- Jan 12, 2023
- 236
- 69
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she hadn't meant to avoid him, not really . . time passes in fleeting glimpses, lilac paws sore and tired from the incessant need to be noticed, to be thought of outside her persistent sickness, breaking the chrysalis of delicate fragility. she cannot shake it, cannot hide the wheeze of her nose and the rattle in her chest and the eyes that cast right over her and onto her clanmates without fail. each instance cradles the nymphling of bitterness in her chest that grows wings with each day, passed over and pitied despite the time it took her to make it here : a warrior. she was a warrior, and still cast off aside, treated like the sickly apprentice she desperately tries to shed. jealousy eats at her like nibbling leeches, peeling at the places her insecurities lie until they are bare, frayed like an exposed nerve. jealousy. that could have been what she met her brother with for the final time.
shellpool saunters back into camp, she keeps the sparrow she'd caught firmly between pearlescent teeth. bypassing the freshkill pile, the hungry eyes that follow her, she heads for robinheart's den. pebbletail is still recovering ; a precursory stay in the medicine den while the frost thaws from his fur, a careful period of observation from their tortoiseshell healer should he suffer the same post - drowning fate many have before. the darkness shifts before rheumy eyes, blinking heavy lids against the sudden blackness until pupils adjust, and familiar cerulean stripes begin to take form in the shadows.
the den is absent of their medicine cats, nor his dark - pelted mate . . a blessed moment of privacy. her steps are silent, wraithlike, the way her alabaster coat glows a bleary grey in the dark when she approaches his turned back. once close enough, she lowers her head, presses her nose to the striped spot between his ears. the sparrow is placed delicately down, " pebs. " she says, softly, hoarsely, the nickname she'd whispered to him time and time again . . he is no longer chilled to the bone, but she worries still ; thinks of riverpaw, long gone, and squeezes lapis - veined eyes closed. she presses her forehead against his, " i caught you something. it's still warm, you should . . " you should, you should. wasn't she always telling him what to do?
she swallows, folding reed - thin limbs beneath her. she attempts to hook her chin over his shoulder, " you should eat. " just a couple of bites, at least. the blood would warm him up, soothe the fretting that hollows her breath. then, maybe . . she could voice the things unsaid, the lapse that had separated them for the very first time. the piercing fear that had shattered her heart upon hearing of his accident, the lingering coldness in her paws as he recovers, prays to the river and stars above that he would be okay. what if something had happened? was her grudge worth not having the chance to speak to her brother again? it could have been so much worse.
shellpool saunters back into camp, she keeps the sparrow she'd caught firmly between pearlescent teeth. bypassing the freshkill pile, the hungry eyes that follow her, she heads for robinheart's den. pebbletail is still recovering ; a precursory stay in the medicine den while the frost thaws from his fur, a careful period of observation from their tortoiseshell healer should he suffer the same post - drowning fate many have before. the darkness shifts before rheumy eyes, blinking heavy lids against the sudden blackness until pupils adjust, and familiar cerulean stripes begin to take form in the shadows.
the den is absent of their medicine cats, nor his dark - pelted mate . . a blessed moment of privacy. her steps are silent, wraithlike, the way her alabaster coat glows a bleary grey in the dark when she approaches his turned back. once close enough, she lowers her head, presses her nose to the striped spot between his ears. the sparrow is placed delicately down, " pebs. " she says, softly, hoarsely, the nickname she'd whispered to him time and time again . . he is no longer chilled to the bone, but she worries still ; thinks of riverpaw, long gone, and squeezes lapis - veined eyes closed. she presses her forehead against his, " i caught you something. it's still warm, you should . . " you should, you should. wasn't she always telling him what to do?
she swallows, folding reed - thin limbs beneath her. she attempts to hook her chin over his shoulder, " you should eat. " just a couple of bites, at least. the blood would warm him up, soothe the fretting that hollows her breath. then, maybe . . she could voice the things unsaid, the lapse that had separated them for the very first time. the piercing fear that had shattered her heart upon hearing of his accident, the lingering coldness in her paws as he recovers, prays to the river and stars above that he would be okay. what if something had happened? was her grudge worth not having the chance to speak to her brother again? it could have been so much worse.

- ooc. @pebbletail hehe takes place right after his and middys lil dive
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SHELLPOOL . 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𓆝 ࿐ SHE / HER, 14☽s OLD. WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN ; HAZECLOUD xx LICHENSTAR. SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS
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frail alabaster molly with lilac striping and watery amber eyes.
LIVING WITH LONGTERM ILLNESS ; always exhibiting the symptoms of a lingering cold, most notably a runny nose and eyes. not contagious unless specified otherwise.