[Myling]

Willowpaw

she hadn't gotten over her little habit yet. rise up from a half-baked slumber, feeling robbed of the liveliness she used to feel when she thought of warriorhood, but then remembering that the clearing outside the apprentice's den would be sunny and bright. she always expected the old camp, expecting to see the shadowledge looming above; a comfort the cat had never known she had until it was gone. then she'd step outside, and see the new camp they'd adopted after being chased out by twolegs. it always made her heart ache, yearning for the familiar clearing she'd known before. she hoped that one day she'd wake up there. but the cat knew that'd never happen. the cat knew she'd never be able to go back. she'd never, ever be able to see the bustling activity of cats in the camp she'd grown up in. the cat wondered if she'd ever even see it again. probably not. when she'd began her apprenticeship, the cat had scarcely ever felt angry. hedgehogs would have flown by the time past her wouldve felt like this; this smoldering, bitter anger that was accompanied by such a feeling of longing. she felt angry at the twolegs who'd destroyed her home, dawnstar, but most of all herself. she bundled her anger away, but it still was taking up a large part of her attention.

the surge of anger the cat had felt lingered in the back of her mind, pushed there by the overwhelming, towering pile of worry and nausea and self-loathing that wouldnt leave her be. the cat remembered her conversation with turtlepaw the day before, by the grimpeak. the cat's mind had decided that turtlepaw hated her for some unknown reason. and it was slowly convincing the rest of her that it was true. her one friend in the clan hated her. when the cat thought of it, it had a ring of truth. why wouldn't she? didnt everybody hate her? no. yes. no. yes. her mind debated, spacing off in a downward spiral. turtlepaw didnt hate her. turtlepaw didnt hate her. she tried drilling that into her brain, but it barely did anything. turtlepaw hated her. it didnt sound any less true. the cat bit hard into the vole she'd taken, blinking back tears and shoving those thoughts as far, far back as she could. they disgusted her, or maybe the cat disgusted herself. she needed to bury those as deep as possible, maybe until she'd never think them again and forget they even existed in the first place. the cat tried dragging herself out of her thoughts, to stop staring blankly at the camp wall and instead actually be conscious. the cat couldn't have thoughts like that if she was distracted by the world around her. she dug her claws into the ground, and forced every fibre of her being to pay attention to the activity of the clearing.

[ open!!!! ]