- Jul 15, 2022
- 218
- 35
- 28
Rain falls in a steady pit-pat against the oversoaked earth, consistent enough that the noise is negligible. A day of dreary off-white skies and heavy eyes — Betonyfrost has taken to laying in what has become her usual post just outside the nursery, near enough to the mouth to be protected from the worst of the drizzle. It had started sometime in the early morning; the world had already been damp by the time Betonyfrost had woken and now, nearing Sunhigh, camp was dotted with puddles.
Betonyfrost considers the one nearest to her with curiosity.
She has never been one to sit and look at her reflection. She knows what she looks like through happenstance, her face endlessly reflected through the uneven facets of an icicle or seen wavering in the surface of water she drinks from. She knows her tired green eyes, her frost-wilted ears, the scar gifted to her by Halfshade cut across the line of her nose. Betonyfrost knows what she looks like and has never been tempted to seek out her own reflection, and yet —
The her that stares back from the shallow depths is never the her that Betonyfrost expects. She always looks younger than Betonyfrost remembers herself to be, never old enough to have lived all of the life that Betonyfrost has. She finds herself looking for the features she associated with her youth: big ears and bright eyes, and finds instead the face she has come to understand is her own. She's always had the habit of dismissing her appearance as painfully typical, but now in the pit-pat puddle she sees herself for the first time as a stranger would.
Those drab green eyes that Betonyfrost had previously dismissed as unremarkable hold an unexpected intensity, her ears that had been a sad consequence of her clan's negligence are now those of a lion. She realizes in this quiet moment that she could be intimidating if she so wished. It's the way she stands, how she's always stood, as if she's waiting for the next blow. Head tucked and paws together as if protecting the softness of her gut — as if she could ever truly make herself small.
Betonyfrost leans to drink from the puddle and when she rises, lines of water running down her chin and into her chest, it is with a spine unhunched.
Betonyfrost considers the one nearest to her with curiosity.
She has never been one to sit and look at her reflection. She knows what she looks like through happenstance, her face endlessly reflected through the uneven facets of an icicle or seen wavering in the surface of water she drinks from. She knows her tired green eyes, her frost-wilted ears, the scar gifted to her by Halfshade cut across the line of her nose. Betonyfrost knows what she looks like and has never been tempted to seek out her own reflection, and yet —
The her that stares back from the shallow depths is never the her that Betonyfrost expects. She always looks younger than Betonyfrost remembers herself to be, never old enough to have lived all of the life that Betonyfrost has. She finds herself looking for the features she associated with her youth: big ears and bright eyes, and finds instead the face she has come to understand is her own. She's always had the habit of dismissing her appearance as painfully typical, but now in the pit-pat puddle she sees herself for the first time as a stranger would.
Those drab green eyes that Betonyfrost had previously dismissed as unremarkable hold an unexpected intensity, her ears that had been a sad consequence of her clan's negligence are now those of a lion. She realizes in this quiet moment that she could be intimidating if she so wished. It's the way she stands, how she's always stood, as if she's waiting for the next blow. Head tucked and paws together as if protecting the softness of her gut — as if she could ever truly make herself small.
Betonyfrost leans to drink from the puddle and when she rises, lines of water running down her chin and into her chest, it is with a spine unhunched.
shadowclan queen | blue mackerel tabby | 19 moons | tags
