the duo. Inexperience and fear are more apt than excitement and joy. In the back of her mind Robinheart knows this. In the depths of her heart she anticipates trepidation. To see it play out though... to watch fern green eyes flood with terror and feel the chill of a loved one's retreat stings like icy water dousing her multicolored pelt.

Robinheart winces at accusatory tone and gingerly shakes her head. She feels as if she will be sick, throat burning as her mate fumbles for some other explanation. If there was some other explanation Robinheart would have never brought up kits in the first place. If there was some other explanation they would still be seated side by side, listening to babbling waters and enjoying the sunset. But no - no they are at odds over something they have no control over now. "I-I just... I know, or I think I know," she stammers in accordance to seeking confirmation from Moonpaw or even Ravensong when he returns. "Something has been off for days now. A feeling I can't shake or make go away with food or sleep. I wanted to tell you first because I-I... I am afraid. Hearing it from Moonpaw or Ravensong makes it more real," as if it isn't real enough at this moment in time. Robinheart cannot be certain what is going through Brookstorm's mind right now but she fears it is not the love and support she desperately desires. Brookstorm is an unwavering stone - a figure hewn from mountainside itself, where memories run like veins of precious metals that Robinheart doesn't have the tools or means to mine yet.

They are young.

They are new to love and the maturity that comes with it.

Ice encases misplaced admonishment, frosting words as sharp as ones they had shared in their youth. She's losing her, she can feel it. Tears well up in twin suns as Robinheart averts her gaze. "It's not a joke," the tortoiseshell whispers. She is offended that her mate would think that of her; that Robinheart would choose now to start lying to Brookstorm. Honesty has always tinged well meaning words, colored gentle speech and intention. "There is no prank. I'm..." the distance the stone blue furred molly has placed between them bitters her tongue, "I'm not you." It's cruelty to stoop that low. It burns her heart just as tears drip down and stain fiery chest. As soon as she says it she wishes she could take it back. There's actually a lot she wishes she could take back right now. "There's nothing to move on from, Brookstorm. Ready or not this is real. W-We didn't think everything through that night - we should have known this was possible. And now that it is we need to figure out what to do," Robinheart urges as she attempts to move close to Brookstorm once more - to bridge a crumbling gap that was growing with each passing second.

Though she doesn't say it, her eyes plead a soft please don't close yourself off again. Please stay.​

( penned by kerms )​

 

[brookstorm]

She laughs. "You think?" Laughter is meant to be littered with joy, with positivity. It's supposed to sound like bells, steal her breath from her lungs, press her with unending warmth. "StarClan, Robinheart, you think?" It's hollow. It's a single, empty exhale that leaves her too quickly. Brookstorm is terrified and something inside of her screams at her to stop antagonizing the other - they're young! They're in love! They'll get through this! But she steps away again, grimacing. "It's as real as fish flying like birds. You should be certain before coming to me like this." She speaks as if they mean nothing to one another. As if Robinheart only means to tie her down, as if the other hasn't cradled her before, loved her before, cherished her before - as if between them is nothing.

I'm not you.

Something in her breaks. Brookstorm stares as if nothing has changed, but the strings pulled taut in her heart snap. The storm in her billows and bluffs, rattling against her ribcage. "You..." She breathes out achingly cold. Though she burns from the inside out to snap, to shout, she proves herself as her father's daughter, and she is stunningly still. "You, Robinheart - you forgave me. At least, I thought you did." The blue she-cat shakes her head, and when the other moves closer, she moves away. "I should have never believed you. I'm the fool this time," Brookstorm is deadpan in her tone, her chest aching with a pain searing like fire.

"There are queens in the nursery for that," she states. Her walls are built immaculately, and she holds the other's gaze fearlessly. It is easier to fall apart now than it is to witness the inevitable, she thinks. "They'll help you. I can't - I won't," she never thought herself a mother, not whilst her family fell apart without one. She turns her nose away.

"Go home," she says plainly, "Smokestar will have you punished for leaving camp like this," would he? She doesn't count the days - doesn't know the first thing about pregnancy. She's not showing yet, and they've only been committed for a couple weeks (is she really ruining that now? Maybe it was a mistake all along.) "Don't wait up for me. I'm not coming back to camp tonight," she will not lie next to Robinheart again. They've splintered and she feels ill - she'd rather turn tail and leave than confront this face first. And so she does, tail swaying as she walks upstream. She doesn't even say goodbye, simply leaving without another word.​

 

[robinheart]

Robinheart recoils ever so slightly from Brookstorm's derisive laugh. Sure there is a world of difference between thinking something to be real and it actually being real, Robinheart knows that, but she doesn't expect to be met with the response her mate gives her. "I should be certain before coming to you like this? Like someone scared and seeking support from their mate?" the mottled molly sorrowfully argues, her tone hurt and confused. Whatever love colored their short lived romance was quickly fading to nothingness. It was clear in retreating paws and words formed without adoration attached to them. It was all falling down. Crashing and crumbling like weathered cliffside tumbling into tumultuous sea.

She knew she was in the wrong the moment the words 'I'm not you' left her maw. Robinheart didn't mean it, she had been upset and powerless to the spiraling of their relationship. But that wasn't going to absolve her of the hurt she inflicted. Her ears fall back against her head as Brookstorm speaks, each word spoken with terrifying stillness. "I did forgive you… and I-I still," she hiccups away a trembling sob trying to choke her, "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the tortoiseshell is begging. She is doing exactly what Brookstorm hadn't wanted to do those weeks ago. Right now she will do anything to keep Brookstorm within reach - to stitch the rend she'd inflicted on the other's heart in a moment of weakness. "Please Brookstorm, you aren't a fool. I-I…"

'There are queens in the nursery for that. They'll help you. I can't - I won't.'

Any fumbling words formed on Robinheart's tongue turn to ash in her mouth. Brookstorm holds her tearful gaze with glacial indifference. Did their nights together mean nothing? Did Robinheart's promise to stay with Brookstorm mean nothing? The tortoiseshell gave her all - her love and support to the stone blue molly and what had it earned her? A womb full of kits abandoned by their mother.

Apparently Robinheart could promise the world to her mate (ex-mate?) but Brookstorm was not obliged to withhold that same promise.

Instead she is instructed to go home. The threat of punishment, as if she were that young collar bound apprentice again, is used to further goad her back to camp. Back to an empty nest perfumed with happier times. Back to inquisitive gazes and well meaning questions as to the whereabouts of the stone hued warrior. That's not what she wants. She wants to fix this. Her heart, though actively breaking, cannot imagine leaving Brookstorm without loved ones once more. "Brookstorm, please… stay." She can't stop the flow of her tears. She can't stop the hardening of the other's bleeding heart, the sky high marble walls encasing that which once beat for her. A plea to stay with her is sure to fall on deaf ears. She is frozen in place as Brookstorm turns and walks away.

In an evening that started with the best of intentions she is left watching her future disappears into watercolor sunset - replaced with the lonely curtain of night that engulfs the tortoiseshell as she makes the slow retreat home.​

[ penned by kerms ]​