- Oct 17, 2022
- 458
- 78
- 28
MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————
Frogpaw dies like one might slip out of camp in the dead of night — quietly, without warning, without fuss or clamor, almost concerned over disturbing others’ rest. One moment he is alive; then he is feverish; and then he is gone.
One of the few, soon to be more, to meet such a fate in Riverclan, despite Ravensong’s studious mitigation efforts.
Not being family, Snakeblink did not attend to the apprentice in his last moments. Such stressful privilege was better left to the parents and siblings already mourning the young tom. He dared not ask for fear of being refused; he hopes his cowardly restraint alleviated some of Ravensong’s burden, at least. No, for an absentee mentor the vigil will be enough, even if the plague that took the young cat from them also robs them of a body to mourn through the night. He thinks about Flutterpaw — about Lakemoon, now gone on a journey to save them all.
How did she feel, losing her apprentice to the same scourge, sitting vigil for an absence? It seemed to steel her resolve, but Snakeblink doesn’t feel more resolute. Only more tired.
He stares at the bare ground, the circle of flowers and useless weeds that stand in lieu of Frogpaw’s remains, and studiously keeps his mind off the memory of other griefs. (It took nearly a full moon for his mother to waste away from her own illness; yellowcough is as merciful as it is implacable in its quickness.)
”It’s curious — the scattered petals do look somewhat like a cat’s silhouette,” he notes inanely, hating the words as he says them, hating the silence more.
He wishes he had stories about the apprentice to tell instead, but he exhausted his shallow memories before the moon was properly high in the sky. Now all he has left are anxious thoughts about the losses they must still weather, and half a hope that the others sitting vigil will find some kinder anecdotes to usher Frogpaw’s spirit along.
One of the few, soon to be more, to meet such a fate in Riverclan, despite Ravensong’s studious mitigation efforts.
Not being family, Snakeblink did not attend to the apprentice in his last moments. Such stressful privilege was better left to the parents and siblings already mourning the young tom. He dared not ask for fear of being refused; he hopes his cowardly restraint alleviated some of Ravensong’s burden, at least. No, for an absentee mentor the vigil will be enough, even if the plague that took the young cat from them also robs them of a body to mourn through the night. He thinks about Flutterpaw — about Lakemoon, now gone on a journey to save them all.
How did she feel, losing her apprentice to the same scourge, sitting vigil for an absence? It seemed to steel her resolve, but Snakeblink doesn’t feel more resolute. Only more tired.
He stares at the bare ground, the circle of flowers and useless weeds that stand in lieu of Frogpaw’s remains, and studiously keeps his mind off the memory of other griefs. (It took nearly a full moon for his mother to waste away from her own illness; yellowcough is as merciful as it is implacable in its quickness.)
”It’s curious — the scattered petals do look somewhat like a cat’s silhouette,” he notes inanely, hating the words as he says them, hating the silence more.
He wishes he had stories about the apprentice to tell instead, but he exhausted his shallow memories before the moon was properly high in the sky. Now all he has left are anxious thoughts about the losses they must still weather, and half a hope that the others sitting vigil will find some kinder anecdotes to usher Frogpaw’s spirit along.
——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely
