- Nov 27, 2023
- 150
- 35
- 28
[ CW for mentions of death, depression and grieving]
Grief is not unfamiliar to a cat whose known little more than tragedy, war and death - but this brand is particularly shaking.
Almost two moons have passed since the deaths of Rattleheart and Lilypaw - but that passage of time was inconsequential to Slateheart. Life had been dull and routinely, with days spent poorly hunting and nights spent aimlessly wandering through barren nightmares. Very little had been uttered to another cat, and passing glances have been spared less and less. The warrior's fur had become unkept and unruly as he spends more and more time within the secluded burrows of camp, even as sickness ravages the better half of their warriors.
Something unseen had changed. In one particular evening spent away from camp, doing stars-knows-what the boy does when he's out on his solo wanders, Slateheart returns.. subtly heartened. His green eyes carry that signature tiredness that he had taken on since the death of his dearest friends, but within them - underneath masked, dull layers - lies a semblance of hope. What he had seen that day, or heard, remains somewhat of a mystery to his Clanmates. But undeniably, it must have been good.
Little by little, he began to try again. Gradually, he had moved back to his nest underneath the stars; from an occasional night, to every other night, to every evening spent with the eyes of his ancestors. And again, his fruitful hunts had resumed; Slateheart contributed to his Clan meal after meal, just as he once had, a formidable hunter. But yet, there remains an unwavering sullen silence to the heartbroken man, until..
" The leaves are falling, " Slateheart speaks, to no cat in particular, or to everyone who could hear. His gaze follows a leaf strewn in from a breeze carried from the scarce trees amongst the moorland. Nevermind that they had been falling for quite some time now; he wouldn't have noticed leaf-falls beginning any more than he'd notice a cat speaking directly at him for the past two moons. He still watches with the same wonder of a kit experiencing their first autumn. " It'll be a pretty season, won't it? "
SLATEHEART ( he/him )
Grief is not unfamiliar to a cat whose known little more than tragedy, war and death - but this brand is particularly shaking.
Almost two moons have passed since the deaths of Rattleheart and Lilypaw - but that passage of time was inconsequential to Slateheart. Life had been dull and routinely, with days spent poorly hunting and nights spent aimlessly wandering through barren nightmares. Very little had been uttered to another cat, and passing glances have been spared less and less. The warrior's fur had become unkept and unruly as he spends more and more time within the secluded burrows of camp, even as sickness ravages the better half of their warriors.
Something unseen had changed. In one particular evening spent away from camp, doing stars-knows-what the boy does when he's out on his solo wanders, Slateheart returns.. subtly heartened. His green eyes carry that signature tiredness that he had taken on since the death of his dearest friends, but within them - underneath masked, dull layers - lies a semblance of hope. What he had seen that day, or heard, remains somewhat of a mystery to his Clanmates. But undeniably, it must have been good.
Little by little, he began to try again. Gradually, he had moved back to his nest underneath the stars; from an occasional night, to every other night, to every evening spent with the eyes of his ancestors. And again, his fruitful hunts had resumed; Slateheart contributed to his Clan meal after meal, just as he once had, a formidable hunter. But yet, there remains an unwavering sullen silence to the heartbroken man, until..
" The leaves are falling, " Slateheart speaks, to no cat in particular, or to everyone who could hear. His gaze follows a leaf strewn in from a breeze carried from the scarce trees amongst the moorland. Nevermind that they had been falling for quite some time now; he wouldn't have noticed leaf-falls beginning any more than he'd notice a cat speaking directly at him for the past two moons. He still watches with the same wonder of a kit experiencing their first autumn. " It'll be a pretty season, won't it? "
( ooc ) anyone may be the cat he's speaking to <3
