- May 31, 2023
- 187
- 55
- 28
It's almost been a moon since they'd set off.
The knife wound of Badgermoon and Curlewnose's joint betrayal has become a dull ache; a memory like gnarled scar tissue. She can still recall Sootstar's desperate wail, can still feel the guilt and shame and anger and fear that had washed over her like a tsunami, can still taste the salt of tears as she'd torn away from her Clan to mourn cats that weren't even dead. But the exact words can no longer haunt her. Traitors, traitors, traitors, is all the ghosts of memory can chant at her now, and she takes it and compresses it in the pit of her chest until it shines like diamonds and is equally cutting.
It's been almost a moon since she's seen the moorlands. She had coaxed Mouseflight into a race, but her bones still ache for open fields; her body still misses the warm caress of golden grass. She is afraid that leafbare will be in full swing by the time they return. Would each rolling hill be white-capped as the mountains she treks now? She loathes the idea. She misses WindClan; she misses the taste of rabbit; she misses Badgermoon and Curlewnose and she hates them too. Would she even like the WindClan she returns to, now that they're gone? She isn't sure. They could be dead for all she cares. She wishes they would come back.
The sun retreats from the moon earlier now; earlier than Scorchpaw has ever seen it retreat. Maybe the sun, too, fears yellowcough. Maybe the sun, too, feels the urge to run across the whole sky until its muscles can no longer support its weight, and so it retires just to do it all again tomorrow. Scorchpaw hates the nighttime chill up in the mountains. Her short-cropped fur is made of fire but holds none of the same warmth. Again she finds herself longing for the moors, its warm sandy earth and cozy gorse-and-feather nests. Her blue butterfly wing shimmers in the moonlight as the group settles down to make camp until dawn.
Shivering, Scorchpaw rolls onto her back in the snow, stars reflected in her bi-color gaze. "This better all be worth it," she says to Silverpelt. This journey; this grief. Tell me Badgermoon's betrayal meant something. Tell me we will find enough cure for all of our sick. Thoughtfully, she closes her eyes. She speaks to StarClan and StarClan alone for a brief moment, her voice hardly above a whisper: "Tell me it will be okay." But when she opens her eyes, another cat has appeared. Embarrassed, Scorchpaw rolls onto her side and curls into herself as if to become smaller. Hopefully they didn't hear all of that.
/ for windclan's fall prompt event! ^_^ this got a bit long-winded at the start so tldr: scorchpaw notices the way the sunsets have come earlier and earlier and is currently stargazing / praying. any cat can be the one that stumbled across her!
The knife wound of Badgermoon and Curlewnose's joint betrayal has become a dull ache; a memory like gnarled scar tissue. She can still recall Sootstar's desperate wail, can still feel the guilt and shame and anger and fear that had washed over her like a tsunami, can still taste the salt of tears as she'd torn away from her Clan to mourn cats that weren't even dead. But the exact words can no longer haunt her. Traitors, traitors, traitors, is all the ghosts of memory can chant at her now, and she takes it and compresses it in the pit of her chest until it shines like diamonds and is equally cutting.
It's been almost a moon since she's seen the moorlands. She had coaxed Mouseflight into a race, but her bones still ache for open fields; her body still misses the warm caress of golden grass. She is afraid that leafbare will be in full swing by the time they return. Would each rolling hill be white-capped as the mountains she treks now? She loathes the idea. She misses WindClan; she misses the taste of rabbit; she misses Badgermoon and Curlewnose and she hates them too. Would she even like the WindClan she returns to, now that they're gone? She isn't sure. They could be dead for all she cares. She wishes they would come back.
The sun retreats from the moon earlier now; earlier than Scorchpaw has ever seen it retreat. Maybe the sun, too, fears yellowcough. Maybe the sun, too, feels the urge to run across the whole sky until its muscles can no longer support its weight, and so it retires just to do it all again tomorrow. Scorchpaw hates the nighttime chill up in the mountains. Her short-cropped fur is made of fire but holds none of the same warmth. Again she finds herself longing for the moors, its warm sandy earth and cozy gorse-and-feather nests. Her blue butterfly wing shimmers in the moonlight as the group settles down to make camp until dawn.
Shivering, Scorchpaw rolls onto her back in the snow, stars reflected in her bi-color gaze. "This better all be worth it," she says to Silverpelt. This journey; this grief. Tell me Badgermoon's betrayal meant something. Tell me we will find enough cure for all of our sick. Thoughtfully, she closes her eyes. She speaks to StarClan and StarClan alone for a brief moment, her voice hardly above a whisper: "Tell me it will be okay." But when she opens her eyes, another cat has appeared. Embarrassed, Scorchpaw rolls onto her side and curls into herself as if to become smaller. Hopefully they didn't hear all of that.
/ for windclan's fall prompt event! ^_^ this got a bit long-winded at the start so tldr: scorchpaw notices the way the sunsets have come earlier and earlier and is currently stargazing / praying. any cat can be the one that stumbled across her!
![4d5460.png](https://dummyimage.com/600x1/4d5460/4d5460.png)
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—scorchkit. scorchpaw
— she/they ; apprentice of windclan
— short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
— "speech" ; thoughts
— chibi by giinya, signature by raphaelion
— penned by meghan