you don’t have to be related by blood to be called family [p]

**iliri** · #1 September 10th, 2024, 07:40 AM

In the stillness of the abandoned twoleg monster, Springlight finally allowed herself to succumb to the weight of her exhaustion. The distant hum of the twoleg monsters outside faded into the background, and she curled up within the warmth of the nest she now shared with her sister. The cold, sterile scent of the metal around her was a far cry from the comforting aroma of the ThunderClan camp she had once known, but tonight, her dreams would take her far from this alien world. As her eyes fluttered shut, she drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep, her mind surrendering to the pull of memories that lay buried beneath layers of grief and bitterness. She had never wanted to revisit the places her dreams so often took her, yet it seemed as though she had little choice in the matter, as if some unseen force was determined to make her confront what she had left behind. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself standing at the edge of a clearing bathed in the dim, early morning light. The scent of damp earth and pine needles filled her nose, and the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze whispered secrets of a life that felt increasingly distant. The scene before her was unmistakable: the familiar surroundings of ThunderClan’s camp. But something was different—off-kilter in a way she couldn’t quite place. The camp was empty, devoid of the bustling activity that usually marked the start of a new day. The dens were silent, and the clearing that would normally be filled with the sounds of her clan-mates waking up was eerily still. It was as though time had slowed to a crawl, leaving only the ghosts of what once was. Her heart ached at the sight, the bittersweet pang of nostalgia mingling with the sorrow of all she had lost.

As she stepped forward, the soft earth giving way beneath her paws, she noticed the outlines of the old dens, their shapes familiar and yet haunting in their emptiness. The medicine den, in particular, caught her eye, its entrance dark and foreboding. Memories of her time spent within its walls, tending to the wounded and sick, flashed before her eyes. She had once found purpose here, a sense of belonging that had been cruelly ripped away by the claws of fate. She could almost hear the echoes of the past—the whispers of her mentor, the comforting murmurs of the sick and injured who had placed their trust in her. But those voices were gone now, replaced by the hollow silence of abandonment. She swallowed hard, pushing back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. This was not the time to dwell on what had been taken from her. There was a reason she had been brought here, to this strange, dream-like version of her old home. And she would find out what it was. It was then that she saw him, standing at the edge of the clearing where the forest met the camp. His pelt was a light shade of brown, with large streaks of white that seemed to catch the pale light filtering through the trees. A sense of recognition washed over her, mingled with a flicker of surprise. Yarrowcrest. The brother—or something, she had never truly known, the one who had always been on the periphery of her life, tied to her not by blood but by the bond they both shared with Alderstep—or Foxstep, as he had come to be known. It had been moons since she had last seen Yarrowcrest, and even then, their interactions had been few and far between. There had always been a distance between them, a gulf that neither had ever seemed willing—or able—to bridge. And yet, here he was, in this dream, standing in the very place that had once been the heart of her world.

Springlight hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as she considered turning back, retreating into the safety of the shadows where the pain of the past could not reach her. But something held her in place, something deeper than the resentment she harbored toward their shared father. This was a chance—perhaps the only chance she would ever have—to face Yarrowcrest, to confront the strained bond they shared and the unresolved emotions that lay between them. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she finally stepped forward, her paws carrying her across the clearing toward him. The closer she got, the more she felt the tension rise within herself. Anxiety tugged at the deepest part of her core as she stopped at a fox-length distance away, her half-cloudy gaze fixated on him and solely him. "Yarrowcrest.” She called out softly, her voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and resolve. The sound of his name on her tongue felt strange, almost foreign, as though it was a relic of a time long past. She didn’t know how Yarrowcrest would act seeing her here, but of all things considered, she hoped it wouldn’t be anything beyond negative. “It’s… it’s been a while since we last spoke.”

@silver. [ the sillies uwu ]

**silver.** · #2 September 14th, 2024, 11:04 AM

yarrowcrest
he/him // 25 moons // thc warrior

---

Nightmare after nightmare plagued him since that night. Since the night he had been told by his father that he had died. The dead were dead. No promise of that being changed would comfort him. Lying to Alderstep hurt him more than anything but the old man deserved the comfort of knowing that his son still believed in him. Still trusted him, even if in that moment it was nothing more than a farce. Despite all the nights he had spent laying awake with exhausted eyes, unable to sleep, his faith never rebuilt it'self. As much as he wanted to believe him. As desperate as he was to believe him. He knew he couldn't. Because the dead were dead. And they wouldn't come back no matter how many times he cried about it like a pathetic little kit.

Tonight was no different. As exhausted as he was sleep struggled to take him. How many hours had he laid in his nest waiting for it to come? Three? Four? Part of him didn't want it to. Because the nightmares would return with a vengeance more vicious than his own and remind him how small and weak he was. But even the most stubborn of cats lost the battle to the villain that was fatigue.

Camp was never this empty. Would it be another one of these dreams? Floods of blood and begging screams of his clan mates? A young Yarrowcrest, still a 'paw, helpless to do anything more than watch as his loved ones were torn to shreds by faceless cats made of shadow? It didn't seem like it, thankfully. All in all tonight things seemed... Peaceful. Which he was thankful for. A night escaped without a drop of blood to haunt him was a win for him. Walking toward the edge of camp he stares out into the forest with tired eyes. Bright blue dulled by the realistic horrors of the waking world. Part of him wondered if he would be alone in this hollow image of Thunderclan or if the cats laughing at him from above would be kind enough to let him see his father again.

... Did he even want to? Or did he want to let his visage die like his parents' had already?

The voice that calls his name from behind has him tensing. Freezing solid as if he had spent a week in blowing snow drifts. He knows that voice. The pain of losing her was still too fresh-- of course Starclan would torture him like this. Despite their few interactions their shared bond had drawn him to her. A protectiveness tightened his chest painfully as he thinks on what could have been between them. The bond of siblings lamenting their losses together. Finding comfort in one another. A single kit as he was had always longed for such a bond. It was taken from him too soon. At first he's afraid to turn around. Afraid of what he might find. Maybe if he just ignored the voice the ghosts would cease to haunt him. But he's stupid. Naïve. And he turns anyway.

Eyes widen at the sight of her. Torn and battered. Was this what she had looked like when she died? Had the owl that stole her from them left her to bleed out instead of making her a meal? It's confusing to him, however... She... Her pelt looked like he remembered. When he had last seen his father it had been cursed by that of starlight. Hers seemed too dull for such a thing.

Was she alive somewhere? Was she trying to come home? Was this his chance to finally save someone?

Expression still painted with disbelief he finally-- albeit hesitantly-- turns to face her. Ears lay back and he tries desperately to fight off the looming feeling of guilt that threatens to swallow him whole. Starclan had always hated him. Always reminded him of his failures. Tonight was no different. He should have been there. Should have saved her, like he had saved that young apprentice from that hawk. Should have done more. He always should be doing more. He had to repent, had to pay for the failure of his incompetence--

"... Springlight."

All he can muster is a pathetic smile. It's weak, it trembles alongside his frame, but he tries for her. She needn't be prey to his shaken resolve. The last thing she needed was to be plagued by the same feelings that haunted him every time he closed his eyes. She sounded better. Made sentences without the pain of her injuries reminding her of them. It truly did make him happy.

"It... Has. What are you doing here? How are you here? You don't... Look dead. You're not dead. Are you?"

springlight | @iliri