Bitter Tears {chara. dev.}

Jun 14, 2022
A soulmate who wasn't meant to be

TW: Some blood, small mentions of physical harm by another.

Deersong would make the slow trek back to camp on quivering slim legs. On her left cheek, were three jagged claw marks so fresh they were still oozing blood, slowly dotting her path back home. There would be no other scent besides that of Skyclan, the only hint that her injuries and current demeanor had been caused by one of her clanmates, but she would take the name of who to her grave.

She was not herself this day, whatever fight had ensued, whatever argument had taken place, only the aftermath could be seen on the ordinarily whimsical and content molly. The paws that used to glide so effortlessly along the ground now seemed to drag, her head once held high now hung low with shoulders that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Her aqua eyes no longer sparkled with their usual mysterious wonder and were now dull, their light almost seeming to flicker weakly with grief.

Deer was exhausted and clearly upset by whatever had transpired that morning. As she slipped into camp, she would only slightly raise her head to look around to see if Dawngaze could be seen mingling amid camp but then seemed to hesitate. Her paw came up to her cheek and she would wince at the tender flesh that still resided there. Pulling away she would see the scarlet red from her wound tainting the tan of her paw fur and the choco color of her paw pads. She would take a deep breath and decide that perhaps this was not something to bother the medicine cat with just yet, and moved as if to slink off into the shadows.

However, she had not counted on being spotted by others in the camp, nor that some were already moving to approach her. What was she going to tell them? How could she explain this?

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Still holding steady with a stranger's laugh
the metallic tang of blood had wafted through the air of camp, nearby cats who were just going about their daily activity have suddenly paused to look over towards the parted bramble entrance where the cream she-cat had recently entered with quite the concerning injury on her cheek and a slumped posture of defeat. huckleberry, who had been previously lazing about in an open spot in the clearing, was also among the few who took notice. concern flooded his amber gaze as he rolled over off of his side and onto his stomach so he could rise up to all fours, did the other get into some scrap with another cat?

the black smoke didn't waste time to approach deersong, gently looking over her figure to ensure there was no other dire injuries on her. "are ya alright, sweetpea? that's a nasty clawmark someone gave ya. . . " he mummers, a frown tugging slightly at his features before looking towards the slow gathering of clanmates. "can someone git dawnglare ovah here please?"
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Crimson lines drawn in forbidden sands- Thistleback had a branch between his jaws he had been gnawing on. Only did it snap in two loudly when Deersong stood in camp. His jaws splinter the wood and he slithers forward. She stood there- body slumped in defeat, her sweetness run foul.

The large smoky longhair with the country drawl stepped to her first, and the black and white bundle of wrathful silver eyes sidles up next. The southernly accented feline offers her a kindness- something she needed that Thistle couldn't offer. Vengeful and calculative, he is stewing in his own silence.

Her teal eyes- downcast and discouraged. It was as though someone had severed the jugular of her very essence. This witchy wonderful woman- withered by a moment set by these claw marks on her cheek- god help whomever’s paws did these claws belong.

Nails curved from his paws and dig deep into the softer earth shell below. Blood roaring in his tattered ears and jaws slack as the predatorial monster within seeks culprit, only for it to growl menacingly when it receives no answer.

Strange wasn’t it? a man otherwise careless and cruel- trembling with rage at the sight of Deersong.

" I hope whoever did this… plans on eating prey without their teeth from now on " the thorny furred piebald chuckled darkly but it lacked humor as he rounded the molly- grey eyes searching her with pupils narrow enough to cut glass.

Someone else would need to heed Huckleberry’s order- would have to fetch Dawnglare- because all Thistleback could do was bare his teeth and growl lowly, all he could see and feel was white hot rage. With a very rare display of affection, he aims to lift a muscled paw and gently touch her chin as to lift it. Muscles twitching with anger.

" Bird " he whispers, gums bleeding over his teeth from his violent assault of the stick. He who lets themself be numb so long, obviously feel things intensely when they finally decided to feel again. " who did this. " he asks in a dangerously low murmur.

A soulmate who wasn't meant to be

Deersong would stop in her steps as a familiar southern twang greeted her ears. Relief would cause her shoulders to relax their tension slightly as she turned to face Huckleberry, "I'm sorry to worry ya, brotha'." Her voice would still hold some of its softness, though there was clearly exhausted weaved into its usual wistful charm. As he called for someone to get Dawnglare, she would feel her body weaken in defeat, no point in trying to sneak away now.

Taking a seat, Deersong would move to check her cheek once more as she tried to think of some way to explain her injury, "Well, ya see, I was out just looking for some of my groovy stones and, uh I just tripped and fell, ya dig? Thorn bushes sure do make things worse than they look."

She attempted a purr of relaxed laughter, but it died in her throat as soon as her aqua gaze met silver. She looked away from him at first. His words from their day together intruded on her mind.

I see you- your kindness… it'll clip your wings, bird.

Deersong waited for him to laugh at her, to tell her 'i told you so' and go back to chewing his stick. So imagine her surprise when, as gentle as can be, he lifted a paw and lifted her chin so she had to look at him.

His words almost broke whatever strength she had left and her lip trembled for only the slightest of moments. She closed her eyes, the argument flashing within her mind, the red that had been in his gaze, the flash of his unsheathed claws just before they struck her and her body shuddered. Without realizing it, she leaned into his paw and pressed against his side for the warmth and comfort she needed.

Yet, she would not answer his question. No, if Chompers ever found out then she knew that there would be next to nothing that would stop him from taking revenge on her behalf. Deersong would simply shake her head, perhaps later, when things were more solid and she didn't feel as fragile as glass would she talk to the tom about what was going on.

The cream and mocha molly would remain pressed against Thistleback as she turned to smile weakly at Huckleberry, "I'll be fine, no need to freak out. Mind if ya both just chill with me until Dawnglare gets here?"

Speak his name, and he shall appear; sooner or later, in light or in darkness, in sickness and in health... hope he saves your weary soul. "Be thankful, then. I won't have you waiting so much longer now..." Not quite can he decipher just who calls for him. Blurred forms, cream-flecked and piebald, strange twang from bundled wisps of smoke. He sees her then, the witch. She was different. A jade without blemish, honey fur usually curls delicate around her face; but now, it's matted, slashed through with a dagger, fresh blood in its wake, beautiful as it could be disconcerting.

The others are regarded with little more than a lingering look, and she too encompasses little in his mind. A body to harbor the marks of the wretched. Wrath lies heavy upon her soul. Purification, yes, duly needed. He comes round– motions to her what he needs, a slight tilt of her head... And there it is, bright as the very moon. Clean-cut, torn sinew. Peculiar... He hums low in his throat. "Thorn bush? Pray tell, which is capable of such a fine cut?" No, he doesn't dedicate further thought to the truth of such an affliction, but thorns? Well... he quite doubts it. "A tumble into the brambles, don't you consider yourself blessed, dear? No harm to the mouth, the nose..." a paw, pearly and fair reaches to her face, up close and unsheathed "–the eyes..."

His paw falls to the ground once more, scuffs at the dirt as a smile plays on his lips. Whatever ailed her, she would come clean with time. Holy untruth, it'd only bite her in the end, vengeful sin... Without another word, he disappears into the mouth of his den. He finds it, the cure-all, whisked web. And would that make it a sin, such a paradox to attain something so valuable from a beast so foul? Tricks of the world– of the mother, oh so kind, oh so strange. It's lain across her cheek in a plaster, odd asymmetry upon her supple face. The price of a lie, perhaps, or the price for something else. His gaze falls relaxed once the deed is done. "There," whisper-light words. Pray for her, be it for her health or swift demise.

[ oooh terrible horrible no good very bad late reply!! ]
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