- Dec 26, 2022
- 282
- 81
- 28
They days blended together in a fog; a proverbial smoke that followed her through the moon encompassing her in a darkness that staunched her pain and made her forget her responsibilities. The poppy she'd been spared had aided in that, had made her more docile when she'd normally be restless and yet as languid as her body was her eyes always glowered out the entrance into the ashen camp that she no longer recognized. She still dreams of the blaze that tore through peat and heather, remembers the hellish caterwaul of a hound with stripped fur and burnt flesh. She remembers how even against the brightness of the embers how white those fangs were before they buried themselves into the flesh of a proud king. She remembers the heat as ghastly as it was against her fur, remembers the cinders twisting her whiskers and burn through soot stained fur. Most of all she remembers the taste of his blood and fur in her mouth and the heaviness of his body and then the taste of her shame of retreating over the pain that lanced up her paw. Those who didn't know any better would claim she sought redemption with a single selfless action, but she hadn't thought at all she didn't seek salvation in immolation but she was burned in his name regardless.
Time moved on, more then a moon had passed while she spent her days staring at her paws wondering when she'd be able to run again. She'd hated the loneliness, the isolation and as her mind cleared no longer exhausted with fighting pain and possible infection she longed to return to the life of a warrior - to return to the moors. She did have visitors - had noticed their gazes though farm from warm didn't cast down on her like executioner blades like they had before - and yet she wonders how long she'd be given grace before she was lumped once again with rat-droppings like Snakehiss. It doesn't matter to Firefang they could speculate all they wanted to, she was finally healthy enough to leave and with better health the blaze in her chest and the sting in her words would return.
She is not ginger with her steps as she leaves the medicine den for what she hopes is the last time, her paw is no longer wrapped in cobwebs revealing the scorched flesh that trails up her foreleg, blunt bristly fur has already slowly begin to 'smooth' it's edges and the fur she'd lost from the cinders on her back and flank looks much the same. Thankfully she never thought herself the most pretty cat in the first place, little has changed now Icebreath wouldn't see her like this and it'd only been her opinion on her looks that she'd ever cared about. She stands proud regardless, walks as if unimpeded by her injury - it doesn't hurt much she wouldn't be hobbling around like a poor ole lopsided badger like Sunstar so she counts herself lucky. She'd still be able to return to her duties as a moor-runner, she just needed to get used to the odd almost-numb feeling to the damaged skin on her leg.
She approaches the prey pile (as pathetic as it may be compared to the early fruitful moon of newleaf), mouth opening to take in the fresh scents only for her nose to crinkle and a growl to permeate from her throat. The heavy scent of their destruction still was in the air and though it was much fainter it still was not appetizing "Eugh, still smells like ash" she complains.
Time moved on, more then a moon had passed while she spent her days staring at her paws wondering when she'd be able to run again. She'd hated the loneliness, the isolation and as her mind cleared no longer exhausted with fighting pain and possible infection she longed to return to the life of a warrior - to return to the moors. She did have visitors - had noticed their gazes though farm from warm didn't cast down on her like executioner blades like they had before - and yet she wonders how long she'd be given grace before she was lumped once again with rat-droppings like Snakehiss. It doesn't matter to Firefang they could speculate all they wanted to, she was finally healthy enough to leave and with better health the blaze in her chest and the sting in her words would return.
She is not ginger with her steps as she leaves the medicine den for what she hopes is the last time, her paw is no longer wrapped in cobwebs revealing the scorched flesh that trails up her foreleg, blunt bristly fur has already slowly begin to 'smooth' it's edges and the fur she'd lost from the cinders on her back and flank looks much the same. Thankfully she never thought herself the most pretty cat in the first place, little has changed now Icebreath wouldn't see her like this and it'd only been her opinion on her looks that she'd ever cared about. She stands proud regardless, walks as if unimpeded by her injury - it doesn't hurt much she wouldn't be hobbling around like a poor ole lopsided badger like Sunstar so she counts herself lucky. She'd still be able to return to her duties as a moor-runner, she just needed to get used to the odd almost-numb feeling to the damaged skin on her leg.
She approaches the prey pile (as pathetic as it may be compared to the early fruitful moon of newleaf), mouth opening to take in the fresh scents only for her nose to crinkle and a growl to permeate from her throat. The heavy scent of their destruction still was in the air and though it was much fainter it still was not appetizing "Eugh, still smells like ash" she complains.