- Jan 12, 2023
- 163
- 57
- 28
dusk settles flat over the land tonight. ribbons of burnt orange sunset watercolor against an indigo sky, weaving through the gleam of budding constellations. life fades from the citrine sun where she watches, saccharine eyed from the sedge hollow bathed strong in scents of birch sap and celandine. clan life babbles in a light drift through tightly - woven cattail though not a voice stands out over brook babbling thoughts. she doesn't feel good. she hasn't for days now ; nights dragging on through pinwheel breath and bleary eyes, her flank stuttering like something small and beached. tonight, though, she has lifted her head. settled resting quietly in her reed - woven nest, greenery haloed around trembling limbs like river tendrils. her hind limbs jut uncomfortably against the knob of her lower spine, weight she'd not even known she'd had withering further along the gaunt of her side despite the way scruffy fur feathers outward to hide it. she is messy without hazecloud's careful and elegant grooming, without the energy to attempt and too infectious to have it done for her.
she's as close as she can get to the outside alone and she knows without the glow of her reflection that she must be a miserable sight. alabaster curls sheen with a light layer of oil and grime, tufts of broken and browning moss spiking lilac stripes in ugly juts. sympathy is not uncommon in the eyes of passing warriors, who advert their eyes or give her a small, awkwardly appeasing smile. she merely stares dolefully on, rheumy eyed and accursed. she can sit and watch settled tight in her nest as long as she isn't near anyone, as long as she's still in moonpaw's sight and not far into the well - hatched front of the medicine den. newleaf carries a brisk wind through the sparse willows and it's good for her, she hears. it eases her throat and chest where honey did not. shellkit isn't sure it she feels it work or not. her throat still sticks with each harsh swallow, feeling it red and irritated still and her mouth clicks, dry and sickly sweet when she whips a tongue across her maw. sheโs thirsty โ all sheโd had as of late has been through a moss ball.
and the river was only a few paces away.
it's not a new idea, she'd admit. as much as she curls around herself, tempers the wander in her paws in wake of her capture, she wanted to go. to play in the newly unfrozen waters, to run through the sea of deep grass with her brothers ; it wasn't fair. it wasn't. and sheโs so thirsty โ no one would mind. not like last time, when she wiggled her way through the sedge wall of camp and into the great nowhere. this would be just a fox length or two away, maybe a little more. back behind moonpaws den where the warriors didnโt tread. secretive. sheโd be back before anyone noticed ; ruddy luminaries flick back towards the empty medicine den, scans her surroundings with the slightest fidget in her limbs. the alabaster medicine cat apprentice was out for the moment. it would be her only chance tonight โ she could get back before moonpaw even noticed.
her first mistake is her quickness, the sudden eagerness that enraptures her ; a decisive surge upward that sends her head reeling and paws stumbling sideways with the sudden tilt of the world. her claws unsheathe to steady herself, sinking thornlike into the moss beneath her until the den stops swimming. she rasps in a harsh breath, feels it hitch in her throat and throws her head down against her chest to conceal the hack of a thick - lined cough into her chest. it feels like a time months ago, her brothers sprawled out over her smaller form in sleep ; a weight upon her ribs, as if someone were taking the sides of her flank and pushing them inward. she takes a wobbly step, inhales.. then another. then another, and another, until she is trudging slow but sure from the herbal den and into the shadows along its side. the river wades in easy laps, ink - like in the shadows beneath water - arcing shrubbery.
there is something there, beneath it ; the ever - present lull of whispers under a steady drone of newly awoken cicada. small velveteen ears crane to listen but there is little for her to catch aside from the hum of welcome, of comfort. she trembles as she approaches but does so eagerly, wheezing upon each step until the cool water is seeping along her toes. it feels.. good. better then usual, a quick douse to the fire she hadn't known was burning through her pads. its soothing, even better with the slow stretch of her den - stiffened limbs -- and so she steps another paw in, and then all four. then further, only by a few pawsteps. standing in the shallows, shellkit tucks her body beneath the splay of bulrush that arches over the riverside in case someone spotted her cygnet pale pelt from the shore ; for a moment, she simply breathes. a slow, languid inhale despite the crackle it makes.
when she exhales, something else comes out ; a gross sound, garbled in the back of her maw and abruptly, her legs feel too weak. on another horrible cough shellkit stumbles, and then folds with a firm splash water. a small spray of water forces up her nose, wettens her face even further than the increasingly greenish drip from her pale nose already had. the night has made it colder than she was prepared for ; water logs her fur, douses her curls and weighs her towards the uncomfortable pebbles below. she gasps, because it hurts. her body is too hot for this sudden cold, however mild it might have been, and suddenly she is too heavy, too dizzy to move. she couldn't do it. she couldn't do it by herself, just like everything else. tears well, frustration that has her thrashing her paws against the mossy ground with a high, angered whine in the back of her throat until they began to throb with the resistance. she couldn't do anything at all.
quick, rapid breaths. her ears go flat with a sudden, encompassing feeling of dread. she was going to be in so much trouble.
she's as close as she can get to the outside alone and she knows without the glow of her reflection that she must be a miserable sight. alabaster curls sheen with a light layer of oil and grime, tufts of broken and browning moss spiking lilac stripes in ugly juts. sympathy is not uncommon in the eyes of passing warriors, who advert their eyes or give her a small, awkwardly appeasing smile. she merely stares dolefully on, rheumy eyed and accursed. she can sit and watch settled tight in her nest as long as she isn't near anyone, as long as she's still in moonpaw's sight and not far into the well - hatched front of the medicine den. newleaf carries a brisk wind through the sparse willows and it's good for her, she hears. it eases her throat and chest where honey did not. shellkit isn't sure it she feels it work or not. her throat still sticks with each harsh swallow, feeling it red and irritated still and her mouth clicks, dry and sickly sweet when she whips a tongue across her maw. sheโs thirsty โ all sheโd had as of late has been through a moss ball.
and the river was only a few paces away.
it's not a new idea, she'd admit. as much as she curls around herself, tempers the wander in her paws in wake of her capture, she wanted to go. to play in the newly unfrozen waters, to run through the sea of deep grass with her brothers ; it wasn't fair. it wasn't. and sheโs so thirsty โ no one would mind. not like last time, when she wiggled her way through the sedge wall of camp and into the great nowhere. this would be just a fox length or two away, maybe a little more. back behind moonpaws den where the warriors didnโt tread. secretive. sheโd be back before anyone noticed ; ruddy luminaries flick back towards the empty medicine den, scans her surroundings with the slightest fidget in her limbs. the alabaster medicine cat apprentice was out for the moment. it would be her only chance tonight โ she could get back before moonpaw even noticed.
her first mistake is her quickness, the sudden eagerness that enraptures her ; a decisive surge upward that sends her head reeling and paws stumbling sideways with the sudden tilt of the world. her claws unsheathe to steady herself, sinking thornlike into the moss beneath her until the den stops swimming. she rasps in a harsh breath, feels it hitch in her throat and throws her head down against her chest to conceal the hack of a thick - lined cough into her chest. it feels like a time months ago, her brothers sprawled out over her smaller form in sleep ; a weight upon her ribs, as if someone were taking the sides of her flank and pushing them inward. she takes a wobbly step, inhales.. then another. then another, and another, until she is trudging slow but sure from the herbal den and into the shadows along its side. the river wades in easy laps, ink - like in the shadows beneath water - arcing shrubbery.
there is something there, beneath it ; the ever - present lull of whispers under a steady drone of newly awoken cicada. small velveteen ears crane to listen but there is little for her to catch aside from the hum of welcome, of comfort. she trembles as she approaches but does so eagerly, wheezing upon each step until the cool water is seeping along her toes. it feels.. good. better then usual, a quick douse to the fire she hadn't known was burning through her pads. its soothing, even better with the slow stretch of her den - stiffened limbs -- and so she steps another paw in, and then all four. then further, only by a few pawsteps. standing in the shallows, shellkit tucks her body beneath the splay of bulrush that arches over the riverside in case someone spotted her cygnet pale pelt from the shore ; for a moment, she simply breathes. a slow, languid inhale despite the crackle it makes.
when she exhales, something else comes out ; a gross sound, garbled in the back of her maw and abruptly, her legs feel too weak. on another horrible cough shellkit stumbles, and then folds with a firm splash water. a small spray of water forces up her nose, wettens her face even further than the increasingly greenish drip from her pale nose already had. the night has made it colder than she was prepared for ; water logs her fur, douses her curls and weighs her towards the uncomfortable pebbles below. she gasps, because it hurts. her body is too hot for this sudden cold, however mild it might have been, and suddenly she is too heavy, too dizzy to move. she couldn't do it. she couldn't do it by herself, just like everything else. tears well, frustration that has her thrashing her paws against the mossy ground with a high, angered whine in the back of her throat until they began to throb with the resistance. she couldn't do anything at all.
quick, rapid breaths. her ears go flat with a sudden, encompassing feeling of dread. she was going to be in so much trouble.
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i. she snuck out again and got stuck in the shallows of the river behind moonpaw's den </3 wwe bell noise GET HER ASS
@lichentail @Moonpaw
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frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.SHELLKIT ๐ SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. HAZECLOUD xx LICHENTAIL, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. SIX MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS--------------------------------------------ยฐ โ โshe is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of dovey lilac curls, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore and plush in a way seemingly similar to hazecloud's. 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.
