PROPHECIES | starlingheart

[FLINTWISH]

Flintpaw spends little time in the medicine den anymore. Of course, this was largely because he was an apprentice now– he had his own den to make a nest in; had his own responsibilities to attend to under Scalejaw's supervision. But there is another reason. The scent of herbs that had comforted him in his youth, that had clung to his pelt like burrs, that follows his mother as the ghosts do, was so unbearably smothering that he feared he would suffocate each time he stepped paw inside the mouth of the medicine den. He can no longer associate it with his family; with love. Each sniff of lungwort, each puff of mint, each scrap of horsetail on the breeze was enough to send him back to his sick-nest, fever-ridden and burning from the inside out. Even now, the scent alone seems to trigger a seizing in his lungs, something he cannot breathe through.

It's why he tries to meet Starlingheart away from the den instead of within it, even with stinging scratches in his shoulder that need to be inspected. Flintpaw approaches the mouth and stops there, gaze searing as it peers inside. No, he cannot bring himself to enter. He will just have to coax his mother out. "...Mom?" the apprentice calls, thin tail curling around white toes.

/ @STARLINGHEART

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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[Starlingheart]

If she knew of her sons aversion to her den then it is likely she would understand. His time spent bed-ridden while life passed him by, the feeling of siblings surpassing him while he slipped in and out of sleep and she fed herbs into his slack mouth, while she massaged his throat to make him swallow. She remembers her own stint in the medicine cats den, can look at the scar that had sent her here, but the difference between her and Flintpaw is that she never left.

She is dragging nests out of her den when her son finds her, taking the old bedding that reeks of sickness and doing away with it to make room for fresh nests of moss and pine. She is halfway through the task when she hears a familiar voice call to her, a voice she is unable to ignore. Soft green eyes focus on the figure standing just outside of her den and she is happy to abandon her task when she sees him. She sets the nest where it lays and goes to the entrance of her den. "Flintpaw what are- oh - are you hurt?" she asks, gaze filling with concern when she sees the scratches along his shoulder "Wait-wait here I'll go get something for that" she says and disappears back into the shadows of her den.

She moves quickly, and it is only a brief few seconds before she is back, a bundle of cobwebs marigold and goldenrod clutched in her jaws. "What happened?" she finds herself asking as she works, expert paws dressing the wound that to her trained eyes she can see are marks from a cats claws. Had they run into rogues on patrol today? Or perhaps Scalejaw had taken things too far during training, if that were the case she would have a talk with Chilledstar at once... her mind races with possibilities, all of which draw her features into a slight frown, eyebrows creased with worry.

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[FLINTWISH]

The nests smell like illness and Flintpaw struggles to keep himself tethered where his paws have laid. He hates the way the sick-scent makes his shoulder fur prickle; he hates the way he can hardly look at Starlingheart afterwards, coated as she was in the smell. Flintpaw swallows thickly, feels the spit trickle down, tries not to recall the way she'd coaxed poultices to do the same. She notices and greets him with a smile on her face, so warm that he almost feels guilty to turn her expression to concern at the sight of his shoulder.

"It's not so bad," Flintpaw assures, and she's half-right; the scratches aren't terribly deep, and there is hope that they might not even leave scars (or very thin ones at best), but they do still sting. The thought of telling Starlingheart who exactly had inflicted these wounds does not even cross her mind. Granitepelt had been trying to shape her into a strong warrior; one deserving of the cure that Starlingheart had expended on her. What right did Flintpaw have to make Granitepelt out to be evil, then? A mentor who batters his apprentices (and others')? He is not an evil cat– this, Flintpaw is sure of, even despite the confusing emotions the stone-pelted tom wrought from his vitrified child. So when Starlingheart asks who has cut through her child, Flintpaw pauses.

"There was a longe rogue at the border on patrol today," he lies, and an eel twists in the pit of his stomach. "Granitepelt and I chased him away. He was skinny; not a real threat." Granitepelt, not dad, not father. Flintpaw does not even realize his choice of words. He winces as the wound dressings seep into the shallow scratches; his dual-toned gaze falls to the old sick-nests that she is throwing out. Flintpaw's heart feels cold, small; like a diamond made under pressure. Though the smell of old yellowcough repulses him, he glances back to his mother as she works. Surely some time with her could ease the ache– and not just the kinds that marigold could cure. "Do you want help when you're done dressing them?"

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[Starlingheart]

The explanation of injury is one Starlingheart can believe. Why would Flintpaw lie to her? She had no reason to think she ever would, that any of her loved ones ever would really so she accepts the lie easily, thinking of how her mate was a good father to have kept their kit safe from rogues, a good warrior for chasing them out from the territory so bravely. His sharp tongue could not dull his loyalty, she is just glad the clan is finally seeing it and recognizing it by elevating him among the ranks, just like he has always wanted. Though she knows it had not been under the most ideal of situations.

She feels Flintpaw wince under her careful paws when the herbs touch the scratch marks carved into his pelt and she wishes she could take away the pain but it was only temporary, a brief sting in order to make everything better. "Before you-you know it you'll wind up as-as one of those warriors covered in battle scars" she teases gently, though the thought makes her sad in a small way. She wants her children to be safe, to grow up only knowing kindness and love. A different childhood than the one she had. And while she does her best to be that for them, she knows the rest of the world doesn't always follow suit. "No matter, I'll always be here to-to dress your wounds no matter how old and-and cool you get" she would always care. As long as she drew breath in her lungs her children would always have someone who loved them.

Flintpaw's mismatched gaze flickers to the bedding she had been in the middle of cleaning from her den and she wonders if he held any premonitions of his time here, if he was remembering the days passed in a haze, how she had had to coax food and water down his throat and how her muscles must have ached after lying dormant for so long and her own gaze softens. The burdens someone so young must carry... It is not anything she ever would have wished for her. Flintpaw offers help then and it is easy for her to nod, to smile at the offer. Any reason to spend more time with her children especially now when their lives left so little time to be spared. "Su-sure, if you'd like" perhaps dragging out her old nest and doing away with it would be cathartic for the gray-furred apprentice. "But if-if you ruin my dressing I'm not going to be happy so-so take it easy okay?" her tone is lightly teasing and she flicks him on the flank with the tip of her tail as she walks away, back towards her work, though the look she sends at the cobwebs on his shoulder implies it is only a partial joke.

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