- Jan 15, 2023
- 556
- 141
- 43
[ i don’t have any specific warnings except for canon-typical violence and blood, & this takes place soon after the escape attempt thread ]
Guilt has never sank its claws into her heart, never found any purchase when she knows that she does things for good reason. Sure, sorrow has darkened her nights many a time, and grief is good company—but guilt, heavy and unwelcome? She knows not of it. Especially not now, as she stands over her fallen kin.
Dappledsun—her Finnegan, her sweet boy, her only child—has been her pride and joy from the day that he first came into the world. She’d sheltered him, her beloved, kept him safe from harm and gave him a better kithood than her own. She’d invested so much into her darling boy.
And now, her son is gone. He may as well have never existed, for all Scorchstreak can bring herself to mourn. Dappledsun deserved none of what she offered to him on a platter of gold, deserves less than what he’s being given even now. Because traitors don’t deserve to be remembered, to be treated with dignity. She has half a mind to have one of the larger moor runners dump him into the gorge—they’ll be carrying him out of the territory, anyway.
For a moment, Scorchstreak dips her head, lifts a bloodstained paw to her chest. It is a sendoff, murmured words vicious in their intent. I hope you never know peace, bastard son of mine.
With one final sigh, she raises her head. There will be no tears of hers shed for a traitor. She tilts her face to the sun, allowing it to warm her as she stands. Perhaps she can still find a clanmate larger than herself to dump him into the gorge.
Guilt has never sank its claws into her heart, never found any purchase when she knows that she does things for good reason. Sure, sorrow has darkened her nights many a time, and grief is good company—but guilt, heavy and unwelcome? She knows not of it. Especially not now, as she stands over her fallen kin.
Dappledsun—her Finnegan, her sweet boy, her only child—has been her pride and joy from the day that he first came into the world. She’d sheltered him, her beloved, kept him safe from harm and gave him a better kithood than her own. She’d invested so much into her darling boy.
And now, her son is gone. He may as well have never existed, for all Scorchstreak can bring herself to mourn. Dappledsun deserved none of what she offered to him on a platter of gold, deserves less than what he’s being given even now. Because traitors don’t deserve to be remembered, to be treated with dignity. She has half a mind to have one of the larger moor runners dump him into the gorge—they’ll be carrying him out of the territory, anyway.
For a moment, Scorchstreak dips her head, lifts a bloodstained paw to her chest. It is a sendoff, murmured words vicious in their intent. I hope you never know peace, bastard son of mine.
With one final sigh, she raises her head. There will be no tears of hers shed for a traitor. She tilts her face to the sun, allowing it to warm her as she stands. Perhaps she can still find a clanmate larger than herself to dump him into the gorge.
[ MONSTROUS WOMAN ]