- Jun 20, 2022
- 113
- 50
- 28
[ tw; mild suicidal ideation ]
“I love you, liebling,” she’d cried out, just as her body collapsed and was swarmed by dogs. Pollenfur had not been able to turn back—one hesitation, and they’d kill them both, and then Hyacinthbreath’s final fight would be for nothing. The chocolate calico stumbles through lands no cat has claimed, blood crusting at her throat where Snakehiss had slashed her. Her eyes swim with tears, with exhaustion, but she does not stop until she is on the verge of collapse.
When she falls, it’s into a heap. Crumpled. She brings her dusty paws to her face, sobbing into them and turning the grit to mud. The night is cold and cruel without Hyacinthbreath to warm her, but she relishes the numbness the morning frost brings her. Ice gathers on her eyelashes, the tips of her brown-and-white fur, and she wishes it was cold enough to consume her entirely. She does not want to be here anymore—she does not want to live in a world this merciless, this determined to shed the blood of those she loves.
When the sun rises again and melts the frost from her, she rises, and she makes the agonizing trek back to where she knows Hyacinthbreath has died. She staggers uphill, her paws slipping in the cool, slick grass, and there are times she slips to the earth and presses herself there, overwhelmed with exhaustion and a belly-searing grief. She does not want to find her lover’s body. She does not want to find what remained of her, but she must—she knows she is the only one left to bury Hyacinthbreath.
Pollenfur finds her, ravaged as though she’d been hunted by hounds. “Savages,” she croaks, descending upon her mate with fresh tears streaking both cheeks. She cradles the lifeless head, tries to stare into empty blue eyes, and her sides deflate rapidly as she struggles to hold herself together. “You were supposed to walk with me to the edges of the world,” she wails, no longer caring if predators would come. She begs them to take her, too, to take her wherever it is among the stars her beloved now walks. “We were meant to last, after everything we’d been through! Why didn’t you run with me, you fool? Why didn’t you…”
She cries until she’s exhausted her bank of sorrow, until all that’s left is her dry, barren heart. She had served as a tunneler once, under Sootstar, under Duskfire and Weaselclaw and Hyacinthbreath, and when she rises and begins to scoop pawfuls of soil away, it’s a harsh reminder of all she’d run from. She’d abandoned her motherland, those sacred moors; she’d left her mate’s kits and her kin to shrivel away under Sootstar’s tyrannical claws. She’d run from Hyacinthbreath, out into the rain, letting her kits be pulled away from her. She’d run and left her mate to die.
She wants to run now. She wants to shed this name and this life like she has before. She wants to become someone new.
“If I were not anchored here by the children we made, I would be nothing more but mist before the sun rises,” she murmurs to the freshly-dug grave. She bends before it, kneels as though offering herself in worship. “I will not run, not until I can see them grown safely. Until I can see they can protect themselves from Sootstar, the way you never could…” And Hyacinthbreath had tried all she could to escape the Mad Queen’s wrath. It had never been enough.
She presses her nose to the cool, damp soil. It has none of her beloved’s scent, but she imagines it does, imagines her body wreathed around her one final time.
“I will not run anymore,” she promises the empty air, the grave dirt, before lying upon its rugged surface to sleep.
“I love you, liebling,” she’d cried out, just as her body collapsed and was swarmed by dogs. Pollenfur had not been able to turn back—one hesitation, and they’d kill them both, and then Hyacinthbreath’s final fight would be for nothing. The chocolate calico stumbles through lands no cat has claimed, blood crusting at her throat where Snakehiss had slashed her. Her eyes swim with tears, with exhaustion, but she does not stop until she is on the verge of collapse.
When she falls, it’s into a heap. Crumpled. She brings her dusty paws to her face, sobbing into them and turning the grit to mud. The night is cold and cruel without Hyacinthbreath to warm her, but she relishes the numbness the morning frost brings her. Ice gathers on her eyelashes, the tips of her brown-and-white fur, and she wishes it was cold enough to consume her entirely. She does not want to be here anymore—she does not want to live in a world this merciless, this determined to shed the blood of those she loves.
When the sun rises again and melts the frost from her, she rises, and she makes the agonizing trek back to where she knows Hyacinthbreath has died. She staggers uphill, her paws slipping in the cool, slick grass, and there are times she slips to the earth and presses herself there, overwhelmed with exhaustion and a belly-searing grief. She does not want to find her lover’s body. She does not want to find what remained of her, but she must—she knows she is the only one left to bury Hyacinthbreath.
Pollenfur finds her, ravaged as though she’d been hunted by hounds. “Savages,” she croaks, descending upon her mate with fresh tears streaking both cheeks. She cradles the lifeless head, tries to stare into empty blue eyes, and her sides deflate rapidly as she struggles to hold herself together. “You were supposed to walk with me to the edges of the world,” she wails, no longer caring if predators would come. She begs them to take her, too, to take her wherever it is among the stars her beloved now walks. “We were meant to last, after everything we’d been through! Why didn’t you run with me, you fool? Why didn’t you…”
She cries until she’s exhausted her bank of sorrow, until all that’s left is her dry, barren heart. She had served as a tunneler once, under Sootstar, under Duskfire and Weaselclaw and Hyacinthbreath, and when she rises and begins to scoop pawfuls of soil away, it’s a harsh reminder of all she’d run from. She’d abandoned her motherland, those sacred moors; she’d left her mate’s kits and her kin to shrivel away under Sootstar’s tyrannical claws. She’d run from Hyacinthbreath, out into the rain, letting her kits be pulled away from her. She’d run and left her mate to die.
She wants to run now. She wants to shed this name and this life like she has before. She wants to become someone new.
“If I were not anchored here by the children we made, I would be nothing more but mist before the sun rises,” she murmurs to the freshly-dug grave. She bends before it, kneels as though offering herself in worship. “I will not run, not until I can see them grown safely. Until I can see they can protect themselves from Sootstar, the way you never could…” And Hyacinthbreath had tried all she could to escape the Mad Queen’s wrath. It had never been enough.
She presses her nose to the cool, damp soil. It has none of her beloved’s scent, but she imagines it does, imagines her body wreathed around her one final time.
“I will not run anymore,” she promises the empty air, the grave dirt, before lying upon its rugged surface to sleep.
, ”
