private brains and brawn, we are neither | lichentail

[brookstorm]

Brookstorm doesn't have the strength. As the sun sets and the moon makes its brazen appearance in the sky, the stone blue she-cat finds what has recovered to all be a farce. Her head lolls to the size and her breathing is more labored - sleeping like this is not easy, but she doesn't trouble Moonbeam for anything that may help her. She knows eventually she'll be too exhausted from existing to stay awake and that she will fall into a dreamless sleep soon enough. It seems, however, that her night is not long for the monotonous waiting yet.

The shaggy fur of her former mentor is silhouetted by the starlight outside. Brookstorm shifts her weight and tries to lift her head, however pain presses into every corner of her skull and she rests instead. The deputy (at what point, she wonders, does she get to call Lichentail their leader,) was a constant figure around, since her psuedo daughter lived in this den for the last several moons. It was a kind sight to see, even with Lichentail being tactless as usual. If anything, it made Brookstorm think of her own youth with the lynx point. Watching the surprise ceremony made her feel something, too - but that is a thought for another day.

"Shellpaw should be in the apprentice's den now, with her brothers," Brookstorm remarks, a cough punctuating her words. Her curled ears fold down on themselves and she lets out a stairstep sigh, every moment of it hinged on whether or not she can complete it. She stares deftly into the darkness of the medicine den, and she murmurs a quiet, "Lichentail?" as if to make sure the other is paying mind to her. "You know, right? Surely everyone does," inevitability is an answer unspoken, but surely the thoughts of all are in agreement. Her tail twitches, "I'm not scared, if it's worth anything. I... I think I did good enough."

@lichentail ​

 

[lichenstar]

✦　˚ 　✧ ˚　.˚　✦ 　✦

CLAIM THE BURIAL I SEEK IN DREAMS FLOWING RIVER CEMETARY ✧

• Sitting at her bedside felt wrong... a total reversal of roles that were never meant to be swapped. If she could've guessed that the loss of the sun were an omen for her specifically... that it meant all the things that kept her life bright would be stolen too... Maybe she would've held them a little tighter. Smokestar was already sick of her hovering, her worrying... she was sure of it... Brookstorm too, had grown tired of being strangled by her former mentor's fears. But.... but they could hardly be called irrational, when the proof of her anxious thoughts were given constant and unrelenting life.
  
  The exhausted, miserable creases that had grown comfortable between pinched brows and a stubborn frown remain even now. Even as soft, foggy fur tries to dig at a topic deserving of softness and celebration. Shellpaw was free... and safe... and healthy now.... and though Lichentail was pleased for that to be the case, it tastes sour in the face of what is being lost in exchange.
  
  "I'm sure... they're impatient... to show her around..." Pebblepaw was nothing if not protective... Riverpaw equally so in far quieter measures.
  
  She won't pretend for very long though... doesn't deign to torture the blue molly with idle chit chat, alluding to hope and comfort and joy when there shouldn't be any. Her voice is painfully soft, like a kit fearing a scolding as they coo their mother's name in pitiful syllables. 'Lichentail?' She already knows. They both do....
  
  Her ears flatten in protest of hearing it. Of having it confirmed in the silence of this den. There are two others here, resting in their nests and they too, are blessed with recovery. So why not Brookstorm? Had she been too slow to find her? Too weak to drag her back to camp quickly enough?
  
  "You shouldn't be..." And there really is no reason for the young warrior to be afraid. At least for her, this loss ends in happy reunion. All her siblings... her parents... She could close her eyes and feel like nothing was missing, could watch those she missed and see them and know they were there and not vice versa. Lichentail could stare at Silverpelt all night and get no response... have no idea whose eyes stared back.
  
  "You did... wonderfully..."
  
  The words squeeze out on a whispered breath, choked to have to share this reassurance in such closeness to promising Mudpelt the same thing. He'd done perfectly... and still died. And so would Brookstorm. An 'I'm sorry' sits at the tip of her tongue, the same apology she'd whispered fervently to her son. As if she could fix it. As if it was something she had the power to undo.
  
  It always crawled back to that... didn't it? The guilt of having failed. "Have... have you seen them....? I heard. Robinheart's names... for them..." She was too afraid to meet them herself. Knowing it would mean attachment, knowing they were the living last strands of what would soon be missing.
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