sensitive topics WHAT OUR FATES HAVE LAID IN OUR CRIBS | death

[ALGAEPAW]

It was just meant to be an afternoon tryst of sorts. Something silly to get their minds off of a hard day's work.

Algaepaw had dragged his friend Eelpaw to the edge of the water, the waves beneath the ice susurrating some unknown silent song, like it was aglitter in childlike opportunism. She hated how the ice kept away the life-giving water, though she reasoned that there was always a reason for something. Perhaps the river simply wanted to hibernate along with the squirrels and mice, conceal itself away from the unfettered cruelty of leaf-bare. The sun lie gently upon the blue sky, and hardly covered itself up in veils of thick stormcloud, as though it aimed not to hoard such wondrous and lucid color from the world. Tender breezes nipped gently at wiry whiskers and curled purls, though it did not aim to knock away or erode at those it passed. Unbecoming of the harsh season, it was a perfect day. "Come on, it's just ice! Don't tell me you're scared of walking on it." Algaepaw grinned with her typical sharktooth smile, her eyes painted in sidereal speckles of light, pinpricks of white upon widened, owlish gaze. The pair stood with their paws just at the edge of the ice, of which did not dare run nor meet their footfall, instead remaining completely and utterly still. "I dare you to put your whole body on the ice for... a minute! What, you think you'll get wet or something?" Algaepaw laughed heartily, cuffing Eelpaw gently upon one ear.

After many protests in the form of insisting that they were alright and that they didn't need to do this, Eelpaw finally agreed to Algaepaw's ebullient demands. He couldn't understand their hesitance towards swimming or even being near the water. After all, Riverclan was born and bred to withstand the rapid temperament of the river, so any feline that did not fit the bill was an immediate oddity to the molly. Still, it was fun to tease, and even more fun to watch someone hesitate with a task so simple. Algaepaw figured that they would be safe, for fate always stood by his side, like a companion bathed in recondite tongue and reason. Fate had granted him audience with Riverclan's leader, had allowed him to become the son of the medicine cat apprentice. Thus, it must have favored him, for no other rationale than he had been born of the stars' careful handiwork. Soon, Eelpaw found themselves entirely on the ice, struggling to balance on the slippery surface like a blind bat stumbling along the ground that it did not belong to. "You're uh, you're doing great!" Algaepaw struggled to hold in her laughs, peeking out through a cupped paw to her mouth.

Crrrrrrrrrrrk. Something other than them let out an unseemly groan, like an undercurrent of an unknown force, a sign of disgust from what presided over the two apprentices.

In an instant, Eelpaw had been dragged to the waters beneath. Fate had turned its tides, as if it were a latent consciousness blooming through the midst of minds, a disturbance in how Algaepaw had perceived himself. She had always thought herself above the wheel of fate, not as an orchestrator but as its interpreter. Now, she could not understand why it had chosen to take her friend. She froze in place, like every action afterwards would leave her in a pitfall, an unforeseen circumstance that rendered her away from control over herself. Was this fate, too? Was he meant to watch Eelpaw die? His heart caught within his chest, as though he held a dying fish within the cavities of his gut, wresting and rending terribly against the walls of his composure. He took one pawstep back, and perhaps it was better to run to the camp for help. Then, he recalled what the elder warriors had told him before setting off many days ago - a cat in cold water will succumb much faster. I can't let them die because of my own foolishness. The thought came as not a star-shine and white-hot revelation, but like a covert shadow that rested beneath the folds of his own destiny, it would come bleating and lifeless upon his paws. He had always used fate as a shield from accountability, a dull blade to lessen both the pain and the pride of his misgivings and his accomplishments. But this was entirely her fault, for she had goaded Eelpaw into a trap she did not make. It was all her doing, a transgression from the static nature of kismet's threads.

Algaepaw leapt into the hole in the sheet of ice, feeling as the frigid water violently raptured him, as though he were some wretched instar not yet ready to face the world. The temperature pierced through his very bones, settling quickly into each crevice of his bird-boned body. The water thrashed at him, and the cold wracked at his nerves and his vision, as if it damned him from the very start. And yet, he persisted out of the adrenaline that pumped through her veins like a thin, straggling rope of ichor. He grabbed onto the scruff of the slowly sinking Eelpaw, though in his haste the water rushed through his nostrils and esophagus, like barbed wire ripping through his orifices. His lungs burned from the inside out, catching fire to the rest of his viscera, a sensation that stole his breath from him. Panic struck him, as disorientation twisted his senses and the water only pulled him deeper. Still, she paddled as best as she could towards another slight shaft of light through the murk, a hideaway sanctuary that called so sweetly to her. She paddled, paddled, paddled with the strength given to her by her heritage. I can't... I can't reach it... She felt her energy ripped away from her, though it was not a vehement action, and she simply loosened her grip.

By the time he found himself upon the surface just fox-lengths away from where the two once were, Algaepaw collapsed flank-side-up onto the unforgiving sandbanks besides the stream, slick water upon his pelt like fulgid eyes of the heavens. Eelpaw lie right besides her, though Algaepaw could not see nor touch her. The afternoon sun now seemed to blind him, stare straight into ambrosia-laden pools, and flood him in its jagged rhapsody. Splutters erupted from his agape maw, but he couldn't quite seem to get the fluid that infested his throat out, and it was as though he attempted to cough out moons of arrogance and blame in the manifestation of liquid. No matter how much he choked, it never truly released itself from her windpipe. He couldn't cry out to Eelpaw for help, he couldn't say a word to any woebegone soul who would encounter him, as though his language had become abstruse and unnecessary in such dire moments. As a thrumming heartbeat turned to static noise, he could hear... voices, as clear as a ringing bell in an empty field. Were they her own, or of Starclan?

I understand now. His last thoughts ploughed upon the fresh soils of his thought, gentle and comforting ripples. Eyelids fluttered shut, unwilling to allow more light to fester in his ailing eyesight. I'm not above it at all. Fate was never on my side. Or, maybe it was, and this was my end. It was always going to be a sacrifice for someone else. I think I was always meant to be a toy to higher forces. But, I never expected myself to go so soon. I wanted to see so much of the world. I wanted to see where the river ended on the horizon, or how deep the water could get. I wanted to see my siblings grow up with me alongside them. I always thought destiny would shield me from tragedy. I've overestimated its patience. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. I'm sorry for trusting my own fate. Will I still see you...?

𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 ·₊˚☄ 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝚃 𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙷𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶

• OOC: Permission given to powerplay @eelpaw ! No need to wait for a reply from Eelpaw, but Algaepaw is dead </3 rip king she died selflessly
• 
• 

  —— ALGAEPAW / He/She / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Riverclan / Sibling to Redpaw and Rivuletpaw / Mentored by Lichenstar
  —— A wiry, wild-furred blue tortoiseshell with high white and freckle-like spotting. Brilliant yellow eyes, like twin molten suns.
  —— Chaotic, obsessive and strange, Algaepaw is a weirdly refreshing character to encounter amongst the sea of her dutiful kin. Beset by nature and her patterns, he is quick to connect the dots even when no such connection truly exists. Somewhat easy to befriend, provided that one can handle his mannerisms and tendency to weave tall tales.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[eelpaw]

Eelpaw doesn't want to do this. Every instinct in her body screams at her to turn back, to refuse, to stand her ground for once in her life. The ice stretches out before her, slick and cruel, the frozen shell of the river she has spent her entire life fearing. She lingers on the edge, paws rooted to the solid earth beneath her, heart hammering against her ribs. She shakes her head, trying once more to protest, but Algaepaw just grins, his voice teasing, light, oblivious. Eelpaw should fight harder. She should tell him no. But instead, she forces herself to move forward, stepping onto the ice with stiff, uncertain movements. It's just a game, she tells herself. Just something silly. If she refuses, Algaepaw will laugh. He'll call her scared again, and—well, he wouldn't be wrong, would he?

The ice groans beneath her weight, a sound that slices through the air sharper than any claw. Eelpaw stops breathing.

Then it shatters.

Water rushes up around her, swallowing her whole, dragging her down into its frozen depths before she can even think to scream. It's happening again. The cold is a living thing, ripping through her fur, seeping into her skin, her bones. Her lungs convulse as she fights not to breathe in the river, but the pressure is unbearable, the water thick and suffocating. Above her, the jagged hole in the ice glows with pale light, blurred, distant. She claws toward it, but her paws meet nothing but the vast emptiness of the current pulling her down. She's drowning. Again.

She remembers the flood. She remembers being so small, so helpless, tossed about like driftwood as the camp filled with water. She remembers the desperate gasps, the way her tiny limbs had flailed, how the darkness of the river had nearly claimed her. She had been saved then. This time, she knows, there is no one coming for her. Then, suddenly, teeth clamp into her scruff. A force jerks her upward, her body lurching toward the surface, toward air. She doesn't understand, doesn't have time to think before she's thrown onto the shore in a coughing, gasping heap. Water floods from her mouth as she heaves onto the sand, every breath a battle. Her vision spins. The world is too bright. Her limbs shake uncontrollably, her claws digging into the ground as if she might slip back into the river if she lets go.

And then she sees him.

Algaepaw lies still beside her. Too still.

No. No, no, no—

Eelpaw scrambles toward him, pressing a paw against his flank. He doesn't move. His fur is soaked, his mouth open, but no air passes his lips. His body is slack. Silent. He pulled her out. He saved her.

And now he's dead.

A horrible sound tears from her throat. Her breath hitches, chest tightening, vision blurring. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. She shakes him. He doesn't stir. She calls his name, voice hoarse, cracking, raw. He doesn't answer. She presses her head against his sodden fur, trying to hear a heartbeat, anything. And yet still, nothing. Eelpaw chokes on a sob, her entire body wracked with shivers that have nothing to do with the cold. This is her fault. She knew. She knew it was dangerous. She should have refused. She should have fought harder. She should have done something.

But she let him goad her onto the ice. She let him drown for her.

Her stomach twists violently, bile rising in her throat. Algaepaw is dead, and she is not. How is that fair? How is that right? The weight of it crushes her, presses her down into the earth as if she should be buried right alongside him. She retches, crouched on the shore beside him, spitting out the water that had managed to force itself into her, the bile that builds more and more at the thought that her friend is gone. Her breath is ragged, uneven. The world feels wrong. The river should have taken her. She has always been afraid of it, has always known it would kill her one day. That was supposed to be her fate. Not his. She stares at his still face, his features locked in something almost peaceful, and she wants to scream. Wants to wake him up. Wants to trade places. The wind howls around them, carrying distant voices—someone is coming. Someone will find them soon. But what does it matter? Nothing can fix this.

Eelpaw doesn't know how to move, how to breathe, how to exist in a world where she is alive and Algaepaw is not.​

 

[Warblerpaw.]

UH OH, UH OH, UH OH,
YOU MADE A MISTAKE ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

warblerpaw & 10 moons & demi-boy & he/they & riverclan apprentice ​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━​

The river is deadly - the ice, even moreso.

it is a truth that Warblerpaw has long known, one that has been ingrained into his very bones. It is hard not to, not when his earliest memories are tainted by water - greedy and cruel, the river takes from riverclan as much as it gives. Star spun silver fur, warm green eyes like grass and leaves and life, golden dapples like the sun itself. Snuffed out, stolen by the currents until it had been made unrecognisable.

The river had taken his sister that day - and his mother too. For all that they'd buried only one body that day, he nows that the queen that haunts the nursery is nothing more then a ghost. A shell that for all his love, he hardly recognizes even on the best of days.

And now, it has struck again - bile coats his tongue at the realization, hot and heavy and bitter as he stares, vision swimming as he takes in water-soaked pelt, and the trembling Eelpaw who crouches retching beside it, her once frantic shouts replaced by sick. Algeapaw - algeapaw is dead.

He wants to join her in being ill, he thinks with an odd sort of clarity - knows that his stomach heaves, and he should let it spill forth. But instead he swallows it down woodenly, jaws flapping uselessly in silence - he knows before he even tries that the words will refuse to come, replaced instead by a high-pitched whine at the sight.

Heart thuds loudly, lungs heaving - shadows dancing across his vision once more. Its all too loud - the rush of the river roaring in his ears, the constant creaking groan of the ice almost echoing, the way Eelpaw shouts and cries and sobs. Limbs tense, taut and ramrod straight, so much so that it hurts - another quiet whimper only half-leaving his throat, as eyes spin wildly in their sockets.

Others move to help - and yet, Warblerpaw remains frozen, mind white-blank with fear. Its all too much.

— uh oh, you better run away now

• Actions && " Speech, " && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: can be assumed he arrived with a warrior / with help but he himself is useless unfortunately </3
  tw/cw: contains breif mentions of death, and depictions of dissociation and panic attacks
  
• ♩​♬♪♫​ — Warblerpaw suffers from multiple speech impediments, including selective mutism. He is more often then not non-verbal, and will react in visual ways such as body language or gestures to compensate for this. Situations which induce anxiety are more likely to cause a shut-down for him, and even when verbal he deals with a stutter and aphasia. ​

 

[lichenstar]

✦˚.✧˚✧˚✦˚ ✧ ˚✧˚✦˚✧.˚✧

CLAIM THE BURIAL I SEEK IN DREAMS FLOWING RIVER CEMETARY ✧

• A mistake.
  
  That's all it takes.
  
  Selfishly clutching at what remained, keeping it close to the chest... a string of pearls held too tightly, pulled on too much until the line snapped... the beads clatter onto the floor... roll... and lie still. Perhaps she was always destined to be just like her mother... In trying so desperately to correct a tragedy that had already passed, it failed to prevent one for the future... and now they are both like reeds waving along the riverside in harsh leaf-bare. Frigid...
  
  Dead.
  
  Lichenstar passes Warblerpaw with broken strides... ones that falter, that forget themselves halfway through the motion. Jagged... fragmented... a gear dislodged and leaving the machinations to struggle to comply without it. Shallow, struggling breaths grow more hoarse in the freezing air... stolen almost entirely by the overlay of Brookstorm's barely breathing body lain against the riverside. How perfectly they overlap in memory... How cruelly is Algaepaw inconsistent in the way his flank does not faintly rise and fall like his mother's had.
  
  Eelpaw is alive but even she is hardly functioning, some sort of shrill whine so frail it can hardly be heard at all. "Algae-" A name Lichenstar had wanted for her own kit... one Brookstorm had neatly spirited away in a dying wish... Her mouth runs dry, craning her neck low to press a tattered ear close to his open mouth, begging a shallow breath to tickle the sensitive furs there.
  
  Silence. Stillness.
  
  Teeth grit against themselves, stifling a frustrated sob; icy eyes wildly searching the space nearest her apprentice in a strangled hope that Brookstorm was here now. Right now... Taking her daughter to her flank and guiding her heavensward. A reunion long overdue and still far too soon. A frost-burned nose presses itself stubbornly into the ruff of Algaepaw's nape, biting back the urge to look for someone to blame. It would be easy to blame StarClan, easy to blame whatever nebulous body held the tides of fate between their paws.
  
  It's even easier to blame herself.
  
  Even though her chest aches with the effort to breathe, the limbs argue against the demand to move... Whatever faith Robinheart had placed in her to keep Algaepaw safe. Had she been too selfish, used too much of her time and energy ensuring Shellpool's survival instead, grown complacent and confident in the face of Algaepaw's better health? "You're... just like your mothers..." Self-assured... headstrong...
  
  Selfless.
  
  With no extra chances to spare.
• about
  
  speech hex code ✧ #6368A5
  
  ooc notes ✦
  tagging ✶
  penned by tieirlys
• ˚ ★⋆. ࿐࿔ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ .
  
  . ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ . ✦ . . ˚ ੈ✧˳·˖✶ ✦ ˚ ✦ . . ˚ ★⋆. ࿐࿔
  
  . ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ . ✦ ​

 

[robinheart]

With the sun at its peak and leafbare beginning to give away to the subtle warmth, Robinheart indulges in a walk along the river. A brief reprieve from her duties. She can hear the soft birdsong and distant rushing of waters freed from their icy encasement. The music of her clan; the lifeblood that flows through each and every one of them.

The tortoiseshell catches the cracking of ice and splash of water in the distance – her stomach drops at the implication of the sudden change in ambient noise.

On awkward ushered gait does she emerge from reeds and underbrush, citrine eyes wide in concern for whichever poor Riverclanner fell victim to the waters this time. It's not a pelt of ivory and speckles that she expects to see.

Such is evident by the scream that escapes parted maw. A cry of anguish every mother is capable of though none wish to unleash.

Robinheart does not know how she finds herself at her child's side, the moment a haze of adrenaline, but there she is… beholding a body as slick as the day they had met. Her baby. Her Algaepaw. "No. No, no, no," she cries, searching with desperation for a sign of life. For a rise and fall in her child's flank. "Algaepaw, wake up. Y-You have to… open your eyes, baby. Cough it out. Come on," a trembling paw presses to the stilled softness of Algaepaw's belly, trying to coax the trapped water out of her child's body. Again and again she presses. The movement becomes erratic as it fails to produce the result she desires with all her heart. "Come on! Please!"

He's as still and at peace as Brookstorm had been.

But she can't…. Robinheart won't stop. There has to be a chance.

"MOONBEAM! Someone—! Anyone, get Moonbeam!" The pale moggy could heal him. Robinheart's gaze is frantic, wild, as she looks from Warblerpaw to the warrior beside him to Lichenstar, begging just one of them to move. To run and get their medicine cat. "NOW! Please! Pl-Please– Algaepaw…" needs her.

Her child, the one she is not supposed to favor above her clanmates, needs help. Her child, the one she asked Lichenstar to love and protect, needs help. Her child, the one named by her mother now approaching from Starclan to lead him home, needs help.

It's too late for help.

Robinheart knows it deep in her heart, yet she cannot accept such as truth.

She will not accept it as she clutches Algaepaw's soaked body close to herself, giving over her warmth to one who no longer needs it, and sobs.

"I've got you, Algaepaw. Mama's here… I've got you."

//denial is a river in egypt… rest in peace algaepaw ​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[BEEFANG]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ The sound of a distant splash causes her tattered ears to twitch at the mere sound and she's quick on her paws to head in the direction of where it had come from, it doesn't take long for her lonely eye to see the figures of Lichenstar, Warblerpaw, and Robinheart hunched over someone as she cries as desparately for her mentor. The black smoke approaches cautiously to see the slicked form of Algaepaw that doesn't stir at all and the soaked form of Eeelpaw trembling with a quiet whine, Beefang swallows dryly at seeing the life snuffed out of such a young cat and it makes her feel hollow in a sense but the way that the medicine cat apprentice crumples at the sight of her baby now being dead... it's enough to break her own chilled and secluded heart. "Let's get away from... the river." The lead warrior speaks with a slight crack to her voice only to turn briefly towards Lichenstar then Eeelpaw of whom she approaches to try and help the apprentice to her paws, "C'mon... let's head back to camp." Another gentle nudge from her rosy nose despite how jagged the black and white molly usually is, she swallows the dryness from her throat and hopes that all of them would react but the shock and grief from the death itself... she doesn't blame them.

She can't bring herself to look at the soddened form of Algaepaw but the curly furred molly turns her lone amber eye to the direction of Robinheart and speaks out once more in a light offer "I can help carry them home..." Beefang's certain that Moonbeam would show up later or be present when they return to camp with the body in tow but the black smoke had seen plenty of death to know that Algaepaw's already been greeted by Brookstorm and is being guided towards Silverpelt with the rest of her relatives, its a hard and cruel reality to swallow that she's come to accept but she knows the same won't apply for the tortoiseshell. The black smoke doesn't blame her for the way she feels... how else is she supposed to react when the last gifts or remnants of her mate had just been taken from her by their very own lifeblood? She bites down an apology knowing that it wouldn't fix anything but she wishes that she could provide Robinheart comfort in this time yet the brute molly refrains from doing so since they aren't as close to one another.

𓆩✦𓆪

BEEFANGㅤBIOGRAPHYㅤ/ㅤTOYHOU.SE
✦ㅤtrans female (she / her)ㅤ/ㅤasexual homoromantic, taken by moonbeam
✦ㅤ18 moons oldㅤ/ㅤages realistically, every 10th of the month
✦ㅤwarrior of riverclan for 6 moons
✦ㅤsmokestar x cicadastarㅤ/ㅤolder sister to cicadaflight & loveburn
✦ㅤmentoring roepawㅤ/ㅤmentored by smokestar & houndstride
✦ㅤpenned by BossTaurusㅤ/ㅤmessage bosstaurus on discord for plots!
✦ "speech", thoughts, & attacking ; uses brute strength, fights dirty/unfair, and will end/start fights
a short/curly-haired black smoke moggy littered in several scars, missing a toe on one of her paws, and has a lone amber eye w/low white

 

[eelpaw]

Eelpaw does not move.

The world presses in, thick and suffocating, her breath ragged as she stares at the shape before her, the shape that is—had been—Algaepaw. Her own body shudders, seized in violent tremors, but she cannot tell if it is from the cold or the weight of her failure pressing against her chest. The water drips from her sodden fur, pooling beneath her, mingling with the frozen slush on the riverbank. Her claws dig into the earth, grasping for something solid, something real, but the ground offers no solace. She cannot look away. She cannot breathe.

Her stomach clenches again, heaving up what little remains within it, but she barely registers the acid burning her throat. It is nothing compared to the fire in her lungs, the crushing, unbearable tightness in her chest. The sound that escapes her is thin, pathetic, a choked whimper too soft to be heard beneath the grief that surrounds her. She wants to scream. She wants to claw at her own face, her own throat, rip something apart—tear herself apart, because at least then the pain would have an outlet. But she does nothing. She cannot.

Algaepaw is dead.

The words claw at her mind, gnashing and relentless, each repetition hitting her with the force of a crashing wave. Her ears ring with it, a hollow, droning sound that drowns out everything else. She can hardly hear the voices around her—shouting, sobbing, begging. It all blurs together, a cacophony of pain she can neither process nor escape. A tremor wracks her frame, not just from the cold, but from something deeper—something she can't name, only feel in the marrow of her bones. Algaepaw had saved her.

And now he is dead.

Her throat clenches, a small, pitiful whimper escaping her before she can swallow it down. Her body hunches lower to the frozen ground, her claws digging into the earth as if anchoring herself, as if she could make the world stop spinning with sheer force of will. Her chest is so tight it feels like she can't breathe, like she's still drowning, still trapped beneath the ice, still watching Algaepaw's paw slip from her grasp into the darkness. She doesn't move. She can't move. Her limbs feel locked in place, as frozen as the river itself. Her mind is locked in the same loop, replaying the moment over and over—the cracking ice, the plunge, the struggle, the cold, the desperate clawing for the surface. Being thrown upon the shore. His eyes, wide and scared and so, so alive, right before they weren't. But it had not mattered.

It had not mattered.

She had plead, had coughed and choked and screamed herself raw, but it had not mattered.

He is still dead.

Eelpaw feels something press against her, a nudge—soft, insistent—but she flinches, recoiling from the touch as though burned. Her body is still shaking, her breaths shallow and uneven, but her limbs refuse to obey when she wills them to move. Her ears flick at the voices, catching fragments through the haze, but none of it makes sense. None of it matters. She cannot leave.

She cannot step away from him, cannot make her paws move, because to step away is to acknowledge it. To move is to accept it, and she cannot. She will not. The river should have taken her instead.

Her chest heaves, her claws digging deeper into the frozen earth, and she forces herself to breathe. One breath. Then another. But it is too shallow, too fast, and the world is spinning, tipping and swaying like the current beneath the ice. She has failed him. She cannot fix this. She cannot make it right. A broken noise tears from her throat, small and pitiful, barely more than a whisper against the howling wind. She does not realize she is shaking her head until the motion makes her dizzy, her vision blurring. It feels wrong to stand, to move, to leave his side when she is the reason he is dead. She shouldhave been able to save him.

She should have done more.

The touch returns, firmer this time, and instinct flares—a sharp, visceral rejection. Her body jerks, pressing lower against the earth as though she can make herself disappear into it, as though the cold could swallow her whole the way it had him. A quiet, shuddering breath wracks through her frame, her tail curling tightly around her. She does not want to go back. She does not want to move. She does not want to look. She does not want to hear Robinheart's cries, or see Lichenstar's grief, or feel the pity that will undoubtedly settle upon her like frostbite.

She wants to disappear.

She wants to turn back time.

But time does not listen, and Algaepaw does not stir.

Her breath hitches, her claws scraping against the ice-caked mud, and she forces herself up—not all the way, not yet, but enough that her legs tremble beneath her weight. It is instinct alone that makes her respond, the barest shift toward the touch, though her body protests with every movement. Her head stays low, her gaze fixed to the ground, because she cannot—will not—look at him again. If she looks, she will break. She does not move quickly. She does not speak. She only exists, barely, her paws dragging against the frozen riverbank as she stumbles forward. Away. Away from the river. Away from him.

And it feels like betrayal.​