Post by Deleted on Feb 7, 2019 23:27:33 GMT -5
Flintfang
24 Moons || StoneClan || TomMothflight was dead.
Flintfang and Dustclaw were the only two cats left sitting vigil when the sun rose, huddled close together in the biting cold of early morning. The black tom had all night to think, and perhaps this was life telling him to leave. His heart had always been drawn to the mountains beyond, but his brothers had kept him rooted to Stoneclan. Flintfang had appreciated everything the clan had done for him and his brothers, though ever since the Tribe had visited, he could quite get it off his mind. Is this really what I want? He thought, the sun cresting over the horizon.
It was cold, and the snow had still coated the ground. Mothflight's blood was probably a frozen pool at the Lightningclan border. It made Flintfang want to scream, knowing that he had come too late. Dustclaw's frightened gaze flashed in his mind over and over. The black tom knew the last thing his only remaining brother needed was for him to leave, but just being in Stoneclan territory weighed him down like the very boulders he walked over day after day.
Would his brother understand, or would he be upset? Was it fair for Flintfang to leave in a time of grief?
Flintfang licked Dustclaw between the ears when the dawn patrol left, waking his brother from his accidental slumber. The black tom wasn't hungry, but he didn't want to leave camp. He wasn't tired, but he forced himself to his paws. Now wasn't the time to talk with Dustclaw, but perhaps he should talk with Hawkstar. Surely the leader would think it to be a rash decision, though Flintfang knew himself better than any cat. He had wanted this for sometime. Dustclaw seemed well liked and comfortable in Stoneclan, and Mothflight? He was loved by everyone, a positive, social butterfly who could make anyone smile, but a featherbrained wanderer. It didn't surprise him that his brother had been killed.
Flintfang just didn't expect it to be so soon, so sudden.
The trio was young and full of life a day ago, and now, now Flintfang had to say goodbye to the brother he so often criticized, but the most innocent of them all. They couldn't even bury him in the earth. The ground was frozen solid and covered in several inches of snow. The thought of his brother's body being buried in snow and kept cold like a slice of meat made him sick, but that was the struggle of death in wintertime. Flintfang had already chose where his grave would be, scraping away the snow, hoping that today was going to bring temperatures above freezing so he could bury his brother in the ground. Then Mothflight could walk the stars with the silly ancestors his gullible mind admired so much.
Flintfang had stood there, lost in his thoughts for quite some time, his eyes boring into Mothflight's familiar light-colored pelt. Dustclaw had already walked into the warriors den, likely curled up in his nest. Flintfang waited a moment longer, and for the first time in his life, he was stuck between where to go. His heart pulled him to Hawkstar's den, though the black tom was lost for words. Grief made his throat hoarse. After a few moments, he gave up and curled up against Mothflight's cold body like a queen coddling her kit, resting his chin on his brother's flank and slowly closing his eyes.
Flintfang soon drifted off into a peaceful sleep, denial filling his dreams with happiness as memories of the brothers' adventures strangled reality.
Flintfang and Dustclaw were the only two cats left sitting vigil when the sun rose, huddled close together in the biting cold of early morning. The black tom had all night to think, and perhaps this was life telling him to leave. His heart had always been drawn to the mountains beyond, but his brothers had kept him rooted to Stoneclan. Flintfang had appreciated everything the clan had done for him and his brothers, though ever since the Tribe had visited, he could quite get it off his mind. Is this really what I want? He thought, the sun cresting over the horizon.
It was cold, and the snow had still coated the ground. Mothflight's blood was probably a frozen pool at the Lightningclan border. It made Flintfang want to scream, knowing that he had come too late. Dustclaw's frightened gaze flashed in his mind over and over. The black tom knew the last thing his only remaining brother needed was for him to leave, but just being in Stoneclan territory weighed him down like the very boulders he walked over day after day.
Would his brother understand, or would he be upset? Was it fair for Flintfang to leave in a time of grief?
Flintfang licked Dustclaw between the ears when the dawn patrol left, waking his brother from his accidental slumber. The black tom wasn't hungry, but he didn't want to leave camp. He wasn't tired, but he forced himself to his paws. Now wasn't the time to talk with Dustclaw, but perhaps he should talk with Hawkstar. Surely the leader would think it to be a rash decision, though Flintfang knew himself better than any cat. He had wanted this for sometime. Dustclaw seemed well liked and comfortable in Stoneclan, and Mothflight? He was loved by everyone, a positive, social butterfly who could make anyone smile, but a featherbrained wanderer. It didn't surprise him that his brother had been killed.
Flintfang just didn't expect it to be so soon, so sudden.
The trio was young and full of life a day ago, and now, now Flintfang had to say goodbye to the brother he so often criticized, but the most innocent of them all. They couldn't even bury him in the earth. The ground was frozen solid and covered in several inches of snow. The thought of his brother's body being buried in snow and kept cold like a slice of meat made him sick, but that was the struggle of death in wintertime. Flintfang had already chose where his grave would be, scraping away the snow, hoping that today was going to bring temperatures above freezing so he could bury his brother in the ground. Then Mothflight could walk the stars with the silly ancestors his gullible mind admired so much.
Flintfang had stood there, lost in his thoughts for quite some time, his eyes boring into Mothflight's familiar light-colored pelt. Dustclaw had already walked into the warriors den, likely curled up in his nest. Flintfang waited a moment longer, and for the first time in his life, he was stuck between where to go. His heart pulled him to Hawkstar's den, though the black tom was lost for words. Grief made his throat hoarse. After a few moments, he gave up and curled up against Mothflight's cold body like a queen coddling her kit, resting his chin on his brother's flank and slowly closing his eyes.
Flintfang soon drifted off into a peaceful sleep, denial filling his dreams with happiness as memories of the brothers' adventures strangled reality.
Do not dwell in the past.
Do not dream of the future.
Made By Fawn
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