- Jan 4, 2024
- 140
- 47
- 28
cw; difficult/dangerous/early labor, panic, implied ptsd, implied blood, implied death?
Every dawn marks another step that cannot be withdrawn. The shift of presence impossible to ignore now stands as testimony to youthful folly... It was far too late to withdraw the whispered-breath plea to 'win.' The overwhelming scent of the pine trees woven into plumes of auburn fur, the rush of heat under her skin to be wanted. There is no more wanting now... needing replaces it, tiny branches peeling away from the larger boughs and demanding to be fed... to grow.
Peace could only be found in sleep, where the willful ignorance of her own body was most powerful. She could not worry about the way her lips cracked with dryness, the way her stomach churned at the smell of food. The sensation of aching bones that act as if they are far beyond their prime. So Doepath spends more hours of the day asleep than awake, curled up tightly against the discomfort that can only heal with time... time... it ticks by so slowly.
Until it becomes alike a flood in its speed.
That feeling is familiar, the suddenness, the sharpness. It races across her like the merciless paws of a monster- all at once it's dizzying again, caught between the glowing eyes of a beast that could not be fought. It drives the air from her lungs, bleary-eyes searching for the cotton-tufts of familiar fur- either of them. Either of them would make this easier- the comfort of two different kinds of love. Anxiety clutches at her chest, practically wincing against the feeling of wanting them, of needing them after what barbed words she'd wielded at them in quiet moments.
"Sun-" a sharp gasp, "shine..." It's alarmingly difficult to even get a word out, much less put the extravagant pain to melody. Teeth grit against each other with such force she's surprise they do not fracture against the pressure- somehow that ache helps to dull everything else but it isn't nearly enough of a distraction. As if stuck trying to decide where to turn, where to run, the queen crouches with an instinct to flee. Where is there to run? The walls feel far too close to her and not nearly close enough... too many eyes... too many ears... those that pry and seethe about her circumstances.
Something feels wrong.
She abandons her nest to lean against the inside of the nursery wall, cradled against it as if the pressure of its sturdy touch might be of some sort of relief. A reassurance of something that does not move, something that obscures and hides her... There is a moment of clarity between flares of pain, a moment to draw in a breath as deeply as she can manage, like she might never get the chance again.
Someone must've called Gentlestorm already right...? There is an overwhelming scent of something familiar, wisps of Hopepaw's own nervous energy. Words buzz against her ears, begging to be useful if she could just hear them- everything's too soft to reach past the heavy beating of a frantic heart. "Lay down..." I need to get out! "Try to breathe..." I'm suffocating!
Memory and reality become a hazy blur. All that permeates the fog is agony. At some point her legs had given up on running, splayed on the hardy earth with claws digging gouges of her struggle. She holds her head just above the ground, mouth agape to wheeze a gasp where she could- her breath draws in the taste of iron. Confusion colors the sinking expression of her face, Isn't it over? So why did it persist...? It's such a hauntingly familiar terror that runs down her spine. That half-aware state of the emptiness of her energy, the yearning to sleep, the effort demanded just to fill her lungs.
It should be invigorating, the soft cries of kittens coaxed to speak their first yowls. They should inspire just a little more strength to pull them close, cherish their warm-coated colors, admire the smallness of their figures but Doepath finds nothing left, doesn't even remember if she'd counted them. "I'm tired...." So tired that her chin drops the small distance left between itself and the floor, head lolling against one of her paws with a shallow exhale, a murmur ridden on a whisper. "Your turn..."
"Y... you... sa... saved me... t... today... sweetpea..."
Don't let me go...
Every dawn marks another step that cannot be withdrawn. The shift of presence impossible to ignore now stands as testimony to youthful folly... It was far too late to withdraw the whispered-breath plea to 'win.' The overwhelming scent of the pine trees woven into plumes of auburn fur, the rush of heat under her skin to be wanted. There is no more wanting now... needing replaces it, tiny branches peeling away from the larger boughs and demanding to be fed... to grow.
Peace could only be found in sleep, where the willful ignorance of her own body was most powerful. She could not worry about the way her lips cracked with dryness, the way her stomach churned at the smell of food. The sensation of aching bones that act as if they are far beyond their prime. So Doepath spends more hours of the day asleep than awake, curled up tightly against the discomfort that can only heal with time... time... it ticks by so slowly.
Until it becomes alike a flood in its speed.
That feeling is familiar, the suddenness, the sharpness. It races across her like the merciless paws of a monster- all at once it's dizzying again, caught between the glowing eyes of a beast that could not be fought. It drives the air from her lungs, bleary-eyes searching for the cotton-tufts of familiar fur- either of them. Either of them would make this easier- the comfort of two different kinds of love. Anxiety clutches at her chest, practically wincing against the feeling of wanting them, of needing them after what barbed words she'd wielded at them in quiet moments.
"Sun-" a sharp gasp, "shine..." It's alarmingly difficult to even get a word out, much less put the extravagant pain to melody. Teeth grit against each other with such force she's surprise they do not fracture against the pressure- somehow that ache helps to dull everything else but it isn't nearly enough of a distraction. As if stuck trying to decide where to turn, where to run, the queen crouches with an instinct to flee. Where is there to run? The walls feel far too close to her and not nearly close enough... too many eyes... too many ears... those that pry and seethe about her circumstances.
Something feels wrong.
She abandons her nest to lean against the inside of the nursery wall, cradled against it as if the pressure of its sturdy touch might be of some sort of relief. A reassurance of something that does not move, something that obscures and hides her... There is a moment of clarity between flares of pain, a moment to draw in a breath as deeply as she can manage, like she might never get the chance again.
Someone must've called Gentlestorm already right...? There is an overwhelming scent of something familiar, wisps of Hopepaw's own nervous energy. Words buzz against her ears, begging to be useful if she could just hear them- everything's too soft to reach past the heavy beating of a frantic heart. "Lay down..." I need to get out! "Try to breathe..." I'm suffocating!
Memory and reality become a hazy blur. All that permeates the fog is agony. At some point her legs had given up on running, splayed on the hardy earth with claws digging gouges of her struggle. She holds her head just above the ground, mouth agape to wheeze a gasp where she could- her breath draws in the taste of iron. Confusion colors the sinking expression of her face, Isn't it over? So why did it persist...? It's such a hauntingly familiar terror that runs down her spine. That half-aware state of the emptiness of her energy, the yearning to sleep, the effort demanded just to fill her lungs.
It should be invigorating, the soft cries of kittens coaxed to speak their first yowls. They should inspire just a little more strength to pull them close, cherish their warm-coated colors, admire the smallness of their figures but Doepath finds nothing left, doesn't even remember if she'd counted them. "I'm tired...." So tired that her chin drops the small distance left between itself and the floor, head lolling against one of her paws with a shallow exhale, a murmur ridden on a whisper. "Your turn..."
"Y... you... sa... saved me... t... today... sweetpea..."
Don't let me go...
- @sunshinespot @GENTLESTORM @HOPEPAW @/honkkit @/calfkit @/daffodilkit @/tuffykit
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