- Dec 30, 2022
- 357
- 93
- 28
With long, rapid strides the broad-shouldered tom crossed the territory, his black-and-white frame contrasting sharply with the lush greens of the moor and its pops of wildflower-bright color. Truth be told, he had no particular destination in mind: the goal was simply to move. If he ran fast enough, perhaps the images flashing through his head would stop; if he pushed himself hard enough, perhaps he could shut his eyes that night and sleep without thinking the same maelstrom of thoughts over and over again. If he could just purge himself of what had happened, expunge the memories of a wounded amber stare and flashes of tortoiseshell fur, rid himself of the visions of tiny teeth and claws...if he could stop feeling guilty and sorrowful and frightened, if he could just stop yearning and worrying. If I wasn't such a coward.
If only, if only, if only. But he was a coward. He had done those things. He could envision what the coming moons would look like, could see the line of consequences proceeding directly from his actions, and it was terrifying. Nearing a small creek which ribboned through the moor, Badgermoon slowed to a stop, his sides heaving, spittle clinging to the edges of his lips. The deputy stood for some time and stared intently at nothing: simply breathing and feeling. Loathing and loving and wondering and despairing and hoping. Then, slowly, he bowed his head and lapped at the cool, clear water, feeling it as it swept down his throat and settled in his stomach. He drank and drank until he'd had his fill, til his mouth and spirit and mind felt cleansed, and then straightened up. His breathing steadied. I need to be better. I will be better.
Badgermoon closed his yellow eyes against the thought before tipping his head up and staring at the sky: bright blue today, with a flock of fluffy white clouds chasing one another back and forth across. The stars were hidden, now, but he knew they were watching him nonetheless, and he prayed with his whole mind and heart that they would guide him through the quagmire he'd created for himself. Please help me become a better man. A better friend, a better deputy, a better cat. And please help me become things I've never been before. A mate. A father. Someone worth the love of others. Someone brave. Someone who...who's good enough, for him, for her, for them all. he let his head fall against his scarred chest, feeling drained: wearied by the process of making his pleas to their warrior ancestors. Please give me another chance. Please give me the bravery to tell the truth. Oh, StarClan...have mercy on me.
If only, if only, if only. But he was a coward. He had done those things. He could envision what the coming moons would look like, could see the line of consequences proceeding directly from his actions, and it was terrifying. Nearing a small creek which ribboned through the moor, Badgermoon slowed to a stop, his sides heaving, spittle clinging to the edges of his lips. The deputy stood for some time and stared intently at nothing: simply breathing and feeling. Loathing and loving and wondering and despairing and hoping. Then, slowly, he bowed his head and lapped at the cool, clear water, feeling it as it swept down his throat and settled in his stomach. He drank and drank until he'd had his fill, til his mouth and spirit and mind felt cleansed, and then straightened up. His breathing steadied. I need to be better. I will be better.
Badgermoon closed his yellow eyes against the thought before tipping his head up and staring at the sky: bright blue today, with a flock of fluffy white clouds chasing one another back and forth across. The stars were hidden, now, but he knew they were watching him nonetheless, and he prayed with his whole mind and heart that they would guide him through the quagmire he'd created for himself. Please help me become a better man. A better friend, a better deputy, a better cat. And please help me become things I've never been before. A mate. A father. Someone worth the love of others. Someone brave. Someone who...who's good enough, for him, for her, for them all. he let his head fall against his scarred chest, feeling drained: wearied by the process of making his pleas to their warrior ancestors. Please give me another chance. Please give me the bravery to tell the truth. Oh, StarClan...have mercy on me.