sensitive topics your grace is wasted in your face

[mercy]

sentiment is a motivator that defies the most stringent of rules. a bleeding heart capable of overstepping a boundary — of appeasing innocent minds incapable of foresight.

many nights mercykit has caught promisekit gazing longingly at the medicine den. he seeks for himself kin; hues of ebony and porcelain now star-touched. grandmother starlingheart has left them to walk among silverpelt. her absence is felt among all of their clanmates, but it seems extra heavy upon their brother's shoulders.

she strikes a deal with bonechill, requiring minimal effort. sentiment is a motivator after all, and who was the warrior to deny two kits the right to see their grandmother's grave? to give them a semblance of closure the laws of the marsh deemed unaccepted until they've reached their sixth moon. mercykit could not watch promisekit's longing for two more moons… her own bleeding heart would fracture to dust if she must wait that long.

"we are almost there, aren't we?" the bicolored kit asks as the trio sneak near silently through the outskirts of camp, her flank pressed against promisekit's for warmth and security. dawn will break soon enough, the first patrols sent out and the risk of getting caught increasing tenfold. they'd have to make it a quick visit to starlingheart's grave as to not get bonechill (and themselves) in trouble with ternstar and their parents. "thank you again for taking us, bonechill. we never got to say goodbye…" mercykit adds, their mismatched eyes gleaming with gratitude in the minimal light as they look to the warrior with a soft smile.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[promisepaw]

It hurts; despite his personal beliefs of fate and destiny, it hurts.

Promisekit dwells in his own pride, the impulsive eagerness to assume that he is justifiably correct in his thinking. That the end will come, but there is no fear to it. By design they will meet the stars and hold them fastly, and yet... the loss of one and another in ShadowClan is normal, but Starlingheart reverberates across their camp every moment a breath is taken. Her caring glance, her tremoring voice. Promisekit loved his grandmother, almost as much as he loved abusing her kindness and sticking like sap to her side. She never grew annoyed with him, however. Promisekit think she never could, for impatience was not a thread woven into the fabric of her being. Courage hadn't been, either.

Yet it was courage, bravery, and stupidity that took her away from him.

He still has his fathers. Ashenfall and Flintwish would not leave him even if fate demanded they do. They will see him to adulthood and beyond - and his siblings, they too will join him in every milestone. Starlingheart was supposed to be there, too; the last grandstand in his long-bled heritage. She will watch from the stars, he guesses, but that doesn't assuage the discomfort.

Mercykit, bless their heart, works beyond him as if she's made of starlight herself. He's oft an open book for her, unyielding in his emotions, and she takes them inwardly. They harness every lashing of his lackluster tongue and forlorn groan and turn it into an experience he may one day appreciate. They return with Bonechill, a quiet suggestion that they go see her grave... and he agrees, because saying no would waste her efforts.

"We didn't have the chance to," he corrects her, and a bit of a smile finds his expression. He remembers the details of Ashenfall's teachings - how to rest the petals he stole away for Starlingheart, how to clean the headstone with his paw and not his tongue, and how to make sure the earth is stiff and pat down, so that scavengers do not dig her back up. His gaze floats about, curious to find out what a headstone even is.

"I've learned a prayer for this," Promisekit admits, his tail writhing like a snake in anticipation of a large meal. "I can teach you, Mercykit. We can say it together...!"
​

 

[Bonepaw.]

*+:｡.｡ Bonechill was a family man. Being so stringently loyal to his bloodline and his bloodline alone meant he found little interest in those outside his carefully guarded family tree. It would be a cold day in hell before he chose to spend time with someone else's kin when he had his baby siblings to consider...Suppose the current weather fits the requirement.

A particularly freezing breeze would leave the man blinking hard, short fur pathetic armor against the early light's cold. Glancing at his wards, Bonechill would consider perhaps he hadn't thought this plan through as well as he'd believed. Watching the two plod along, paws so small they had to scurry to keep up with his longer strides, he couldn't help but finally marvel at how small they were. When Mercykit dared to wander up to one of Shadowclan's least inviting members and ask for his assistance, the man had only agreed to chaperone because he'd already had plans to visit Needledrift himself. How hard could it be to keep track of two kits, right? It would seem not at all, as both monochrome children were well-behaved, barely complaining about the bitter weather frosting their noses and eartips.
When asked about the distance remaining on this impromptu field trip, Bonechill only nodded in the affirmative, seeing no need to waste his breath to fog the air. His nose would wrinkle ever so slightly when Promisekit began mewing about prayers, the idea coming across as absurd to the silver-cinnamon realist. While he had no basis to either deny or prove Starclan's existence, he was certain that anything said here in the land of the living couldn't possibly reach those in the stars. That was a medicine cat's skill, the mere mortals they served meant to be cast in their shadow. Anger bubbles behind gritted teeth at the thought, not for the first time imagining grabbing Marbleleaf and forcing her to reveal her secrets - forcing her to link him once more to his mother.
For those unblessed by the stars, death was the only way.

But perhaps for the youth, satisfaction could be found in the boundary line. Mercykit's gratitude would garner her a slow blink from the man, finding even less reason to respond to her woes. And you still won't be he might've said, had he any reason to speak it aloud. But as it were, he understood her heartbreak. A goodbye rotted on the tip of his tongue for a Mother he was certain he hadn't said "I love you" sufficiently enough. If visiting gravestones and reciting ritualistic seances brought the children peace...then so be it.

For Bonechill, he was merely here out of a need to get away from the bustling camp. However...perhaps the routine of ensuring Needledrift's burial spot remained clean was helpful in its own way.

"Make it quick," the man who shared more genes with a boulder than a cat would finally grumble, lifting his head to squint against another buffeting gust of air. He didn't like how difficult it was to catch scents while his nose was numb from the cold...

*+:｡.｡ ☠ Updated 12/28/24

• 
• 
  
  GENERAL:
  ☠ Shadowclan — warrior
  ☠ DMAB— He/Him — Unsure
  ☠ 16 moons
  ☠ Son to Ferndance x Needledrift
  ☠ Littermates with Bloodwing, Shadewhisker, Splashdance
  ☠ Half-brother to Gigglepaw, Morelpaw, Branchpaw
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☠Physically hard | mentally hard
  ☠ Attack in bold #738171
  injuries: None currently

​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

The taste of Applejaw's blood on her lips emboldens her. Her forays into the marsh grow deeper and more dangerous, chasing a shadow with black fur and sad green eyes that slinks around the drooping willows. It hides from her, and when she rounds the trunks, it's already gone. Maybe it was never really there.

Voices reach her ears long before faces do. Ribs nudging at her taut pelt, she is as thin and hungry and blood-starved as a coyote. A rawboned white-masked phantom, she stalks through the undergrowth, watching with starblack eyes roving slowly over each face with something like starvation. A pale visage with a set jaw, grunted words drifting down to her on the wind. A grey scrap with a mop of hair that reminds her of the sibling she hadn't sent to the stars. And…

What?

White mask, pretty curls of black, wide kittenish eyes. Oil swirling into milk, into a mirror image blurred by smudges of the past. She stares far down at herself—small and young and innocent in the face. Softly smiling, cute eyes crinkling at the edges. And lucky, so lucky, and she doesn't even know it. And it's so unfair, and her vision is crumpling and fuzzing, because when things aren't fair she gets so—

—so angry. This kit—this mimic—doesn't understand how lucky she is. How lucky and how stupid, squandering the safety of her home and her Clan to traipse out here. How easy it would be for everything to go wrong. How suddenly she could go from a promising young cat with a family and a future to nobody at all.

It's so unfair. It's so unfair that this child is already so far above Ghostmask, without even trying. It's so unfair that she doesn't understand how good she has it. There's a lesson in that. One this kit needs to learn.

When Ghostmask slips from the underbrush, she doesn't pause. There's no hesitation in the way she moves, coming up behind Bonechill and slamming both paws hard into the side of his head in hopes of knocking him down. Then she's moving on, forward, faster, a terrible gleam alight in her sooty eyes.

Her jaws snap open and she seizes Mercykit by the scruff. The kit is not so young, but she's small, and Ghostmask is wild-wiry and her limbs burn with the strength of the damned, the strength that had let her drag Applejaw to the Thunderpath. Digging her teeth hard into the kit's scruff, she flees just as fast as she came, long loping dog-strides towards the place where ShadowClan ends.​

 

[mercy]

she smiles ever so softly at promisekit's correction, not minding it in the first place. let him correct her, for in these instances the stone hued kitten is more well versed in his language skills. silver tongued and brimming with… well, promise. their parents aptly named him. "oh yes please, i would be delighted to learn the prayer you learned," the specter of a living relative replies with quiet earnest. bonechill may not agree with their attempts at resolving their grief, but to each their own. a mother and a grandmother will be appeased with a quick visit regardless of words or actions.

a sharp breeze buffed the trio as the graveyard drew nearer, mercykit squinting their mismatched eyes to keep debris away. 'make it quick', their chaperone grunts and with politeness mercykit turns to him to utter another wave of thanks — unending gratitude wrapping around the child housing so much light but draped in shadows.

no words are spoken as fear grips her with a suddenness that takes their breath away.

a phantom materializes from the undergrowth, speed and intensity blurring features albeit the overall appearance remains. it's her. swansong spoke in hushed tone, ghostly and reverent, of the one mercykit resembled. the haunted gleam in half lidded eyes as they spoke of a specter who roamed no one knew where.

here. she's here!

ghostmask descends upon bonechill with a vengeance, striking fast and true before whirling to mercykit. there is a split second where eyes meet: sooty depths locking onto mismatched pools belonging to her remaining brother, chips of amber and sapphire that tie mercykit to her father. their mouth runs dry and paws lock into place as the beast opens her maw.

mercykit looks death in the face and can only see herself — a version of herself soiled and sullied by an unkind upbringing.

in the blinks of an eye she is yanked from her feet, pain blossoming at her scruff where fangs find purchase in tender flesh. her body thuds against the ground, catching on roots and stones that awaken her senses and draw in enough of a breath to cry out. "n-no! no please!"

but the world whisks by in wild willed rage; their gaze blurs and paws stretch back where her brother remains, a silent plea for help that he cannot provide. this ghost will not be stopped or hindered… no promises or mercy can quell such a beast.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[Bonepaw.]

*+:｡.｡ No sooner had Bonechill rumbled his command did something suddenly feel terribly wrong. He lifts his head, perks his ears, and sniffs the air. But it's still just cold and quiet, the morning unperturbed by the existence of life hidden all around them. It's just another morning...until he catches a rustle behind him-

Stars explode in his vision - a thick, white-hot blanket of darkness shrouds all thought and logic and before he knows it he has a mouthful of dirt and a pounding headache. How long was he out- was his first thought, one he doubted he'd get an answer to in time so instead, he lunges towards the nearest cat scent, clumsily grabbing hold of Promisekit's scruff. His thoughts sludge between rings of a painful bell, knowing comes slow and fades fast, but he grips hard enough to observe the lack of threat -

The absence of Mercykit.

Hissing through the crap of fur in his mouth, Bonechill whirls around once, twice, until he stumbles - the bell tolls louder, and his vision echoes after-images. Even if he wanted to fight, he was in no state to do so now, and if he tried to chase down whatever - or whoever - got Mercykit, his paws wouldn't take him far...and he might very well end up giving another life away in the process.

Cursing once more, louder, Bonechill instead stumbles back to camp, holding tightly to the only ward he manages to protect.
And, for once in his life, Bonechill's heart aches for a life he shares no ties with.

*+:｡.｡ ☠ Updated 12/28/24

• 
• 
  
  GENERAL:
  ☠ Shadowclan — warrior
  ☠ DMAB— He/Him — Unsure
  ☠ 16 moons
  ☠ Son to Ferndance x Needledrift
  ☠ Littermates with Bloodwing, Shadewhisker, Splashdance
  ☠ Half-brother to Gigglepaw, Morelpaw, Branchpaw
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☠Physically hard | mentally hard
  ☠ Attack in bold #738171
  injuries: None currently

​