quiet is violent [adderstar]

words: 627 tagged: adderstar notes: whoop!

He had slipped from the camp, leaving Yewtail discreetly in charge. His niece wasn’t particularly fond of him. He’d reconciled himself to their unease, this neutrality of sorts. She’d looked for a moment as if she might argue, remind him of his duties. Perhaps she had thought better of it, or decided not to waste her time. Magpiestar would come and go as he pleased. He always had. And with Willowbreeze’s death still weighing heavily on him, he wasn’t a creature to be crossed. He’d taken, in recent days, to wandering the length of the stream. Yewtail had stopped questioning, stopped wondering what it was he did. Having lost her own father, and a sister as well, she was familiar with grief. And his grief was deep, was abiding and crushing. Every inch of his territory held Willowbreeze’s memory, clinging desperately. His nest still smelled of her sweet honey scent, patches of her fur still hidden in the moss. He heard her voice whispering to him on every breath of air. More than once he had whirled to find himself utterly alone, with nothing but his age and confusion. His eyes fluttered closed as the gurgling of the stream entered his ears, pounding a soothing rhythm.


He could hear her, a gentle tinkling laugh at his side. How often had they strolled along this stream together? With his eyes closed, he could almost see her – her stomach swollen with life, discussing names, their shared future, the beautiful things. I like Littlepaw, a name for a quiet soul, like his father. He stopped short, sucking in a breath. A memory of her, a ghost of what once was, brushed against him. He remembered his own reply, his laughter and denial. He’d insisted on a strong name, a confident name. Though of course they’d both known he’d have given her whatever she wished for. They’d been together for more than sixty moons, an entire lifetime.

His eyes flicked back open. Like an icicle breaking, her image was gone. Her words, her memory, faded into silence. He was left alone at the edge of the stream, paralyzed. His muscles clenched. He longed to double over, to arch his neck and screech to the skies. He would live another lifetime, see his siblings, his children, everyone he loved fall to war, to illness, to everything he couldn’t protect them from. Yet he would live on. He would die and die and die and die again. And unlike Willowbreeze, he would wake up, he would rise again to lead another day. He was beginning to resent his lives, to resent every gift bestowed upon him. His claws unsheathed, digging into the soft sand and mud beneath him. He let out a long breath, whistling through his teeth. His claws released, his muscles relaxed. He couldn’t afford to waste another moment. Adderstar would be awaiting his arrival, and he had no desire to keep his fellow leader waiting – no matter how young she may have been.

He turned on his heel, his back to the stream that had once been his sanctuary. He stalked quickly away, breaking into a full out sprint. He ran from his grief, and from the memory of Willowbreeze – left staring sadly after him. He ran blindly, pushing his way through the reeds and grasses, threading through the trees. He moved with a practiced familiarity towards the Shadowclan border. But his body, nearing ninety moons of age, couldn’t hold out such a pace for long. He slowed, panting. Sweat prickled beneath his pelt. He raised his head, a steely calmness shrouding his grief and exhaustion. He moved, pushing through the last of the bushes to the appointed place. Now was not a time for love, or for loss.