- Jul 16, 2022
- 32
- 6
- 8
// CW: mentions of blood and death.
The morning's sunrays shine over Kindleheart - a sudden brightness that stirs him awake.
When he opens his eyes, he's not where he expects to be. He's not under the cover of the warrior den, not anywhere near it, even. Is he... Is he even in camp? Olive eyes blink in confusion as he looks around. The snow around him reflects sunlight, blinds him as he searches for a familiar landmark.
Snow. Why was there snow in the middle of new-leaf? So much of it, when it was warm just yesterday?
Kindleheart rises to his paws, and... his stature is small. Kit-like.
And he can't help but wander forward, to try to find his way back home. To his... mother. Yes, his mother. That's where he must go. Tiny paws step forward, dark eyes searching the area. His mother is nowhere to be found, and the day is silent with snow. And no matter how much he tries to call out for his mother, he is silent too.
Where, where? Where is she?
And, it's sudden, the shift in the snow's color. From white to crimson, so fast, so stark. He misses the shift as he walks, the white of his own fur now stained in red-hues. And his screams too are silent, as he stands before scarlet's source, as he stands before the unmoving form of brown and white fur. A similar pattern to his, yet so different. Broken open, giving way to the blood that washes over the snow, his paws.
Mother! Mother! He tries to shout. Again and again. But the snow's cover makes the world around him too silent.
He awakens with a jolt, sides heaving as he moves to lay upright. Kindleheart lifts his head, looking around. No longer are his surroundings white with snow, red with blood. No longer are his paws small. He is in his nest, in the warrior's den. In ThunderClan's camp.
A nightmare. It... it must have been. And yet, the image still shakes him to his core, still leaves him horrified. The image, he's seen before. For real, as a kit. His mother's death. She's been long gone, now, and yet, the scene still scares him as it did when he was still small, when death was an unknown concept to him. The memory still vivid, still bright in its red-hues.
Though the image seers itself into his memory and overwhelms his sleep-filled mind, Kindleheart knows he must rise. He must go on with his day. A nightmare wouldn't exempt him from his duties. He has patrols to go on, duties to complete. So, he stands and stretches, stepping out of the warrior den with a hollowed expression to his face.
Life goes on.
The morning's sunrays shine over Kindleheart - a sudden brightness that stirs him awake.
When he opens his eyes, he's not where he expects to be. He's not under the cover of the warrior den, not anywhere near it, even. Is he... Is he even in camp? Olive eyes blink in confusion as he looks around. The snow around him reflects sunlight, blinds him as he searches for a familiar landmark.
Snow. Why was there snow in the middle of new-leaf? So much of it, when it was warm just yesterday?
Kindleheart rises to his paws, and... his stature is small. Kit-like.
And he can't help but wander forward, to try to find his way back home. To his... mother. Yes, his mother. That's where he must go. Tiny paws step forward, dark eyes searching the area. His mother is nowhere to be found, and the day is silent with snow. And no matter how much he tries to call out for his mother, he is silent too.
Where, where? Where is she?
And, it's sudden, the shift in the snow's color. From white to crimson, so fast, so stark. He misses the shift as he walks, the white of his own fur now stained in red-hues. And his screams too are silent, as he stands before scarlet's source, as he stands before the unmoving form of brown and white fur. A similar pattern to his, yet so different. Broken open, giving way to the blood that washes over the snow, his paws.
Mother! Mother! He tries to shout. Again and again. But the snow's cover makes the world around him too silent.
──────────────────────────────────────────
He awakens with a jolt, sides heaving as he moves to lay upright. Kindleheart lifts his head, looking around. No longer are his surroundings white with snow, red with blood. No longer are his paws small. He is in his nest, in the warrior's den. In ThunderClan's camp.
A nightmare. It... it must have been. And yet, the image still shakes him to his core, still leaves him horrified. The image, he's seen before. For real, as a kit. His mother's death. She's been long gone, now, and yet, the scene still scares him as it did when he was still small, when death was an unknown concept to him. The memory still vivid, still bright in its red-hues.
Though the image seers itself into his memory and overwhelms his sleep-filled mind, Kindleheart knows he must rise. He must go on with his day. A nightmare wouldn't exempt him from his duties. He has patrols to go on, duties to complete. So, he stands and stretches, stepping out of the warrior den with a hollowed expression to his face.
Life goes on.