- Jul 15, 2024
- 36
- 17
- 8
ThunderClan blood ran through her veins; ThunderClan blood is what she'd spilled.
"Redkit," her mother had cooed; "Redpaw," Howlingstar had named her, pride seeping from the great tabby's voice; "Redflower," came Skyclaw's purr, the feel of his whiskers against her throat as he nuzzled her. Was she any of that now — any of it at all? She had run blindly from ThunderClan, teeth at her heels, claws lashing haphazardly toward her still-flat flanks. Blood had streamed from a cut above one amber eye, obscuring her vision, and even as she'd fled, all she could see was him.
Skyclaw had been ThunderClan's savior. He had been their true leader, the one who would have led them to glory, the one who would have conquered the forest and ensured they never went hungry again. Kittypets would have trembled in their Twoleg-groomed pelts; loners and rogues would avoid their borders, their prey, the stories about ThunderClan resounding through their heads.
But he's gone, now. She had cradled him, broken and bloody, until she'd been chased from his side. He would never lay his eyes on her again. He would never hold her again.
He would never see his kits.
Redflower's ribs protrude even through the thickness of her waist. She has grown knobby; prey is sparse here, and difficult to catch in her state. Her tortoiseshell pelt is matted and dusty. She thinks, shamefully, of stuttering into Twolegplace, of mewing pathetically at some Twoleg's door just so she can feed the kits squirming in her belly, but the thought makes her sicker than even her morning sickness.
She has missed her only catch of the day. Leaf-fall air chills her to the bones — and damn it, she doesn't deserve this! She deserves to be curled safely in the leader's den, nestled close to her mate, her kits protected, loved. She'd been so close to achieving what she'd always dreamed of, and then —
Flamewhisker. Her teeth gnash. Raccoonstripe. Palefire. She will never forget what they had stolen from her. She will never forgive what they've taken, never.
Redflower lowers herself into bristling grass. Her tail curls protectively around the bulk of her belly. She will rest here, for now, and when the time comes — when the hour of her children's birth draws near — she will revisit Skyclaw in her dreams, and she will let his breath warm her ear. They will feel your wrath again.
"Redkit," her mother had cooed; "Redpaw," Howlingstar had named her, pride seeping from the great tabby's voice; "Redflower," came Skyclaw's purr, the feel of his whiskers against her throat as he nuzzled her. Was she any of that now — any of it at all? She had run blindly from ThunderClan, teeth at her heels, claws lashing haphazardly toward her still-flat flanks. Blood had streamed from a cut above one amber eye, obscuring her vision, and even as she'd fled, all she could see was him.
Skyclaw had been ThunderClan's savior. He had been their true leader, the one who would have led them to glory, the one who would have conquered the forest and ensured they never went hungry again. Kittypets would have trembled in their Twoleg-groomed pelts; loners and rogues would avoid their borders, their prey, the stories about ThunderClan resounding through their heads.
But he's gone, now. She had cradled him, broken and bloody, until she'd been chased from his side. He would never lay his eyes on her again. He would never hold her again.
He would never see his kits.
Redflower's ribs protrude even through the thickness of her waist. She has grown knobby; prey is sparse here, and difficult to catch in her state. Her tortoiseshell pelt is matted and dusty. She thinks, shamefully, of stuttering into Twolegplace, of mewing pathetically at some Twoleg's door just so she can feed the kits squirming in her belly, but the thought makes her sicker than even her morning sickness.
She has missed her only catch of the day. Leaf-fall air chills her to the bones — and damn it, she doesn't deserve this! She deserves to be curled safely in the leader's den, nestled close to her mate, her kits protected, loved. She'd been so close to achieving what she'd always dreamed of, and then —
Flamewhisker. Her teeth gnash. Raccoonstripe. Palefire. She will never forget what they had stolen from her. She will never forgive what they've taken, never.
Redflower lowers herself into bristling grass. Her tail curls protectively around the bulk of her belly. She will rest here, for now, and when the time comes — when the hour of her children's birth draws near — she will revisit Skyclaw in her dreams, and she will let his breath warm her ear. They will feel your wrath again.
- ooc: —
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Redkit.Redpaw. Redflower, she/her w/ feminine terms.
— "speech", thoughts, attack
— 14 moons old, ages realistically on the 15th.
— mentored by NPC ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a
— thunderclan warrior. npc x npc, gen 1.
— currently mated to n/a.
— penned by Marquette.
lh tortoiseshell with low white and pale yellow eyes. bright, spiteful, impressionable.
