Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
[attr="class","sinnert"]Only a few moons had passed since leafbare had laid its claim over the forest, and yet when Thunderpaw looked about him, he could not help but wonder if it had been longer. Everywhere, as far as the eye could glimpse, its presence could be noted; in the snow weighing heavy on the boughs of trees, cloaking shrubs that had long since withered away with the cold and blanketing the ground, so it was lost beneath an unbroken sheet of white. It could be felt in the air, in the howling gusts of wind that sent the canopy into a rattling dance and the forest inhabitants packing for the comforts of their dens. And it could be seen in the trees—trees that, once green and prosperous, now stood bent-backed under the weight of the winters refuse, their green raiment long since discarded to reveal barren limbs. Little remained of their magnificent crown of green and crimson leaves that they'd once borne so proudly in the fall moons, and had it not been for the spruces and soldier pines that thrust up into the belly of the sky with their green needles, Thunderpaw thought he might have forgotten what green was entirely.
But it was not only the forest that had changed—even the river seemed to have transformed after the first snowfall. Now it swelled beyond its banks, its course ripping a thundering path through the earth, towards the sea it fed, its waters a churning and oppressive brown that surged and crashed through the snarls of stones and roots that littered its embankment. To cross it meant death, and only the other day a warrior had nearly been lost in its current; since, very few had dared wander close, and apprentices had been forbidden to go near it without a warrior in attendance, no matter how old they were. Thunderpaw thought that, in particular, was unfounded. Nearly a warrior himself, he considered himself more than capable of fending for himself. But Thievingstar could not be swayed… and something told him questioning his leader's wisdom would only result in a punishment near as bad as what Blazingpaw had received.
Fortunately, he had no intentions of visiting the river that day. His course set him through the thick of ThistleClan's forest and out again into the fields, past the lonely oak upon its hull they called the great owl tree (which looked anything but great, as decrepit and crooked as it was) and towards the poisonous bog.
As he drew closer, he paused, leaning forward on the balls of his toes to get a better look over the wall of frost-stiff reeds… down towards the banks where the bog's surface shone stagnant beneath the sun, reflecting back an odd metallic light. Perfect! The ice still hasn't thawed. Excitement made him knead the earth, and he might have run down and slid across it himself if he was not reminded of the company he entertained by a muffled sneeze.
Oh. Right. Abashed, Thunderpaw glanced over his shoulder towards Willowpaw, whose face was comically concealed by the thick brush of his tail so she couldn't see. Snow powdered her flanks and limbs from when she'd stumbled from lack of vision, but otherwise, she hardly looked worse for wear despite the long trek they'd made.
"Oops. Sorry. I didn't mean to get my tail in your nose," Thunderpaw apologized, flicking it away in that instant to give her a clear view of the bog below. "But look! We're here!" He motioned excitedly towards where the bogs frozen surface glistened down below, his eyes studying her face expectantly. "What do you think? Cool, huh?"
Willowpaw, as she trod along right behind Thunderpaw, noticed how he looked around at the snowy landscape. Almost contagiously, that awe soon spread to her, as she stopped her racing mind to appreciate the beauty of the raw, unfiltered leaf-bare standing around them. The air was cold and biting as it blew around her silver-tipped ears, which she then pressed back against her warmer coat. She ducked her head to shield her eyes from the flurries of snowflakes the wind carried with it, only to get a breath-full of Thunderpaw's furry tail.
Sneezing involuntarily, Willowpaw lost her footing and nearly fell all because of his tail! She shook her head and batted at it just as he tucked it away, apologizing.
She huffed in mock-irritation, though there was a definite smile on her face to doubly betray her. "Careful, I'll bite it off and then your warrior name could only ever be Thunder-stumpy-tail," she teased.
Thunderpaw's excitement distracted her from her playful joking. At his gesture, she stared out at the frozen surface of the water and the dead, ice-covered plants surrounding it. Willowpaw tilted her striped head and pricked her ears against the chilly gust of wind. "Umm..." she meowed, puzzled as to what the big deal was. Her eyebrows scrunched together, "Cool? Sure, I guess...if you mean cool as in cold," she looked back at Thunderpaw's excited, expectant face, then back at the bog, then back at him, then at the bog...
She knew she was missing something, and she hated that she couldn't share in his excitement, but what was even exciting?
Finally, she asked, "What.. uh.. what did you wanna show me, Bumblebee?" there was an endearing tone in the way she used that nickname, thinking back to their playfight in Greenleaf. How the time had passed! They were older now; they looked older, Willowpaw felt older and, although they still had growing to do, they would be warriors any day now.
300 | throwback to berrystumpytail, lol | Egotistic
[attr="class","sinnert"]Meeting Willowpaw's playful japes with a lighthearted bump of his shoulder, Thunderpaw filled his throat with the beginnings of a laugh; it was one that rumbled in his throat, load as his namesake. "Oh? And what would they call you? Willowbeetle? –no! Beetlebreath—yes, I think that one suits you quite well."
As the corners of his mouth turned up in a mischievous grin, he realized then how much he'd come to miss moments like these—when the two of them had been younger and shared lighthearted banter… the laughs that had always come so easily between them. It felt like ages since they'd last been alone, and longer still since that day when they'd last playfought. Then, greenleaf still held the island in its warm embrace; the leaves had only just begun to fall, and the forest was filled to the brim with life. He could almost remember the smells—of prey and growing things, of warmth and good weather—but that had been so long ago. Then they'd been young, but now they were older, near fully-grown and fast approaching their consecration as warriors. They'd swear their fealty, bow their heads, and speak their vows before their clans, and when that day came, there would be no more time for playfighting. They'd have duties, all of them—a clan to serve and cats depending on them. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves just one last time…
His breath billowed, a pallid cloud, as he turned an expectant eye on Willowpaw. She'd moved up beside him, so close their fur almost brushed, to peer down the slope. But when she looked up, he saw only confusion marring her features. "Umm… Cool? Sure, I guess… if you mean cool as in cold."
He purred softly, shaking his head. "No, look closer."
Dutifully, her eyes searched, but when they came up again, her expression was much the same. "What… uh… what did you wanna show me, Bumblebee?"
The old nickname brought memories of greenleaf rushing back anew. He smiled, remembering. "What did I want to show you?" he echoed. "Can't you see it? It's everywhere. It's—" he broke off abruptly, lunging downhill in a great burst of snow before, pulling back on his haunches just long enough to size the distance between himself and the ice, he made a mighty spring. Then, landing heavily, the flame-colored tom felt his paws slide out from under him, his claws scraping frantically against the ice with an ear-rending screech as he turned round and round, until, finally, his spinning came to a sliding halt and he stood panting, limbs splayed awkwardly, but holding him nonetheless… although he had failed to account for the direction in which he was facing; it was his rear end that greeted Willowpaw, not his front as he had intended. Still, he exclaimed, flushed though he was, "Ice!"
He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, standing there, legs spread all akimbo, sides rising and falling from his forward plunge. But he found he didn't care, and as Thunderpaw turned, he could only smile… until his paws slid out from under him, and the world turned upside down as he crashed onto his side with a grunt. "Oof!"...well, if I didn't make a fool of myself before, I've certainly done it now. Nice going, Thunder. Despite the embarrassment that wormed beneath his pelt, he couldn't help the sheepish grin that spread across his features as he rose to his paws, wincing, to face Willowpaw once again—only for it to just as suddenly disappear when his legs slid apart once more. Thankfully, this time he didn't fall.
"…in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have done that, but you've gotta admit, that was pretty cool, huh?" he joked weakly, as he peered up at her from where she stood upon the hill's summit. Then he heard something, muffled, but recognizable all the same: laughter. "Hey! Are you laughing at me?" He made to take a step forward, but the slippery ground underfoot was quick in putting an end to his efforts, leaving him to stand there puffing. "Alright then, let's see you try! No, no, don't make excuses now—get down here!"
690 ●catalysta● light as a feather, stiff as a board
Willowpaw's eyes widened in surprise when Thunderpaw went spinning out onto the ice on the pond. For a split second, she thought the ice would break beneath his weight. Luckily for him, it didn't. His scream caused her ears to spring at attention out of concern as she watched the scene play out before her. She remained at the top of the hill and she was quite relieved that he was okay after all. With curiosity as to what his intention was, she watched him struggle to stay balanced on the ice. His legs were practically working against him as he slipped and slid, falling over, stumbling back up on his paws, and awkwardly standing in one place so as not to fall again. She couldn't help but giggle at him.
"Of course I am!" she cried, "look at you!" and her laughter only grew in volume and intensity as he stood there, huffing at her. Then, he challenged her to join him on the ice. Her laughter faded into an amused smile as she stood tall, tail waving above her back with excitement as she tried to examine the best way down. "Alright, alright," she said, "I'll be laughing with you soon," she promised and, her heart skipping a beat in the moment where she leapt to the air, she dove for the track Thunderpaw had already made.
Since the snow had been packed down by the red tom's weight, Willowpaw went flying down the hill faster than he even had, in all his haste. In fact, she was going too fast. "Woahh!" She saw that she was headed straight for Thunderpaw and that they would most definitely collide if she did not stop, so she tried to plant her feet. This.. only worked against her, and she tumbled forward into a clumsy-as-all-hell front flip.
With an "eep!" she crash-landed right into Thunderpaw's hulking, barely-balanced frame and sent them both careening out across the ice. When they finally stopped, Willowpaw was flattened across Thunderpaw's back, her eyes squeezed shut and her ears flat and her nose buried in his thick fur. Peeling one eye open, she looked around and then realized where she was. When she jumped off of him, she forgot where they were and her legs went straight out from under her upon touching the ice.
"Woa-!" she yelped as she fell down on her stomach, legs tangled up. She lay parallel to Thunderpaw. Huffing, she lifted her head towards him and said, "That... was..." a toothy grin spread across her white muzzle, "awesome! Thunderpaw, you might just be the most.. mouse-brained genius I've ever met," she added affectionately, her grin relaxing into a fond smile. She always had fun when it was just her and Thunderpaw, and she supposed she hadn't given him enough credit for that before.
[attr="class","sinnert"]A squeal of elation saw her crashing down towards him as she streaked through the snow, following the tread he'd left behind to come careening out and over the pond's slick surface, faster than even he had in all his exuberance—so fast, in fact, that from the moment Willowpaw's feet touched ground, it was all she could do to plant her paws firmly in from of her in an effort not come crashing right into… "Mmf!" What laughter had filled Thunderpaw's throat then was abruptly cut short as she barreled into him, shooting what stability remained in his already splayed limbs to smithereens as he came crashing down to the ice yet again. Only this time, he was weighed down by another cat, and when his shoulder struck against the pond's surface, he could only grit his teeth for the throbbing pain that rose there. …ow. Grimacing as Willowpaw wriggled breathlessly from off of him, he turned his head, wincing slightly as he attempted to push himself to his paws, only to think better of it when Willowpaw sprawled out on the ice with a yelp of surprise.
That brought the laughter back despite his pain, though it gave way somewhat as he watched her lying there. Had she hurt herself in the fall? he could not help but wonder. She'd hit the ground—no, him pretty hard. There was no telling… Fumbling, he made to reach out to her, his movements made awkward by the slippery ground. "Hey, are you—"
But it was a broad smile that spread across her features when she turned to face him, not a grimace of pain. In fact, if he were anyone to deduce, she looked as far from hurt as possible. "That… was… awesome! Thunderpaw, you might just be the most… mouse-brained genius I've ever met." And then her smile slackened somewhat, giving way to a certain admiration that banished the last remaining modicum of pain from his body. In the wake of that smile, he could do nothing more than return a sheepish one of his own.
"You think so? Maybe I should do stuff like this more often then." Chuckling, he gave his head a doggish shake, then blinked in surprise as he noticed the snow falling all around them. Like a fine powder, it sprinkled their pelts in white, settling on the bog's glassy surface to mute the blinding reflection of the sun. Marveling as the snowy spectacle unfolded before them, he glanced towards Willowpaw, who still lay sprawled out on her belly, flushed with the exhilaration of her plunge. Lying there, with the snow peppering her fur, he could help but really how happy she looked… and how beautiful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so.
Looking away, unnerved by the sudden rush of heat borne up within him, he chose instead to take in the white-washed waste with a mystified expression. But its beauty paled in comparison to Willowpaw's own, and not once did he find himself struggling to keep his eyes off her in the silence that prevailed… so instead, he opted to speak. It was the least he could do, he figured, to distract himself.
"Wouldn't it be nice if it could always be like this?" he murmured softly, wistfully. "Just the two of us… we could do whatever we wanted like we always dreamed of when we were kits—laughing and playing…" he chanced a glance in Willowpaw's direction, daring to reach out a paw to brush her own, and finding himself flushed yet again. "Together. Wouldn't that be nice? Nobody to tell us what to do—no one but ourselves. We could be like Brightsun and Whiteflame—like in the stories." His eyes seemed to take on a fiercer light at the mention of such ancient warriors, of lion and lioness who, the elder's said, led the greatest pride with their ability to harness the power of the sun.
They'd been able to clear entire fields with fire—a gift from StarClan that had been stolen from them upon the arrival of the eternal winter to banish the cold. Without it they had perished… Brightsun first, distraught after losing his powers, and Whiteflame following close behind, herself unable to live on without him. It was the sort of conclusion that softened the hearts of she-cat's and filled with heads with wistful imaginings of love, he knew, but he couldn't help but look on it with a particular fondness. Although our story needn't end the same way… I'll keep us safe. Always. "No one could stop us."
761 ●catalysta● please shut him down. end his entire career
Both of their attentions were pulled away from the moment; cold, gentle snowflakes had begun falling all around them. They landed peacefully at the edges of her paws. It was cold enough that they remained intact upon landing so she could really see them and all their unique shapes. No two flakes were the same, she realized with quiet amazement. She sighed admiringly and they suddenly melted, no match for her warm breath.
"Wouldn't it be nice if it could always be like this?"
Her ears pricked up and she looked back at him, expression one of interest. Thunderpaw's voice was enhanced against the quiet of the snow; she could pick up on the rugged, deep tones. That was new, and a sure sign of physical maturity. However, Willowpaw felt a sinking feeling in her chest as Thunderpaw carried on with his words. Her smile diminished and her gaze flicked to the side of Thunderpaw, so that she was no longer looking directly at him but at the falling snowflakes behind him. "Just the two of us?" she echoed, confused.
She felt warmth against her paw, and looked down to stare at the orange paw that covered hers. A sickly feeling of panic seeped into her like some sort of slow-moving, creeping ivy. What is he saying? She felt her heart begin banging in her chest.
"Together. Wouldn't that be nice?"
The creeping ivy reached out for her heart, intent to strangle it right there. Willowpaw dragged her amber gaze up to meet Thunderpaw's, eyebrows pressed together. Her heart began beating faster, louder. "Thunderpaw, I-" she stammered, choking up. I had no idea you felt this way... I'm so blind, I've failed you as a friend. To lead you on... the horror settled in as she realized that all of her actions and words had misguided him.
"We could be like Brightsun and Whiteflame—like in the stories. No one could stop us."
She knew the story well; Thunderpaw wasn't just admitting to a crush on her... he was confessing... love, and intent to spend their lives together.
With that, the ivy snagged her heart and it felt as if the world was turning upside down on her. She moved away then and pulled back her paw, opening her mouth to fumble for words, "I... I-" she slipped and fell back onto her haunches, ears drooped to either side.
Willowpaw peered up at him with sad, round eyes. "Oh, Thunderpaw..." she finally managed, "I'm so sorry," she choked out a guilt-stricken mewl. She looked away, not able to meet his eyes anymore - especially not with what she was going to say next. She clenched her jaw and shook her head with bitterness. Shoulders sagged, she said, "..I'm in love with Blazingpaw,"
[attr="class","sinnert"]Silence was no friend of his, and in its company, he found himself restless as it stretched before him, long and wearisome, rising within him a vexatious sense of uneasiness—a feeling that only continued to grow as Willowpaw withdrew from his touch. No, flinched. As if his touch was something scathing—meant to scorch and hurt rather than bring the warmth and comfort he so desperately wished to convey to her—and when he lowered his gaze so that he might look upon her face, he was perturbed to find that there was nothing there but a great, weighted sadness, one that was hastily turned away from him as soon as their eyes met. She can’t even look at me… Bewilderment set his chest to fluttering, a restless shifting, while his stomach churned and his paws began to work the ice, unbidden to him.
What’s wrong with me? Desperately, he tried to still himself but found he could not, and as the ice seeped through his fur, he found he could no longer lie their either, and so opted instead to sit back on his haunches and regard her. But still, she would not meet his eyes; hers were turned elsewhere, as if they, too, had taken on a sudden interest in the beauty unfolding around them, of the snow as it fell, muting everything in white and grey tones. But never at him. Never at him.
Look at me. Silently Thunderpaw willed her to turn her head, to acquiesce him with the smiles he’d grown to love and crave, but when she did, there was none of her jovial nature, nothing but a bleak cognizance as she drew her paw out from under his own, slipping in her haste to be away from him. He watched her struggle to regain her footing, and only when her legs had stilled beneath her did she look up at him, eyes gone round and mournful. It was not the look he’d expected from her, nor one, he realized, he wanted to receive. But there was no running from it, not on this ice that was too unruly and slick for paws to walk comfortably. Any attempt to run would be promptly thwarted by a less than graceful tumble, and with his nerves strained already as they were, it was not something he had any intentions of risking.
So instead, he stared down at her, studying the ruggedness of her features, the wild beauty in her snow-tipped fur. He took in the fullness of her fur, the way it framed her broad face like a mane, complimenting the squareness of her muzzle, the roundness of her eyes… and he felt a great anguish build inside him all the while for her next words were not ones to feed the hope he’d been trying so desperately to cling onto.
“Oh, Thunderpaw… I’m so sorry.” The words were choked, warped by tremors. And then she was looking away from him again.
For once, he didn’t mind.
Still, he smiled, fighting his own misgivings, the sinking feeling in his heart that made him feel as if his chest were being cleaved in two. “Sorry?” Carefully, gently, he prepared to reach out to her, to brush her muzzle, urge her eyes to his own. He wanted then only to comfort her, to rid her mind of any doubts she might have. He wanted to protect her. She can be happy with me. She’s just uncertain, that’s all, but I’ll help her to see. They’ll speak of us in stories to come… and they’ll say it started here, under the snow… “There’s nothing for you to be sorry ab—”
“…I’m in love with Blazingpaw.”
…what? Bewilderment gave way to despair then, his paw falling, never to touch her face, only land heavily against the ice with a despondent thump. A sudden flash of anger came over him, scathing hot, giving rise to his hackles only for them to quickly settle again, subdued by the aching he felt lying beneath.
“Him?” Unable to think of anything else to say as he stared at her, dumbfounded. “I… but I don’t understand. Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it isn’t funny.” Desperately, Thunderpaw searched her expression, seeking the deeply-buried irony, but there was none. This was no joke, he realized. She was serious. Her voice had not so much as wavered when she spoke, and he knew then that she had meant it—meant it with all of her heart, a heart that would never and probably never had loved him as he had loved her. …and will never be mine, he thought with a bitterness that surprised even himself. “…really? …but why? He doesn’t even know you—not like I do. He…” his eyes flitted to each side as the confession came unsolicited from his lips, searching, questing for something—anything to latch onto. Anything to change her mind, to make her see. “He’ll hurt you,” he blurted suddenly. “You know that, don't you? Just like he did Fallenpaw, like he does everyone. How can you love him knowing that—what he’s capable of?” He took a trembling step towards her. “How when we’ve been through so much together? Does that mean nothing to you?” He stared at her, willing her to put his worries to rest, to laugh and tell him it had been a joke all along. But it wasn’t, he knew, and so he could do nothing but continue to press her for fear of the pain budding within him—a pain that ached and bled, unlike any wound he’d ever received. “Willowpaw, please, I would never treat you like that… never. Can’t you see that? I could make you happy. I would never hurt you, not like he would... So... so why?... why him instead of me?”
967 ●catalysta●shot through the heart, and she's to blame-
Willowpaw was taken aback by her own words, the wrinkles between her brows deepening. That was the first time she'd actually said it out loud, or in any form at all. Did she really feel that strongly for Blazingpaw? Her eyes flicked back toward Thunderpaw, regret darkening their expression.
"... it isn't funny,"
She watched his paw slump back onto the ice, staring at it as it lay there on the ground... defeated. "It's not a joke," she mewed quietly at it, pursing her lips. Why would it be a joke, her feelings were real. Didn't he see that? What a cruel joke it would be, although a tiny part of her, if only for a moment, wished that she could say 'just kidding, you dumb bumblebee!' and fall into his embrace. Yet, that wasn't what she truly wanted.
"He doesn’t even know you—not like I do."
Her ears pricked forward at that, looking up at Thunderpaw as he fumbled for the words to convince her to stay away from Blazingpaw. She started to shake her head, "Thunderpaw, don't- you..." she trailed off meekly as he continued on. She was unable to stop him from saying words he may later regret. The things he said were like claws on stone to her ears. She did her best to stand on her paws, keeping them close together and very still once she did find her balance. Her tail-tip twitched angrily.
"Why him instead of me?"
Those words specifically left a bitter taste in her own mouth, and Willowpaw found it very hard not to yell at Thunderpaw for them. For bringing himself so low by trying to convince her to be with him instead. It wasn't a look she was used to seeing him wear, and she couldn't say that it suited him.
Yet, as she opened her mouth to argue, she stopped and bit back her tongue. His eyes stared into hers. She'd just watched his heart break by her own paws. It had never been intended, and she thought she hadn't led him on, but she knew deep down that that was wrong. Somewhere along the way, a line had been silently crossed and they'd both felt it... but she had done nothing to deter him. This was all her fault and she had to find a way to salvage their friendship. Getting angry at him would only push him further away.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, though she mustered as much meaning into it as she could and her voice shook with it, "Deep down I knew there was something you wanted - I knew you felt more than friendship. I didn't know how to... how to handle a situation like this, but I shouldn't have let this go on for so long. I am wrong for that," she ducked her head apologetically, ears tucked back. After a few moments, she lifted her muzzle back up to look at him, "but losing you is the last thing I want, Thunderpaw," there was a heavy desperation in her voice, "You-you're right. You do know me better, and Blazingpaw already has hurt me whereas you never have. I'm invisible to him, and you.. you've been the best friend anyone could ask for. I don't. know. why I care for him like that and not you," her eyes welled up with tears, "I'm sorry, if I could change my heart, I would, but... but Thunderpaw...I..." she trailed off, at a loss of what more to say.
[attr="class","sinnert"]The ice felt like a capricious and rotten thing beneath his paws, groaning arduously under his shifting weight, beseeching his ears with a sound equally as grievous as his own thoughts as he studied Willowpaw, his tangent all but spent on his billowing breaths as they clouded before his eyes, veiling her face as it watched him. He saw there, through that cloud of translucent fog, a mixture of emotions—one moment bordering on anger, then disbelief, and finally poignance. A great sadness clouded her warm amber gaze, and he saw her countenance depress ever so slightly, as if pulled down by an elusive weight. Then she spoke, her voice a quavering thing, choked with a helplessness he’d not heard before. And when he heard it, he felt regret give rise within him, heavy in his stomach so that he felt as if the weight of it would bear him down beneath the bog's surface, to be forever lost beneath the icy tide.
Thankfully, it held, but when she spoke, he wished in some subtle part of his mind that it hadn’t as her words gained traction, voice growing more afflicted with the burden of her remorse. It was more than he deserved—that defeated apology—something he knew as well as she might sometime later, he did not merit hearing.
“I didn’t know how to… how to handle a situation like this, but I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long. I am wrong for that.” And then, for a time, perhaps her words all but spent in that paroxysm of emotion, she stooped so that her head might sink, and her ears lay flat against her skull.
Her words of admittance weighed heavy on him, an impenetrable, unshakable force meant to crush him under its veritable mass. And as he stood there, watching her, he found he wanted nothing more than to endure it as it wore on his anger, trampling the jealousy to a fine powder that was borne as easily from his thoughts as it might be by a winter wind, leaving him to be filled only by a vast emptiness, a numbness that gave way to a sadness of its own—one that he did not have the words to rightly describe.
I should never have said anything—I should have kept it to myself. His claws curled unbidden from their sheaths, scouring the ice, leaving shallow corrugations there as he watched her in helpless silence, seeking the words that had always come so naturally to him—those easy reassurances—but found he had none. There was nothing he could do to wash away their guilt, let alone her own, which he had not expected nor had the facilities to comprehend himself.
And he hated himself for it.
“Willowpaw, I—” he started, then faltered when her own voice rose anew.
“…but losing you is the last thing I want, Thunderpaw.” Beneath the sorrow, desperation clawed its way to the surface, raw and perceptible to the ear, so that it made them twitch and his expression grow ever more somber. “…you’ve been the best friend anyone could ask for. I don’t. know. Why I care for him like that and not you.” And then there were tears in her eyes, welling up there so that her eyes took on a lambent quality, one that, he thought, only added to her beauty, though it was not something he gave voice to. He could not, however, stop his own thoughts from their fanciful wants—to brush the wetness from her eyes—although he refrained from giving them the satisfaction of reality, knowing such advances would be in poor taste and as such refraining as she went on. “I’m sorry, if I could change my heart, I would, but… but Thunderpaw… I—”
That made him start, and with a cautious brush of his tail, he drew her attention towards him. “Willowpaw, hey, look at me. I’m not going anywhere, ok? And besides, it’s me who should be apologizing, not you. This… all of this is my fault,” he blurted suddenly, desperately. “I was just… jealous, that’s all. I never should have said those things—about you, about Blazingpaw… about your feelings for him. I just… I don’t know, I guess I let it get to my head. I wasn’t thinking, and because of that, I… oh, Willowpaw, I never meant to make you cry.” His expression became one of helplessness . “I was just upset… so please, don’t cry. If what you want is Blazingpaw, then… I’ll…” his voice faltered ever so slightly, “I won’t stop you. If it makes you happy, then I won’t, alright? I promise. And I won’t leave you, either. I’ll always be right here, it’s just…” he blinked, growing aware of a sudden tension in his chest. “I… I don’t know.”
The meek brush of his fluffy tail against her fur caught her attention, as he'd intended, and she realized that maybe... just maybe they could salvage their friendship. Maybe they'd be able to make it through this. Tears dripped down from her full eyes, and she lifted her paw to swipe them away.
"...oh, Willowpaw, I never meant to make you cry.”
She had to look away from his face then, ashamed of herself. There they both were, hurting, and it was all her fault. Her mistake. Her wrong to right. Yet he was still there for her. Somehow he had the strength and the kindness in his heart to stand beside her. Or perhaps it was only because they were trapped together there, on the ice.
She couldn't help the light laugh that escaped through her tearful face, and she looked back up at Thunderpaw. They both yearned for the same things; to love and to be loved. Of course, it was so much more complicated than that. Her smile faded quickly.
"I never meant to hurt you, Thunderpaw," she meowed, pausing, "you know, I thought I couldn't wait to grow up, but now... I wish life was simple again; wish we could go back to when we were kits, before I hurt you, before I hurt anyone," she sighed sorrowfully, thoughts drifting back to the days before her brother was taken by that hawk. Her gaze passed over Thunderpaw and onto the snowy blanket upon the forest behind him.
After several long moments, she took in a deep breath and refocused on him again, shoulders tensing, "You still being my friend means so much more to me than you know, and I understand if you need space for a while, but..." she blushed and glanced at her paws awkwardly, "will you help me with one, teeny-tiny thing?"
And with each other's quiet help, they were able to get off the slippery sheet that covered the pond. Willowpaw let Thunderpaw take the lead by several strides, pausing to glance out over the wintry landscape one last time. Her eyes were dulled, her tail drooped, her spirits low. With a flick of her tail, she moved on. She did her best to leave what had happened there between them on the pond, to melt away with the coming new-leaf. She looked ahead at the evergreens as Thunderpaw's tail disappeared within their enveloping depths.
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