- Feb 9, 2023
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- 174
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Despite her role in the Clan, Cottonpaw does not visit the graveyard often. It is abundant, just as she imagines any Clan's dead-field would be, but in a manner she believes unlike the other Clans. She can decipher the graves of rebels and loyalists, just as she can remember that many on both sides were not given the grace of a proper burial. She had been there - she had cleaned Hummingbirdheart's body and stood tall over her burial. She's marked with feathers, some blown away, some burnt to a crisp. Yet Larkfeather's body is lost to the gorge, tossed away like rotten prey. All the same - her mother's body was left to rot beneath ashen ground with no distinction to mark her, and Icebreath's effective headstone stands tall. They are marked by a small regrowth of wildflowers. They are remembered.
She knew not the inner turmoil her former mentor faced. Her lips trembled whenever she spoke, but she broadened her shoulders and hardened her expression regardless. Their fur ruffled, their tail fluffed - but in the face of fear, of reprimand, Icebreath did not waver. She recalls watching the blue point follow through with Sootstar's demands, questions (if there were any) unspoken. She remembers perhaps countless nights the tunneler would spend in beside Firefang, and in her silence of watching her former mentor with her brother's, she waited for them to announce their relationship. Icebreath reveled in normalcy when everything was so terrible in the otherwise. Cottonpaw perceived that what they had then was exactly as Icebreath would've wanted it - as any of Sootstar's loyal cats would've wanted it.
Cottonpaw had wondered if her mentor would've supported her escape, but she did not ask. At the time, she feared the worst; the worst came in the form of her sister, but she cannot help but wonder if their lives would've been different if Icebreath found her instead. Would the other live, still, if she defected sooner? Or was their belated revelations written in the stars somewhere, unavoidable? In every timeline... are they cut down in their prime, their blood spilling before anyone of notice could find them? Were they always destined to follow bloodied paws and turn the last second, to see the blinding light of morning, and then close their eyes forevermore? Even as a sprouting medicine cat, Cottonpaw does not know.
Cottonpaw weeds the wildflower plumage that designates her former mentor's grave. She says oh-so little as she prunes out unsightly grass and a few dandelions for their collection at home. Ever the she-cat of a dozen mentors, she truly fears the demise of them all - and yet to be standing, unwavering, above the one who cradled her first... she doesn't know how to feel. Icebreath's existence in her life had been cut short far before the Clan split in two. The she-cat feared the world, feared leading her leader's child into unknown dangers - Cottonpaw was placed and replaced again, out of Icebreath's reach over and over, and the two of them never reconnected.
She wishes they did. Maybe then, this effort wouldn't feel so misplaced.
"I hope StarClan has accepted you kindly, Icebreath," Cottonpaw says, finally. She intends to spend the day cleaning up a few more graves, but she takes her break before that of Icebreath. Her prayers remain beneath her breath, and she hopes her first mentor hears them clearly. A solemn thank you, and an even quieter, you did well.
She knew not the inner turmoil her former mentor faced. Her lips trembled whenever she spoke, but she broadened her shoulders and hardened her expression regardless. Their fur ruffled, their tail fluffed - but in the face of fear, of reprimand, Icebreath did not waver. She recalls watching the blue point follow through with Sootstar's demands, questions (if there were any) unspoken. She remembers perhaps countless nights the tunneler would spend in beside Firefang, and in her silence of watching her former mentor with her brother's, she waited for them to announce their relationship. Icebreath reveled in normalcy when everything was so terrible in the otherwise. Cottonpaw perceived that what they had then was exactly as Icebreath would've wanted it - as any of Sootstar's loyal cats would've wanted it.
Cottonpaw had wondered if her mentor would've supported her escape, but she did not ask. At the time, she feared the worst; the worst came in the form of her sister, but she cannot help but wonder if their lives would've been different if Icebreath found her instead. Would the other live, still, if she defected sooner? Or was their belated revelations written in the stars somewhere, unavoidable? In every timeline... are they cut down in their prime, their blood spilling before anyone of notice could find them? Were they always destined to follow bloodied paws and turn the last second, to see the blinding light of morning, and then close their eyes forevermore? Even as a sprouting medicine cat, Cottonpaw does not know.
Cottonpaw weeds the wildflower plumage that designates her former mentor's grave. She says oh-so little as she prunes out unsightly grass and a few dandelions for their collection at home. Ever the she-cat of a dozen mentors, she truly fears the demise of them all - and yet to be standing, unwavering, above the one who cradled her first... she doesn't know how to feel. Icebreath's existence in her life had been cut short far before the Clan split in two. The she-cat feared the world, feared leading her leader's child into unknown dangers - Cottonpaw was placed and replaced again, out of Icebreath's reach over and over, and the two of them never reconnected.
She wishes they did. Maybe then, this effort wouldn't feel so misplaced.
"I hope StarClan has accepted you kindly, Icebreath," Cottonpaw says, finally. She intends to spend the day cleaning up a few more graves, but she takes her break before that of Icebreath. Her prayers remain beneath her breath, and she hopes her first mentor hears them clearly. A solemn thank you, and an even quieter, you did well.
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