- Mar 30, 2024
- 112
- 22
- 18
*+:。.。 At little over nine moons old, Wrathpaw knew the truth.
Looking down upon his prey left his stomach in a knot. Its little paws limp, big dark eyes staring sightlessly through him, empty, hollow. It was strange to think of creatures as full and yet, it had once been. He remembered seeing this same animal dancing upon the leaf litter, swiping dew from its whiskers as it yawned to greet the new day, bushy tail swishing with energy- with joy for life itself. He can't imagine it'd wanted to die, even if it was for a good cause.
As Wrathpaw's parents had implored, it was the only way to build his strength back up. He'd been born with so little, you see, made so small and fragile with pieces missing. Much of his kithood had been lost because of his many trips to the medicine den with many days lost still to the fog of sleep. Still, he will always remember those eyes. When they'd been bright, and when they'd been hollow.
The truth was, death was scary.
Creatures can be emptied and they can be full, but what about spilled? He'd wondered about that, too, as days crept by where he couldn't do more than sleep, where he watched other kits wrestle and run around without a care. What did his eyes look like, back then? He'd seen the light of life, the darkness behind the eyes of those in death, and it had left him scared to see what the severing of that line between looked like.
The truth was, to become stronger, prey needed to die.
Wrathpaw hadn't been able to do it back then. Taking that bite, no matter how badly he needed it, left him sicker than before. Not even the pain in his parents' eyes had been enough to change his stance. He knew now how ungrateful his decision had been. Prey was always finite, strength even less so, and the impact that wastefulness had on the lives around him...Wrathpaw couldn't bear it. For his parents, and for his clan, he needed to be strong.
The truth was, this had to be done.
And yet, with every heaving breath, he felt his lungs drained even more of their strength. Each breath was a struggle, rattling his fragile ribcage, and leaving his heavy paws trembling. So much strength had been needed to hold Pebblestep down, so much more to hollow him out. To take everything that made a light shine in a person's eyes was much more difficult than Wrathpaw had ever imagined. He'd...he'd thought it would've been easy. That if he just thought about prey, did the motions, and let his hunger and desperation lead the way then...then it wouldn't be different. But it was -
The truth was, this was murder.
Pebblestep had a name. Pebblestep had family. Pebblestep had served his clan for moons. He'd always been kind to Wrathpaw, diligent in his work, shook the dew from his whiskers, danced on leaf litter, and smiled at the morning sun he - he'd been full of life.
And Wrathpaw had helped take that away.
For the sake of Thunderclan, that was the truth, right? As his parents said, to devour was to find strength.
But there was none here.
Just blood, the reek of waste, and eyes round and empty, the only remnant left of life found in the sorrowful dew fading at the edges.
The truth was...
"We should go" he speaks weakly, ripping his gaze away from those empty eyes to look at Sleekserpent and Smokefur. Meeting their gaze, he notes with a blooming horror that there's an emptiness in theirs, too. A different kind, a slower fade, but it's there, it's the cost.
His reflection is no less hollowed.
Looking down upon his prey left his stomach in a knot. Its little paws limp, big dark eyes staring sightlessly through him, empty, hollow. It was strange to think of creatures as full and yet, it had once been. He remembered seeing this same animal dancing upon the leaf litter, swiping dew from its whiskers as it yawned to greet the new day, bushy tail swishing with energy- with joy for life itself. He can't imagine it'd wanted to die, even if it was for a good cause.
As Wrathpaw's parents had implored, it was the only way to build his strength back up. He'd been born with so little, you see, made so small and fragile with pieces missing. Much of his kithood had been lost because of his many trips to the medicine den with many days lost still to the fog of sleep. Still, he will always remember those eyes. When they'd been bright, and when they'd been hollow.
The truth was, death was scary.
Creatures can be emptied and they can be full, but what about spilled? He'd wondered about that, too, as days crept by where he couldn't do more than sleep, where he watched other kits wrestle and run around without a care. What did his eyes look like, back then? He'd seen the light of life, the darkness behind the eyes of those in death, and it had left him scared to see what the severing of that line between looked like.
The truth was, to become stronger, prey needed to die.
Wrathpaw hadn't been able to do it back then. Taking that bite, no matter how badly he needed it, left him sicker than before. Not even the pain in his parents' eyes had been enough to change his stance. He knew now how ungrateful his decision had been. Prey was always finite, strength even less so, and the impact that wastefulness had on the lives around him...Wrathpaw couldn't bear it. For his parents, and for his clan, he needed to be strong.
The truth was, this had to be done.
And yet, with every heaving breath, he felt his lungs drained even more of their strength. Each breath was a struggle, rattling his fragile ribcage, and leaving his heavy paws trembling. So much strength had been needed to hold Pebblestep down, so much more to hollow him out. To take everything that made a light shine in a person's eyes was much more difficult than Wrathpaw had ever imagined. He'd...he'd thought it would've been easy. That if he just thought about prey, did the motions, and let his hunger and desperation lead the way then...then it wouldn't be different. But it was -
The truth was, this was murder.
Pebblestep had a name. Pebblestep had family. Pebblestep had served his clan for moons. He'd always been kind to Wrathpaw, diligent in his work, shook the dew from his whiskers, danced on leaf litter, and smiled at the morning sun he - he'd been full of life.
And Wrathpaw had helped take that away.
For the sake of Thunderclan, that was the truth, right? As his parents said, to devour was to find strength.
But there was none here.
Just blood, the reek of waste, and eyes round and empty, the only remnant left of life found in the sorrowful dew fading at the edges.
The truth was...
"We should go" he speaks weakly, ripping his gaze away from those empty eyes to look at Sleekserpent and Smokefur. Meeting their gaze, he notes with a blooming horror that there's an emptiness in theirs, too. A different kind, a slower fade, but it's there, it's the cost.
His reflection is no less hollowed.
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♡ Wrathkit
♡ DMAB— He/Him
♡ 9 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
♡ Brother to Lovelight, Joywing, Laughblossom || Pridepaw, Merrypaw
♡ Thunderclan — Kit
♡ Mentored by Wildheart
COMBAT:
♡Physically mediocre | mentally easy
♡ Attack in bold #4a59ff
injuries: None currently