- Aug 1, 2022
- 214
- 46
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A S H P A W.
She takes deep breaths as she walks. She keeps herself steady.
She's trying not to cry and she's doing pretty well. Still-small paws (she has not grown much, these last two months; natural conseqeunce of cutting herself off from love and sunlight and most meals, and she wonders if it's permanent) tread uncertain ground. She didn't ever really get to know this place, save for furtive escapes as kit and the few weeks she'd had training with Willowroot... and even then, they stuck to a few familiar spots. Spiderfall had laid his first claim to her life hardly a moon into apprenticeship, and though she scraped by alive, nothing went back to normal after that.
That life, that safe and sunlit existence, won't ever be her normal again. She's starting to come to terms with that.
She walks, taking deep and measured breaths, behind Cicadastar. She follows his footsteps. She followed him all the way here, out of camp, at his offer—that German lilt, soft and imploring, would she go on a walk with him? he had something to show her—and so his liebling follows close behind. Is she trusting, or is she just too afraid to refuse?
Spiderfall had taken her on "walks." And she'd learned well what happens to bad little kits who say no. She curls her toes and bites her cheek, forces herself not to cringe at the memory—phantom pain lancing up her flank, shoulders, face.
She's started to fall behind the man's long-legged gait, so the little apprentice bounds forward, autumn wind ruffling bright ginger fur. She hears a rumble in the distance, like thunder but—deeper? Closer? Different, anyway.
Ashpaw sticks close as she can, and whenever she gets too scared she takes deep, deep breaths.
Cicadastar won't...
He wouldn't.
She remembers three moons ago, staggering home from ThunderClan, how he'd caught her and held her, his wispy coat close and warm around her own. How she'd sagged against him and cried. "I've got you," he'd murmured.
Cicadastar loves her, Ashpaw tells herself. He wouldn't...
This won't be like that. This won't be like him.
Still her legs tremble, and she has to force herself to follow.
"Where..."
Her voice fails her, the word hardly audible, and she steels herself and tries again, speaking up.
"Where are we going?"
She's trying not to cry and she's doing pretty well. Still-small paws (she has not grown much, these last two months; natural conseqeunce of cutting herself off from love and sunlight and most meals, and she wonders if it's permanent) tread uncertain ground. She didn't ever really get to know this place, save for furtive escapes as kit and the few weeks she'd had training with Willowroot... and even then, they stuck to a few familiar spots. Spiderfall had laid his first claim to her life hardly a moon into apprenticeship, and though she scraped by alive, nothing went back to normal after that.
That life, that safe and sunlit existence, won't ever be her normal again. She's starting to come to terms with that.
She walks, taking deep and measured breaths, behind Cicadastar. She follows his footsteps. She followed him all the way here, out of camp, at his offer—that German lilt, soft and imploring, would she go on a walk with him? he had something to show her—and so his liebling follows close behind. Is she trusting, or is she just too afraid to refuse?
Spiderfall had taken her on "walks." And she'd learned well what happens to bad little kits who say no. She curls her toes and bites her cheek, forces herself not to cringe at the memory—phantom pain lancing up her flank, shoulders, face.
She's started to fall behind the man's long-legged gait, so the little apprentice bounds forward, autumn wind ruffling bright ginger fur. She hears a rumble in the distance, like thunder but—deeper? Closer? Different, anyway.
Ashpaw sticks close as she can, and whenever she gets too scared she takes deep, deep breaths.
Cicadastar won't...
He wouldn't.
She remembers three moons ago, staggering home from ThunderClan, how he'd caught her and held her, his wispy coat close and warm around her own. How she'd sagged against him and cried. "I've got you," he'd murmured.
Cicadastar loves her, Ashpaw tells herself. He wouldn't...
This won't be like that. This won't be like him.
Still her legs tremble, and she has to force herself to follow.
"Where..."
Her voice fails her, the word hardly audible, and she steels herself and tries again, speaking up.
"Where are we going?"
—— " i found gold in the wreckage "
- @CICADASTAR <333
-
- 6 month old orange tabby with green eyes
- apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
- happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
- very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
- "speech" -
- disclosed being physically and psychologically abused by Spiderfall, who was exiled & who then killed her best friend
- spent a couple months depressed
- returned to ic/ooc activify