- Jun 30, 2022
- 57
- 6
- 8
SO YOUNG, YET SO BROKEN
He couldn't breath. His heart was pounding in his chest, pumping rage into his veins as Cinderfrost- NO, Salamander's- words echoed through his head. How dare she. He had only been trying to help! Yes, he was an idiot that was bad at it, but how could she not see that him keeping an eye on her was for the best?
He could feel his claws slip out of their sheathes, dig into the earth, and kick up dirt as he sprinted farther and farther away from camp. Was he wrong? How could HE be the villain here? He wasn't the one who had stolen life and then sulked around as if expecting cats to pity him. Dewdrops face flashed in his mind then and the blue seal point had to skid to a stop to be sick.
He had planned to apologize, he had been dragging his paws but he had wanted too. He was waiting for his father to not be in camp, but then she never came back, she never came back. Leafshade felt his stomach heave once more, but there was nothing left but bile and so he stood there, panting and heaving as his lanky form shivered.
No. Salamander was the wrong one. She was the murder. And if she didn't want help then he would never offer or give it again. His claws dug once more into the ground to the point of it being painful and it was with horror that he realized that he was crying.
He couldn't be crying. His father would be disgusted by them, his mother would pity him. Tears were weak. Tears were useless. Tears were for kittens and cats who were pathetic and wrong and.....and...
Leafshade would grit his teeth as he tried to stop the tears from rolling down his muzzle. But he couldn't, he hadn't cried since kittenhood, and yet here he was. A warrior of Thunderclan, and he was crying because that cursed, fox-dung, mouse-brained, sorry excuse for a molly had dug into the one spot that actually hurt.
Dewdrop and his father. She had no right. She had no right. She was nothing to him. From this day forward, if Salamander ever asked him for anything again, he would ignore her existence even if it killed him. It did not occur to the tom that their spat had been public, that others had heard their words, especially the last ones she spat at him as he walked away. So he didn't hear the pawsteps behind him, too focused on trying to reel his emotions back in, trying to get back under control. He hated being out of control.
// @HOWLING WIND
He could feel his claws slip out of their sheathes, dig into the earth, and kick up dirt as he sprinted farther and farther away from camp. Was he wrong? How could HE be the villain here? He wasn't the one who had stolen life and then sulked around as if expecting cats to pity him. Dewdrops face flashed in his mind then and the blue seal point had to skid to a stop to be sick.
He had planned to apologize, he had been dragging his paws but he had wanted too. He was waiting for his father to not be in camp, but then she never came back, she never came back. Leafshade felt his stomach heave once more, but there was nothing left but bile and so he stood there, panting and heaving as his lanky form shivered.
No. Salamander was the wrong one. She was the murder. And if she didn't want help then he would never offer or give it again. His claws dug once more into the ground to the point of it being painful and it was with horror that he realized that he was crying.
He couldn't be crying. His father would be disgusted by them, his mother would pity him. Tears were weak. Tears were useless. Tears were for kittens and cats who were pathetic and wrong and.....and...
Leafshade would grit his teeth as he tried to stop the tears from rolling down his muzzle. But he couldn't, he hadn't cried since kittenhood, and yet here he was. A warrior of Thunderclan, and he was crying because that cursed, fox-dung, mouse-brained, sorry excuse for a molly had dug into the one spot that actually hurt.
Dewdrop and his father. She had no right. She had no right. She was nothing to him. From this day forward, if Salamander ever asked him for anything again, he would ignore her existence even if it killed him. It did not occur to the tom that their spat had been public, that others had heard their words, especially the last ones she spat at him as he walked away. So he didn't hear the pawsteps behind him, too focused on trying to reel his emotions back in, trying to get back under control. He hated being out of control.
// @HOWLING WIND