- Dec 15, 2022
- 88
- 53
- 8
Ashpaw is scared that she'll forget her name.
There's no one to say it anymore. No one to see her for herself, either. Here she's a caged and feral creature, difficult, unsociable, one of a gallery of strays. Not a warrior's apprentice.
But she whispers it to herself anyway, when she's alone, when the twolegs have gone and she's left in her metal box — she curls up and tucks her nose into her tail and whispers Ashpaw, Ashpaw, Ashpaw.
She doesn't know how long she's been here. Days and days spent on this cold metal floor. More than a week, she thinks. More than two weeks. She misses the sunlight, the water.
She wonders if she's twelve months old yet?
She wonders if Fernpaw is a warrior — and she wonders about her little siblings, how their training must be going. Selfishly she hopes they haven't grown too much without her. She's going to come home, she knows she is, she'll find a way. Soon ... she'll get out of here soon.
She misses the water.
All she sees of it now is turbid, stagnant, dropped beside her in strange bowls to drink; no more deep blue white-capped waves or crystal-clear shallows. The food's just as bad. Dry pellets that she didn't even realize were meant to be food at first, but she got hungry enough and ... and she learned.
She eats the dry pellets and she drinks the murky water. She lies on the cold metal floor and dreams about Cicadastar, gentle and protective, holding her close her first homecoming; how she'd fought so fiercely beside him at the battle for Sunningrocks, grown up at last, how she'd made him proud. She dreams about Willowroot calling after her in the forest, firm yet kind, a fond smile in those green eyes — almost a mother, almost — she dreams of long training days under the sun, of nights curled up close to them in the nursery.
And she dreams about Iciclefang, beautifully vicious, tough as nails but inexplicably soft for Ash — when she comes home she'll bury her face in Icy's calico fur, breathe in deep the scents of pinecones and salt. She dreams about the river unyielding, wrapping strong and fierce around her island home, keeping them all safe.
Stars, she misses the water.
There's no one to say it anymore. No one to see her for herself, either. Here she's a caged and feral creature, difficult, unsociable, one of a gallery of strays. Not a warrior's apprentice.
But she whispers it to herself anyway, when she's alone, when the twolegs have gone and she's left in her metal box — she curls up and tucks her nose into her tail and whispers Ashpaw, Ashpaw, Ashpaw.
She doesn't know how long she's been here. Days and days spent on this cold metal floor. More than a week, she thinks. More than two weeks. She misses the sunlight, the water.
She wonders if she's twelve months old yet?
She wonders if Fernpaw is a warrior — and she wonders about her little siblings, how their training must be going. Selfishly she hopes they haven't grown too much without her. She's going to come home, she knows she is, she'll find a way. Soon ... she'll get out of here soon.
She misses the water.
All she sees of it now is turbid, stagnant, dropped beside her in strange bowls to drink; no more deep blue white-capped waves or crystal-clear shallows. The food's just as bad. Dry pellets that she didn't even realize were meant to be food at first, but she got hungry enough and ... and she learned.
She eats the dry pellets and she drinks the murky water. She lies on the cold metal floor and dreams about Cicadastar, gentle and protective, holding her close her first homecoming; how she'd fought so fiercely beside him at the battle for Sunningrocks, grown up at last, how she'd made him proud. She dreams about Willowroot calling after her in the forest, firm yet kind, a fond smile in those green eyes — almost a mother, almost — she dreams of long training days under the sun, of nights curled up close to them in the nursery.
And she dreams about Iciclefang, beautifully vicious, tough as nails but inexplicably soft for Ash — when she comes home she'll bury her face in Icy's calico fur, breathe in deep the scents of pinecones and salt. She dreams about the river unyielding, wrapping strong and fierce around her island home, keeping them all safe.
Stars, she misses the water.
—— " i found gold in the wreckage "
-
ya she's just hanging out
-
- 11 month old orange tabby with green eyes
- apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
- crushing hard on iciclefang
- happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
- very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
- got real fucked up as a kid so if she seems like she was fucked up as a kid, that's why
- "speech" -
- kidnapped by twoleg
- in shelter
- sad
