—————————————————— Rocked by an endless motion ✦
The days had been long recently. Not because of any particular change in the seasons, nor a strange discoordinance with time that sometimes overtook the young cat, but something other. Something much more primitive—the refusal to rest due to the mind, due to how it worked, and due to how it simply would not cease. Galepaw did as he always would do in the wake of catastrophy; simply keep moving, keep on keeping on, and weather the storm as it battered his weary legs. This time was no different, and he faced the violent winds with a stiff frame, eyes furrowed in concentration—or perhaps in denial, in righteous anger, at the lot at which he had been given. The lonely isle he had found himself on, a lone albatross on a pillar of stone, and it would not let the sea take him. Despite the cries of the others, the passion that exuded, he would not let it take him.
It simply could not take him. He would not allow it.
But still, his paws shook with the tenacity of his mind, gnawing at some long considered notion in his mind. He would not speak her name, would not give the time to those with none left, but it could not prevent what occurred just behind his eyes. The leash he drew around his actions was a facade, a fabrication, nothing but a trick of the light—for what was more true to his desires than the mind itself? Than the bird, deluded into some terribly sorry state, feathers strewn about in some terrible show of stress. But the lynxpoint refused to show it, refused to break down, and refused to go belly-up at a future that could be his. If it could simply weather this, could simply survive the seas, there was bound to be fruit on that distant shore.
There was bound to be a harvest… but even he had to work for it. And so, he found his trembling paws tracing a familiar path deep into the reeds, deep into a particularly herbal scent of a cat he had grown used to seeing. With a strange, manic sense of bravado, the tom stormed into the other's home. "…Wounds." It muttered darkly, neurotically, as it bored into the other cat's eyes with his own red-rimmed and long-exhausted ones. "Such clear things, such deadly ones… Surely—surely you have witnessed your fair share..?" A rhetorical question, really—he saw the poultices that the other had layered upon the leader, held tight to a fatal wound with silky, glimmering cobwebs. Galepaw nodded at his own question in a strange, overly-twitchy way, as though a spring had sprung loose in his neck.
"Yes, yes that sounds practical. Preferable, even. I wish not to bumble about any longer—teach me about these bitter faults." This was a demand, to be sure, but there was no real violence or hatred behind it—just the uneasy way the apprentice's fur was ruffled, tousled by long nights spent awake, haunted by something he could never solve. It was a cry for purpose, for a reason… and perhaps, the closest request he would ever utter for help.
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Galepaw
✦—Riverclan Apprentice | 11 Moons
✦—He/They/It
✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
✦—A fluffy high white lynx point with curled ears and deep blue eyes
#87878E #BAB2AC
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