- Jan 12, 2023
- 163
- 57
- 28
somethings wrong.
birdboned girl, she wakes with a heart running wild in her chest ; a sudden uptick of stress expanding, deflating her chest in quick, rapid succession. it is hot in the nursery ; since the arrival of hazecloud’s litter, she’d squeezed nearest the queens arm for rest, pushed from her spot at her downy belly in lieu of toothless kittens. they don’t do much, but the lilac - ribboned femme can’t help her ambered side eye when she nestles down for the night, perhaps impeding the queens own rest when she chooses her spot just along the square of her elbow. attention seeking? maybe a little, maybe selfish the way she curls up tight by herself and lets the tremors overtake her still - skeletal form until hazecloud noses her close for warmth and shellkit goes, happily.
she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not as early as she had. she is sprawled along the moss with pebblekit and riverkit when her eyes open — slow at first, until realization sets in. she is sweaty beneath her coat, enough to have opened her mouth in her sleep and pant quick, lull - tongues breaths into the air. the cold still bites at her lungs where she sucks it in, but the rest of her is almost burning. a sudden, bone deep terror seizes her when she tries a heavy gulp of air and a small shot of pain rackets up the hard middle of her chest. it hurts, more than usual — more than the bad days, even. her paw comes towards her chest as if it to press, push at her chest in hopes air would come easier if she eased it herself, shoving back away from her brothers to tip her head towards the dark of the nursery ceiling, lichen hanging low overhead. the night is calm. gentle snores, soft mumbling rises from sleeping cats around all her. she cannot catch her breath enough to wake them up.
she is scared. she is only a kit — she’s heard her elders whisper this, the soft voices of older queens and tender - hearted warriors. only a kit, they would say, in the same sad, quiet lilt as a goodbye. their eyes never met hers. shellkit knows she doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. it didn’t seem very fair ; not to her, not to her brothers, who’ve shielded her every side since their first waking moments. to hazecloud, or snowflakekit, or even smokestar, who took her in even through the if her mom wouldn’t feed her, who’s to say we should? she overhears whenever the tom wasn’t around. she wants to mind her manners, to say sorry for the waste to anyone she could find — a kit shouldn’t think like that, not in a moment like this. she wonders if the cold just had a way of doing that to a cat.
she shouldn’t be imagining waking up when the sun rose, early risen to see the sun crest pink over the frozen river. not thinking of her ceremony, and how close it really was. only one more full moon! but she thinks, and she thinks of what she wouldn’t get to see, if starclan takes her now. newleaf and it’s fresh greenery, the flowers sprouting new from the soil. she’d never bask in the sun, or see the borders. she’d never find out who her mentor was. the girl wonders, almost petulantly, if starclan would tell her what could have been. her throat aches, burning pain making its way up the middle of her rib cage and following the path below her throat. her head feels light and sluggishly she wonders : if anything, if she could be known as a paw, when this weight lifts and she makes her way up to the stars.
her eyes are full of water, half lidded — her cheeks damp and clumped with tears when finally, finally that pressure begins to lift. as if something dislodged, the girl begins to cough. a hard, hacking thing that has her uttering a pitiful, unmoving wail at scorching redness suddenly in her throat. movement stirs in the nursery and she can only make another warbling cry to draw it towards her. paws move, kneading at nothing — a desperate, kit - like longing for comfort where it couldn’t be reached, ” please. “ she wheezes, on her side, flank moving quick where she sucks in breath after painful breath, ” please. “ please help, please fix it. please, please.
she wanted to see another day.
birdboned girl, she wakes with a heart running wild in her chest ; a sudden uptick of stress expanding, deflating her chest in quick, rapid succession. it is hot in the nursery ; since the arrival of hazecloud’s litter, she’d squeezed nearest the queens arm for rest, pushed from her spot at her downy belly in lieu of toothless kittens. they don’t do much, but the lilac - ribboned femme can’t help her ambered side eye when she nestles down for the night, perhaps impeding the queens own rest when she chooses her spot just along the square of her elbow. attention seeking? maybe a little, maybe selfish the way she curls up tight by herself and lets the tremors overtake her still - skeletal form until hazecloud noses her close for warmth and shellkit goes, happily.
she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not as early as she had. she is sprawled along the moss with pebblekit and riverkit when her eyes open — slow at first, until realization sets in. she is sweaty beneath her coat, enough to have opened her mouth in her sleep and pant quick, lull - tongues breaths into the air. the cold still bites at her lungs where she sucks it in, but the rest of her is almost burning. a sudden, bone deep terror seizes her when she tries a heavy gulp of air and a small shot of pain rackets up the hard middle of her chest. it hurts, more than usual — more than the bad days, even. her paw comes towards her chest as if it to press, push at her chest in hopes air would come easier if she eased it herself, shoving back away from her brothers to tip her head towards the dark of the nursery ceiling, lichen hanging low overhead. the night is calm. gentle snores, soft mumbling rises from sleeping cats around all her. she cannot catch her breath enough to wake them up.
she is scared. she is only a kit — she’s heard her elders whisper this, the soft voices of older queens and tender - hearted warriors. only a kit, they would say, in the same sad, quiet lilt as a goodbye. their eyes never met hers. shellkit knows she doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. it didn’t seem very fair ; not to her, not to her brothers, who’ve shielded her every side since their first waking moments. to hazecloud, or snowflakekit, or even smokestar, who took her in even through the if her mom wouldn’t feed her, who’s to say we should? she overhears whenever the tom wasn’t around. she wants to mind her manners, to say sorry for the waste to anyone she could find — a kit shouldn’t think like that, not in a moment like this. she wonders if the cold just had a way of doing that to a cat.
she shouldn’t be imagining waking up when the sun rose, early risen to see the sun crest pink over the frozen river. not thinking of her ceremony, and how close it really was. only one more full moon! but she thinks, and she thinks of what she wouldn’t get to see, if starclan takes her now. newleaf and it’s fresh greenery, the flowers sprouting new from the soil. she’d never bask in the sun, or see the borders. she’d never find out who her mentor was. the girl wonders, almost petulantly, if starclan would tell her what could have been. her throat aches, burning pain making its way up the middle of her rib cage and following the path below her throat. her head feels light and sluggishly she wonders : if anything, if she could be known as a paw, when this weight lifts and she makes her way up to the stars.
her eyes are full of water, half lidded — her cheeks damp and clumped with tears when finally, finally that pressure begins to lift. as if something dislodged, the girl begins to cough. a hard, hacking thing that has her uttering a pitiful, unmoving wail at scorching redness suddenly in her throat. movement stirs in the nursery and she can only make another warbling cry to draw it towards her. paws move, kneading at nothing — a desperate, kit - like longing for comfort where it couldn’t be reached, ” please. “ she wheezes, on her side, flank moving quick where she sucks in breath after painful breath, ” please. “ please help, please fix it. please, please.
she wanted to see another day.
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i. oh nooo she’s having a severe bronchial spasm in the middle of the nightttt oh nooo. prompt : shellkit's getting closer and closer to being an apprentice, what is she looking forward to most?
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delicate lilac - striped molly with sugarplum eyes.SHELLKIT 𓆉 SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING xx UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. TWO MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS.she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of shell - touched cream, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore. feather breath and 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 warm, sugared amber
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