DEPOLLUTE ME ° 𓇼 ROBINHEART

[shellpool]

it looks as though streamkit was sleeping. nestled onto a carefully woven nest beyond the lichen curtain of moonbeam's den, away from prying eyes and the guilt of graykit he cries still in the clearing beyond. she does not say much, not while they prepare his resting bed nor for a beat after, when hazecloud tends again to her deputy duties and only shellpaw remains at robinheart's side. golden light casts in from the front, the day dimming into a familiar pre - sunset and . . it's strange, she thinks, how streamkit would never wake again. it looks as though he could uncurl, yawn and arch his back with kittish sleepiness . . he looks just fine, cleaned up and prepared to the best of their ability.

despite the silence, the time in which she had to think, lodging tumultuous thoughts between the woven ribboning of his forever nest . . shellpaw still could not place her sadness anywhere. there was no one to blame ; it had been an accident. a cruel, awful accident, but an accident all the same. some of her elders had snapped at the child, cawed to remove him -- some apologized, comforted him, or his watching family. shellpaw hadn't done anything. she couldn't. shellpaw had only been a bystander, propping against the same tortoiseshell fur that twines her own moonlit pale coat now and wishing she had the mind to keep to her own business. wishing she hadnt barged in, curious, curious.

a breath shudders from her chest, chin tucking down into the fluff there to hide the uninhibited sniffle that follows. she inhales sharply, " its not fair. " thats the only way she can put it. the best way she can put it, in frustration she can only cast at the sky, at life itself. it just wasn't, " not, not to streamkit. or graykit. they're so . . " little. how could anything like this happen to them, when shellpaw had nearly had ice crack open beneath her feet? was lost in the snow, in the frost? how had she survived, but streamkit had gone to starclan from a slip? a kit game, one she'd seen her own little siblings playing once upon a time? why a kitten?

a grimace crosses newly - damp features, eyes misted and paws shuffling, " sometimes i just wish i could go back and, and undo things. the bad things that happen. " it keeps her up at night, sometimes, to think of the peace before tragedy. to return to a time before this had happened. to the blissful moment in the sun before that dog that killed her mother, to her uncle's shadow before the rogues plagued their territory. she wanted to go back to a time when she didn't feel this horrible, horrible darkness in her chest. she looks towards robinheart at last, troubled, " do you ever feel like that? "

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

• i. @robinheart IM SOOO SORRY THIS IS ONE MILLION YEARS LATE AHHH
• 
• SHELLPAW 𓆉 SHE / HER. SEVEN 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 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, nose at a constant drip from longterm illness - induced nasal polyps. not contagious.

​

 

[robinheart]

Her body, though warmed by Shellpaw's presence, feels numb. Prickly pins and needles dance upon her paws, tighten her shoulders and squeeze her red breasted chest. Robinheart cannot call it fight or flight - she cannot give a name to how she feels at all. Who could? Who could assign a name, an emotion, to the grief one feels gazing upon a still kitten. Someone's child. Someone's sibling. Someone's should have been apprentice in the coming moons.

Streamkit had a whole life ahead of him and now… now it is not to be spent among his clanmates. Among the living.

Perhaps one day, when the shock has worn thin, she can find solace knowing he is safe among the stars. Maybe Brookstorm will look after him? A could have been mentor and a soon to be apprentice - a fine pairing on all accounts.

But today is not the day to for hopeful thoughts and wishes.

The silence is broken by a shuddered breath and sharp inhale. Robinheart's sullen gaze floats from Streamkit's peaceful body to Shellpaw's troubled expression. They wear a similar mask, the two tenderhearted sentries. 'It's not fair,' the downy coated apprentice speaks and it's far too easy to nod in agreement. "It's not fair," the tortoiseshell repeats quietly. "Rarely is anything fair though. Death does not discriminate… kit, apprentice, warrior, elder. A soon to be mother. A soon to be grandsire. An apprentice fighting for their home. A kitten who never took their first breath," she mumbles losses, tragedies that have marred her heart in the moons between her apprenticeship and now.

Innocence paints Shellpaw's words. Her youthful wish to go back and undo things. To erase moons of pain and heartache. It breaks Robinheart's own heart because she has always wished the same. Maybe even more so than the pale molly beside her - whose experiences differ so greatly from her own. But in the moment Robinheart cannot see their differences - she sees their similarities. Their beginnings within the medicine den while their siblings are named apprentices. Their deception of their own minds that lead them away from camp and into danger. Their gentle hearts. Their willingness to help no matter the cost. Kindred spirits perhaps; two souls closely intertwined now as they await the medicine cat to help guide Streamkit's soul to Silverpelt.

'Do you ever feel like that?'

"More often than I would like," the queen admits. Her citrine eyes search Shellpaw's troubled features and Robinheart tries hard not to grimace - not to breakdown and weep. "I could have stopped myself from wandering into that twoleg trap and shackling myself with a collar and the sneered 'kittypet' remarks for moons. I could have helped save Meadowheart and Lightningstone and Oxbowpaw. I could have kept Deacon from tearing Lichenstar's throat. I could have kept Brookstorm from leaving my side the day the river swallowed her. I could have saved her and kept her here with me. I could have saved Rivuletkit and avoided the jaws of that dog… I could have saved Streamkit and Graykit today…" Twin suns mist with unshed tears as Robinheart looks back to Streamkit's mostly prepared body. "There's so much I could have done. But instead I am left with what I can do now. What we can do now." There's no changing the past. Hazecloud had given her a pep talk shortly after losing Brookstorm; such kindness and advice did not fall upon deaf ears. "And that is keeping their memories alive. Living each day with kindness and love in our hearts for those we have and those we have lost."​

[ penned by kerms ]​