Closed The Colony feather light kisses // hawthorne

[serpentberry]

Serpent trails through the thralls of colony cats, green eyes flitting from grouping to grouping whilst she seeks out a specific tom. If someone told her moons ago that she'd be so imperfectly enamored with a tom like Hawthorne, she might've laughed; her life from birth to then had been wholly and entirely consumed by that of her family. Sure, to continue such a thought meant she'd have to have family of her own, but she had never considered how difficult it would be to allow another into the fold.

Or, rather, how easy her heart had been stolen.

She finds him by his lonesome. Serpent's pace picks up slightly as she's quick to join his side, wordlessly pressing her cheek to his cheek and fitting in beside him. His thoughts are not shared with her, telepathy could only be a dream beyond them. But she knows, with the way his shoulders hang and his eyes remain unfocused, that he is unhappy. Serpent sits back on her haunches, silently languishing in her lost cheerfulness (she much liked it when they discussed their impending litter rather than what plagues his mind.)

"Do you want to talk about it, my love?" she chirps quietly to him. His poor, sick father. He once meant nothing to her, but in recent moons he had become family, just as Hawthorne is now. She frets his health, too, and hopes that he recovers from whatever the chill has gifted him.

@Hawthorne

 

[Thornstar]

His gaze is fixed forward, unblinking in a direction far off well beyond where his eyes might be able to actually perceive, the melancholic expression on his maw is hard to hide even if he tries to make an attempt as he feels the brush of warm fur against his. Hawthorne's tense expression softens albeit briefly, mismatched eyes widening as he returns the affectionate gesture with a tilt of his head and a low purr, "Am I so obvious?"
The question is light, teasing, but he knows the answer is yes. He's always been the sort of tom to wear his heart, display it boldly for all to see; perhaps it put him at odds with the more withdrawn cats of the colony and surely it painted a target upon the bleeding organ so exposed, but he couldn't help it. He could never really hide who he was or what he thought, honesty was both his greatest trait and his worst failing.
Hawthorne wrinkles his nose, the temporary reprieve from his thoughts never long lasting, never lingering, he's already mulling over the struggles ahead and Fray's steadily declining health once more as his tail twitches in a rare flicker of irritation. "I'm afraid." He admits, and it's hard to say, hard to accept but its the truth and his mate of all cats would know it, "What will I do when he's-I mean, what will WE do when he's gone? He's held us together on such fragile spider threads for so long, I am nowhere near the tom my father is. I fear his pawsteps are too large to fill. Already cats are talking..."
The whispers, the rumors, the gossip fluttering in - cats were afraid and some were cruel in their fear, it felt as if no one cared a great cat was dying, they only saw his death as an inconvenience. They only saw Hawthorne's futile efforts to save him as a waste of time and part of him understands. He knows. He's not stupid, but its his father. Was he supposed to simply let the tom go? Were his claws sunk in too deep? The battle he fought was a losing one, but was he not supposed to even try?

 

[serpentberry]

Though his expression softens for her, she does not take the chance to leap with her selfishness. His tone is enough to quiet her wanting mind, her new reprieve buried in his voice. He fears so much - to be lost in the chaos once his father, inevitably, passes on. She cannot ignore the whispers and rumors that truly do surround them; for the colony has fears, too. Fears, and ambitions, and wants, and desires. Hers fall at her paws, spin wistlessly in her belly; his tumble from his tongue, a selfless need to be useful for others, even at the detriment of his own mental health.

His tail twitches with the agitation. She catches it swiftly with her own, loops them together, and anchors him down to the ground with her. He will not float away with his worries so soon.

"Breathe, Hawthorne; you speak as if the air will run out," she begins a rhythmic cleaning of his cheek, his ear, further trying to quell the strikes of desperation before they notch firmly in his mind. "We will march on. You are just as strong as he was, my love; the role you are welcoming... it is your birthright. The cats of the colony will understand." A pause, her ears craning away with lingering insecurity. "They'll have to," she tries again.

 

[Thornstar]

They will understand? It's so hard to believe that when he has heard the whispers and knows that the hearts of many have darkened against his grief, are selfishly wishing for his father to die, do not trust that he will not put dying cats before those that still breath. Hawthorne wishes he could blaze with anger, fury, wants to be the cat to bare his teeth at those who wish poorly upon him and his, but he can not find it in him to be angry. There is no hate in his heart, only tired trepidation. Hawthorne feels his skin prickle under his coat as if it no longer fits him, too tight, too suffocating and then her tail coils serpent-like around his and his mismatched gaze lifts from the ground, drowns in lush forest greens. He inhales slowly, exhales like a dying gasp, "You're right, of course you are. You're always right." His nose wrinkles, the faintest flicker of amusement crosses his maw as he tilts his head to bury his face in the side of her neck, "I just worry time is not on my side, everyday my father wastes away is another they lose their faith in me as a leader...there is nothing I can do about it." Nothing but wait, wait and watch the slow decay of a tom who was once strong enough to stand against a fox with his fellows and chase it off, who punished a bold rogue who tried to steal the colony's meager food with claws that tore the thief's ear clean off...it was jarring and horrifying to see the cruelty of time in slow motion. Every agonizing second drawn out. If he was a stronger cat he might have done the unthinkable, a swift claw to the throat, a padding of moss to the face - snuff that torturous end out early and spare Fray his suffering as well as the colony's own grief. But the mere thought of it is enough to make Hawthorne's stomach churn.
He forces his thoughts at bay, dips his head lower to poke his nose into her swollen side, "How are our little ones doing? Juniper says she felt them kick like a galloping deer the other day."

 

[serpentberry]

Serpent keeps her gaze to his expression, watching as the chill of his demeanor melts with her warmth. The selfishness in her does not subside as quickly, not whilst he relinquishes the truth to her - "You're right..." - and certainly not as he continues with his fretting. For a moment she almost has him again, all to herself. It's not the first time that she confronts that by virtue of his position (a power that she so loves, too,) that she will never have him alone. The swelling of her midsection ensures that much in another way.

"They'll get over themselves in time," she promises, and she wholeheartedly intends it. Serpent cannot imagine the colony without Fray at its healm - but if she must, then Hawthorne fits right in that position. The cats they live with will have to deal with the transition. How could they not - if Fray were their father, brother, mentor, student, would they too not mourn and fear his end? A flare of fury that hides beneath a silk soft tone, a spark of, they should be mourning him. "Patience, my love. You are nothing if not patient," whereas his colony seems to terribly lack the virtue. "I will stand with you to the end," she decides, though it's clear that the decision has long since been made.

She presses back into him, a soft giggle as he bends to peer at her belly. "You could feel for yourself, Hawthorne," she rumbles, the jaded nature of her prior conviction not quite leaving her tone yet. "They've not stopped pummeling me since I found you. Dare I say it... I think they might even like you...!" Serpent reclines, resting on her side and curling her forepaws beneath her chest. A wince as she sorts herself out, biting out a quiet, "I'm starting to think... more than they like me, even." A long pause, and she presses a paw to his chest in a light shove, "Don't worry, though. Juniper is still their favorite."

 

[Thornstar]

"I hope so." He says plainly, tone reeking of finality as though he tired of the topic. What a leader he was, to not wish to dwell on matters that brought him such grief but he was only one cat and his heart could handle only so much before the strain became unbearable. For now he would allow himself this reprieve, this moment of peace and joy of thinking to a hopeful future, to his first taste of fatherhood

""You think they'll like me for certain? What if they find me uncool...?" His colony worries came second to the idea of being a terrible dad, if his colony mates didn't like him he'd recover, but if his kits didn't he would simply have to die on the spot. Hawthorne's expression lightens more, he tilts his head down to press a furred cheek and ear to the rounded curve of her exposed belly and listens with his eyes closed to the soft thumping within, the flutter of tiny paws kicking with a vigor he finds surprising for such small unborn things. "Are you certain we aren't having rabbits with those kicks?"

He makes a grimace at the shove, paw raised to his own chest as if the light gesture had actually hurt and he rolled dramatically to his side to sprawl himself on the ground alongside her, "Of course she is. If I didn't know any better I'd think Juniper was trying to steal you away from me sometimes. Can't blame them truly, you're quite the catch."