BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SAVE YOU 𓇼 PRAYER

[shellpaw]

the sky is dazzled with stars. small, bustling pinpricks of light that dim - brighten - dim against a silent black backdrop. the wind nips damply at breezeblown curls, but the reflection upon the iced river does not waver . . the eyes of her ancestors look down upon her with blistering eyes and shellpaw stands with short maw pointed skyward. her ears stand alert at the front of breezeswept head, rosen gaze lost in the cosmo - lit pool of starclan. the water breathes . . pulses beneath the glass severing the interconnection, the link that swept their light down to earth. the river was a dark pathway for them to light ; a whisper of spirits long gone carrying on the babbling stream . . and a cruel silence had befallen them.

the frost. a terrible omen, a sever. no longer could they feel the ancestors walking beside them in the current ; no longer could they hear the soft, steady rhythm of life in the creeks. it was as if they had turned their backs, punishment aching in the pit of her hollowed belly . . sent a blizzard to torment them for — what? what had them silenced? what had killed her clanmates, her mother, nearly her best friends? it makes her feel small, the weight of the dead, the eyes that peer at her from beneath the ice . . her ache for warriorhood, her jealousy dissipating beneath the dark, suffocating night sky. a frigid sigh befalls her. her eyes close.

she mutters a prayer.

sound behind her stiffens spidering spine, but only for a moment. the rivers scent washes over her, and opens rheumy eyes, " do you think . . " she starts, quietly. reverent, " that they are angry with us? " with us, with her they do not dance in her ears any more, tug at her in direction with the gusting breeze . . only misfortune upon misfortune upon misfortune.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ° 𓇼 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

• i.
• 
• SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. FOURTEEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS ----------------- ° ❀ ⋆
  frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush enough to conceal the juts of malnutrition beneath. tufted elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with stubborn baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined rheumy, rosen amber. the anemic cold pink - purple at tender paws and nose tell a lifetime of sickness, further made obvious by the feathering weakness in half - whispered tones.
  

  CHRONICALLY ILL ; prone to wheezing and coughing, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

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[LOVEBURN]

✦•··········•✦•··········•✦ Sometimes Loveburn wonders why they chose the sky, of all places (if they chose at all, that is). The stars are so far away, and to see them nearly always means tilting back, raising your head, like a kit looking up at his father's looming face, unaware that he'd never know what it's like to meet his eyes on more equal footing. Are they supposed to feel like that? Is it a reminder that their ancestors are watching, or is it...supplication? Deference? Submission? It's easy to believe it may be humiliation deep in the misery of leafbare, their breaths joining snow-laden clouds, callused toes going numb on ice. And the hunger—

Better not to dwell on it.

He tries to convince himself that maybe StarClan is plucking out the conspirators and would-be supplanters, but it's a very ruthless and indiscriminate way to go about it if so. It seems much easier to agree with Shellpaw, that this is a wrath meant for all of them.

Had Cicadastar and Smokestar agreed to this? Is there some greater purpose visible from their vantage point, which Loveburn can't see down here on the ground?

He sits close to her. It's much too cold to be stingy about personal space, though he won't crowd her bony frame. Just close enough that warmth isn't completely lost across a distance. "Do you think praying more would help?" He asks, not quite an answer to her question. If the weather eases when they do, then maybe they were— but if it doesn't, he's not sure that would tell them anything. It could be they didn't pray hard enough. It could be that prayer isn't what they want at all.

Loveburn looks down at his paws. "Seems strange, to be mad with us and yet take RiverClanners with them. Or maybe they only claim the ones they aren't angry with." And that— that gives him pause. Are the cats who stalk Cicadastar's lineage up there after they die? That wouldn't make sense.

loveburn (formerly lovepaw & starlightpaw) — 17 moons old; ages on the 10th
son of cicadastar & smokestar — brother to cicadaflight & beefang — he / him
single & not really looking — peaceful/nonviolent actions may be powerplayed
please note that loveburn has persecutory delusions & sometimes personal prose
will make patently untrue assumptions and mischaracterizations of other people.

 

[iciclefang]

Shellpaw's question is one that has haunted Iciclefang since the weather had worsened. "Do you think..." The pale she-cat's head is tilted toward Silverpelt, her clouded gaze full of silvered fear. "...that they are angry with us?" The tortoiseshell lets the reeds slap against her flanks; she makes no show of hiding her presence from Shellpaw or Loveburn. The sleek ebony warrior's response is borderline rhetorical, but what could anyone expect? None of them are medicine cats, divinely-chosen, sharing tongues with their ancestors.

She sits an uncomfortable few foxlengths from the pair of them, her fur prickling. Do they blame me for StarClan's wrath? What else would their ancestors be angry about? She is the one who had broken the warrior code, and though she'd known for seasons that her superiors would be angry if they ever discovered her infidelity, she had rarely stopped to question StarClan's response to her foolish youth.

She turns a questioning blue gaze to the spill of stars across the night sky. Surely, you cannot punish my Clan for my folly. Not when I gave RiverClan three strong, honorable warriors. Not when I forfeited everything to make sure they never strayed from their loyalties. If so, StarClan was crueler than she'd thought... and she can't believe that, not when Mudpelt is there, and Steepsnout, and Lilybloom, and Darkwhisker.

"StarClan is not punishing us," she insists, though she isn't sure who she is talking to. "RiverClan will persevere. We have suffered through worse leafbares." Maybe she hasn't, but their river flows, strong as ever, and there are no rogues, no Sootstar-driven WindClan warriors, picking their cats off. They remain in their camp, where they belong, and they have the territory StarClan gave them when Cicadastar had first settled these lands.

We should be prospering. So what is the problem? She shivers, pulling her tail closer to her paws.

… ❞​

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