- Nov 26, 2022
- 524
- 140
- 43
Stars, Slate felt as if his chest was wound so tightly that it would burst.
His thoughts were swimming, drowning even, trying to cling to so much as a singular shred of clarity. Yet, the more he thinks, the worse he feels. Any words from his clanmates are met with an automated, surface-level response, as if his brain had been taken over by some sort of parasite. He is not himself—can not be himself—unless he finally confronts this.
He walks a thin line ( literally ) between the riverbank and the coursing waters themselves, pacing back and forth like a nervous wreck as he attempts to sort through everything on his own. Showcasing his anxiety in such an outward manner is not something typical of the gruff tom, who much rather preferred to internalize any emotional vulnerabilities. That was the main reason why he opted to visit the riverside; if he was going to exert nervous energy somewhere, it would not be in camp for his clanmates to witness.
Slate never should have gone on the journey, he keeps telling himself. SkyClan was recovering and had him to thank for it, yes, but now he had a new problem on his paws. No amount of brawn he possessed could be used to fight it. He had himself fooled for so long, but that night under the stars... He would be nothing but a mousebrain to deny it any further — he still had feelings for Orangeblossom.
Once upon a time, they had been two young adults who rendezvoused under only the moon's watchful gaze. They had come from two entirely different worlds; knowing this, Slate had decided to put an end to their time together before they grew more complicated. Never would he have anticipated joining SkyClan and seeing the she-cat again, this time sporting the authoritative rank of deputy and a new name.
He shakes his head, defeated, furious with himself and the feelings that he couldn't control. She deserved better, worlds better than Slate. He would never be good in the eyes of most, he knows — even after all the seasons of living in SkyClan, he was still seen as nothing more than a brute. A rogue.
Now, more than ever, he wishes she and Ashenclaw would have worked out. They had looked so happy together at one point, and despite his conflicted feelings, Slate had been happy for them too. It had been much easier to stamp out any lingering feelings and attempt to move on from Orangeblossom with her new mate in the picture. Now, her admitted separation from Ashenclaw only conflicted him more. Never had he felt so torn up about what to do... if he should do anything at all.
Uncertainty plagues his tone as words utter from his lips, barely heard over the roaring current, "Listen, I... There's somethin' you should know..." Slate stops himself then and there. How does one even do this? Should he? This is all hypothetical, he tells himself. There's no way he actually would. "No, no, no, that's stupid—" A large paw slips on the muddied edge of the river, knocking his bulky form off balance and nearly sending him into the water. Slate catches himself at the last moment, luckily, limbs clinging for dear life to the bank. His tail and hind legs, however, are not spared from turning into a sopping wet mess. "... Shit." The Maine Coon grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at his soaked pelt as he pulled himself onto dry land. Well, that was one way to interrupt his embarrassing behavior.
His thoughts were swimming, drowning even, trying to cling to so much as a singular shred of clarity. Yet, the more he thinks, the worse he feels. Any words from his clanmates are met with an automated, surface-level response, as if his brain had been taken over by some sort of parasite. He is not himself—can not be himself—unless he finally confronts this.
He walks a thin line ( literally ) between the riverbank and the coursing waters themselves, pacing back and forth like a nervous wreck as he attempts to sort through everything on his own. Showcasing his anxiety in such an outward manner is not something typical of the gruff tom, who much rather preferred to internalize any emotional vulnerabilities. That was the main reason why he opted to visit the riverside; if he was going to exert nervous energy somewhere, it would not be in camp for his clanmates to witness.
Slate never should have gone on the journey, he keeps telling himself. SkyClan was recovering and had him to thank for it, yes, but now he had a new problem on his paws. No amount of brawn he possessed could be used to fight it. He had himself fooled for so long, but that night under the stars... He would be nothing but a mousebrain to deny it any further — he still had feelings for Orangeblossom.
Once upon a time, they had been two young adults who rendezvoused under only the moon's watchful gaze. They had come from two entirely different worlds; knowing this, Slate had decided to put an end to their time together before they grew more complicated. Never would he have anticipated joining SkyClan and seeing the she-cat again, this time sporting the authoritative rank of deputy and a new name.
He shakes his head, defeated, furious with himself and the feelings that he couldn't control. She deserved better, worlds better than Slate. He would never be good in the eyes of most, he knows — even after all the seasons of living in SkyClan, he was still seen as nothing more than a brute. A rogue.
Now, more than ever, he wishes she and Ashenclaw would have worked out. They had looked so happy together at one point, and despite his conflicted feelings, Slate had been happy for them too. It had been much easier to stamp out any lingering feelings and attempt to move on from Orangeblossom with her new mate in the picture. Now, her admitted separation from Ashenclaw only conflicted him more. Never had he felt so torn up about what to do... if he should do anything at all.
Uncertainty plagues his tone as words utter from his lips, barely heard over the roaring current, "Listen, I... There's somethin' you should know..." Slate stops himself then and there. How does one even do this? Should he? This is all hypothetical, he tells himself. There's no way he actually would. "No, no, no, that's stupid—" A large paw slips on the muddied edge of the river, knocking his bulky form off balance and nearly sending him into the water. Slate catches himself at the last moment, luckily, limbs clinging for dear life to the bank. His tail and hind legs, however, are not spared from turning into a sopping wet mess. "... Shit." The Maine Coon grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at his soaked pelt as he pulled himself onto dry land. Well, that was one way to interrupt his embarrassing behavior.
- idk if this is important to add but this is retro to the gathering :3
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