caught in our sleep | looking at self

[LILYBLOOM.]

Come on Lilybloom you can do this. You can do this.

For the third time that day, Lilybloom found herself pacing nervously by the river's edge. It was an odd behaviour to be sure. To someone looking at her, it would be hard to discern what was the cause of her behaviour. Was she planning to fish? To swim? In truth, she was fighting with a bout of nerves, stemming from her desire to look at her reflection in the river. Since the loss of her eye, Lilybloom hadn't really had a chance to look at herself since the loss. When it had first happened, she hadn't really had any desire to do so, that and the injury had been covered with healing herbs. Now though, her wound was uncovered and if she wanted to she could get a good look at herself and her injury.

Despite her desire to see, a small part of her screamed inside of herself not to look. It warned her that she would not like what she saw...though Lilybloom had already come to terms with that early on if she was being honest with herself.

"Come on, Lilybloom you can do this," She said, this time out loud. The tortoiseshell took a deep breath and then stepped forward suddenly and looked down at the water. "Oh."

It was strange to see herself with one eye- or rather the hole where her eye had been - now permanently closed. Two claw marks cut deep into the skin across the eye, still pinkish, but almost fully healed from what they had looked like almost a moon ago. Fur was beginning to grow back on the patches she had lost and on some of the smaller cuts that had been inflicted on her face. At least they would grow back and be forgotten about in time...she could not say much for the deeper scars and lack of an eye. She inclined her head from side to side. Well, all in all, it wasn't too bad. A bit of a shock but she didn't look completely hideous as she had feared.​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang watches her sister stare into the river's rippling surface, silent and almost apprehensive. Lilybloom's anxiety is palpable. When she does finally lock onto her reflection's gaze, a single green eye peering back at her from the water, Iciclefang feels herself relax. Her sister does not cry, does not scream, does not tremble.

She pads close and sits beside her. Sisters from another litter, but they are the same size now, the same rank. Once, Lilybloom and Iciclefang's reflections would have been achingly similar -- they share their mother's beauty, her striking features, even if the colors are a bit off. But now -- now half of their resemblance has been clawed away by cruel and destructive claws.

"It's a hell of a scar," she says, her ear flicking. "You and Smokethroat will have kits asking you about those battles until you join StarClan." It's said casually; she does not meet her sister's eye, keeping her own pale gaze trained on the river.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[hyacinthbreath]

She was no stranger to scars, with a bunch littering her face and body it was surprising that she had managed to survive them. She wondered over if any of the scars had ever been ugly to her; where she was from, scars were a gift- it proved that you were strong, capable. But all of her past ended abruptly when the Deity had poisoned them all.

White paws carry the small molly over to the two Warriors, stoic expression shifting into one of amusement. Smokethroat did indeed have quite the gnarly scar; he'd earned it in the fight with Weaselclaw- that stupid bastard. "I think you look.. Strong." Her ears swivel forward, listening in for a response. "Scars are proof you survived." Her paw reaches up to her jawline, brushing along scars there. It had healed mostly, leaving healing pink skin behind in its wake. She looked.. Terrifying. No wonder Dovepaw thought she was scary.​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[BEESONG]

he'd done the best that he could with lilybloom's injuries, but there's a limit to his skills. lilybloom's eye had been ripped clean out of the socket, leaving nothing but a gaping pit where it once had rested in the socket. beesong is a healer, a prophet, but he is not a miracle performer. his best could only extend to stanching the bleeding and preventing infection from setting in.

now, her injuries had healed enough for beesong to remove the dressings. they watch from the corner of their eye as the tortoiseshell keeps wandering back to the edge of the river, nervous paws bringing her nearly close enough to look down into the shimmering water only for hesitation to draw her away. they can understand her reluctance; they've never really liked their own reflection. but, eventually, lilybloom mutters something to herself and finally steps close enough to peer down. and thank the stars, her reaction is reserved. no tears, no self-pitying words. only an expression that beesong thinks is acceptance.

good. he'd hate to have to try and awkwardly comfort her... not because he's uncaring, but because he's pretty shit at it, in his own opinion.

"it gets easier," beesong chimes in after iciclefang and hyacinthbreath. not easier to love the scars or her new reflection, in his mind, but easier to swallow it down and move on. ​

 

[Crawlingroach]

SKY HIGH —Crawlingroach could not share in how it felt to bear scars of war for he possessed none. Hiding from conflict was what he did best, he simply took the cowardly way forward whenever the opportunity arose. If he was honest fighting terrified him and he held no sense of confidence in his own skill. So seeing so many of his clanmates wearing such injuries and scars was hard to swallow and filled him with guilt. If he had raised his claws against the likes of WindClan and ThunderClan could he have spared any of them from what they bore now?

He approached the others and he found himself looking at Lilybloom with sympathy. Though he did not voice it out of fear of it not being the thing that she wished to hear in that moment. The others were already making remarks about how it made her look strong, and that wearing such scars got easier with time. "Still a beauty, one that can clearly hold her own." The desire to make one of his usual jokes tickled him briefly but he forced it down for the sake of sparing his skin. He didn't need to be making more problems for himself.​

 

[LILYBLOOM.]

It isn't long before her clanmates date to approach. Lilybloom had sensed them lingering in the background as she had paced, but wisely they kept their distance. Her sister pads up next to her and takes a seat, her own reflection looking back at them. For a moment, it causes Lilybloom to falter, but only because of the similarities between them reminded her what she had. Hyacinthbreath is close behind, echoing Iciclefang's words of support. Lilybloom chuckles a little at her sisters words in particular. "Well, if they don't run away scared of me, I will be glad to share the stories in moons to come," She smiled. Not the gory details of course, but she could already imagine the stories she could create speaking of the bravery of the RiverClan cats.

As more cats approach - Beesong and Crawlingroach - Lilybloom allows her green eye to flicker over Hyacinthbreath and the new joiners of the conversation. "Thank you," She says, giving them all an appreciative nod in turn. "Your words mean a lot to me."​

 

[LAKEMOON]

LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
Lakemoon had been gone for the better part of the ever-stretching day, stepping into camp with a bird clutched securely in her jaws, she couldn’t tell what kind of bird it was, only that it had pretty-looking feathers, and she simply had to bring it back to Lilybloom.
Yet, when her mate is no where to be seen around camp, irrational concern flickered from somewhere deep in the silver warriors heart.
Luckily, however, the scent trail of not only the brindled molly but also her newly-named sister is easy to follow.
By the time she approaches, her ears catch the soft murmurs of comfort, and she stops behind the group for a moment, just listening.
Hyacinthbreath points out that it represents her strength, Crawlingroach calls her a beauty (but not without a spark of annoyance in Lakemoons chest), and Iciclefang pitches in that she’ll have a cool story to tell.
They’re all correct, Lakemoon knows this. Hell, the warrior wears her own multitude of scars with pride, from the one that marred her face to the cross mark on her chest.
No, no beauty was lost from her flower, her resilience only shone in harmony of her appearance. It was the how that almost made Lakemoon sink her teeth too deep into the bird still in her jaws, it was the fact that the tabby couldn’t look at her love without seeing Raccoonstripe’s terrified expression has Lakemoon vowed to tear his own throat out. She had remained as devoted to the tortoiseshell as ever, the love she had for Lilybloom was still as bright- but something invisible had been taken from Lakemoon, the little shred she had left of peace.
Snatched by ivory dipped paws that matched her own.
She makes her way through the small crowd, sitting beside her mate with a silent press against her flank as she places the bird by her paws.
"You’re as beautiful as ever, my flower." She hums lowly, pressing her nose against the base of Lilybloom’s ear, only withdrawing after a moment to gaze upon her in adoration. The soundness of knowing her light could never be crushed bringing ease to the troubled warriors mind.

"speech"

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[DogTeeth]

There was something cold about the feel of claws over your face. A moment where you can’t breath, can’t feel or thing other than the smell, taste, and warmth of the blood in your senses. The sting is like horse nettle and it spreads like wildfire. Lilybloom’s single eye stands alone, peering into the mirror where lines of war are driven through her skin in a display of just how murky politics and life could be.

The sister approaches next, the pair of their coats together were soot, snow, and fire. One could covet such a fur pattern, but one wouldn’t envy the trauma. The cautious acceptance of the storms that rattle along with time.

Beesong’s withered skin too, pulls delicate blue eyes upon them with an idle once-over. His attention is brought back to the molly as their mate comforts her, he smiles at the soft scene before issuing the air a sigh of his design. " it only matters how beautiful your soul is. " Dogteeth chimes in last, from where he rests quietly on his ribs. Blonde tendrils splayed around a propped chin. " In the end we will all be in the elders den all grey and tattered " he chuckles.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth PINTEREST
  — twenty-eight moons
  — 2023 VOICE & ACCENT
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with blue eyes.
  — very gentle voice and laugh
  — deals a nasty bite
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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[iciclefang]

Iciclefang flicks an ear at the soft approach of other cats. All offer their own words of support to her older sister -- about her strength, her survival skills, her beauty. Lakemoon, her sister's mate, comes to press against Lilybloom's flank with more reassurance than the rest of RiverClan can give her combined.

At Lakemoon's approach, she takes a few steps back, allowing them space. She flashes an appreciative glance to the silvery-blue warrior, though she knows Lakemoon isn't comforting Lilybloom out of duty. It's love, genuine love, and she's grateful her kin still has that as she perseveres.

It's Dogteeth's comment that draws a curious look from the young warrior. "In the end we will all be in the elder's den, all gray and tattered." She thinks about it for a moment, and in a fashion similar to her mentor's, she says, "Sure. If we're lucky enough to make it that far."

With a brush of her tail tip against her sister's flank, Iciclefang takes her leave, knowing she has things to do.

// out​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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