pull up the ladder when the flood comes ♕ forestshade

[Briarthorn]

BRIARPAW — hello, my old heart.
There is still a tremor that subtly nags at her paws, even after the patrol makes their safe return home.
The scene of Screechpaw disappearing behind a roaring sheet of metal with Sweetpaw on his heel has been put on reply in the back of Briarpaw’s mind. She still feels the terror from the split second where the youth thought they might have been caught under the monsters claws, but most of all the raven apprentice feels a simmering rage, rising over her previous anxiety.
Why had Screechpaw been so foolish to run out onto the Thunderpath like that? To force their blind brother to save his life? Where was her litter mates discipline- and would his lack of strike another tragedy in the future?
Heavy thoughts burden a young crown as she shoulders her way into camp, electric hazel hues periodically tracking crimson-scorched and ebony pelts as they spread out in camp, tending to their other duties.
Even after having a moment to decompress, Briarpaw cannot shake the feelings that spark fire along her spine and make her fur want to spike upwards.
When a brooding gaze flickers upwards to the sound of approaching paws, the sight of her mother cautiously approaching clicks it all into place. Slitted pupils fall to the lead warriors hesitant gait, as though she was unsure whether or not to approach her own daughter.
It stings, and suddenly Briarpaw wants nothing more than to make the older molly hurt. Just like she had, just like she was.
Whatever words Forestshade may have begun to say, they’d be cut off. Briarpaw’s tongue was a dagger, and she was ready to cut.
"Get away from me." Never one to raise her voice, Briarpaw’s words are a low and toxic drawl, dripping with her unexplained resentment.
She doesn’t want to see the expression her mother wears in reaction, but the apprentice forces herself to look upwards anyhow.
"Screechpaw and Sweetpaw could have died, and it’d be all your fault." The child spits, the rasp forming deep in her chest making her sound all too grown.
"Why would I want you here now, after I’ve already managed the mess you’ve made?" A small part of her tells her to shut up, the part that still toddled on the heels of Forestshade, begging her to stay in camp with them for just a little longer. The bigger, more powerful part of herself pushes Briarpaw forward, urging her to find the courage to call her mother out for the same situation she was shoulder with time and time again.
Moving from her sitting position to a tense stand, Briarpaw chooses to be brave, to present herself to Forestshade without the quiet compliance she had clung to for so long.
"speech"
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♕ —

• @FORESTSHADE

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[FORESTSHADE]

The rage coming off her daughter in waves is tangible, so thick in the air even a blind cat can sense it. Although she gets the feeling Briarpaw's anger isn't towards Screechpaw. A frown pulls at her lips, her paws hesitant as she pushes into camp and idles for a moment. Finally, she makes the decision to slowly approach, unsure of just what she'll be walking into. But it's her daughter - she has to try to talk to her and figure out what's going on.

"Briarpa-" She begins, but her jaws are left open and silent when she is swiftly interrupted by her stubborn child. She lifts her chin in surprise, but listens. For once, Forestshade is not the blunt knife that pierces, unwanted, into others' words. She is remarkably silent as Briarpaw accuses her to be at fault had either of her other kits been killed. She shows little reaction except for her frown only deepening, blind eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the blame. "My fault?" She repeats when her daughter is finished talking, her thick tail lashing in agitation. She wouldn't say it out loud, but the accusation hurts like hell. Her heart stings to hear the biting tone in Briarpaw's voice, but as usual, she does not let herself appear vulnerable. She huffs and continues, "You don't know what you're talking about, kid. I'm not Screechpaw's mentor; it's not my job to follow him around all day to make sure he stays out of trouble. Accidents happen all the time. What do you want me to do?"​

 

[Briarthorn]

BRIARPAW — hello, my old heart.
You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.
Sinking teeth threaten to pierce her tongue against the emotion that rises in her throat, and narrow hazel optics become squinted for a heartbeat. With each word that Forestshade spoke, Briarpaw began to feel smaller and smaller, a kit whining at her mother about the frivolous unfairness of something juvenile.
What do you want me to do?
"You’re his mother, you’re my mother! Do you think that simply goes away because we have teachers? No, you know what-" Before she can let herself think, the girl snaps, taking a step forward. She was almost Forestshades height now, Briarpaw wasn’t small.
"You had one job- to be there- and you failed, long before we left the nursery." Spitting the word out as though it was dirt on her tastebuds, a blend of disappointment and disgust pinches at thorny features. "You can’t shrug off your responsibility anymore, mom." A touch of her desperation escapes, spilling out into her tone and dragging Briarpaws voice down, clawing its way and tearing into her waterline.
"I’m done carrying it." A forepaw lifts, wiping the barely-formed tears away. This was humiliating.
Still, the ebony adolescent refuses to walk away, this was in Forestshades court now.
So, silently she stays rooted to her spot, praying that Forestshade would give her the acknowledgment to prove what she had clung to all along- that her patchwork mother was a good parent, that she just needed a reality check.

"speech"
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•  

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[FORESTSHADE]

Her daughter's words are thistles in Forestshade's heart. Her ears fold back at the accusations, at hearing she'd failed at being there and being a mother. I did what was right! I let you all choose your own destiny, pave your own future! But she doesn't speak it, silently letting Briarpaw's words rain down on her. Her eyes continue to narrow into slits as they stare blindly at the ground between them. "That's not-" She shakes her head, not finishing her sentence.

After several moments, she sighs and mews, "Everything I did, I did for you. Now look how independent you've grown up to be. Imagine if I'd coddled you instead!" She tries to argue, her tail continuing to lash at her heels. "You act as if I'd slept in the warrior's den and never groomed you. I was still your mother. I still am." She's making excuses, and deep down, she knows it. But her pride will not let her be questioned, not by the one she thought she'd done so right by, and so she stubbornly stands firm.​

 

[Briarthorn]

BRIARPAW — hello, my old heart.
The last rising sliver of optimism is promptly squandered, where Forestshade falters Briarpaw cautiously perks, only for ebony ears to flatten once more when the torbie warrior doubles down.
Look at how independent you’ve grown up to be.
Briarpaw feels stricken, almost recoiling in her disbelief. She wants to push Forestshade, to grab the blind warrior by her shoulder blades and shake her.
Can’t you care? Can’t you be here for me?
"No! You were the poor, proud warrior who got stuck in the nursery. That’s who you were, who you’ve always acted as. It was me protecting Sweetpaw, it was me correcting Screechpaw." Her voice is rising, cracking under her demand to be understood.
"I warned you, remember? I warned you covering for Screechpaw wouldn’t last forever, and it won’t- not when he’s running across the damned Thunderpath because he thinks he can get away with everything! That is on you, Forestshade." Her spine dances with fire, and Briarpaw feels as though she is losing control over her emotions, her composure too fragile to uphold. Why is she doing this to me? Her mind screams.
There is a pause, leaving a simmering Briarpaw grasping for straws.
"Who is he?" Her mind veers the conversation on its side.
"Our father. I want to know. He has to know we exist, right? Maybe he’ll listen, hear what you’re too… too spineless to handle." Make her hurt. Be mean. Make it sting. The devil on her shoulder eggs her on, but the child’s own words are making her feel nauseated.
There is no going back from this, she vowed to both herself and to Forestshade. The apprentice would hold onto this moment for the rest of her life. She would.

"speech"
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•  

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[FORESTSHADE]

She flinches back; repeatedly, she has not expected the tone her daughter gives her, but it keeps coming. Ears flattened, her eyes widen slightly as she listens to the accusations. That's not how she acted! Is it? She thinks back, remembers the days of kits that stuck their noses into thorns, and she let them - for their own good! After that, they'd never touched thorns again. She thinks of Screechpaw sneaking out of camp again and again, and like a good mother she'd defended him and hidden his rulebreaks. It had always been for his own good; it would not serve anyone to have him punished or held back.

And it led to an undisciplined troublemaker of a tom, apparently. She frowned, but said nothing. Not until Briarpaw asks that dreaded question. She wants to point her muzzle right at her, wants to slap an incredulous expression on her face and ask 'how dare you?' But she's awfully good at looking neutral, awful good at giving nothing away. She narrows her eyes, which are still pointed at the ground, and shrugs her shoulders, "That doesn't matter, Briarpaw." It's said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. But she can never know; none of them can ever know their father hadn't even been a ShadowClan warrior. He is a long-dead medicine cat of the clan that her clanmates despise most. And if that ever came out...nevermind forgiving her - her kits would never be able to look at themselves the same way again. Half-blood, others may call them. But she supposes she can give her something..."He's not around, and that's all you need to know."​

 

[Briarthorn]

BRIARPAW — hello, my old heart.
In the short lull between her words, Briarpaw feels her frustration begin to spiral as Forestshade doesn’t bother to intercept, or even really react- spare for flinching back as though Briarpaw was striking her.
Admittedly, the raven-furred apprentice supposed she was, but the confusion and shock that radiated from the warrior was enough to draw bile up the girls throat.
Until- until, until the apprentice seems to finally rouse something within Forestshade. Perceptive eyes watch as her mother’s expression contorts for a fleeting moment, how the arch of ivy pools flattens.
Still, much like the entirety of this conversation, her mother’s reply is empty. There is nothing to be found here.
Yet, Briarpaw cannot help the urge to push on this newfound spot she has discovered, unexplored territory.
"It’s my right to know. Tell me something- do anything but just stare at the ground." Briarpaw demands petulantly, tail lashing.
The emotions are overwhelming, a fire sparked that she cannot control, and Briarpaw is pushing her face forward, standing a whisker-length from her poker-faced idol with gritted teeth.
For a heartbeat Briarpaw doesn’t know what to say, her pleas for reception have been all used up, and she knows now there is nothing more she can do. "Everything I am and will be is because of me, and me alone. You’ve made sure of that."

"speech"
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•  

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[FORESTSHADE]

Her daughter's next words bring a small scowl to her face. "I'm not staring anywhere, Briarpaw. And it's not your right to know. I did just fine by myself without him!" She growls, the tips of her fangs revealed in a rare show of frustration. A nerve has been touched, and she feels it. Hot, and raw, and vulnerable. Other words die on her tongue, words that can never be spoken. It will ruin you if you know. But she'd never call it a mistake. Not when it gave her her kits. But it is a secret she plans to take to her grave.

Everything I am and will be is because of me, and me alone. You've made sure of that.

A huff leaves her, her shoulders slumping and her ears falling. She won't keep doing this. Bull-headed as always, she gets to her paws to leave, her tail lashing irritably. "Good. Then I did my job," She replies coolly before turning and walking away. Her daughter grew up to be everything she'd wanted her to become. She is bright, and independent, and assertive, and hard-working. Briarpaw is exactly right; she did make sure of that, on purpose. So why did it sting so much to hear it that way?

// WAHHHHHHH​

 

[Briarthorn]

BRIARPAW — hello, my old heart.

Good. Then I did my job.
Like water spilling over smooth stone, the words trickle from her mothers maw with a cool causality, a definitive conclusion, and Briarpaw knows the warrior is finished talking with her.
Forestshade had not stooped to her level, had not thrown the apprentice’s attitude right back at her in any insult.
So, why did something feel as though it had been shattered in the wake of her mothers departure?
Then I did my job. The last sentence repeats in her brain, cooed in a softer tone than it had been spoken in reality.
It all suddenly seemed so meaningless, and Briarpaw felt like a brat. A child stomping her foot when she hadn’t gotten her way.
Forestshade hadn’t been cruel, she hadn’t even cuffed the ebony apprentice over large ears.
So… so why did her walking away prompt reluctant tears to spring at the apprentices waterline?

"speech"
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•  

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