Camp WC Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- Yewkit and Pebblestep

[Yewkit]

YEWKIT

But where have we come? And where shall we end?

.

.

Yewkit didn't actually hold much hope in her heart that the soaked warrior would come. She knew he left before WindClan was even rebuilt again and even after some more of the outsiders joined the clan, the stranger had not come with them. She had met him once and never again after that, so why was she still hoping he would come back?

He didn't even hold her when she wanted closeness, though she could not blame him for it. Yet something in her wanted to be with that tom again, to talk to him or sit in silence with him or anything. And all she was left with was emptiness where the cat could have been.

Even now, a whole moon later, she still held out a sliver hope that he would come and she sat at the camp's entrance, looking out into the moor. She didn't step a foot outside the camp's bounds, she knew the rules and she was not one to disobey anymore, but she could still look. The plains seemed endless to her mind, though she had walked them before - soaked and muddied and cold and scared, nothing like what it looked like now. The green had returned, the sun still shone, and silhouettes moved across the moor. Border patrols and hunters and those foraging for herbs. But no silver cat like him walked upon the plains and Yewkit was left in silence, her only company herself.

"Where are you?" she mumbled quietly to herself, knowing no asnwer would come from the stranger. He was not here and he was not coming.

And yet she stayed, looking out.

OOC: @Pebblestep ​

 

[Pebblestep]

Well you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die

.

Pebblestep drifted through camp with the uneasy silence of someone who wasn't sure if they were meant to be here. His paws moved without thought, dragging, hesitating, as though the earth itself tugged him back, whispering that he didn't belong among the living. The world around him was familiar, but in a way that hurt. Every nest, every pawprint in the mud, every voice made his chest feel too tight, too full of ghosts. He didn't feel like a warrior.
He didn't feel like he deserved breath. The cheerful kit he'd once been was gone... Smothered beneath ash, blood, and the cruel truth that wishing couldn't bring back the dead. He had tried. Stars, how he had tried. And hope had chewed him up and spit him out for the fool he was.

He was a shell wearing a name he hadn't earned. Pebblestep. A warrior built on lies and loss. A flicker of motion tugged him from the dark swirl of his thoughts. A kit... Small, still, waiting... She sat by the camp entrance. He realized he'd circled the camp so many times he'd inadvertently orbited her. His gaze lingered, unfocused at first, then sharpening as recognition hit. Yewkit. Ivorystorm's daughter. So young. Too young to already look like she knew what it meant to miss someone. Something in his hollow chest twisted sharply. He hated that he recognized the expression.

He drew in a slow, shaky breath and forced his paws to carry him toward her. Settling beside her felt like intruding on someone else's heartbreak, yet something pulled him there anyway. Maybe the desperate, irrational need that no one should sit alone with pain like his. Pebblestep stared ahead, jaw tense, heart clawing at his ribs as though it wanted out. Memories surged beneath, barn warmth. Sister's laugh. Mama Alder's voice. All ripped away. All gone. His claws dug silently into the earth.

Why did she still look out there? Why could she still hope? His voice betrayed him when he spoke. " ... Who are you waiting for... ? " As the words left him, a darker truth coiled behind them... What if they never come back? What if waiting only breaks you? But he swallowed that poison down. He would not give it to a kit. He would carry that weight himself.

Speech, thoughts/emphasis

14 MOONS

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WINDCLANNER

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bio

 

[Yewkit]

YEWKIT

.

.

She almost didn't hear the pawsteps approaching her, too focused on her hopeless lookout. Almost. But she felt the ground vibrate slightly and she heard the grass moving out of the way; though nothing betrayed that she had heard besides a subtle twitch of an ear.

When a question escaped the warrior's lips, Yewkit didn't tear her gaze from the horizon just yet. "Silver..." she replied quietly. A name she had not spoken out loud before, for no one had asked. "But he's not coming." the girl added quickly. Even if she hoped, she would not let it show - she knew better than to chase dreams and cats who could not care for her back.

She heard something in the tom's voice - something almost familiar, almost hers. "And who were you waiting for?" she asked, hoping she didn't misjudge the situation, her voice barely audible over the breeze. She thought she sensed sorrow in his voice, hidden behind resignation and bitterness. Though it may very well have been simple annoyance, at her presense and senseless hoping.

 

[Pebblestep]

Well you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die

.

" Silver...? "

The name left Pebblestep's mouth in a faint echo, confusion flickering briefly through his tired sea-green eyes. He kept his gaze aimed straight ahead, as though the horizon might give him answers he didn't have. Silver. He turned the name over once, twice... Nothing. No cat he knew. No story he could recall. Where had Yewkit found someone named Silver? A loner? A dream? A phantom? Certainly not a father, there had never been one in sight for her. " Silver... " he murmured again, softer, almost tasting the unfamiliar name. His eyes finally drifted down to the tiny kit beside him, ears flick flicking back ever so slightly.

" ... I'm sorry that he's not coming... " he said at last, voice quiet and unsure, not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know how to mend something he couldn't even name. Then the question turned back on him.

Who were you waiting for?

The words sank into him like claws. A visible flinch rippled through his shoulders, and he tore his gaze away from Yewkit to stare out of camp again, far, far away from the present, chasing phantoms he wished he could stop seeing. A brittle, bitter smile tugged weakly at his muzzle. " ... Hope. " he answered finally, voice barely more than breath. " Hope. " he repeated, as though it were the name of a cat he'd once loved. " But it never was found. I made a fool of myself by hoping too hard... "

His shoulders hunched, as though bracing against a cold wind only he could feel. " Faer is dead. " he whispered, the words heavy, resigned. " And so are the other two I was waiting for. Dust in the wind. " For a heartbeat, he looked like he might collapse in on himself, like the smallest breeze could knock him over. A ghost admitting it knows it's a ghost.

Speech, thoughts/emphasis

15 MOONS

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WINDCLANNER

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SONG

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bio

 

[Yewkit]

YEWKIT

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.

Thinking of the flood-drenched tom brought Yewkit nothing but sorrow, knowing very well she would not meet him again, not anytime soon. "I am, too." murmured Yewkit quietly at Pebblestep's words. The cat was not coming, no matter how hard she wished for company, for closeness. Maybe it was for the best, Yewkit should know better than to get attached to strangers who give her the faintest trace of comfort, no matter how lonely she gets.

She waited for the older tom's answer patiently, only the faint twitch of her tail betraying her worries. Hope. Yewkit's paws tensed, claws digging into the ground slightly as her heart hammered in her chest. So mother was right, wasn't she? Ivorystorm had taught Yewkit to not rely on others, to not hope they would be there for her. To only ever stay true with her family. Pebblestep's words simply comfirmed what she had been avoiding - confimation that hope was, indeed, a foolish thing to hold on to.

"Mmm..." the kitten hummed silently, mulling over his words. "You're probably right." She should not hold on to an impossible chance of someone returning, when it was clear he had no intention to. She should not hold onto hope, when there was none.

She tore her gaze away from the moor then, finally. "No reason to dwell onto hope then." she said as she stood to turn away, leaving her childish dreams behind her, to be carried away into the moorlands by the wind.