- Jun 9, 2022
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crimson soaked earth ; phantom hauntings of a hunt gone wrong. still can hear her mother's fervent cries and prayers upon a despondent body — starclan don't take my daughter from me ! — as if she had any control over their celestial ancestors as coyotepaw remained in limbo. negotiating over a near corpse never fared well, and she shrugged off anyone who told her otherwise. her coyote will pull through, her coyote was stronger than a hundred mongrels that would dare to enter the forest, her spirit was still young — and by starclan, will she live again ! perhaps it was divine intervention or perhaps her mother's words finally rattled through her skull ( more likely the herbs finally brought her back out of her catatonia ) and so did the apprentice finally rise, shaky and wide-eyed and alive. smothered in shouts and surrounded by kin, it didn't take long for everyone to realize that the once hyper and warm kitten had turned into something more grisly, some unholy amalgamation of wildcat and cur. welcoming a viper into their nest, shed of this feline skin and becoming a wild-dog ; sometimes, in the back of her mind, her mother wonders if her daughter was better off among the stars. sometimes, coyotesnarl wonders the same.
from a vague recollection : she should've died. the only offering she gives to anyone who asks what happened between the coyotepaw from before to the coyotesnarl of now. a separation of spirits, one who died with the mongrel within the pines, another rising from this mystified grave where her blood once fed the grass. a wink of a half-lidded eye, she asks not to stare too long at someone who wrestled with death and won. yet she can't help but wonder if winning was truly a twist of fate or if she is delaying the inevitable ? decrypted and closer to starclan than even she, her old mentor treats her as an evil spirit still roaming this burial site — " you aren't the same coyote i once knew " — and she relishes this thought, as if she was once untethered and brought back by some covenant between the heavens and the earth ( " i ain't a lot o' things anymore " ). she knows the truth. within citrus hues of a morning long passed, she was weaving betwixt trees that touched the heavens and skirted past the words of her mentor to ' don't go where i can't hear you ' . yes he was elderly and perhaps a bit too old to keep up with her rambunctious spirit, but truly what trouble could she get into her own clan's territory ? her ignorance was repaid swiftly — never dismiss the words of the elder, and trust that nowhere is truly safe. this is where the memory becomes muddied : is she choosing to feign forgetfulness or does she still fear the forest ? hungry jaws takes her body and almost kills her were it not for her mentor following her shrieks of terror. when she falls back to the ground she can't focus on the blurred figures that rushes her to the medicine cat's den, she doesn't even notice that her hearing is distorted and her fur is missing. coyotepaw has bled enough for nearly a hundred lifetimes, coyotesnarl is determined never to bleed again.
summer's breath is excruciatingly hot, trembling trees sway to take refuge from a rogue wind. a ragged breath and her flesh begins to sing a cruel song, old wounds begin to breathe and enflame — she'll have to endure these rogue pains from sunrises before. she dares not growl a word of discomfort, instead she swallows down and continues on. she hears distantly of the apprentices shouting that they caught some meager winnings during this wild hunting party, a competition of who could catch the most lizards during dusk. the older warriors instead pile up their prizes in the middle to discuss who truly was the best hunter of these slithery devils. with a shaky sigh, she tosses another body into her own pile before speaking, ‶ so. i hate to be the bearer o' bad news, but someone oughta start countin' who won this lizard hunt. it's almost night an' surely someone lost badly. ″
from a vague recollection : she should've died. the only offering she gives to anyone who asks what happened between the coyotepaw from before to the coyotesnarl of now. a separation of spirits, one who died with the mongrel within the pines, another rising from this mystified grave where her blood once fed the grass. a wink of a half-lidded eye, she asks not to stare too long at someone who wrestled with death and won. yet she can't help but wonder if winning was truly a twist of fate or if she is delaying the inevitable ? decrypted and closer to starclan than even she, her old mentor treats her as an evil spirit still roaming this burial site — " you aren't the same coyote i once knew " — and she relishes this thought, as if she was once untethered and brought back by some covenant between the heavens and the earth ( " i ain't a lot o' things anymore " ). she knows the truth. within citrus hues of a morning long passed, she was weaving betwixt trees that touched the heavens and skirted past the words of her mentor to ' don't go where i can't hear you ' . yes he was elderly and perhaps a bit too old to keep up with her rambunctious spirit, but truly what trouble could she get into her own clan's territory ? her ignorance was repaid swiftly — never dismiss the words of the elder, and trust that nowhere is truly safe. this is where the memory becomes muddied : is she choosing to feign forgetfulness or does she still fear the forest ? hungry jaws takes her body and almost kills her were it not for her mentor following her shrieks of terror. when she falls back to the ground she can't focus on the blurred figures that rushes her to the medicine cat's den, she doesn't even notice that her hearing is distorted and her fur is missing. coyotepaw has bled enough for nearly a hundred lifetimes, coyotesnarl is determined never to bleed again.
summer's breath is excruciatingly hot, trembling trees sway to take refuge from a rogue wind. a ragged breath and her flesh begins to sing a cruel song, old wounds begin to breathe and enflame — she'll have to endure these rogue pains from sunrises before. she dares not growl a word of discomfort, instead she swallows down and continues on. she hears distantly of the apprentices shouting that they caught some meager winnings during this wild hunting party, a competition of who could catch the most lizards during dusk. the older warriors instead pile up their prizes in the middle to discuss who truly was the best hunter of these slithery devils. with a shaky sigh, she tosses another body into her own pile before speaking, ‶ so. i hate to be the bearer o' bad news, but someone oughta start countin' who won this lizard hunt. it's almost night an' surely someone lost badly. ″
