- May 5, 2023
- 541
- 228
- 43
A red ribbon.
It rests innocuously on the ground of the Sandy Ravine—the dry grit is damp with days of rain, making grains cling to the brilliant fabric. She is preoccupied with lecturing @cloudypaw~ on what to expect from the morning's training session. The horizon is fresh and lovely with dawn, and her eye is directed at the pleasant rosiness of the sky rather than the ground underpaw. The day is pleasant and the (for once) clear sky full of promise, reflected back in the bright green eyes of her apprentice as they both look forward to a good day of sparring.
Perhaps that's why she doesn't notice it until she's on top of it, quite literally. Silky velvet slides underpaw, so different from the damp, pine-littered ground that she stops and glances down, lifting her paw with a look of absent curiosity. Oh. How pretty, is her first thought as she shakes the clinging fabric from her forepaw, ready to dismiss it and move onwards. Lost by a daylight warrior, perhaps, and maybe she should take it back to camp with her when they're done ...
She used to love red ribbons. Adored them, in fact. Her Twoleg would loop them loosely about her neck as a change of pace, or weave them into the thickness of her pelt. They're one thing she was sad she couldn't take with her when she left, and she'd been surprised he hadn't let her. He loved giving them to her as much as she loved them, or so she'd thought; she'd never asked where he produced them from, just accept it gratefully and tuck it into the softness of her bedding or wordlessly beg her Twoleg to lace it around her foreleg or tail.
Her swallow bobs thickly in her throat and she can feel the fur along her neck prickling. Don't be stupid, she thinks, wishing she could step out of her body and give herself a good hard shake, it's not ... But she can't help the way she inhales shallowly on instinct and glances around. Acrid smoke, bitter tang. Familiarity is forceful on her tongue and now her whole body is bristling, lilac fur going wild with panic. It's almost expectant, the way she glances at the scuffed ground, and it is with not surprise but horror that she recognizes the pawprints there. Dug in deep, six toe-prints fanning out in rough diamond shapes. Like he wanted her to see them.
Yesterday. Patrolling the Twolegplace border with Cloudypaw and a pawful of familiar faces. Casual conversation, the easy dialogue she likes to keep running with her apprentice. " Get up early tomorrow. We'll be at the Sandy Ravine to work on your offensive moves, okay? " she'd been saying, chalking up the prickling along her spine to paranoia. Just yesterday.
She jerks her paw back from the ribbon as if burned. It's more than just a pretty piece of cloth. It says: I know you. I see you. I could be watching you now. A full-body shudder wracks her and the confident set of her limbs goes to pieces. Her gorge rises in a way it hasn't since her morning sickness, and she's forced to dig her claws into the ground to stabilize herself. The black wave of panic is all-consuming. She hates it, hates the way this is making her feel—the way he is making her feel. Weak and unsure of her footing.
Is he watching her now? Possessive, entitled, he'd always been that way—but when he left he thought she was discarded. Permanently. No longer an object he deigned to own. Clearly that's not true. Her chest tightens in a way she hasn't felt for a long time, like claws squeezing vicelike around her lungs. She sucks in a breath, slumping until it's only the stiff set of her forelegs supporting her. The world lists sickeningly and she tries to breathe through the panic, but it's like trying to catch rain with her paws. Assurances that she's safe mean nothing when she clearly isn't. The past is creeping in from all sides and she's too powerless to stop it.
