WHEN YOU DIE ✧ recovery & rta

[FLINTWISH]

It's his first time out of the medicine den in months, and all Flintkit can feel is the burn of shame across his pelt.

His siblings are apprentices; they are leaps and bounds ahead of him, catching prey and providing for their clan in its time of need. There is a fear in him that Granitepelt might look upon them now in the same way he had once looked upon Flintkit when they were all younger, when they were all still growing at the same pace. But then illness had stricken, carried into his safehouse on the backs of the same warriors who scowled at him for the way his slate-gray pelt resembled his father's. Had it been on purpose? Had they brought him the yellowcough because they didn't want another Granitepelt running around? Paranoia spreads like a rash across his skin. He's cured now, but Starlingheart had used the last of the lungwort on him. Could he catch the illness again? Could it be dormant within him? Did somecat have the know-how to wake it up again? Poppypaw and Pitchstar had told him it wasn't his time then, but what about now?

The stench of death is only faint in camp, though Flintkit is well-informed of Heavy Branch's... sacrifice. When his mind had been fogged by illness he could not understand so well the cost of his health, but now he feels it acutely; and for what? There still seems to be pollen in his lungs, some soft coating that he can't escape from. And then Halfshade had died, too, and her kit, and Chilledstar had lost a life. Is it my fault? he finds himself wondering, as if the ghosts were following him. He hadn't asked for the last two doses of ShadowClan's cure (but StarClan was he grateful for them. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die he is so scared to die–) and yet now he feels guilty for taking them, as if he'd chewed each poultice in front of the late warriors' faces. And he is sure that Applepaw and Swanpaw and Ashenpaw and Garlicpaw will hate him, and he is sure that all of their siblings will hate him too, and his heart has become a piano harp in his chest trying to keep each high-strung piece of him together.

Flintkit hunches over a small portion of prey, bi-colored gaze set distant beyond the walls of camp. He should be out there with his siblings, really– it's embarrassing to be confined to camp still. He can only hope Chilledstar will want to apprentice him in this moon's meeting. The stony child takes a bite of his meal, too timid to approach anyone, but secretly hoping somecat might greet him.​

 

[Frostbite]

Frostbite doesn't know Flintkit as well as the other kits in the clan. His illness kept him bedridden in the medicine den like his daughter, and he only saw him when visiting her. With all the death the clan has faced recently, it brings warmth and relief to his heart to see Flintkit out of the den and around camp. He's so relieved that Starlingheart wont have to grieve a child, and they wont have to bury someone so young. He approaches Flintkit with a soft smile, one that is weary from all the pain of grief.

"Hello, Flintkit. I'm so glad to see you out and about again..." He says genuinely.

He wants to hold onto this feeling, this comfort of seeing a clanmate recover. He wants to believe the journeying cats will come back any day now and save them from further heartache. He wants to have hope.

But its so hard.

"I bet you're ready to begin your apprenticeship, huh?" He asks. He cant imagine what it feels like to be held back like Flintkit has. But he knows for sure that he'll catch up to his siblings in no time if he has the determination to do so.​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

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XXXXX“Of course he is.” A green-eyed shadow flits from an unclaimed corner of camp to where Frostbite sits. Granitepelt curls his tail around slate-gray paws, his gaze trained on the trembling first steps his firstborn takes out of the medicine cat’s den. He studies the boy now, looking for signs of weakness in his mismatched eyes, in his thin but sturdy young body. He had lived in Halfshade and Heavybranch’s place, and Granitepelt partially wonders if the strength the other two cats had left int heir withered bodies had gone to his son along with the extra lungwort dose.

XXXXXFrostbite speaks to Flintkit gently, whereas his father’s voice is cooler, sterner. “I hope you’re prepared to train extra hard. Your littermates have been training for a moon already.” The last thing he’d ever wanted was for the superior kit to have been left behind. Nettlepaw and the she-kit had progressed leaps and bounds over Flintkit, and to Granitepelt, this is unacceptable. “You’re feeling better, I assume.

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[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Something inside Nettlepaw had been completely dodging the idea that anything bad was going to happen to his brother. From whisperings he'd heard that Flintkit was in a bad way, that there was something really wrong- but whether it was genuine belief or blind faith, Nettlepaw had not let himself for a moment be scared. Thinking about a world where Flintkit had- where something bad had happened hurt. It hurt too much to bear, that lingering possibility, and so Nettlepaw didn't let it linger.

Hearing his father's words, there was within Nettlepaw a small spark of want- a want for his approval, for that dark green gaze to look upon him and acknowledge him. And he sort of did, in his words... but it was only out of hope for Flintkit, rather than out of happiness for him. And this wasn't about him, it shouldn't be. So just as he'd stopped himself from dwelling too hard on Flintkit's possible fate, so too did he stop himself from wanting anything out of Granitepelt. It was easier to dress himself with a grin, to perform in front of Flintkit and make him feel better.

"Oh, I'm not that good. You'll catch up to me in no time," he told his brother, an easy grin on his face, the lie as convincing as any genuine truth. He was surprised with the clarity in which it left him, and was surprised with how good it felt to pretend as if no-one was dwelling on his ability and was instead thinking of how nice he was.​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[Briarthorn]

BRIARKIT — hello, my old heart.
The stormy form of Flintkit exiting the medicine den unsurprisingly captures Briarpaw’s attention from where she is idly standing, letting another apprentice chatter at her ear about some sort of drama. Once disinterested eyes light up with intrigue, getting up and dropping her former conversation without so much as a word to her companion.
By the time the raven apprentice is approaching, Frostbite, Granitepelt, and Nettlepaw have already arrived. Briarpaw cannot help but stare for a moment, Flintkit didn’t seem so big and mean anymore.
Granitepelt muses about training, working extra hard, Nettlepaw follows with his typical good-nature and reassures his brother.
"I could show you the apprentices den, you could pick out a spot." It’s a wary offer, but Briarpaw would feel out of place if she chose to be cold after approaching an obvious attempt to be up-beat. Besides, the kit did almost die, saved by the skin of his teeth- would he take her offer for a fleeting truce? Briarpaw found that she wouldn’t mind either way, sitting down with a feathered tail cast over her forepaws.

"speech"

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