Private ShadowClan ill set fire to the whole place i dont even care about our house 𓍊𓋼𓆏𓋼𓍊 — timber

[F l e a p a w]

TRIGGER WARNING

Depressive/Suicidal Thoughts, Self Harm, Body Dismorphia

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The marsh blurred past her as she ran, paws striking the ground in rapid, uneven beats. The usual hum of frogs and insects was smothered beneath the pounding in her ears. Mud splattered her legs and smeared her pelt in filth. She ran as fast and far as her legs could carry her.

Away from camp. Away from those black, empty eyes. Away from what she saw in them.

Her breath tore from her throat, a sound caught somewhere between a sob and a snarl. The tears came whether she wanted them to or not, streaking down her ruddy cheeks.

The mud sucked at her paws, pulling, clinging, trying to drag her down like everything else. But she fought it, yanking her paws free, ignoring the way her muscles burned, her feeble body begging her to stop. A stray branch lashed against her face as she charged through the undergrowth, leaving a bleeding scrape across her nose

She just kept running, ignoring the hurt in her chest, the wailing in her lungs. Then her paw caught on something—a root or a stone, she didn't know—but the next thing Fleapaw knew, she was headed into the ground. She crashed, rolling across the ground and landing hard in a stagnant puddle.

The impact knocked the breath out of her, dirty water splashing up, drenching her underside.

For a moment, she just lay there, aching, heaving, face pressed down into the water. A thought crept in… quiet… small… telling her that maybe she should just stay there. Let the cold seep into her bones, let herself sink into the filth and disappear into the muck like she was never here at all. The marsh would accept her, wrap her in its decaying embrace.

What was the point? No matter how hard she fought—No matter how much she screamed, clawed, bled—It was never enough.

If there was anything that bug-eyed bastard was right about, it was that she was useless. She would never measure up to the rest of ShadowClan. Fleapaw knew she would never be as big as Coalstrike or as tough as Wolfpack. She didn't even have the smarts to outmatch Cicadabuzz or Sablestar.

She hated that... hated herself—her body. Small. Weak. It could never do anything right.

So why try? Why even bother if she was cursed to crawl under their paws? Begging for their scraps, scraping what little she could from their effort instead of her own.

If that's how I have to live, just let me rot.

But she couldn't stay. She had to get up. For Stoat... and Tick... and Lost and Web. She had to take care of them now, but could she? What could someone as weak as her do for them? Fuck, maybe they didn't need her at all.

Slowly, she pushed herself up—trembling—claws digging into the damp ground. A sound bubbled up in her throat before tearing free. It ripped through the trees, sending birds scattering from the bushes.

Fleapaw tore at anything within reach, claws shredding grass, ripping at roots, gouging stumps. No amount of destruction felt like enough, but there was nothing else to sink her claws into. No one else but herself to hurt.

When it was over, she was left with nothing else to burn. It snuffed itself out, leaving only the wreckage behind. Her limbs shook—trembling—spent. Her paws bore the worst of it, raw and bloodied, painting puddles red.

When the anger burned down to a stub, she had nothing to numb herself with. It just sat there, a weight in her chest. A tiny, horrible, pitiful thing. She sucked in sharp, shallow breaths, trying to make it go back down. But... if she couldn't make it go, there would be no putting it back. Fleapaw slumped, wilting back into the earth, choking softly.

All I did was try my best

FLEAPAW

6 MOONS
SHE/HER
- Undersized cinnamon solid with folded ears. She's thin but stubby with very messy fur.
"SPEECH" - crimson | 'THOUGHTS/EMPHASIS' - crimson

Fleapaw values family the most with survival at a close second. In conversations, she is blunt, fun-loving, and clever. She is guided by her desires which often leads her astray. Despite her abrasive personality, she cares deeply for those she loves and will do anything to protect them. Due to her experiences, Fleapaw is corrupt and has minimalistic, if any, morals. She does not care for the warrior code and its restraints. Neither does she believe in StarClan. Growing up in a kitten mill, being separated from her mother, and ending up on the streets have deeply affected her view of the world.

This the kinda thanks I get?