Post by bits on May 10, 2019 20:46:29 GMT
Sometimes, Rookshade woke up with his heart in his throat and an itch in his paws. He didn't tend to sleep in the warrior den often; he'd nap in camp during the day, and he'd wander here and there. Sleep didn't come easily for him, and when he did finally fall under, it wasn't pleasant. Sleep was a demon that snatched him in its spindly fingers, and every breath let the fingers dig into him even more. He could feel it in the scars, feel the terror and dread bleed in through the old wounds. His sleep was fitful, his breaths coming quicker. He could remember.
He was eight moons old when his mother died. She'd been sick on and off since Jaypaw and he were kits. Redtail tired easily, but loved wholeheartedly, not a perfect mother but one that Rookpaw wouldn't trade for the world. Jaypaw and Grousefall were in denial for the entirety of the sickness. "She'll get better", Grousefall would tell them, and Jaypaw would eat it up. Jaypaw was always an optimist, blindly so, and Grousefall just couldn't conceive of a world without Redtail. But Rookpaw knew better; he was a bit of a mama's boy, just like Jaypaw was a daddy's girl. He would sit with his mother as she struggled to stay awake, as her voice became tinny and raspy. He would tell her stories about the rest of the clan, and skip out on training with Whitefire to spend time with her. Rookpaw knew that his mother was dying, but he kept his mouth shut - if ignorance was bliss, who was he to open his family's eyes. Redtail knew she was dying, and so did her son. And two months into the siblings' apprenticehood, she passed away peacefully, in her sleep. The vigil was nice, and of course Rookpaw was upset. He was devastated. But he had seen it for what it was, and he had prepared for it. Jaypaw was upset. Their father...
Rookpaw would eventually look back and think that when Redtail died, their father went with her. Whatever was left of Grousefall was no longer fatherly.
The next few months were hell. Any time he wasn't with Whitefire, Grousefall would call Jaypaw and Rookpaw for extra training. Rookpaw was lazy by nature, and that never sat well with his father. There were times when it was just Rookpaw and Grousefall, running drills until Rookpaw's paws cracked and bled, sparring until he was bruised and sore. He was exhausted constantly, going from critical to cynical to bitter over such a brief amount of time. Eventually, Rookpaw and Jaypaw were no longer apprentices.
When Rookpaw became Rookshade, named for his sly nature and ability to adapt (he maintains that he was named at least in part for his cynical nature and bitterness). Jaybright was named for her positivity and optimism. Both were just fine as far as warriors went - Rookshade kept his bitterness though, and it festered. Apprenticehood should have meant that he no longer existed to please his father. It should have meant freedom, it should have meant autonomy.
Many shouted words and claws and teeth later, he knew better. He knew that the blood stayed, he knew that he existed to survive, he existed to fight back. He would feel dread forever, he would feel his throat closing at any moment, feel the pain in echoes where the scars hid and where the bruises had long since faded.
By the time Rookshade came back to himself, he was panting outside camp, woken from his brief sleep by the panic that made his heart race. He took a moment to collect himself - he dug his claws into the ground, tried to slow his breathing. Phantom race flared along his side, his ears pinned against his head. By the time he was as present as he could be, he opened his eyes and stared, worn, at the ground. His tired body ached when he stood up, but he could feel his paws itching, his throat tight, and his jaw tensing.
It was still before dawn. Time to run some drills.
He was eight moons old when his mother died. She'd been sick on and off since Jaypaw and he were kits. Redtail tired easily, but loved wholeheartedly, not a perfect mother but one that Rookpaw wouldn't trade for the world. Jaypaw and Grousefall were in denial for the entirety of the sickness. "She'll get better", Grousefall would tell them, and Jaypaw would eat it up. Jaypaw was always an optimist, blindly so, and Grousefall just couldn't conceive of a world without Redtail. But Rookpaw knew better; he was a bit of a mama's boy, just like Jaypaw was a daddy's girl. He would sit with his mother as she struggled to stay awake, as her voice became tinny and raspy. He would tell her stories about the rest of the clan, and skip out on training with Whitefire to spend time with her. Rookpaw knew that his mother was dying, but he kept his mouth shut - if ignorance was bliss, who was he to open his family's eyes. Redtail knew she was dying, and so did her son. And two months into the siblings' apprenticehood, she passed away peacefully, in her sleep. The vigil was nice, and of course Rookpaw was upset. He was devastated. But he had seen it for what it was, and he had prepared for it. Jaypaw was upset. Their father...
Rookpaw would eventually look back and think that when Redtail died, their father went with her. Whatever was left of Grousefall was no longer fatherly.
The next few months were hell. Any time he wasn't with Whitefire, Grousefall would call Jaypaw and Rookpaw for extra training. Rookpaw was lazy by nature, and that never sat well with his father. There were times when it was just Rookpaw and Grousefall, running drills until Rookpaw's paws cracked and bled, sparring until he was bruised and sore. He was exhausted constantly, going from critical to cynical to bitter over such a brief amount of time. Eventually, Rookpaw and Jaypaw were no longer apprentices.
When Rookpaw became Rookshade, named for his sly nature and ability to adapt (he maintains that he was named at least in part for his cynical nature and bitterness). Jaybright was named for her positivity and optimism. Both were just fine as far as warriors went - Rookshade kept his bitterness though, and it festered. Apprenticehood should have meant that he no longer existed to please his father. It should have meant freedom, it should have meant autonomy.
Many shouted words and claws and teeth later, he knew better. He knew that the blood stayed, he knew that he existed to survive, he existed to fight back. He would feel dread forever, he would feel his throat closing at any moment, feel the pain in echoes where the scars hid and where the bruises had long since faded.
By the time Rookshade came back to himself, he was panting outside camp, woken from his brief sleep by the panic that made his heart race. He took a moment to collect himself - he dug his claws into the ground, tried to slow his breathing. Phantom race flared along his side, his ears pinned against his head. By the time he was as present as he could be, he opened his eyes and stared, worn, at the ground. His tired body ached when he stood up, but he could feel his paws itching, his throat tight, and his jaw tensing.
It was still before dawn. Time to run some drills.
