Private NEVERENDING NIGHT —— GRISTLEPAW

[BILLYPAW]

The echoes of war dug their heels deep into Billypaw's young mind, and he couldn't quite shake its imprint from his mind. Clanmates returned ragged, ripped, ruined - like pieces of cloth torn by scrupulous claws. They were distressed, far more than he ever was when he lost one of his accessories or when he accidentally plucked up crow-food from the fresh-kill pile. Crimson blood welled from beneath once-pristine skin, as if brightly-hued paint muted all other color of the canvas, leaving nothing but a sanguine and scarlet mire. It was all that he could notice on them, all that he could smell. An overpowering metal took hold of their nostrils, rushing fervently through innocent senses. For the first time, fear knelled through the young tom's hummingbird heart, like thunder pealing through a paper cage. Skyclan hurted, and he could not help them. This was far greater than he, far more vicious than he could comprehend.

The blue sepia wrested around in his softened nest, unable to hold onto bouts of fitful sleep for long. Even the joy of the moonlight celebration did little to afford the boy comfort, not when his mind raced and rambled along a staccato beat. The dread of that day, and the days that crawled from it, only ruminated deeper into the corners of the quieted den. Eventually, Billypaw rolled over to where Gristlepaw's flank lie just besides his, radiating warmth like sunrays reverberating from the nearby empyrean. Her body rose and fell lightly upon the rhythm of some faraway dream. I wish we were back at the Twolegplace... I wonder if we made the right choice to be here in the first place. Well, no use just letting the thought stagnate in their mind. "Psssst. Gristlepaw. You up?" The Skyclan apprentice mew-whispered, though he prodded softly at her exposed side with one swan-soft paw, almost as if a blip upon an otherwise soft path. They didn't wish to disturb the rest of their denmates, though every shift in their petite frame felt as though it would wake the dead. Sometimes, it felt too cramped to be packed in with all his friends, as much as he hated to even entertain the idea.

COME FOLLOW ME INTO THE DARK

――✧˖° ♛ °˖✧――

WITH YOUR HEART AS THE ARK

• OOC: @GRISTLEPAW hiii
• 

  BILLYPAW & HE/THEY & 09 MOONS​

  —— Apprentice of Skyclan / Mentored by NPC
  —— A pale-colored blue sepia with longhaired pelt and pinprick, light-blue eyes. He formerly donned Twoleg accessories that he was never seen without, including a large-brimmed hat and a long scarf around his neck. Now, he has left them with his former Twolegs, fully embracing the life of a wild cat.
  —— A kind-hearted, naive and selfless boy. He takes life in stride and joy, though has trouble separating himself from the perceptions of him from others. Even throughout the struggles that his clan has undergone, he's never forsaken his optimism and compassion.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

 

[GRISTLEPAW]

Gristlepaw is half-asleep, sunk deep in the heavy kind of rest that comes from exhaustion. The den smells like too many bodies and old moss. It's familiar, unpleasant, and she's learned to sleep through worse. Her flank rises and falls slow and steady, spiked collar cool against her throat, paws tucked in close like she's daring the world to try something. Then something pokes her.

Her eyes slit open immediately. She doesn't jolt—doesn't need to. One ear flicks back, then forward, catching the hushed whisper and the too-careful scrape of movement beside her. Billypaw's scent is right there, sharper than usual, tangled up with restless energy. He pokes her again, softer this time, like he's afraid she'll bite him for it. She considers it. Gristlepaw exhales through her nose, a slow, controlled breath, and cracks one eye open properly. Moonlight leaks through the den entrance in pale strips, enough for her to see the way Billypaw's small shape can't seem to settle, the constant shifting like he's trying to crawl out of his own skin. He's awake-awake. Not just restless. That much is obvious even without him saying a word.

"Yeah," she mutters under her breath, voice rough with sleep. "I'm up. You can stop pokin' me like I'm dead." She shifts just enough to face him, bracing a foreleg in front of her chest. The movement makes her collar spikes clink faintly, a warning sound she doesn't bother to soften. Her eyes narrow, not unkindly, but sharp all the same. Whatever's chewing at him has been doing it for days now. She's not blind. Even Gristlepaw isn't stupid enough to miss that.

"What," she asks quietly, keeping her voice low for the den's sake, "you got ants in your fur or somethin'?" She doesn't touch him at first. That's not how she does things. Instead, she watches the way his paws keep kneading at nothing, the way his ears twitch at every tiny sound. He's wound tight. Too tight. It makes something unpleasant twist in her chest, sharp and hot, like she wants to snap at someone who isn't here. After a moment, she scoots closer anyway, grumbling as she does. Her shoulder presses into his side, solid and unmistakably there. Warm. Grounded. It's not gentle, exactly, but it's something, at least. She plants herself like she's daring him to argue. Her tail flicks once, then settles over her own paws. She glances toward the entrance, jaw tightening, then back to Billypaw. He doesn't look hurt. Just scared. That's worse, somehow.

"You don't gotta whisper like the sky's gonna fall if you breathe too loud," Gristlepaw mutters. "If you're gonna be awake, we might as well get out so y'don't have to act like a mouse." She pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "But if you woke me up just to stare at the walls, I am biting you."