- Dec 12, 2022
- 145
- 37
- 28
She still can't shake the look. The scent of forest and pine and how much it meant to her mother. And at a young age, Stormpaw was beginning to understand that her mother never belonged in the nursery. That look was what sealed it. And Stormpaw, only a measly four months, understood it immediately.
She thought of her brother—strong, brave. She thought of her father, just as strong and brave. She did not know it then, because she was a silly thing chasing snowflake at her mother's paws, what her father's ascension to deputy meant. It meant her mother did not get it, and Stormpaw woke up that morning with the thought flaming through her brain.
It was because of me, wasn't it?
Stormpaw held her head up and she cast her gaze elsewhere. To her surprise, a butterfly wing was laying there, half stuck-up in some partial snow. She leaped over for it. Pretty thing! She wanted it! She needed it! The torbico bounced forward crouched down in front of it. She reached out with both paws to gather it, eyes gleaming and heart racing.
A gasp and then, a shuddering, stopping motion of the heart.
The butterfly wing had crumbled in her grasp, delicate, brittle fibers ripping apart under her paws, soft as they were.
Stormpaw blinked and quietly folded a muddy patch of snow over the broken thing, leaving it there as she scurried off for patrol.
She thought of her brother—strong, brave. She thought of her father, just as strong and brave. She did not know it then, because she was a silly thing chasing snowflake at her mother's paws, what her father's ascension to deputy meant. It meant her mother did not get it, and Stormpaw woke up that morning with the thought flaming through her brain.
It was because of me, wasn't it?
Stormpaw held her head up and she cast her gaze elsewhere. To her surprise, a butterfly wing was laying there, half stuck-up in some partial snow. She leaped over for it. Pretty thing! She wanted it! She needed it! The torbico bounced forward crouched down in front of it. She reached out with both paws to gather it, eyes gleaming and heart racing.
A gasp and then, a shuddering, stopping motion of the heart.
The butterfly wing had crumbled in her grasp, delicate, brittle fibers ripping apart under her paws, soft as they were.
Stormpaw blinked and quietly folded a muddy patch of snow over the broken thing, leaving it there as she scurried off for patrol.