ROEFLAME — break the air to feel the fall.
While it had been disappointing not to be selected for the gathering this time, Roeflame found both contentment and distraction by guarding the outside of camp, brought to a gentle lull by the sound of the nights rustles.
By the time the gathering patrol is returning, Roeflame is ready for bed.
Though, not before finding out if Snowpaw had gotten his warrior name or not.
"Hey! How’d-"
The question dies on her tongue.
”It’s actually kinda sad… I really liked Daisyflight, but to lose Snowpaw, or Snowpath, too? It’s… I dunno. It’s eerie.”
Roeflame blinks, she must have misheard.
"Wait, what do you mean?" She’s quick to catch the gossiping clanmate, brow furrowed.
”Oh. Daisyflight and Snowpath in Skyclan passed this last moon, also Shadowclan-“
Roeflame isn’t listening, her ears tuned out, her brain malfunctioning.
Snowpath. He had gotten it, just as she knew he would’ve. He was Snowpath and he was dead.
Roeflame stumbles away from the stream of returning warriors then, her mind too busy collapsing in on itself to care what her clanmates would think.
Her sprint to Skyclans border is much too quick. She knows he wouldn’t be there, even if he wasn’t with the stars, she had never given them a time to meet.
She just about skids across the forsaken line that had kept them apart, instead she is hunched over it as her shoulders rack against her panting.
She had never given them a time to meet. She had never told him.
With her head downturned, something falls from her head, come undone from its twine in her rush.
The twig, shaped peculiarly like an antler. She stares at it for a minute before her pants become sobs.
She had never told him how she felt, she’d never get the chance to embrace him again.
How? How did he do this to her… how was he able to bring on so much grief it made her physically sick?
Her legs give out, and she crumples on that border, twig held close to her muzzle as it became saturated it with tears.
"Come back, Frosty. Please… please… please…" Her words are to the stars, though she refuses to look at them.
"I’m not ready to let you go." She would’ve had to eventually, no matter what. Yet, never did she think it’d be like this.
"I’m not ready."
"speech"
While it had been disappointing not to be selected for the gathering this time, Roeflame found both contentment and distraction by guarding the outside of camp, brought to a gentle lull by the sound of the nights rustles.
By the time the gathering patrol is returning, Roeflame is ready for bed.
Though, not before finding out if Snowpaw had gotten his warrior name or not.
"Hey! How’d-"
The question dies on her tongue.
”It’s actually kinda sad… I really liked Daisyflight, but to lose Snowpaw, or Snowpath, too? It’s… I dunno. It’s eerie.”
Roeflame blinks, she must have misheard.
"Wait, what do you mean?" She’s quick to catch the gossiping clanmate, brow furrowed.
”Oh. Daisyflight and Snowpath in Skyclan passed this last moon, also Shadowclan-“
Roeflame isn’t listening, her ears tuned out, her brain malfunctioning.
Snowpath. He had gotten it, just as she knew he would’ve. He was Snowpath and he was dead.
Roeflame stumbles away from the stream of returning warriors then, her mind too busy collapsing in on itself to care what her clanmates would think.
Her sprint to Skyclans border is much too quick. She knows he wouldn’t be there, even if he wasn’t with the stars, she had never given them a time to meet.
She just about skids across the forsaken line that had kept them apart, instead she is hunched over it as her shoulders rack against her panting.
She had never given them a time to meet. She had never told him.
With her head downturned, something falls from her head, come undone from its twine in her rush.
The twig, shaped peculiarly like an antler. She stares at it for a minute before her pants become sobs.
She had never told him how she felt, she’d never get the chance to embrace him again.
How? How did he do this to her… how was he able to bring on so much grief it made her physically sick?
Her legs give out, and she crumples on that border, twig held close to her muzzle as it became saturated it with tears.
"Come back, Frosty. Please… please… please…" Her words are to the stars, though she refuses to look at them.
"I’m not ready to let you go." She would’ve had to eventually, no matter what. Yet, never did she think it’d be like this.
"I’m not ready."
"speech"
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