- Aug 9, 2022
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In his dreams the earth was layered in blood and not earth. The tall grass still peered up from the depths of the red swill, swayed as if still caught by the winds of the moors. His paws would slosh through the thick pools of it, he could feel it prickling his fur as it coated his lower limbs in the viscous crimson substance. With each step he felt like he was moving slower, like the blood was beginning to thicken not quite unlike the ice of the river; freezing over to trap anything in its depths beneath the surface to choke. Dandelionpaw would fight it, push his limbs forward, feel the strain as muscles tightened to resist against the impending drag downward. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into it until it sloshed around his neck and lapped beneath his chin. He continued to frantically dig his paws into whatever he could for any kind of traction, any kind of support. As always the dream ended as the red liquid drew him down, until only the tip of his nose was just breaking the surface and when he dropped below it he would bolt upright from his nest with a gasp for the air he had been deprived of in the lucid landscape of his mind.
He didn't need StarClan to tell him he was having nightmares about the state of WindClan, that they were reoccuring was new though. With a jolt Dandelionpaw was out of the den, he needed the crisp air of the night to clear his head, he needed to move so he could feel his blood flowing once more through his veins and not swilling around his paws; he needed something, but he wasn't sure what. Guilt was a heavy wound, there was no greater judge for his own mistakes as himself; he held his own life in such critical regard that sometimes he wondered why he managed to maintain his optimism. Why he smiled, why he continued to move as if he held any purpose outside of destroying what he touched.
But if he did not try to live for something then why live at all. He wanted to be happy. Eventually, his smile would feel more fitted for his face.
The apprentice moved into the moon-spotted earth of the camp, blinked sleepily at the ground before tilting his head up to stare at the mist cloaked sky that hung overhead and he wished so desperately that StarClan was more vocally prominent in their lives. Wished they could tell him what to do exactly and none of their vague messages. But they wouldn't, he had only himself to depend on to decide how to act, so he shook his head and continued on his silent trek to the edge of camp; perhaps a walk would be enlightening.