gonna crack a rib ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ flintpaw

[Swansong]

⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ 　There is a connection between Songsong and Flintpaw, inextricable and starshaped. They shared the medicine den only briefly, and she died so that they could live. Or, nearly died; Halfshade was the true sacrifice. Sometimes Swansong forgets that she did not truly die as well.

She does not begrudge the apprentice for it. Quite the contrary, she finds kinship in it, especially as she has witnessed the fate of his siblings. It only draws her closer to them, a quietly insistent sort of friendship. They stick by Flintpaw because they must, and they find comfort in their quietude and the winding thread of similarity. And so, of course they notice when his name is not called at the meeting. They approach her when she is alone, speaking in soft tones. "Your warrior ceremony..." Their voice peters out, eyes fixed upon the ground.

They begin again after a moment, words halting. "We should be sharing the same den, Flintpaw..." There is no accusation in the words, only a gentle sort of plea. Blue eyes drift upwards to meet mismatched hues. They are bound together, and therefor the path here is simple. "Is there anything... holding you back? Perhaps I could... assist..." A soft smile, hesitant yet insistent.

‎‎┌── WE FOUND TWO DEAD SWANS ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ AND FILLED THEIR BODIES WITH FLOWERS ──┐‎

• @FLINTPAW
  
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  "SPEECH"

• 
  SWANSONG　⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆　she / they, warrior of shadowclan, fourteen moons.
  ➳ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with droopy blue eyes.
  ➳ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
  ➳ halfshade x smogmaw, littermate to applejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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[FLINTWISH]

Swansong has inexplicably stood the test of time when it comes to Flintpaw's friendships. They are not close per se; Flintpaw does not approach her with every sad detail of his life (and she would never stop seeing him if he did), but she does not look upon him condescendingly nor is she outright unkind to him. She reminds him of Poppypaw; all three of them sick and wheezing in the medicine den, star-touched, weak-lunged. He thinks the difference is that they are soft and he is not. Swansong is all downy feathers and milky sleep, pale blue eyes sweet like periwinkles. Flintpaw is vitrified — a cat sublimated into stone and just as sharp.

And yet they are friends in spite of it. In spite of Halfshade; in spite of Granitepelt; in spite of Smogmaw; in spite of Siltcloud. Flintpaw is... grateful. He is grateful to have any friends at all.

Your warrior ceremony.... They are soft in their approach. Flintpaw's mismatched eyes snap up to them, wide and unprepared. She isn't sure what to expect from her former denmate, though for once she explicitly does not expect any vitriol to fall from that honeyed tongue. Maybe if it were any other Clanmate; maybe if Swansong had not been so consistently gentle over the moons, Flintpaw would shy ferociously away from their line of questioning. Becoming a warrior is more terrifying than exciting. In fact, he sort of feels like he'll die the minute Chilledstar gives him a new name. What had he done to deserve it? Illness had taken many moons of his life away from him, and when he had not been ill, he had sulked around camp ungratefully, missing a murderer, unpracticed and unskilled. We should be sharing the same den, Flintpaw. They are not wrong. Flintpaw averts her gaze.

What holds her back from becoming a warrior? Nothing Swansong could help, certainly. Flintpaw is just... broken. Uniquely unsuited to the challenges that ShadowClan life presents. Maybe she should have disappeared with Granitepelt all those moons ago, even if it meant — well, she shouldn't think about it. "I don't..." she starts, grappling for words, "I don't know. After I got sick again... I don't know."

An idle paw scrapes at the mud beneath him. How could he tell Swansong he was scared? How could he tell her that he didn't think he could ever be a warrior? It's not something she can help him with. It's not something Starlingheart's herbs can fix, either. "I just feel so behind. I know I learned a lot with Scalejaw, but I think... I think I'm just bad at it. At all of it."

Mismatched eyes crinkle unhappily at their corners. Flintpaw lifts his head to meet their gaze once more. Vulnerability does not come easy to him, so perhaps Swansong could be grateful for such a pitiful display, even if she could do little about it.

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

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  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by sixbane, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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