Whitepaw lies motionless in the dim light of the medicine den. His body aches, but it's a distant kind of pain, dulled by rest and the lingering haze of sleep. The wound on his face pulls uncomfortably, the raw edges throbbing beneath the poultice pressed against his flesh. His torn ear feels muffled, the sensation strange and unfamiliar, and the empty socket where his eye once was feels heavier than the rest of him, as if the weight of the loss is pressing him into the nest. He stares ahead with his remaining eye, its golden color clouded with thought. The shape of the den wall ahead of him blurs and sharpens in his vision as he loses focus, then forces himself to find it again. The steady rhythm of his breathing fills the silence, a quiet reminder that he is still here, still alive, even though everything feels fractured. A part of him thinks he should feel... something, right now. Maybe regret, or relief, or something more. But instead, he feels nothing at all.
Nothingness is easier than the alternative.
He lifts a paw to his face but stops halfway, letting it fall back to his side. It doesn't matter. The damage is done, and touching it won't change anything. His claws flex against the moss beneath him, the only movement he allows himself. His mind drifts, fragmented thoughts circling the edges of his awareness without fully taking form. I had to. She would have killed me. The thought feels hollow, as if it belongs to someone else. He repeats it anyway, like a chant meant to tether him to something solid. His gaze shifts to the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the entrance. Outside, life moves on. Kits play, warriors hunt, the clan breathes and moves as it always does. The world hasn't stopped, even though his has. He wonders if it will ever feel normal again, if he'll ever be able to walk among them without their eyes burning into him, their whispers slicing sharper than claws. His chest tightens at the thought, but he doesn't cry. He hasn't since it happened. Maybe he's just too tired, or maybe the tears are buried too deep for him to reach right now. For now, he simply lies there, letting the minutes bleed together, staring at nothing as the ache in his chest settles into a quiet, steady rhythm. He is alive. He needs to focus on that. He pulls the world back into focus again, dragging his mind away from the haze it is trying to sink into.
@SCORCHSTORM
Nothingness is easier than the alternative.
He lifts a paw to his face but stops halfway, letting it fall back to his side. It doesn't matter. The damage is done, and touching it won't change anything. His claws flex against the moss beneath him, the only movement he allows himself. His mind drifts, fragmented thoughts circling the edges of his awareness without fully taking form. I had to. She would have killed me. The thought feels hollow, as if it belongs to someone else. He repeats it anyway, like a chant meant to tether him to something solid. His gaze shifts to the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the entrance. Outside, life moves on. Kits play, warriors hunt, the clan breathes and moves as it always does. The world hasn't stopped, even though his has. He wonders if it will ever feel normal again, if he'll ever be able to walk among them without their eyes burning into him, their whispers slicing sharper than claws. His chest tightens at the thought, but he doesn't cry. He hasn't since it happened. Maybe he's just too tired, or maybe the tears are buried too deep for him to reach right now. For now, he simply lies there, letting the minutes bleed together, staring at nothing as the ache in his chest settles into a quiet, steady rhythm. He is alive. He needs to focus on that. He pulls the world back into focus again, dragging his mind away from the haze it is trying to sink into.
@SCORCHSTORM