THE KILLING MOON | ashenpaw

[FLINTWISH]

There's rarely a dull moment in ShadowClan, it seems. First there had been the onset of illness, quiet and creeping until it wasn't; until it gripped him– all of his clanmates, really –by the throat and pierced, slowly bleeding him out. He'd nearly died. He often thinks about this, especially when phlegm coats the back of his throat in too thick a carpet, or he wakes up warmer than usual, or he gets a waft of the remaining sprites of illness still housed in their medicine den. He often thinks about this when terror grips him that he might be put through it all again. But even after he'd recovered, there had been rogues, and strangers in camp, and then after the rogues there had been the distinct absence of Halfshade's little terrors. Compared to all of that, the excess of cobwebs in camp truly is dull– but he can't help but feel tense with Ashenpaw at his side, assigned to help clean up the mess with him.

Flintpaw is keenly aware of the mess that Starlingheart had made when she'd offered her the cure. He is keenly aware of the way that he is here and Halfshade isn't. Now the kits she'd died to have are missing, and though she does not recall the warmest reception from their older siblings, she doesn't imagine that any of them are exactly happy about it. So he tries to keep to himself, tight-lipped and diligent, picking cobwebs out of the entrance of the elder's den. Unfortunately he disturbs their peace quickly (he was always meant to do that, wasn't he?) when he accidentally bumps into Ashenpaw's side. The proud son of Granitepelt rarely offered apologies, but today he finds himself in a different circumstance. "Sorry," she mumbles, shrinking from the touch as if afraid to pass disease.

/ @ASHENPAW !! i made it into a prompt also >:- )

lately it seems the spiders have been a little too enthusiastic in their web making and have covered most of the camp in them! while the medicine cats will enjoy having the extra cobweb, they are not fun to get out of fur!

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me
  — penned by meghan

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[ASHENFALL]

˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 It didn't seem fair that the dull humdrum of life moved on the same as it always had. Everything in life ruined itself over and over and over again and yet here he was, pawing up dusty cobwebs littering the camp like it was the only thing that mattered. Doubly upsetting was the fact that he was sequestered with his own thoughts with only the company of perhaps the one cat he could not stand to be around the most in the clan. Or second-most, he had not yet decided whether he hated sickly Flintpaw or his spinelessly murderous mother more.

It seemed that the apprentice had caught on to his being an unwelcome presence, and Ashenpaw was—not happy—tolerant of the bristling silence that stretched between the two of them. He gritted his teeth and carelessly swept up the webs, mostly wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. That was until he was shoved by the little medicine-stealer himself. Flintpaw mumbles a halfhearted apology and shrinks away like Ashenpaw was covered in frog-skin and he is left to stare at the blue-furred rodent with incredulity. The cold, excitable thing flips where it resides in his chest and rushes upwards toward his mouth.

"No..." he says, deceptively soft, "No, I don't think you are sorry..." Ashenpaw turns to really look at her for the first time that day.

"You wanna know what I think..?" His eyes glint giddily at the opportunity to share some of the venom he had stored up for them, "I think it's weird how you walk around camp as if there's anything for you to be proud of. Your mother's a disgrace of medicine cat and your father's a nobody with a shitty personality. So what does that make you..? Nothing but a waste of herbs."

He leaned back, watching his face for his reaction before adding flippantly, "That's just my opinion, though."

FOLLOW THE TIDE ˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 WITH THE MONSTERS ON YOUR SHOULDER

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 7mo apprentice of shadowclan
  — longhaired muted blue torbie with heterochromatic pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells like rainsoaked ferns and swamp milkweed
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — fullbody by tropics sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  — currently in an era of grief and anger, approach with caution. all ic opinions!

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[FLINTWISH]

Flintpaw didn't expect Ashenpaw to be happy about her bumping into him, but what she expected even less than that was a tirade of such grand proportion for such an insignificant crime. But Ashenpaw's dirge is not about the simple brushing of shoulders; the ungraceful contact from her body to his. It's about the day Starlingheart had pushed two doses of lungwort down his throat when he wasn't strong enough to swallow it himself. It's about Halfshade, so weakened by illness that she'd failed to survive a surprise birth; it's about Dreamkit, destined for failure, unable to intake a single breath before dispersing to the stars.

Still, Ashenpaw pierces him with some vitriolic glee; stuffs words down his throat to choke on. They're bitter like herbs. In the gaps of Ashenpaw's tirade, Flintpaw tries to get a word in of his own — a soft hey here or there, just to try and stem the bleeding tongue — but it's no use. The other apprentice keeps lashing, speaking ill of him and his family, and it's all he can do to just stand there, the fur along his spine bristling into a shale-blue mountain ridge.

That's just my opinion, though. Flintpaw's jaw is clenched tightly, the pearls of teeth threatening to crack against one another. There is a beehive in his skull; the teeth buzz, the mind is static rage and guilt alike. Shame rasps its tongue over him, familiar and maternal, and he is so used to it that he doesn't realize it is still shame speaking when he finally arms himself with a defense: "Don't you know how awful I feel?"

She tries not to quiver as she speaks it, but the tsunami of feeling sweeps her away. Where before she spoke in a low snake's rattle, she now shouts with all the force of hurricane gales. "I never wanted Halfshade to die!" Mismatched eyes find the other's, beseeching him to understand her. "I feel so awful about it that it makes me sick! I see her every time I close my eyes!"

( cw: suicidal ideation ) For a moment, she wishes Starlingheart had never saved her. If it had meant that he would never have to endure the corpse-laden weight of this guilt, he would have much rather died and gone to StarClan with Poppypaw and Pitchstar to guide him. He'd never have to endure the guilt, or the attacks on his family (Granitepelt is dour, but he's a lead warrior! Starlingheart made a mistake, but she's an excellent medicine cat!) or the knife-tipped glares or anything else ever again.

All of that guilt finally rises in his throat, black bile. For as much as he hates being the target of Ashenpaw's (of ShadowClan's) ire, he equally hates trying to justify himself to the other apprentice. It makes him angry. It makes him tired. It makes him sad, sad, sad, just like always. Flintpaw's ears flatten to her skull. What could she even say to make Ashenpaw think she was worthy of anything more than hate, while still keeping some semblance of dignity intact? She can't think of anything, after all.

Flintpaw settles on trying to dissolve the tension. "I am sorry. Just... believe me." She feels like she's lost, somehow, giving up so easily.

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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[ASHENFALL]

˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 Flintpaw is correct, he does find himself filled with a manic bliss one could only experience in the heart-pounding heat of shoving someone's face into a stored pool of venom. He's fizzing at the opportunity to do so, actually, if only for a moment.

She bristles like a hedgehog, defensive little prickles fluffed out along the ridge of her spine, and it is through clenched teeth that she defends herself, imploring him to think about how bad she feels. He didn't know what he expected the other to say, his shortsighted goal was simply to wedge a thorn in their paw when he was given the opportunity to. Ashenpaw scoffs at it, what did they care about the lives they stole with their kitten-weakness? He screams at how awful he feels about it, how he never wanted Halfshade to die, how he sees her every time he closes his eyes. Did they think they were unique in this? Acid burned through his throat, choking him and threatening to spill forth from his eyes. But he was cowed somewhat by this admission. Ashenpaw expected the twerp to flatly deny their part in the murder. Their cries over being haunted twisted into his stomach, but amongst the bitter flavors on his tongue over this was satisfaction.

There was almost a camaraderie in it, knowing that Flintpaw was nearly as miserable as he was. Of course, the medicine cat's child had faced no real loss in Halfshade dying, he doubted he could even list three facts about her. She was a stranger to him. But there was something to revel in watching her plead with him to understand her pain. Was this justice?

The cold, slime-ridden thing inside him retreated back into its hiding space, leaving him only with the numbing static hum of exhaustion to fill his head once more. The bubble of fizzing vitriol popped, and it was rapidly becoming less fun to take swipes at Flintpaw as each moment passed. In a skin-crawling display of sincerity, the kid apologizes and implores him to believe it. Ashenpaw meets Flintpaw's gaze of flashing misery with his own dulled blue and amber, allowing a puddle of silence to pool for another moment before mumbling, "You should be sorry..."

He thought of the path to Halfshade and Dreamkit's graves, the path he could walk with his eyes closed because he traversed it every day since they'd been buried, and then the empty space in his head in the place where his last goodbyes should have resided. He thought about speaking at the gravesite, and how they would never say anything back to him. He thought of the hundreds of missed opportunities cast in shadows, filled with training and chores and bellyaching about nothing that mattered. You should be sorry. He thought, You must be sorry. You can't bring her back, so instead, you need to be sorry.

"Shadowclan's full of liars, you know... they'll lie to placate you, tell you it wasn't anybody's fault." Ashenpaw spoke again, to his own surprise. He didn't know why this spirit of generosity overcame him suddenly (maybe it was his moral conscience possessing his tongue, that shithead), "I won't lie to you, though... You. Took my mother from me. And I will not forgive you for it." There was a finality to his words, an implicit You can't say anything to make me forgive you, so don't bother trying. Ashenpaw didn't care what anyone said about being the bigger cat, his hatred belonged to himself, and his pain was his alone. He would decide what he did with it.

I'm not crazy for wanting someone to be sorry for what happened.

FOLLOW THE TIDE ˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 WITH THE MONSTERS ON YOUR SHOULDER

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 8mo apprentice of shadowclan
  — longhaired muted blue torbie with heterochromatic pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells like rainsoaked ferns and swamp milkweed
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — icon by nya fullbody by tropics sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  — currently in an era of grief and anger, approach with caution. all ic opinions!

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