- Jul 12, 2022
- 14
- 2
- 3
( ♬ ) he's not certain when he grew up. perhaps it had been when his parents left, or when he took his first steps outside of the little camp the marsh group calls home. when he stopped sleeping with the kittens and began seeking out older friends, he still imagined himself a child. now, as he sits in the shadows of that same camp, watching bloodied clanmates bustle about, he can feel the exhaustion in his bones. children do not fight wars. they do not feel the sharp score of claws along their skin, nor do they growl out threats they mean to carry through. the marsh's way of life has never been easy, and he knows this. their way of living summons hardships that outsiders could never imagine. but among the prey shortages and harsh winters, he never imagined this.
spring tends to his wounds quietly, ears flicking as he listens to the soft conversations around him. the air, usually perfumed with the musky scent of the wild, now reeks of blood, and he sees it drying rust brown on his clanmates' fur. he had managed to defend himself fairly well, although there's a nasty scratch across the bridge of his nose that still stings hours later. perhaps it will scar. maybe he'll look cooler for a change. a soft sigh leaves his chest, golden eyes blurring as he stares at his paws. the claws are still dyed crimson, fur of strangers caught between them. is this the new normal? will his entire life be one giant fight with no room for peace? lifting a paw, he rips the enemy fur from his claws and spits it harshly beside him.
nothing about these days has made sense. the ghostly outlines of his ancestors, the sight of cats his own age battling fiercely against him. it's all terrifyingly new and spring isn't sure what to do. so he sits in the shadows, out of everyone's way, thoughts swirling. he's ten moons, but he's never felt so young. he's ten moons, but he's never felt so old.
spring tends to his wounds quietly, ears flicking as he listens to the soft conversations around him. the air, usually perfumed with the musky scent of the wild, now reeks of blood, and he sees it drying rust brown on his clanmates' fur. he had managed to defend himself fairly well, although there's a nasty scratch across the bridge of his nose that still stings hours later. perhaps it will scar. maybe he'll look cooler for a change. a soft sigh leaves his chest, golden eyes blurring as he stares at his paws. the claws are still dyed crimson, fur of strangers caught between them. is this the new normal? will his entire life be one giant fight with no room for peace? lifting a paw, he rips the enemy fur from his claws and spits it harshly beside him.
nothing about these days has made sense. the ghostly outlines of his ancestors, the sight of cats his own age battling fiercely against him. it's all terrifyingly new and spring isn't sure what to do. so he sits in the shadows, out of everyone's way, thoughts swirling. he's ten moons, but he's never felt so young. he's ten moons, but he's never felt so old.
( I SEE THE SIGNS OF A LIFETIME ; YOU 'TIL I DIE' )