Faithkit, the ever-beating heart of the brood left behind by cruel fate. Sickliness clung to her from the moment that she was begotten by their mother, with frailty not a damning vice but a tender boon. She, at least, had been brought here with two brothers who could always provide for her. (One of them was more incompetent than not, but he digressed.) From the first days that they had become aware, Falsekit knew that the world around him was dirtied and marred, as if it rotted more with each clump of flesh it birthed. Predators lurked at every corner, with ivory teeth and headlight stares. The sky roiled and churned, spilling out bile in the form of rushing rainfall. Nothing contained them, and nothing could, for nothing wished to. But to Falsekit, Faithkit was the purest of all that existed around him, like the soft pith of an opened fruit. Though their youth prevented much introspection, even they felt acutely aware that what dwelled within their heart did not in others. A son of the wild emptiness and a child of the sin of existence, he simply lie as a product of a continual cycle. Perhaps Faithkit broke through that cycle, and survived despite the great odds that obscured her way.
That, Falsekit presumed, was worth living for. Worth others dying for, even if it must be their own mother.
Autumn sun rested upon the forest, filtering through the limbs with their digits outstretched and wanting. The chilly air nipped at Falsekit's smaller form, and almost threatened to sweep him away at times when it could not control its temper. Still, he was strong. And so, he persisted. Ever the attentive sibling, the fawn tabby toddled after Faithkit, careful not to overtake her in their confident gait. "Faithkit... Do you want to play with me?" Falsekit said plainly, as if it were some hollow line he had rehearsed before, unsure of how to quite intonate each word. To ask others to play felt strange, but the curious kit learned that custom from one of the queens. Respect what your denmates wish to do, as she put it. "We can play moss-ball. Or we can pretend to be Thunderclan leader and deputy. I don't really want to be Falsestar, so... You can be leader. Faithstar is a really good name." The fawn tabby let out a soft chuckle, as if the slight slip of humanity break through a glassy exterior, one far too young to be trained by moons of corrosion.
That, Falsekit presumed, was worth living for. Worth others dying for, even if it must be their own mother.
Autumn sun rested upon the forest, filtering through the limbs with their digits outstretched and wanting. The chilly air nipped at Falsekit's smaller form, and almost threatened to sweep him away at times when it could not control its temper. Still, he was strong. And so, he persisted. Ever the attentive sibling, the fawn tabby toddled after Faithkit, careful not to overtake her in their confident gait. "Faithkit... Do you want to play with me?" Falsekit said plainly, as if it were some hollow line he had rehearsed before, unsure of how to quite intonate each word. To ask others to play felt strange, but the curious kit learned that custom from one of the queens. Respect what your denmates wish to do, as she put it. "We can play moss-ball. Or we can pretend to be Thunderclan leader and deputy. I don't really want to be Falsestar, so... You can be leader. Faithstar is a really good name." The fawn tabby let out a soft chuckle, as if the slight slip of humanity break through a glassy exterior, one far too young to be trained by moons of corrosion.
- OOC. @Faithkit <3
-
NOTE: This is a very loose reference until I can draw a more accurate reference. <3 -
