- Jan 12, 2023
- 163
- 57
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she hasn’t stopped shaking. she has a feeling as though she’s overreacting, but the fear that lodges a bubble in her throat refuses to subside. long after lichenstar had descended the river rock, and the crowd around her had dissipated into a few nervously chatting clanmates, shellpaw finds the energy to unfurl her tensed muscles. it feels as though a snake had released its hold on her, uncoiled it’s taut, ribboning body and left her breathless, fighting the thrashing bird of anxiety in her chest it had fought to ensnare. mindlessly, without feeling the soil beneath her paws, she comes to a trembling stand ( overthinking, she’s overthinking it — she thinks of the twist of nervousness on robinheart’s face, iciclefang’s maw shaping sharp around the word dangerous. it lingers in her head like a church bell, a bone deep thrum of electrified nerves. ).
her body is trembling, mind fluttering with images of her mothers body, of lightningstone and oxbowpaw, of cicadaflight’s tattered forearms and beefang’s missing eye. she thinks of her own sickness. the heat that set her pelt ablaze, fever burning in every inch of her and blurring the lines between reality and illusion. she thinks of moonbeam’s silhouette, burning alabaster against the dark night, smelling of soot and desperation. before long, she finds herself nosing through the lichen that separated the medicine cat’s den and camp ; the familiar wheeze song of her approach harshened with worry and hiccuping sounds of concern that she cannot help, ” moonbeam i’m scared. “ it comes out in a blurted rush as soon as she enters, a smattering of words tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them, before she can paint her tone in anything other than the panting whine she emits.
she breathes apologies to any residents, shoulders turning in as she tiptoes around the splay of herblined nests, slouching in a way that emboldened the way her flanks fluttered, ” what — what if something happens to, to one of us, or . . or you? while you’re there? “ what if they were hurt, she was hurt, gentlestorm hurt one of them? the possibilities were too great, weren’t they? was she a coward, was she an overcritical fool? she doesn’t know — all she knows is that moonbeam’s pouch of carrying leaves were ready, and shellpaw . . was not.
her body is trembling, mind fluttering with images of her mothers body, of lightningstone and oxbowpaw, of cicadaflight’s tattered forearms and beefang’s missing eye. she thinks of her own sickness. the heat that set her pelt ablaze, fever burning in every inch of her and blurring the lines between reality and illusion. she thinks of moonbeam’s silhouette, burning alabaster against the dark night, smelling of soot and desperation. before long, she finds herself nosing through the lichen that separated the medicine cat’s den and camp ; the familiar wheeze song of her approach harshened with worry and hiccuping sounds of concern that she cannot help, ” moonbeam i’m scared. “ it comes out in a blurted rush as soon as she enters, a smattering of words tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them, before she can paint her tone in anything other than the panting whine she emits.
she breathes apologies to any residents, shoulders turning in as she tiptoes around the splay of herblined nests, slouching in a way that emboldened the way her flanks fluttered, ” what — what if something happens to, to one of us, or . . or you? while you’re there? “ what if they were hurt, she was hurt, gentlestorm hurt one of them? the possibilities were too great, weren’t they? was she a coward, was she an overcritical fool? she doesn’t know — all she knows is that moonbeam’s pouch of carrying leaves were ready, and shellpaw . . was not.
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i. surprise for @Moonbeam she’s TWEAKING
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frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN MOONS OLD, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN, MENTORED BY LICHENSTAR ; SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR, NIECE TOSMOKESTAR. PENNED BY ANTLERS-----------------° ❀ ⋆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 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.
