- Jun 7, 2022
- 418
- 150
- 43
The days are too long. It’s unbearable, living without his favorite warrior at his side. He’s spent most of his days tucked away in his den—wallowing, as some would say. He says it’s normal. How is he supposed to act like everything is just fine, like it’s all okay, like he can do his regular tasks, when his mate is gone? His Clearsight, ripped away by some faceless WindClan scum. It’s not fair, and he can’t pretend the pain away.
Winter has shifted to spring, the snow has melted, but it doesn’t matter. Flowers are beginning to sprout, to bloom, but it doesn’t matter. The cheer that followed him into the changing seasons is broken, settling shattered in his chest.
He settles gracelessly onto the new grass, eyes barely blinking open as he does so. He’s been shooed from the den, from his nest, by a well-meaning clanmate. You need to get some sun, they’d said. But he doesn’t need sun. He needs his mate. Gillpaw needs his mentor. Willow and Cicada and everyone else need their friend, their clanmate. Now he’s just a memory, a body, another number in the dirt for WindClan to smugly hold over their heads. The gathering was a living nightmare.
It’s only when he opens his eyes to actually see what’s in front of him that he notices it. There, in front of his nose, is a dandelion, puffy and white. He recalls one of the old barn cats, telling a young Clay stories of blowing on dandelions and wishes coming true. It’s silly, really, a child’s hope to change the world. A wish. He takes a deep, steadying breath, tears prickling at his eyes, and then blows until the dandelion’s little puffs begin to trail away on the light breeze.
I wish he could return to me. I wish he wasn’t gone. I wish we had more time.
He flops his head back onto the grass, face-down, unmoving. He’s done now, for a little while.
Winter has shifted to spring, the snow has melted, but it doesn’t matter. Flowers are beginning to sprout, to bloom, but it doesn’t matter. The cheer that followed him into the changing seasons is broken, settling shattered in his chest.
He settles gracelessly onto the new grass, eyes barely blinking open as he does so. He’s been shooed from the den, from his nest, by a well-meaning clanmate. You need to get some sun, they’d said. But he doesn’t need sun. He needs his mate. Gillpaw needs his mentor. Willow and Cicada and everyone else need their friend, their clanmate. Now he’s just a memory, a body, another number in the dirt for WindClan to smugly hold over their heads. The gathering was a living nightmare.
It’s only when he opens his eyes to actually see what’s in front of him that he notices it. There, in front of his nose, is a dandelion, puffy and white. He recalls one of the old barn cats, telling a young Clay stories of blowing on dandelions and wishes coming true. It’s silly, really, a child’s hope to change the world. A wish. He takes a deep, steadying breath, tears prickling at his eyes, and then blows until the dandelion’s little puffs begin to trail away on the light breeze.
I wish he could return to me. I wish he wasn’t gone. I wish we had more time.
He flops his head back onto the grass, face-down, unmoving. He’s done now, for a little while.
[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]