- Sep 21, 2022
- 232
- 22
- 18
The sun rises on another day. Life goes on, uncaring. Frostbite did not rise that morning. He saw no reason to, after all. He had no apprentice. Not anymore. Her scream haunts his nightmares, her blood can still be felt on his skin. Her broken body plagues his memory, and he trembles every time the vision surfaces. Snow white fur is more marred than usual, dirt clinging to it when normally he took great care to keep it clean.
Why bother?
What was the point?
He fooled himself into thinking he could protect this clan. He would readily throw his life on the line to save someone else's. That is what he did, and it cost him the life of someone he cared for. Poppypaw was an obnoxious brat, most of the clan would agree. But she was a splash of color on an otherwise dreary marsh, a bright light that none could ignore when in her presence. She was almost like he was around her age, desperate to impress a mother who could care less. But unlike Frostbite, Poppypaw had someone who cared. He cannot speak for her friends, but he cared a great bit about her.
He wanted to see her grow up. Become a great warrior. Live up to her countless threats of mass destruction and untold devastation that he would equip her with the ability to do so.
But nothing he could have taught her would have helped against a bear... He himself had never contended with one. The big hulking beasts from the mountains he once lived in outshone these smaller black bears by much, and yet it was these smaller beasts that left him writhing in anguish. He's escaped twolegs with loud sticks, wolves whom he had gotten too close to. Foxes who thirsted for his blood.
All of these creatures he has bested in some way. He's always been good at saving his own pelt. But he knows now that when it comes to those who matter to him, he is useless.
Tired, weary eyes stare blankly at the makeshift nest he has made in the oak forest that Thunderclan so….Kindly let them stay in. He lays tightly curled, unmoving. He recounts a night from days past, now that some semblance of clarity has been restored to him.
He was utterly lost in his grief. It had been a few days since Poppypaw's death....He wasn't sure how many. Had it been a week, maybe?? He wasn't sure anymore. Time was a blur. He had left during the night to find a place he could wail and scream to his hearts content. It was therapeutic. Others may think him insane, but sometimes you really do just have to scream. He had chosen the Carrionplace that night. Mountains of garbage piled high and plenty of rats to hunt to bring back for the clan. Trembling at the farthest corner of the rancid smelling yard, he was about to let loose what would have been a banshee's wail if not for the red coated stranger that approached him.
Their interaction was a blur to him. Kind words and a stranger who was too physically affectionate. But instead of pushing the other away, he let it happen. Gentle brushes against his pelt, comforting nuzzles against his cheek... He had never felt these things before. Even his first mate kept him at tail's length. When affection was shown to him, he often ran. He didn't know how to react to it, and his answer was to back away. But this night had went differently.
Instead of running, he stayed put. Perhaps it was the idle conversation about grief, the words of genuine comfort offered to him by a red tabby who he'd never even met before. Perhaps it was the curiosity as to what affection felt like. He had to admit, it certainly lit his nerves up in a way they never had been.
But no matter how surprisingly good a night he had, reality dawned on him that he may have made a mistake.
Perhaps he was worried for nothing, and this strange feeling inside was his mind playing tricks on him. This… Loss of appetite, this sickness.
Symptoms that could easily just be depression, but part of him felt a deep sickening pit in his stomach that it was something else.
Why bother?
What was the point?
He fooled himself into thinking he could protect this clan. He would readily throw his life on the line to save someone else's. That is what he did, and it cost him the life of someone he cared for. Poppypaw was an obnoxious brat, most of the clan would agree. But she was a splash of color on an otherwise dreary marsh, a bright light that none could ignore when in her presence. She was almost like he was around her age, desperate to impress a mother who could care less. But unlike Frostbite, Poppypaw had someone who cared. He cannot speak for her friends, but he cared a great bit about her.
He wanted to see her grow up. Become a great warrior. Live up to her countless threats of mass destruction and untold devastation that he would equip her with the ability to do so.
But nothing he could have taught her would have helped against a bear... He himself had never contended with one. The big hulking beasts from the mountains he once lived in outshone these smaller black bears by much, and yet it was these smaller beasts that left him writhing in anguish. He's escaped twolegs with loud sticks, wolves whom he had gotten too close to. Foxes who thirsted for his blood.
All of these creatures he has bested in some way. He's always been good at saving his own pelt. But he knows now that when it comes to those who matter to him, he is useless.
Tired, weary eyes stare blankly at the makeshift nest he has made in the oak forest that Thunderclan so….Kindly let them stay in. He lays tightly curled, unmoving. He recounts a night from days past, now that some semblance of clarity has been restored to him.
He was utterly lost in his grief. It had been a few days since Poppypaw's death....He wasn't sure how many. Had it been a week, maybe?? He wasn't sure anymore. Time was a blur. He had left during the night to find a place he could wail and scream to his hearts content. It was therapeutic. Others may think him insane, but sometimes you really do just have to scream. He had chosen the Carrionplace that night. Mountains of garbage piled high and plenty of rats to hunt to bring back for the clan. Trembling at the farthest corner of the rancid smelling yard, he was about to let loose what would have been a banshee's wail if not for the red coated stranger that approached him.
Their interaction was a blur to him. Kind words and a stranger who was too physically affectionate. But instead of pushing the other away, he let it happen. Gentle brushes against his pelt, comforting nuzzles against his cheek... He had never felt these things before. Even his first mate kept him at tail's length. When affection was shown to him, he often ran. He didn't know how to react to it, and his answer was to back away. But this night had went differently.
Instead of running, he stayed put. Perhaps it was the idle conversation about grief, the words of genuine comfort offered to him by a red tabby who he'd never even met before. Perhaps it was the curiosity as to what affection felt like. He had to admit, it certainly lit his nerves up in a way they never had been.
But no matter how surprisingly good a night he had, reality dawned on him that he may have made a mistake.
Perhaps he was worried for nothing, and this strange feeling inside was his mind playing tricks on him. This… Loss of appetite, this sickness.
Symptoms that could easily just be depression, but part of him felt a deep sickening pit in his stomach that it was something else.