- Sep 11, 2022
- 52
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➵ One single orange eye gazes up from the mass of bandaged black fur that is Smokethroat—piercing, blazing, sharp as ever.
Clearsight has waited for a quiet moment—those were difficult at first—always frantic paws moving, healing, racing and delivering. When they did not know if Smokethroat would make it, when the battle had ended and there was nothing left anymore to fight, they were restless; most restless of all those who'd seen him torn to pieces.
Now the chaos has settled. Smokethroat is stable. It seems Cicadastar has taken up residence among the injured and Clearsight can't blame him; stars, he remembers the weeks he spent here himself, how Clayfur and Gillpaw would hardly leave his side.
But he waited for a moment he'd find Smokethroat well and truly alone. He approaches now, dipping his head in respect for his lead warrior.
"Mind company?" the blue tabby asks, and should Smokethroat oblige he'll settle nearby.
I just wanted to check in, he might say to another clanmate, but Smokethroat is not another clanmate. "Mandatory bed rest," he says instead, commiserates; he gets it. The frustration. The itch in your paws. "Thrilling, isn't it?"
His golden gaze warms with amusement as he adds, "Seems Cicadastar's been doting on you, at least... it's nice to see, you know. He was—"
Wrecked. Devastated. Destroyed. He looked, Clearsight thinks, as though his world had ended and he was being forced to watch the ruins burn.
He clears his throat. Those are not his feelings to share.
"I'm sure you know he's taken this hard."
He pauses, breathes a moment.
How does he say this?
Clearsight has always been earnest, been open in a way that Smokethroat... is not. A way that Smokethroat can't engage with. So he bites off his words, he doesn't dig the way he sometimes does with other clanmates. He doesn't ask for more than the man will give.
But the next admission is one he can't bring himself to curb.
"We've all taken this hard," he says, soft and heavy. "You mean... so much to this clan. You are so loved, Smokethroat—fuck, if we had lost you—" Then what? What would they have done? He doesn't know how to finish that sentence and he doesn't want to. The WindClanners had torn into him, piled on without remorse and left him bleeding out and for a moment he remembers thinking they had lost him—Clearsight will not soon forget that image. He closes his eyes and carefully does not think of it. "—well. Thank StarClan we didn't."
@Smokethroat
& we've all got battle scars ✗