- Jan 10, 2024
- 111
- 33
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✧ When Sangriapaw wakes up in the morning, she's tucked into her nice warm bed. The weather had begun to get a bit warmer yesterday and remained comfortable throughout the evening, up until Sangriapaw had slunk away from SkyClan's camp and returned back home. She'd been noticeably late getting home, but thankfully the cat door had still been open—it would have been unfortunate if she'd had to turn around and walk all the way back to SkyClan in the dark. But she'd made it, so she slept in her nice warm home while everyone else slept in the dens like usual. Even though it was warmer last night, it still probably isn't fun to wake up and find frost coating the ground outside.
"Mmmm," she hums, stretching as she pulls herself to her paws. Her maw stretches wide in a yawn, sleepy and indulgent; her bed is so warm, she considers staying inside of it all day long. Maybe she doesn't need to get up and go back to the clan that doesn't appreciate her—or at least, not today. And as she raises her eyes to look out the window, she notices… she might not need to go to SkyClan today, anyway. Because outside the frosted-over window, a storm roars. The world is blanketed in white, snowflakes slamming into the clear window panes. And past the porch, past the front yard, the street isn't even visible through the snowstorm.
She can't go to SkyClan today, she realizes. Hon and Dear won't let her outside in the first place, and she doesn't want to brave this much snow when she can hardly even see the world around her. And maybe once the snow lets up and she's finally allowed to go back to SkyClan… she won't. What good does going there do her, anyway? She tries not to feel scorned by her own clan, because SkyClan is her clan, but it's… difficult. Orangestar doesn't think she's good enough to be a warrior, and Figfeather hardly even acts like she's her parent, and Daisydrop is a warrior but she isn't. She can't keep pushing down her anger. Her claws tear into her bed, worrying idly at the soft fabric. Threads gradually give way beneath sharp claws, and when she looks down at her paws, she can spot the pale cotton filling poking out of it. She's torn a hole in it, she realizes. She's ruined it.
The thought saddens her, and all the fury goes swirling right down the drain. She's Sangriapaw, she ruins things. Her relationship with Johnnyflame had bowed under the weight of the tom's stepping down from his position, and then shattered entirely when he had retired to the nursery bearing Silversmoke's kits. Her relationship with Figfeather had never been close in the first place, but it's worn away to nothing just like the strings of her soft be. Her relationship with SkyClan has grown less balanced as she's lashed out, feeling unappreciated and unwanted. Her chest suddenly feels hollow.
Green eyes gaze out into the swirling snow. I wonder if SkyClan will even survive this.
"Mmmm," she hums, stretching as she pulls herself to her paws. Her maw stretches wide in a yawn, sleepy and indulgent; her bed is so warm, she considers staying inside of it all day long. Maybe she doesn't need to get up and go back to the clan that doesn't appreciate her—or at least, not today. And as she raises her eyes to look out the window, she notices… she might not need to go to SkyClan today, anyway. Because outside the frosted-over window, a storm roars. The world is blanketed in white, snowflakes slamming into the clear window panes. And past the porch, past the front yard, the street isn't even visible through the snowstorm.
She can't go to SkyClan today, she realizes. Hon and Dear won't let her outside in the first place, and she doesn't want to brave this much snow when she can hardly even see the world around her. And maybe once the snow lets up and she's finally allowed to go back to SkyClan… she won't. What good does going there do her, anyway? She tries not to feel scorned by her own clan, because SkyClan is her clan, but it's… difficult. Orangestar doesn't think she's good enough to be a warrior, and Figfeather hardly even acts like she's her parent, and Daisydrop is a warrior but she isn't. She can't keep pushing down her anger. Her claws tear into her bed, worrying idly at the soft fabric. Threads gradually give way beneath sharp claws, and when she looks down at her paws, she can spot the pale cotton filling poking out of it. She's torn a hole in it, she realizes. She's ruined it.
The thought saddens her, and all the fury goes swirling right down the drain. She's Sangriapaw, she ruins things. Her relationship with Johnnyflame had bowed under the weight of the tom's stepping down from his position, and then shattered entirely when he had retired to the nursery bearing Silversmoke's kits. Her relationship with Figfeather had never been close in the first place, but it's worn away to nothing just like the strings of her soft be. Her relationship with SkyClan has grown less balanced as she's lashed out, feeling unappreciated and unwanted. Her chest suddenly feels hollow.
Green eyes gaze out into the swirling snow. I wonder if SkyClan will even survive this.
- ooc: —
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SANGRIAPAW ❯❯ she/her, daylight apprentice of skyclan
⭃ wild-furred cinnamon torbie with white spotting and vibrant leaf-green eyes. bold, bright, and curious.
⭃ daughter of fantastream & figfeather ; sister to coffeepaw
⭃ mentored by orangestar
⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
⭃ penned by foxlore
