- Jun 7, 2022
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A bulky golden figure moves through the shadows of StarClan’s forest and stops before a pool of water filled with frosted stars. Its surface is disturbed by a golden paw; it ripples, shimmers and awakens, until he can see shapes backlit by a fiery setting sun. His heavy blue gaze, rounded with sorrow, its indigo depths swimming with memories, peers into the wavering water. A queen’s teeth splinters through wood as she bears down, as she brings new life into the forest. Blazestar watches with his heart in his mouth, beating and thick and raw, as Bobbie, for the second time, experiences the birth of her children alone. “I’m with you, my heart,” he murmurs into the empty air. He had promised her he would be. He had vowed.
Their children are born amidst blood and pain, their path forged by loneliness. Blazestar wishes better for them, for her, but a sad smile wreathes across his sunkissed muzzle as he watches her touch her nose to their heads. Their coronation is bittersweet. “Hollykit,” she whispers, and Blazestar can almost taste the scent of greenleaf on his tongue, of the sun ripe on their pelts, Bobbie’s shy and retreating green gaze. “Candorkit,” she murmurs into a pale one’s fur, and it trembles with potential, possibility, a name promising greatness and honor. He remembers suggesting it, and his heart quivers along with his whiskers.
“Lionkit,” Bobbie names their last child, and Blazestar’s eyes cramp with a grief so raw he almost cannot take it. Tears slip from the corners of each bruise-colored eye. “Oh, Bobbie, I’m so sorry,” he tells the stars, just before the pool begins to ripple, the picture distorting and lost. He reaches for her, but his paw plunges into cold and yielding water, and she is gone.
No. She is alive, and brave, and fierce. He stares into blank water now, half-wading, half-standing on the silvery shore. “Lionkit. Hollykit. Candorkit.” He touches his nose to the surface, closing his eyes, pretending to inhale the scents of his kin. He almost imagines it, wills it into existence—the familiar musk of their territory, the sharp and bleeding sap of pines, burned deep and true into his memory. He draws his face away, letting tears splash into the pool that wavers around him.
Their children are born amidst blood and pain, their path forged by loneliness. Blazestar wishes better for them, for her, but a sad smile wreathes across his sunkissed muzzle as he watches her touch her nose to their heads. Their coronation is bittersweet. “Hollykit,” she whispers, and Blazestar can almost taste the scent of greenleaf on his tongue, of the sun ripe on their pelts, Bobbie’s shy and retreating green gaze. “Candorkit,” she murmurs into a pale one’s fur, and it trembles with potential, possibility, a name promising greatness and honor. He remembers suggesting it, and his heart quivers along with his whiskers.
“Lionkit,” Bobbie names their last child, and Blazestar’s eyes cramp with a grief so raw he almost cannot take it. Tears slip from the corners of each bruise-colored eye. “Oh, Bobbie, I’m so sorry,” he tells the stars, just before the pool begins to ripple, the picture distorting and lost. He reaches for her, but his paw plunges into cold and yielding water, and she is gone.
No. She is alive, and brave, and fierce. He stares into blank water now, half-wading, half-standing on the silvery shore. “Lionkit. Hollykit. Candorkit.” He touches his nose to the surface, closing his eyes, pretending to inhale the scents of his kin. He almost imagines it, wills it into existence—the familiar musk of their territory, the sharp and bleeding sap of pines, burned deep and true into his memory. He draws his face away, letting tears splash into the pool that wavers around him.
, ”
