- Sep 12, 2023
- 141
- 18
- 18
★ It is upon seeing a pair of birds overhead that she realizes.
It's a talon-locked spin for the ages, in the distance just before she returns to camp. It's breathtaking, almost, to watch such a suicide-spiral, utter faith in somebody else's instincts and senses to do that. She is held still for but a moment as she watches them separate just before what would be certain death. Those two birds did not leave her mind for a time as she slowed her steps into camp, stopping just before the entrance. She was sure the guards, just settling out at the entrance of camp for their night-shift, would be likely to give her funny looks.
Her eyes did not rest on the sky, but on that of the ground, where leaf-fall rains have turned the swamp muddier then before. Where her paws were stained dark from each well of mud she had come across, where her path aimed more careless then it has in moons. The scar on the side of her neck burns, where badger fangs and claws still sank deep in memory, where the flashes of silver across her vision- the flash of silver that saved her life. Her life, she thinks briefly, without him now.
Scalejaw's head snaps up, looking for the pair of birds again. The aching feeling in her chest. The way her breath stung with too much air, her inhaled gasp lasting longer then intended. It can't be. She thinks, and her heart aches and her mind spins and she can barely breathe. Just steps from camp's safety does Scalejaw sink to her haunches, haunted vision finding only one of the two birds- and it cries, the sound carrying across the swampland. Alone, alone.
Her vision shifts towards the guards, then forward to where the leader's den lay. Where Mirepurr had done naught but lay within and contemplate. Where she thinks the last traces of Smogstar lay, his scent clouded by sickness and washed away by his deputies selfishness. There is a burning urge then for Scalejaw to rush into leaders den, to tear that bastard free of Smogstar's nest, a choking anger that is swept away in an instant as her realization becomes clear, burning like fire and scorching her lungs as she can no longer deny it.
She loved him. She loved Smogstar, and he was gone. He saved her life, all-but carried her through snow-strewn territory to make sure she lived. Accepted her gifts, courted her back, long late-night talks just before he got too sick for her to stay any longer. Scalejaw flinched her vision away from the leaders den, taking slow and staggered pawsteps into camp as dusk took over daylight, as it grew dim. She thinks she might have been here longer then she intended. Mirepurr might not even be in there anymore.
Scalejaw had promised herself to never love another, not after her mate died in the Great Battle. That had hurt too, far more then this, but it was an old pain. A faint ache. This was fresh, new, and she wasn't sure how to handle it, a choked noise leaving her mouth. A sob withheld. She was not the only one hurting- his kits, direct family, were to be given that pedestal, the closest to be mourning. They had a right. Did she? Did she have the right to mourn somecat she realized she loved too late? He was to never hear it, she was to never say it.
Fangs bit down on her tongue and cheek, eyes squinting shut. It is sharp, resounding, the way it brings her back to reality, halts any accelerated breathing from her. It's like a switch is flipped and she becomes dull again, her eyes narrowed with a chill much more like her then the rapid breakdown she had just inside the entrance of camp. If no one approaches her, she is to step into the warriors den and hide herself from anymore prying eyes.
It's a talon-locked spin for the ages, in the distance just before she returns to camp. It's breathtaking, almost, to watch such a suicide-spiral, utter faith in somebody else's instincts and senses to do that. She is held still for but a moment as she watches them separate just before what would be certain death. Those two birds did not leave her mind for a time as she slowed her steps into camp, stopping just before the entrance. She was sure the guards, just settling out at the entrance of camp for their night-shift, would be likely to give her funny looks.
Her eyes did not rest on the sky, but on that of the ground, where leaf-fall rains have turned the swamp muddier then before. Where her paws were stained dark from each well of mud she had come across, where her path aimed more careless then it has in moons. The scar on the side of her neck burns, where badger fangs and claws still sank deep in memory, where the flashes of silver across her vision- the flash of silver that saved her life. Her life, she thinks briefly, without him now.
Scalejaw's head snaps up, looking for the pair of birds again. The aching feeling in her chest. The way her breath stung with too much air, her inhaled gasp lasting longer then intended. It can't be. She thinks, and her heart aches and her mind spins and she can barely breathe. Just steps from camp's safety does Scalejaw sink to her haunches, haunted vision finding only one of the two birds- and it cries, the sound carrying across the swampland. Alone, alone.
Her vision shifts towards the guards, then forward to where the leader's den lay. Where Mirepurr had done naught but lay within and contemplate. Where she thinks the last traces of Smogstar lay, his scent clouded by sickness and washed away by his deputies selfishness. There is a burning urge then for Scalejaw to rush into leaders den, to tear that bastard free of Smogstar's nest, a choking anger that is swept away in an instant as her realization becomes clear, burning like fire and scorching her lungs as she can no longer deny it.
She loved him. She loved Smogstar, and he was gone. He saved her life, all-but carried her through snow-strewn territory to make sure she lived. Accepted her gifts, courted her back, long late-night talks just before he got too sick for her to stay any longer. Scalejaw flinched her vision away from the leaders den, taking slow and staggered pawsteps into camp as dusk took over daylight, as it grew dim. She thinks she might have been here longer then she intended. Mirepurr might not even be in there anymore.
Scalejaw had promised herself to never love another, not after her mate died in the Great Battle. That had hurt too, far more then this, but it was an old pain. A faint ache. This was fresh, new, and she wasn't sure how to handle it, a choked noise leaving her mouth. A sob withheld. She was not the only one hurting- his kits, direct family, were to be given that pedestal, the closest to be mourning. They had a right. Did she? Did she have the right to mourn somecat she realized she loved too late? He was to never hear it, she was to never say it.
Fangs bit down on her tongue and cheek, eyes squinting shut. It is sharp, resounding, the way it brings her back to reality, halts any accelerated breathing from her. It's like a switch is flipped and she becomes dull again, her eyes narrowed with a chill much more like her then the rapid breakdown she had just inside the entrance of camp. If no one approaches her, she is to step into the warriors den and hide herself from anymore prying eyes.
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"speech"
// you do NOT have to interact, this is very much a scale-realization-moment, but you are welcome to if you wish <3
// prompt : Smogstar had the tendency to gain reactions from his peers, whether those are positive or negative. Do you miss him? Are you glad he's gone?
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SCALEJAW 🌧 she/her, warrior of shadowclan, sixty five moons.
★ A SH black/LH blue smoke chimera with glowering orange eyes, tufts of fur that make her look dragon-akin, and scars that she wears with pride. motherly and stern attitude, with a warm streak for clanmates and a cruel streak for enemies.
★ mentoring no one
★ padding after no one / / mother to bonerattle, nightwhisper, and shadefall
★ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
★ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
