TIME'S ARROW \ iciclefang

[FERNGILL]

His sister was hurt, and not just physically. It had been obvious ever since they were children, growing up together, that Iciclefang had always had a soft spot for Ashpaw. But- like an apple, that tenderness was bruised, now. Singing, no doubt, with a memory of... losing her, of not protecting her, like she had said. He could not imagine it; losing one of his friends, seeing them torn away from him like an eye from a face and being able to do nothing. And nobody would have been able to do anything, but... Fernpaw did not think Iciclefang was used to feeling helpless.

He wandered into the empty-except-for-her medicine den tenderly, his footsteps feather-light, a fish clasped in his jaws. Though the shock was a few days past, now, he was sure the pain in her ribs was far from the only ache that plagued his sister. "Uh-" he began, stumbling in speech but not in manner, carefully placing the grayling at her paws; a sizeable catch, and not his own. His morning had been unsuccessful, as many were. "I- you can keep some of the scales. They shine really well." Motioning vaguely to its body, he sank slowly to a seat. Fernpaw was unsure Iciclefang wanted him to settle just yet.

"How are you?"

\ @ICICLEFANG ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Days pass by blearily. Iciclefang is instructed not to move excessively; she's been taken from her warrior duties until the bruises to her bones heal. Boredom sets in quickly. Morose pale eyes follow the warriors as they leave and re-enter camp, fresh-kill clamped in their jaws, some sleek with river water. She wishes she was still fit to work -- it would have been better than wasting away, left to wallow in grief that's grown stale.

Fernpaw's approach is a welcome one, though the tortoiseshell barely lifts her chin from her white forepaws when he enters the den. A fish gleams silver in his mouth. She looks at it and sniffs it appreciatively. "You caught that?" Her tone isn't meant to be disbelieving, but it is. "...Well. Either way. Thank you."

Her mouth twitches, though her expression does not change, as Fernpaw tells her she can keep the scales. "Perhaps you should, then. I'm not one to keep bits of my fresh-kill." She knows both of her brothers are collectors, but she has no interest. Her nest is one of the few in RiverClan that is entirely sterile, filled with nothing but her own scent.

Fernpaw seems hesitant to join her, and with a gentle sigh, Iciclefang motions with a flick of her tail for him to sit with her. "Please... Beesong and Ravenpaw are fine, but I'd like to talk to someone who doesn't drone on about herbs for once, please." She still does not smile, but there's almost a hint of lightness in her tone.

Until he asks her the dreaded question. "How are you?" Well-meaning. Fernpaw only has the best intentions. But she flinches as though he's spit in her face.

Silence spans between them for several uncomfortable heartbeats. Iciclefang finally meets his newly-handsome green gaze and murmurs, her voice soft as cotton, "I'm okay. I... I miss her." Something bleak replaces the shine in her eyes, and she stares past Fernpaw for a moment, as though waiting to see another ginger pelt appear at the mouth of the den.

But, of course, that does not happen. It will never happen again. Iciclefang knows the hope is impractical, and she wills herself for the thousandth time to let it die.

"I wish..." she trails off, unsure of how to express herself, but then finds her footing, "... I wish I had been stronger. Faster. Smarter. Something. I wish I could have protected her."​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[FERNGILL]

His mind was not sharp enough to catch the disbelief in her tone when she questioned the fish's origin. She just seemed... surprised, and Fernpaw chalked it up to pleasantry. His light green gaze creased slightly with his smile, but was a little empty when he responded, "No... Mudpelt did." There was no bitterness- hardly even a layer of disappointment, anymore. He knew he could- just, today was not meant to be.

When she gave her invitation, his smile faded into something a tad more enthusiastic as he lay, perfectly prepared to keep his sister company for as long as she needed. Sure, his schedule was busy with the training Mudpelt was putting him through, as well as the mental worry of maybe not being ready to become a warrior- but to him, one extra hour of fishing practice was not more important than spending time with someone who needed him.

His tongue traced the bottoms of his fangs as she spoke, thoughtful as se met his eyes after the silence. Her attention drifted- likely in the sadness she felt. Still, he had not seen her shed a tear. Not a flood, anyway- like he might be doing in the same skin. That sentiment... I wish I could have protected her was repeated, and Fernpaw took in a heavy breath.

"You did- so much more than anyone else could have done. You know that, don't you?" She was exceptional even in failure- managing to get close enough to them to get hurt. Mustering up enough bravery to sink her fangs into their flesh- so many other cats would have been too afraid to even try. He couldn't imagine it. "I- I know it must be hard. I know it is. I- I miss her, too." And he knew it was likely not in the same way, but hid words were still sincere. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed. It was difficult to know what to say- know whether he should say anything at all about how he felt. Was it selfish? ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Fernpaw's admission that it had been their father who'd caught the fish does not surprise her. "Thank him for me the next time you see him," she says, using a paw to scrape the fish closer to her. With them this close, it would be impossible to miss the way his enthusiasm had dimmed, but Iciclefang dismisses it. He has to feel the sting of disappointment before he can improve himself. She offers him no soothing words, not only because she doesn't have them, but because she believes them to be useless.

When he gives them to her, telling her how brave she'd been, Iciclefang scoffs and turns her head to the side. "All I've done is ruin my first moon as a warrior. It was foolish." She wants to tell him she appreciates his attempts to comfort her, but she is beginning to realize it's not want she wants.

Is it what Ashpaw would want? For Iciclefang to mope in Beesong's den, useless, crying about days gone by? The tortoiseshell's ice-veiled eyes narrow in thought. "I loved her," she tells Fernpaw. She has never told anyone this before, besides Ashpaw herself -- and even then, it had been too late for the ginger she-cat to hear. "I was going to... well, it doesn't matter anymore."

Iciclefang exhales, and her heart hurts behind the bruised ribs as she does. But Fernpaw's presence -- his sympathy -- is beginning to harden the tender organ. She does not want to be pitied for being the warrior who lost the girl she loved. She does not want to be handled with soft words and paws.

She wants revenge, and she can't have that; it's clear as daylight. A single blow could leave a cat incapacitated for a moon. She wants Ashpaw, but she can't have that, either -- her friend is gone, and there is little to no hope of her returning.

She'll have to settle, she knows, for the third best thing. And she'll have to learn how to settle, because she's never had to. Not yet.

"She isn't coming back," Iciclefang says, her tone flat. She meets Fernpaw's earnest green gaze. "We can't let ourselves believe nonsense like that. Cicadastar can send out patrols until his tail falls off. She's gone. And the sooner we accept that..."

Pain lances through her flank as she shifts in her nest, "...The sooner we can move on."

Fernpaw won't be able to see the heartbreak behind her cold exterior, and she does her best to bury it deep behind her layers of frost.

She can be numb to that, too.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[FERNGILL]

His jaw tightened as he watched his attempt at making his sister feel better tumble into the deepest part of the river and flail about madly before drowning with a death-rattle. They were just... different, in many ways. Needed different things, different comforts. And- Iciclefang seemed as if she did not want any comfort at all. Not- the soft sort, at least. Swallowing, he could almost feel the earth moving as it drew distance between them. What little good he had in his repertoire fizzled into nothing, here.

The least he could do was listen- talk about something that wasn't herbs, if that was what she wanted. He had not been expecting to listen to the words I loved her, though. Fernpaw visibly froze at the admission, even his breaths stilling. It felt stupid to not have realised it- to not have figured it out. But, such was often the way of his life. Of course, he thought, equipped with hindsight. Their closeness had been a given, but... anyone with eyes and a brain could tell there was something more there with at least one of them. He did not know why it had not occurred to him that Iciclefang had felt the same way about Ashpaw as Ashpaw did her.

Her words were as cold as her namesake, flat as ever. His jaw locked itself together, fastening. Perhaps it was true; it was foolish to believe she might return, just as it was with Gloompaw. Foolish, and yet... he could not help just a shred of hope. "It's..." he began, contemplating whether or not to say it. "I don't think it's impossible. And maybe it's nonsense and maybe it makes me feel worse, but- someone needs to hope."

A heavy sigh left him then, and he swallowed. This was not about him and how he felt. He broke his moment of silence with a question that had been playing on his mind since he had found out she had gone missing. "She loved you, too. Did she get to tell you that?" ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

She can see Fernpaw withdraw from her, and part of her is sorry she spoke to him so coldly. Her brother is warmth where she is the lack thereof; he had only wanted to cheer up. To rebuke him for his efforts seems cruel. But she does not know how else to be in this moment. She can’t lean into his comfort the way others might have done. She can’t allow it, and even if she could—she does not want that from him. Does not need that.

She’s built stronger. Tougher. Steel beneath the mottled fur, ice behind frost-glazed eyes. She wills this new existence into reality with every sharply-inhaled breath.

“I don’t think it’s impossible,” he tells her, and Iciclefang’s tail tip begins to twitch impatiently. “And how would you know?” She says, her flat tone unexpectedly biting. "You didn’t see what I did, Fernpaw. It was…” but she stops herself. What good is it, she thinks, to crush his hope, too? Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps someone has to believe in foolish dreams. If “someone” is anyone, it’s her good-natured fool of a brother.

After a heartbeat, she only dips her head to Fernpaw. “Perhaps you’re right.” The expression on her face clearly disagrees with what her littermate has told her, but she holds her tongue. For now.

She can see her admission—about loving Ashpaw—it’s shocked him. She wonders if she’s hid her affections that well, and a heaviness lodges itself in her throat. If Fernpaw hadn’t known… does that mean Ashpaw hadn’t known, either? Had she even heard Iciclefang’s desperate cry to her, that final confession before separation?

Fernpaw tells her, ”She loved you, too. Did she get to tell you that?”

Iciclefang’s expression darkens. “Just before she… yes. Just before I lost her. She told me.” She looks away, unable to meet his green gaze. “I just hope they haven’t hurt her. If she’d been taken by a hawk or a fox, at least I’d know her fate. But a Twoleg…”

No matter what the former kittypets tell her, the name of their most fearsome predator conjures an image of Cicadastar pierced, trapped, his blood inches from her face.

She kneads the moss in her nest for a moment, then shrugs. She has made it a point not to dwell anymore. It will not help her recover, and though she initially had loathed to admit it, she has to focus on recovery. Ashpaw or no Ashpaw, Iciclefang still has ambitions to become RiverClan’s most fearsome warrior, a reckoning for WindClan and ThunderClan.

She must do that alone, now, but she must still do it.

Iciclefang lowers her head and nibbles a bit of the fish her brother had brought. “I hope you’re still focusing on your training, and not Ashpaw,” she says, eyeing Fernpaw with narrowed blue slits. “Don’t forget, your own ceremony is coming up. You’ll want to be prepared.”

That’s what’s important, she tells herself, feeling the scaled bits of meat sit like rocks in her empty stomach.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[FERNGILL]

She bit back at him quickly- though it was in her typically flat manner still, he could still feel the knee-jerk reaction slumbering beneath her voice. As neutral as his sister always was, as unreadable as unbelting ice itself, it made it that edge easier to notice a change like that, even if it did not last long. Perhaps you're right, she said, but... despite all his shortcomings, Fernpaw could at least tell that she wasn't entirely convinced. He wouldn't labour for it further, though. It wasn't what she needed, a debate about how she should be grieving.

So he left it there.

His gaze softened at her admission- though he tried hard not to let pity show, there was certainly a sadness that misted his gaze. He was glad there had been even a tiny bit of closure, but... that was hardly enough. Hardly anything to be glad for- he was grasping for it, really. And she was right; Twolegs, they were unpredictable. Clearly some of them were kind, or else Skyclanners would not like them so much... but he had heard of what had happened to Cicadastar, and Iciclefang had seen it. Seen the wires, and... the traps.

"Yeah. You're right, it's... it makes it hard." Hard to do what he did not specify. Couldn't, really. But the uncertainty of her fate was as haunting as it was saddening. There was no way of knowing whether she was dead or alive, thinking of them or not. "I'm glad she got to tell you, though."

She moved the conversation on rather swiftly, and- he took in a quick, heavy breath at hearing her talk to him like that- like a mentor would their apprentice. He couldn't reasonably say her worries were displaced, though. His progression was so gradual that it probably seemed to half the cats in the Clan that he was simply not trying, when really... it was like there was some wall between every connecting thought, doing its best to stand between his mind and his actions. "I'm- trying. As hard as ever." Fernpaw swallowed again, his ears lying flat against his skull. "I don't wanna disappoint Mudpelt," he admitted, his throat suddenly feeling as if it was made of sand. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Fernpaw, thankfully, is easy to redirect. Iciclefang’s suggestion he focus on his training is met with a shadow of bitterness over his features. “I’m trying. As hard as ever.” She blinks and pushes what’s left of the fish toward her brother. “Trying is good,” she mews evenly. “But not as good as doing. What is it you struggle with? Perhaps I can help.”

Of course, she knows the answer is everything, and what is she meant to do about that? Their father is as capable a warrior as any, and he’s in charge of Fernpaw’s training. Iciclefang, as skilled as she is, is hardly out of the apprentice’s den. She knows it’s arrogant of her to offer, but it’s not easy to watch her younger siblings struggle where she succeeds. Her family name deserves better.

“I don’t want to disappoint Mudpelt,” he tells her, sounding choked up. Iciclefang studies him, the flattening of his ears and the downcast expression. “You can’t disappoint him. He will care for you and help you no matter what.” She twitches an ear, tone still brisk. “You should worry about disappointing RiverClan. The next time WindClan raids us, you don’t want to be caught unaware. Like I was.” She licks a forepaw and begins to groom bits of scale from her whiskers.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[FERNGILL]

Doing. If only it was that easy. If he could turn his trying into doing he would have been a warrior the same time as she was, probably! He'd every ounce of enthusiasm he could ever muster, woke up on time and eager, and yet- success still evaded him. In fact, it seemed the more ardently he thrashed toward it, the further it drifted away, like a feather downstream. He knew, he knew that she was trying to help him when she offered advice, but it only served to bring up a further taste of bitterness.

"I'm only really great at one thing. Everything else is... up-'n-down." He swam like a fish, like the knowledge of how to do it had been crafted alongside his body. He was nimble and graceful in the water, but nowhere else- she knew that very well, he was sure.

Her reassurance of Mudpelt's everlasting care for him only warmed him for a moment, for he flinched at her next words as if she had struck him. "I am worried about disappointing RiverClan," he said, more irritably than he had been expecting. His voice croaked with involuntary tearfulness. "And I will fight WindClan when they attack us again." He would have died, had he fought the last time. it had been obvious to all that he had not been ready, but next time he had to be.

His skin flared with embarrassment as he felt a blink loosen a tear from his eye. "I'll be ready. I'll prove myself, just like you did." ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Fernpaw’s downcast expression bothers her, though it’s difficult to tell if it’s bothering her for the right reason. Smokethroat had no patience for self-pity, and this has become part of Iciclefang’s nature. She has had a little time to indulge in her grief over losing Ashpaw, to wallow at her perceived incompetence, but she wonders now if Fernpaw’s feelings are getting in the way of his success.

He tells her with more fire than she’d expected that he is afraid of disappointing RiverClan, and she smiles, amused. “Good. That’s what will bring you success. Wanting to do better for your Clan.”

Iciclefang sees the tears pricking his leaf-colored eyes, but she decides not to point them out. The crack in his voice when he proclaims he will prove himself—just like you did—tells her how passionate he is about the subject, even if it is misguided. The tortoiseshell, in a rare moment of sisterly love, leans forward and brushes her pink nose against Fernpaw’s remarkedly similar one.

“I know you will. We share the same blood, so you can’t be entirely useless.” It’s meant mostly in jest, but Fernpaw will know she means to be supportive—she’s just not as good at is as, say, Darkwhisker or Mudpelt would be. “Well. Enough lazing about in the medicine cat’s den, right? I suspect you’ll want to make use of your body that hasn’t been kicked by Twolegs.” She smirks again. “Take advantage of me being laid up… I can’t outshine you like this.”
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​