- Sep 9, 2022
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STEADY THE RIGHTS AND THE WRONGS
periwinklepaw | 08 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically easy (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
He wants to run.
He wants to run, to hide, to find a hole and curl up in a little ball and hide away from allhis problems. He is a coward - it has never been more painfully clear to him before now. Until he stands upon the riverclan border, tucked within the tall reeds, hiding. From her, from him, from them. From everyone and everything. Perhaps vulturemask was right - perhaps he should just give up, give in. Fight to survive. But to do so would be to give up a peice of himself - would be to carve out a peice of his soul and sacrifice it for a goddess who does not see them as anything more than worms. He'd thought it'd be enough - his percarious little balancing act, always on the fence. Meek and meager, a pitiful creature but a useful one - a cat who would provide food for the hungry mouths his leader had brought into the world if nothing else. And yet he cannot escape their judgment - if he does not fight back, he is a coward. If he does - he'll be branded as dangerous, a tratior.
It's all her fault. He has no doubt that Juniperfrost had done soemthing to deserve his dath.. but really, why now? Why her? Couldn't she have bit her tongue and turned the other cheek? Or at least... at least been less obvious in her actions? That thought alone is enough to churn his stomach, and yet he is too relived that it was him and not her who died to truly care. Clear blue gaze stares at the heavens over head - starclan themselves had waged war last night, had struck fear and awe into the hearts of those present. Was it a warning or a blessing? If he was smart, he'd have fled long ago. But he had dug his own grave when he'd chosen to stay. He cannot trust riverclan - cannot trust anyone. Not anymore.
... perhaps that isn't true, but he's feeling pathetic and selfish, so he steadfastly ignores that fact.
Pawsteps and and all to familiar scent arrive more swiftly than he could have ever hoped - and yet all to soon nonetheless. The stench of blood and the river are heady and sickening - another reminder that this is not the hyacinthbretah he grew up with. And he is no longer the frail child hiding away in the medicine den. "... they all h-hate me b-b-b-bec-cause of you," he says quietly - voice lacking any and all heat. He's tired of it all. "... sootstar has b-b-branded you a t-traitor, th-they're all out for y-y-your blood," He doesn't know why he bothers to warn her - they've already made their message loud and clear in their actions, and it's not as though they've ever truly been close. She'd been gone to soon for that to ever happen.
The boy leaves his hiding place, long limbs popping loudly from disuse. He's still sore - fragile frame littered in bruises and cuts, his neck still covered in cobwebs. A strangled noise leaves his throat when he looks at his mother, and it's only then that he realizes he's crying again, though he doesn't even know why. It's all he seems to do these days.
// @hyacinthbreath
periwinklepaw | 08 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically easy (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
He wants to run.
He wants to run, to hide, to find a hole and curl up in a little ball and hide away from allhis problems. He is a coward - it has never been more painfully clear to him before now. Until he stands upon the riverclan border, tucked within the tall reeds, hiding. From her, from him, from them. From everyone and everything. Perhaps vulturemask was right - perhaps he should just give up, give in. Fight to survive. But to do so would be to give up a peice of himself - would be to carve out a peice of his soul and sacrifice it for a goddess who does not see them as anything more than worms. He'd thought it'd be enough - his percarious little balancing act, always on the fence. Meek and meager, a pitiful creature but a useful one - a cat who would provide food for the hungry mouths his leader had brought into the world if nothing else. And yet he cannot escape their judgment - if he does not fight back, he is a coward. If he does - he'll be branded as dangerous, a tratior.
It's all her fault. He has no doubt that Juniperfrost had done soemthing to deserve his dath.. but really, why now? Why her? Couldn't she have bit her tongue and turned the other cheek? Or at least... at least been less obvious in her actions? That thought alone is enough to churn his stomach, and yet he is too relived that it was him and not her who died to truly care. Clear blue gaze stares at the heavens over head - starclan themselves had waged war last night, had struck fear and awe into the hearts of those present. Was it a warning or a blessing? If he was smart, he'd have fled long ago. But he had dug his own grave when he'd chosen to stay. He cannot trust riverclan - cannot trust anyone. Not anymore.
... perhaps that isn't true, but he's feeling pathetic and selfish, so he steadfastly ignores that fact.
Pawsteps and and all to familiar scent arrive more swiftly than he could have ever hoped - and yet all to soon nonetheless. The stench of blood and the river are heady and sickening - another reminder that this is not the hyacinthbretah he grew up with. And he is no longer the frail child hiding away in the medicine den. "... they all h-hate me b-b-b-bec-cause of you," he says quietly - voice lacking any and all heat. He's tired of it all. "... sootstar has b-b-branded you a t-traitor, th-they're all out for y-y-your blood," He doesn't know why he bothers to warn her - they've already made their message loud and clear in their actions, and it's not as though they've ever truly been close. She'd been gone to soon for that to ever happen.
The boy leaves his hiding place, long limbs popping loudly from disuse. He's still sore - fragile frame littered in bruises and cuts, his neck still covered in cobwebs. A strangled noise leaves his throat when he looks at his mother, and it's only then that he realizes he's crying again, though he doesn't even know why. It's all he seems to do these days.
// @hyacinthbreath
