dig me out [p]

[samm]

???

guilty. guilty, guilty, guilty as charged.

he needed him to come home, said as much himself. (even in dreams, getting to hold him eased his worries.) and he'd said he would.

and he didn't.

it was a mistake. the deepest and worst mistake of his life.

it's only been three moons, he reminds himself. you could get used to it. he could too. grief is natural. moving on is his only choice.

he never moves on. from each and every one he's lost, he's never let go of their memory, deep down. he cradles them close to his weeping heart, warms them with his blood, sobs out lullabies, and talks to them in his mind. i miss you is carved into all his organs so everything he does sighs with an echo of their existence. he could never let go.

what he faces isn't normal. it's an eternity.

stretching out before him are dozens of moons' worth of patience he doesn't have.

he couldn't even pretend he didn't feel the pain searing across his body like a splash of molten fire hailing from the sky's stars - or maybe the rising sun.

when the sun is beached upon the brilliant blue sky, it burns apart in a terrific red glow for just a moment. maybe the sun felt agony, torn from whatever it held during the night beyond his prying eyes, so it must rip itself to shreds in a glorious fire that bleeds the sky orange.

sometimes he watches the sun's surface and sees his reflection.

red russet fur.

it has been too long. he has to see him again.

so he shoves his claws past the clouds and reaches blindly for what he knows is his son's consciousness. it smells of oak - thunderclan - and something sweet and crisp, like a true yarrow flower. briefly, he wonders if he would be bothered.

and he remembers quickly that not once had he doubted him. he's always been by his side, no matter what happened.

now, he knows. alderstep knows he will return. stars damnit, he will be there for his son, too.

he worms his way into his dreams, a determined scowl twisting his face. "yarrow?" he calls out immediately.

there's nothing he wants to see but the orange-white fur of his son. nothing else. he couldn't care less.

the feat before him feels more impossible than it had been when he was still living, imprisoned. yet, once he's set eyes on who he's doing it for, it will be beneath him. he has to tell himself this. it must be this way. once he's had this moment, he'll go forth and give it his all.

or burn out trying.

@silver. hope this ok cries sobs dies