i am bulletproof ,flyaway

[mariko]

mariko

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Wisps of mist twirled around the trees and climbed the bark. It had rained the night before, washing away the leftover tufts of stubborn snow beds. A deep wound bled from the horizon, the sky bruised and cloudy. The dawn patrol had already left, commanded under Ferndapple. The black and white warrior looked up at the Reed Stone where Shadestar once stood—black fur stretched upon a poised canvas, orbs of gold burning with the love of her clan, her family. And although her paw prints were etched upon the stone, they would grow worn and eventually cease to have existed. The Earth continued to spin, a never ending merry-go-round.

Fennelfrost heaved himself up onto his paws and stretched. His claws sunk into his moss bedding, the clumps sticking between his toes. When the news of Shadestar was announced, he would have been able to handle it if it had not been for Basilpaw. The ginger and white tom had refused to move from the apprentice den, a mantra spoken feveredly on his lips. Fawnpaw and Kiteswoop had attempted to console him but Fennelfrost recognized his eyes—dead eyes, like those of stars sentenced to give up their light.

After the announcement Ferndapple approached him, selecting him to mentor the soon to-be warrior. Fennelfrost had felt his heart sink, like a stone to water. Doubt poked between his ribs. How would he be able to stand in the place where Shadestar once stood? She had been more than a leader to Riverclan, she had been a mother, especially to Basilpaw. The warrior blinked his aloe and sun hued eyes, pulling himself out of his daydreams. There is work to be done, he reminded himself as he slunk out of the warrior’s den.

He avoided the apprentice den. Basilpaw would likely want his space or his time to mourn, Fennelfrost understood and respected it. Everyone processed things differently. His eyes glanced over at the fresh kill pile. It was depleting, most of the kill had been caught yesterday. His stomach churned, so he turned away from the pile and padded out of the Riverclan camp. Maybe hunting will distract me enough, he thought as he trotted further out into his clan’s territory.

His strides were long and quick. The fog dispersed around him, enveloping him. If anything, he should have taken advantage of the mist and trained Basilpaw in it. It was perfect considering sight was taken out of the equation but he knew that wasn’t what the little tom needed—or at least he assumed. Although he was his mentor he barely knew the young tom cat. What place did he have to attempt to console him?

Fennelfrost skiddered to a stop, his mind snapping back into the present. In front of him was the drop off—the dreaded gorge. A chuckle escaped his lips before laughter racked his body. It was odd, the way his subconscious had led him here. It was by no means humorous but the laughter would not stop, it echoed through the hollow lands and he felt like a feline possessed by those of the Dark Forest.

Eventually, he dropped to the floor, the ice water licking at his belly fur. Fennelfrost ignored it and stretched out, his front paws dangling off the edge. To any sane feline he knew he looked suicidal, a crazed warrior who would roll off the cliff at any moment. However, the black and white warrior did not need to be talked off the ledge. His mind was fully functional and he had no intention of jumping. What he wanted was to relax, to allow his mind to wonder as it pleased; while he watched the dark waters roil below. That wasn’t crazy, was it?




words – 627
tagged – flyaway & basilpaw
notes – <3

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[flyaway]

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….He dreamed of Shadestar. The lithe beautiful black she-cat was standing outside the warrior’s den, a loving smile on her jaws. She sat, her tail flicking out and around from her paws. Her neck was tilted back, her muzzle pointed towards the sky. Basilpaw sensed her, before really realizing she was there. He took a moment, pausing to admire her. She was beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way. And as he watched her, he almost imagined she glowed. He approached her, carefully, quietly as always.


“You’re late. I don’t have all day to wait for you.” She had a smile playing on her lips. And as Basilpaw watched her, something niggled in the back of his mind. Confusion clouded his gaze. The smile that had been on his lips faltered. He struggled to name what it was he was supposed to remember. He knew there was something, something crucial. He needed to remember what it was. But Shadestar’s eager smile made him want to forget, to push it all away. So Basilpaw forced a smile, nodding and laughing a laugh that sounded slightly hollow. That niggling feeling just wouldn’t go away. “I’m sorry Shadestar, I’m here now.” Shadestar made a teasingly impatient sound, apparently oblivious to her apprentice’s uncertainty. With a bound, she set off towards the camp entrance, looking over her shoulder at Basilpaw. She quirked an eyebrow, calling out, “Aren’t you coming?” With another bound, she vanished from site, through the thick brambles around the camp’s entrance. A sudden feeling of panic set in, sending Basilpaw’s heart racing. But for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. It all had something to do with that thing – that thing he had to remember. He pushed it away, allowing himself to break into a terrified sprint.

He shot from the camp, looking around wildly. His chest heaved, his eyes rolled, until they settled on Shadestar. His mentor was sitting just outside the camp, watching her apprentice with confusion. Basilpaw’s hammering heart settled, he caught his breath, suddenly feeling foolish. He gave his chest a few swift licks, watching Shadestar with some form of stammering confusion. “I…I thought something had happened to you.” Shadestar pursed her lips for a moment, staring at him. There was something off about her, something Basilpaw couldn’t place. The confusion in his mentor’s eyes was replaced by an even stare. The beautiful she-cat spoke again in her high melodical voice. “Something did happen to me.” But before Basilpaw could question, or even recover from his shock, Shadestar was bounding away again. The niggling feeling was growing, into something akin to a painful throb. It was beating at his mind, begging him to remember. Basilpaw reached for it desperately, for that little thing he needed to know. But it seemed to float through his frantic paws, just out of reach. He followed his mentor, growing fearful. What was so horrible, so important, that he needed to know?

Basilpaw caught up to Shadestar. The youthful leader was keeping an easy pace, seemingly tireless. Basilpaw puffed slightly, though Shadestar seemed unaffected. He spoke between breaths. “What happened to you?” His mentor didn’t even look at him, her gaze never strayed from the path ahead. The lithe she-cat bounded ahead, easily distancing herself from Basilpaw. As she did so, she called over his shoulder. “Don’t you remember, Basilpaw?” Basilpaw found suddenly that he couldn’t keep up. Shadestar was loping easily ahead, always remaining just a few fox-lengths in front of her apprentice. As a perplexed Basilpaw watched, his mentor began to change. Clumps of fur hung from her. Blood matted and stained her coat. Muscle was visible where skin and fur should have been. One ear was completely gone. But that vision was gone almost as soon as it had come. Basilpaw skidded to a stop in horror, trying desperately to understand just what was happening, what he was seeing. Shadestar didn’t pause. The flash of gore was gone, replaced by her usual soft coat. She called out again, though her voice seemed farther away. “Don’t you remember, Basilpaw?”

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[mariko]

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Fennelfrost liked the way the wind nudged him toward the edge—not that he would allow himself to fall—but he liked the sense of danger. He liked the way his senses were heightened by the prospect of falling into the river below. His mind, again, wandered to the deceased leader of Riverclan. It still felt unfathomable, the way a feline could be breathing one moment and then sitting in the stars above in the next moment. It was unsettling and caused his stomach to twist in knots; it felt like a rusted knife tugging on his stomach lining.

He shifted and peered down at the river. The edges were still crisp with jagged ice edges; water sloshing against over the banks. The current was stronger, quicker than usual. His interest piqued. The black and white tom cocked his head, his eyes locked on a small ginger and white form. Basilpaw? Fennelfrost couldn’t be sure if it was the young apprentice or not but it was enough to force himself up onto his paws. He backed away from the edge and bounded down the side of the slope, where the river was at its most shallow point. There, nestled in a bed of reeds, sat Basilpaw. His paws twitched on occasion but his eyes were closed, lips muttering words the elder tom couldn’t comprehend.

There was enough distance between Basilpaw and the river that he was safe. He could have even rolled a few times before dropping into the river. However, it didn’t put his mind at ease. Fennelfrost cautiously walked forward and wove his way through the bed of reeds until he was a few mouse lengths away from him. The elder tom was close enough to be able to pull Basilpaw backward if he did manage to roll toward the river. For now I’ll let you sleep,” he thought and settled himself down next to his apprentice. Although he was alarmed and wary, he kept an appropriate distance away from the ginger and white tom. Fennelfrost was known as a feline that swung for both teams and he didn’t want to frighten his apprentice or cause an unnecessary ruckus.

The large tom tucked his paws under his chest and craned his neck down, pushing his chin into his throat. He looked like a regal prince with his eyes closed. One ear flickered toward Basilpaw for any sign of moment but for the most part he remained sitting, his tail draped over his lithe form. It was peaceful. The beat of the river soothed him, calmed his frayed nerves. It was the river that gave him strength, that gave all of Riverclan their strength. After all, it was the heartbeat of their clan—the source of their name and the heart that they would defend at the cost of their lives.

Fennelfrost tried not to think of Ferndapple’s speech, the way she looked when she made the announcement. He tried to forget Basilpaw’s mantra, the shock of whispers that pulsed through the crowd. He focused on the river’s purr, allowing it to wash over him.




words – 516
tagged – flyaway & basilpaw
notes – <3

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[flyaway]

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Desperation drove him, but Shadestar kept just a few feet ahead, never within reach. Basilpaw glanced at the trees. He was beginning to recognize where they were. They were near the Windclan border. A warning sign went off in his head. The niggling that had been pounding turned into a mental screech. He needed to remember, he needed to know. But he couldn’t. Shadestar was slowing now, as they came to a clearing. She vanished through some bushes. Basilpaw followed. He emerged into the clearing to see Shadestar sitting calmly. She looked old, too old for her mere beautiful moons. She watched her apprentice with unmatched calm, staring straight into the young tom’s eyes. She spoke a last time, her voice quiet now. “Don’t you remember, Basilpaw?” And suddenly, Basilpaw did remember. He remembered, and the clearing shifted. Blood sat in pools on the ground. Debris littered the earth floor. He could almost hear the screams. He remembered Ferndapple’s grief, the announcement to the clan. He remembered the utter stillness. He remembered his own tears, his pleas for his leader to please awaken. And the feeling of unanswered prayers. He stared at Shadestar, his voice broken.

“You died….you’re not here. You’re gone.” Shadestar stood then, shaking her head. She moved, backing away. From her mouth came quiet words, three little words. They were repeated, again and again with each step she took. “No I’m not.” Basilpaw floated after his mentor, no longer able to control his own movements. And the beautiful she-cat kept on shaking her head, kept on murmuring those quiet words. “No I’m not.” As she moved, her form began to fade, to shimmer. And yet she kept repeating. Basilpaw was blind to all but Shadestar. Finally the black she-cat stopped. She shook her head, a small smile on her lips, whispering one last time “No I’m not.”. And with that, she vanished. Basilpaw was left staring at an empty clearing, confused and lost, as those words continued to repeat, interminably, in his mind. “You’re gone…You left me.”….

He awoke with a start, his chilling dream still clinging to his waking consciousness. Uncontrollably, he awoke with a screech. His eyes were wide, full of terror and grief. It was a wordless scream, a plea to Starclan that went unanswered. Basilpaw had taken to spending his nights out here by the river, where none would be woken by his nightmares. Each time he slept – it was similar. Shadestar appeared to him, lulled him to comfort. But each time she left him. Each time she abandoned him. And he awoke to the crippling grief as fresh and new as it had ever been. He had lost weight. He had always been a thin lithe form, but he was reaching a point where it became unhealthy. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care, to do anything. He slowly became aware of Fennelfrost, his newly assigned mentor, waiting at his side. Fennelfrost. The tom was black, white patched. But he wasn’t, he could never be, Shadestar. He was just a reminder of what had been lost. Basilpaw’s eyes became vacant, focused on the water.

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[mariko]

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When Basilpaw stirred, Fennelfrost’s heart swelled. The ginger and white tom’s face was fixed in a horrified scream, his eyes as big as moons. He wanted to help him, wanted to save him from the nightmares that consumed him. However, the tom remained still as he watched his apprentice. Eventually, Basilpaw’s features smoothed over and became stone. He turned his eyes away from Fennelfrost and concentrated on the water. The elder tom had been a warrior for a long time, and had gone through three leaders, but none of them had ever possessed what Shadestar had. Perhaps it was her motherly nature or the way she conducted her warriors as if they were one large family. She took in those who were orphaned or abandoned, taught them wisdom and strength. Basilpaw had been like a son to her, and Fennelfrost understood that he could never replace her.

However, the littler tom was beginning to thin and bags had formed underneath his eyes. He was losing muscle, losing his desire to live. Fennelfrost, although compassionate, was not keen on putting himself on the line. There had been one too many times when he had his own heart broken, his feelings cast aside. So, he was wary when dealing with his new apprentice even though he couldn’t afford to be. Don’t be selfish, he told himself and then brought himself up onto his paws. Basilpaw remained rigid, his gaze staring at the water. The fear scent still mingled with the reeds and the water smells. Fennelfrost took a breath before approaching the young tom, hoping to do more good than bad. But it was hard dealing with someone who had just lost a friend, a mentor, and a mother all in one. Where is your own mother? he thought, suddenly enraged by the notion that she was absent in the young tom’s life, especially when he needed her most.

Fennelfrost shook his head and moved toward his new apprentice. Chiding words would not help him, that much he understood. Instead he laid down beside him, so that their pelts were pressed up against one another. It may have been forward, it may have been one big mistake, but the elder tom felt like he needed comfort, solace. Fennelfrost wrapped his tail around Basilpaw’s body, a hug of sorts, before he spoke. ”You’ve thinned, Basilpaw.” His tone was hushed, like that of the gentle river. Yet the concern was evident, layered within his soothing voice.





words – 416
tagged – flyaway & basilpaw
notes – a bit short

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[flyaway]

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Basilpaw was only peripherally aware of Fennelfrost at his side. A portion of him, prickling skin and a ghost of his old timid nature, acknowledged the eyes lingering on his pelt. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn his head, to invest energy in his shy demeanor. He didn’t have the energy, the spirit. He slowly lowered his head, nestled it on his small paws. His paws were muddy, bits of sand and debris stuck to nearly every inch of his fur. He had ceased to groom himself, for the most part. He found no reason. And for some reason it only depressed him further. Every swipe of his own tongue reminded him of Shadestar, of quiet nights when she comforted him, of her affection. And eventually he’d lost the energy. His bones ached simply hauling himself to his paws. The effort to drag himself to the fresh kill pile, to the river, it left him bereft of anything else. Often he fell into deep sleeps. They would be filled with nightmares, memories of Shadestar that often left him feeling more tired than when he had first closed his eyes. He felt weighed down. And every bite he took, every movement he made, only worsened the ache.

From somewhere miles away, he saw a flicker of movement. He half-hoped Fennelfrost would walk away, melt into the surrounding roar of the river. The roar drowned out everything else – his guilt, grief, confusion. Yet another part of him, a quiet insistent part, wanted to cling to Fennelfrost – beg him not to let him be left alone with his memories. Yet he didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He made no sign of having even acknowledged or realized Fennelfrost’s presence. He felt fur brush his own, a subtle warmth that spread through his side. His eyes flickered closed. How long had it been since he’d been touched? He’d been given tail flicks, pitying glances. But for the most time, he’d been left to his own devices. The clan thought it would be better for him – wanted to give him space. But it wasn’t better. Their silence only increased the volume of his memories. But Fennelfrost hadn’t walked away, hadn’t left him to his own devices. A tail flicked over his paws, black and white and caressing. Basilpaw’s eyes flicked open, landed on it. It was his first indication of being self-aware, or at least aware of his surroundings.

Yet he couldn’t drag his eyes to Fennelfrost. He feared if he lifted his head, attempted to stand or even push himself to his haunches – he would shake and collapse. It wouldn’t be the first time. He was weak, inexcusably so. His lips parted. Even the attempt to speak, the conscious effort to put together a sentence, took time and concentration. The words were dry and awkward on his lips. “Shadestar’s gone.”

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[mariko]

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Basilpaw didn’t move when the black and white patched warrior sat down beside him. He could feel the younger tom’s ribs against his side, a reminder of how much weight he had lost. Fennelfrost’s eyes scanned over his apprentice’s body, not in a suggestive way but in an analytical way. Other than his weight loss his fur was greasy and debris clung to his pelt. He pursed his lips and felt Basilpaw grow rigid against him. The younger tom had always been shy, recluse. For the majority of his time he stuck to himself, Shadestar, or his brother—never uttering a sentence to anyone else. If he did his words came out jumbled or spaced out, compliments of a nervous stutter. Fennelfrost had no intention of making his apprentice fear him or question his actions. All he wanted was to reach out, wrap him in warmth and love. Yet, how can I do that if I’m always being compared to Shadestar? He thought, even if the notion was rather selfish of him. In truth, the tom couldn’t compare to the mighty leader but he had his own set of attributes and flaws. He hoped it would be enough for Basilpaw.

“Shadestar’s gone.”

Fennelfrost blinked and peered at Basilpaw’s face. The words were hushed, awkward. The elder tom twitched his whiskers and tipped his head to the side as he studied him. There were no words he could say to comfort him other than the clichés; everything will be alright (how would he know that?), she is always in your heart (the most overly used line in history), you just have to be strong (how can he be strong when he feels like shit?), you will get through it (how do you know?). All of the stereotypical sentiments swirled in his mind but none of them stuck. You deserve better than a string of sentimental words strung together by bullshit. he thought. And yet the tom couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would ease his raw heart.

Instead, Fennelfrost pushed himself closer and began to groom him. He twined his tail with Basilpaw’s and rasped his tongue over the sticky residue that stuck to the top coat of his fur. As he groomed he tried to imagine what the younger tom was going through. Soothing others wasn’t something he was particularly good at, usually he hid at the sight of someone who was distressed or crying—he just didn’t know how to react properly. Words weren’t something that came naturally to him—touch did. Touch was how hi communicated, he hoped Basilpaw understood that.

”You’re right, she is gone. From this world at least.” he finally answered, although his eyes avoided his gaze. Was that too harsh? Inwardly, the tom fretted over his words, his actions. No one had ever taught him how to deal with this moment and he didn’t want Basilpaw to think he was a cold, emotionless mouse-brain. He wanted to help but he couldn’t help but wonder if his actions would be enough.





words – 516
tagged – flyaway & basilpaw
notes – too cute <3

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[flyaway]

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For a moment, Basilpaw stiffened. A wild surge of fear ran through his body. Fennelfrost had pressed closer, was touching him, comforting him. A part of his mind acknowledged the action as kind. Another part of him yearned to yank away, to sprint to another place of solace. But as quickly as the fear had emerged, the life flickered in his eyes, it was dulled. The numbness that had settled inside of him ruled everything. It quelled signs of life, signs of the Basilpaw he had once been. And occasionally, he was grateful. He was grateful not to have to feel his pain, to pretend to push it away when it only grew worse with time. From a hundred miles away, he felt a tail twine with his. He didn’t move, didn’t jerk away or stiffen. He acknowledged it almost as an outside observer. A moment later, a tongue rasped across his flank. He felt the tongue – almost a disembodied life of its own – over his ribs, felt it catch on the debris and tangles in his ginger and white patched fur. There was something comforting about it though. The rigid stiffness in his muscles relaxed, his eyes flickered closed.

The grooming was rhythmic, unassuming. He concentrated on breathing. He was still attempting to piece together the jumbled information his mind was processing. Fennelfrost was near, his scent surrounded him on all levels. Another body had pressed against his own, providing a sort of warmth, a wordless comfort. And a tongue rasped over his fur, as if it cared about his disheveled appearance. Fennelfrost. Warmth. Tongue. Tongues were not creatures, they did not move of their own accord. And he scented no other presence besides Fennelfrost. Though it had taken him long moments, Basilpaw was beginning to acknowledge the connection of these actions – acknowledge Fennelfrost as his caretaker. His eyes opened again, staring at his paws. Slowly he began to shift, every move deliberate, stirring an aching in his body. It took massive amounts of energy to even form conscious thought, much less force himself into movement. But eventually he maneuvered to face Fennelfrost. His gaze was still downcast. But with a painful slowness, he brought it up. For the first time in days, in the endless hours since Shadestar’s death, he met the gaze of another living creature. His sunken amber eyes searched Fennelfrost with a vacant desperation.

It was clear from his expression, from the dazed flicker of hopefulness, that Basilpaw wasn’t entirely in his right mind. But food and sleep deprivation tended to have these effects. His voice, when he finally managed to speak, was cracked and muted. It had been underused, severely neglected. “You know where she is?” The words were slow at first, but gained speed with his desperation. “Can you take me to her? I can’t find her. Please, I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find her.” He was descending into gibberish, as he had that morning of the meeting – waiting outside the apprentice den for a mentor who would never come. A part of him still couldn’t understand – was still convinced that she would come back, that he just needed to find her to make everything right again.

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[mariko]

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When Basilpaw grew stiff beside him he worried that he had made the wrong choice. Maybe I should have tried to talk with him… he fretted until the eventually relaxed. He continued to groom his fur, removing the grease and the debris that clung to his once glossy pelt. Death was a tricky subject, one that Fennelfrost knew well, but never could quite handle it with others. Emotional felines seemed to always require verbal help and that was when he was out of words to give. Words felt invaluable, a source of lies and ingenuity. He had always preferred touch, touch meant something and no one could repeat a touch twice.

Basilpaw shifted underneath him and he stopped his grooming, pulling back from him so he could look at the younger tom. His eyes, once bright amber, were dull, ghostly. Fennelfrost frowned when he looked at him but knew there was nothing he could say that would make life spark in his amber orbs. Fennelfrost opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his lost words were swept away by his apprentice’s voice.

“You know where she is?”

Fennelfrost blinked. The conversation was not only delicate but tricky. What was he going to say? How could he answer something like that without giving him the wrong idea? She’s dead, you can see her in Starclan… and then you’ll trot away and off yourself… The tom inwardly panicked, his mind darting around in circles, his chest felt tight.

“Can you take me to her? I can’t find her. Please, I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find her.”

He was beginning to sink, Fennelfrost knew it but couldn’t stop it. There were no words that could help the situation, no stories, no anything. I’m useless, he thought with the shake of his head. Instead of answering he pulled Basilpaw in close and groomed his forehead, his cheeks, his ears—slowly but deliberately. Then made his way down to his neck, ridding the oil and dirt. ”Felines assume that we all go to Starclan and walk among the stars and the clouds,” he began, between licks. ”Perhaps you cannot find her because you are not yet strong enough. You have thinned, your eyes have grown dull, you do not seek life. Perhaps because you are dead on the inside, you can no longer find Shadestar.” he said and then continued to groom—pondering if his words had meant anything or if it only made the tom more confused.






words – 416
tagged – flyaway & basilpaw
notes – too cute <3

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[flyaway]

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What many failed to realize was just how young Basilpaw was. They looked at him and they saw a senior apprentice. They saw the missing kitten fur and full lanky legs. They didn’t judge based on age, but rather on presumed maturity. Their culture had shifted – somehow without anyone quite realizing what was happening. A warrior name had become equivalent to adulthood, to maturity and steeled understanding of the reality of the world. Yet what no one seemed to remember was that when many of the youth of the clan gained their warrior name, they were only just finishing their first cycle of seasons. Perhaps within a second cycle, they gained an understanding. But training didn’t end with a ceremony, with a happily bestowed name. Newly made warriors spent moons watching their fellow senior warriors, learning the trials and tribulations of adulthood. In a way, it was a state of limbo that everyone ignored – that everyone assumed was unnecessary. But a name was not equivalent to some instantaneous epiphany, to a sudden descending of maturity and independence. And Basilpaw, despite his eleven moons of age, was not an adult. He wasn’t equipped to handle the adult world alone, nor to be suddenly thrust into it.

Basilpaw allowed Fennelfrost’s soothing tongue to rasp over his cheeks, his ears and neck – cleaning away the oil and dirt. He hung on every word from the older tom’s lips, clung to them in the hopes that they could save him from drowning. Fate had flung him into adulthood, had ripped away childhood – without even a name for comfort. And Basilpaw was small, drowning in a river too wide for him to swim across. His eyes widened, tilting slightly towards the sky. He knew, as all others did, that the souls of their warrior ancestors resided in the stars. Yet he couldn’t comprehend Shadestar as an ancestor, the word was distant – old and decrepit. Yet she had been young, vibrant and full of life – a life and energy she had taken from him with her death. Another screech of grief and loss welled in Basilpaw’s throat, threatened to escape from his desperate lips, but he kept it in, kept it from bursting forth. He couldn’t entirely comprehend the situation. He knew logically that Shadestar was dead. But the illogical part, the child in him, needed to believe fervently that she would come back. He looked to Fennelfrost, croaking out words choked with emotion. “Can you help me find her? Make me strong so she’ll come home.” It was the beginning, a fragile teetering point between recovery and the chances he would waste away entirely. “Promise.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. “Promise me she’ll come back.”

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