meow meow lullaby * blazestar

[wolfpaw!]

She's getting close to the end of her recovery. She can feel it, the way her forelimb no longer screams in protest at the slightest movement (though it feels strangely sore and tight beneath the cobwebbed bandage); the way her head no longer pounds at the slightest light; the way her side is only slightly sore as opposed to the spasming pain that had accosted her before. Wolfpaw is... excited, she thinks. She wants to go back to normal. She wants this bandage off her face; she wants the full scope of her vision back — but that's not going to happen, will it?

She has taken to sitting just outside of the mouth of the den (though she only does so when Dawnglare is not immediately around, as she suspects he doesn't approve of her departure from her healing nest) and separating the midribs of fern leaves from their many pinnae. The expression she wears is neither miserable nor pleased; rather, she looks... stony. Wide-eyed, mouth a tight, neutral line, tail curled neatly around multicolored paws. It's then that she sees Blazestar. Wolfpaw's ears prick. She could call out to him — should call out to him, she thinks, but her chest feels tight, and her jaws won't move. She'd failed her pop-pop's important mission, and though she knows he doesn't hold it against her, the feeling still hushes her into an urgent silence. Wolfpaw's single moonlight hue shines with words unspoken. Hi. I'm sorry. I love you. Maybe, if she could only get her tongue to move, she could even ask him about the rumors she's heard — after all, it sounds like her family might be expanding once again.

/ @BLAZESTAR

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐍 ☾ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

• 

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  — wolfpaw
  — she / they / he ; apprentice of skyclan
  — longhaired lilac torbie with piercing yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — avatar by tropics; signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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[BLAZESTAR]

The sight of Wolfpaw hunched just outside the medicine cat’s den, tendrils of pale fur dropping to the dust, is enough to cause Blazestar to stiffen in place. Once, the sight of his grandkits had filled him with immeasurable joy, and, though subdued, there’s still a spark of that flitting about his heart like a sunwarmed firefly. It battles the tide of shame that threatens to rise, taut and thick in his throat, a lump that sticks like a bit of fresh-kill that won’t go down. “Wolfpaw? You’re looking better,” he murmurs, forcing himself to move his paws one in front of the other.

After a hesitant heartbeat, he lays his cream-colored bulk beside her, concern creasing his weathered features. Things are strained—awkward—and he is all too used to the feeling. “I should have come to check on you before now. What you should know is that I’m sorry you and your littermates were hurt.” He frowns. Tears spike the corners of his deep blue eyes, though they do not fall. “I hope you know how much I love you, little one.” Now he tries for a smile—sad, but tender, even if it does not quite reach his gaze.

, ”​

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