- Oct 17, 2022
- 489
- 85
- 28
MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————
This forest is full of ghosts.
Empty spaces where friends and enemies alike once stood; invisible pawprints in the sand following the steps of clanmates long gone; the persistent belief that this flash in the corner of your eye, this vaguely-familiar note in someone’s voice, will reveal itself to be more than a passing fancy, that turning around will see you face more than your own memory.
Snakeblink has lost more cats than he can count. Some tore their way out of this mortal coil with noise and fury, while others slipped away in the dark: their departure unremarkable, unintentional, denying the living the very thought of closure.
Cicadastar was one such death. One fraying lifeline not cut nor snapped but simply unraveled, with the clan left standing, looking around themselves, wondering: where is he? When will he return? Knowing full well he never will. The gap between Snakeblink’s ribs doesn’t even ache: unlike Smokestar, torn from them so abruptly and violently he left bloody claw marks in all their hearts, he feels as if he will always harbor the secret hope that Cicadastar will come back.
He won’t, of course. Not even he could cheat death in such a way. But sometimes, catching sight of his son from his periphery, Snakeblink could almost believe it.
It hasn’t entirely registered that their former leaders’ kits are fully-grown, not even with Lichenstar assigning them apprentices, not until he turns around and finds Cicadastar’s ghost looming behind him. Snakeblink startles badly enough that all his fur stands on end, though he hurriedly smoothes it back down. His eyes narrow, his ears pinning back slightly, pensive: scrutinizing his face for proof of dissemblance to dispel the strange, crawling sensation of seeing a dead cat walking. Did Cicadastar have bicolored eyes, the way Cicadaflight does? He does not think so, but cannot remember for sure. It has been long enough since they lost the former that the latter has started to replace him in his mind.
No: the golden eye is Smokestar’s, his other father shining out of his face. And it is not the only thing he has gotten from the tom.
”Oh— are you getting whiter?” The words escape him before he can think better of them. He dips lower, addressing the younger cats from a crouched, half-apologetic position. ”I believe you are— here, just a small spot.”
Empty spaces where friends and enemies alike once stood; invisible pawprints in the sand following the steps of clanmates long gone; the persistent belief that this flash in the corner of your eye, this vaguely-familiar note in someone’s voice, will reveal itself to be more than a passing fancy, that turning around will see you face more than your own memory.
Snakeblink has lost more cats than he can count. Some tore their way out of this mortal coil with noise and fury, while others slipped away in the dark: their departure unremarkable, unintentional, denying the living the very thought of closure.
Cicadastar was one such death. One fraying lifeline not cut nor snapped but simply unraveled, with the clan left standing, looking around themselves, wondering: where is he? When will he return? Knowing full well he never will. The gap between Snakeblink’s ribs doesn’t even ache: unlike Smokestar, torn from them so abruptly and violently he left bloody claw marks in all their hearts, he feels as if he will always harbor the secret hope that Cicadastar will come back.
He won’t, of course. Not even he could cheat death in such a way. But sometimes, catching sight of his son from his periphery, Snakeblink could almost believe it.
It hasn’t entirely registered that their former leaders’ kits are fully-grown, not even with Lichenstar assigning them apprentices, not until he turns around and finds Cicadastar’s ghost looming behind him. Snakeblink startles badly enough that all his fur stands on end, though he hurriedly smoothes it back down. His eyes narrow, his ears pinning back slightly, pensive: scrutinizing his face for proof of dissemblance to dispel the strange, crawling sensation of seeing a dead cat walking. Did Cicadastar have bicolored eyes, the way Cicadaflight does? He does not think so, but cannot remember for sure. It has been long enough since they lost the former that the latter has started to replace him in his mind.
No: the golden eye is Smokestar’s, his other father shining out of his face. And it is not the only thing he has gotten from the tom.
”Oh— are you getting whiter?” The words escape him before he can think better of them. He dips lower, addressing the younger cats from a crouched, half-apologetic position. ”I believe you are— here, just a small spot.”
——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely
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@CICADAFLIGHT
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— Snakeblink • he / him. 54 ☾, riverclan warrior
— a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
— gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo