Frozenberry wandered adrift, mind's turbulence swirled in the disjointed haze where darkness unfurled. Confronting his demons, entwined and grotesque; the specters of anguish, torments manifest.
With each breath, he inhaled fragments of dread. In sleep's murky waters, his soul was thread. Yet, amidst the chaos, a resolve took root, To face self-inflicted oppression, the lies, and the responsible brute.
Awakening in tremors, his body's defense, emotions entangled in twilight's suspense, he rose from his nesting place, spirits ignite. Determination aflame, to reclaim the night.
This cathartic fray, no easy terrain where truth and vulnerability met like rain. Through twisted narratives, clarity sought to unearth Frozenberry’s strength, redemption unbought.
For within dreams' shroud, he was a warrior bold: a phoenix arising, the past to unfold. In the crucible of darkness and strife, he would forge a new path, reclaim his life.
Content + Interaction Warning This character frequently explores themes of mental health, extreme violence, abuse, trauma, and self-harm.
The world was flooding, and he was caught in the current. Water burdened him, dragging him into black depths from which he couldn't escape.
Air escaped him, bubbling toward a surface not in sight. He reached out toward them, fighting his way upward against an unyielding tide, but was met by golden paws blocking him. Similar toned eyes shone down on him, one tainted by the blue of the water. Claws dug into his skin, but he pushed to gain ground, his own lashing through the liquid. It connected with flesh, and exploded.
He awoke with a start, coughing. Mud sputtered out of his mouth, and he aggressively shook his pelt as he sprang up to his paws. "Dung!" he hissed, spitting more muck. He could not even wipe his muzzle cleanly, his paws and legs were drenched in the stuff.
It seemed the torrent of rain outside had been doing a number on the entrance of the den, and part of the lip had given way. Though not technically flooded out, the little stream of water had caused the floor of the den to become mushy and muddy .. all the nests were soaked, at best. Coated in mud at worst. Ugggh.
Unfortunately, he was alone for the moment. On the bright side, it meant no one could see him in such a state, but he almost wished he could smack someone for not waking him up sooner. Growling lowly, he shook his pelt again and started to head out. He did not know how to patch this issue, it was not as simple as a hole in the ceiling. ... Maybe going outside would clear his head of this filth so he could think.
Frozenberry couldn't remember sleep anymore. It happened, somewhere between the lines of exhaustion and waking in an alerted (alarmed) state, had to have happened--otherwise he wouldn't be alive (but that alone invited a lot of philosophical questions.) Nowhere felt safe, he was always uneasy. No reprieve, hypervigilant. Ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger.
And so, it worsened. Fatigue dripped from him like the near-constant rain that kept him awake when he couldn't sleep in the warriors' den (too unsafe, too many cats, too many stares) and felt almost equally uncomfortable in a little corner of camp tucked underneath an overhang, but it was the next-best. Unfortunately its sheltering properties weren't ideal, and the bustle of the clearing, the shift of the wind, kept him in a surface sleep.
Now, he could wish sleep adieu. It was over. The second he spotted Falcon in his line of sight, his fight-or-flight (or fawn, and freeze- why did he have to land on those two, without fail??) kicked in. Frozenberry's pulse leapt to his throat.
Look away. Look away now. He'll think you're staring. He'll be mad. He hates the staring. He knows you're doing it. He can see you now. Caught in a loop of look-away-and-flutter-back when the anxiety got too overwhelming. He couldn't watch Falcon, but their history reminded him he couldn't look away either. Couldn't trust him.
hopeless.
It's not like before. No amount of reassurance smoothed the edge. It would never be like before--especially not with Falcon, having no idea what occurred--but Frozenberry's body had been permanently trained. To survive. the challenge was keeping it in check, trying to Not come off like- like a freak (he heard falcon's voice echo) around clanmates.
Just outside the den wasn't much better than being inside. The rain just soaked his pelt, thinning the thick layer of mud that clung to him like a second. At this point, trying to shake it off wouldn't do him much good. It was.. almost sticky in consistency, and he had to wonder if some fiend made it so.
Fail Cone hissed under his breath, irked by the circumstances of today. If not for his thick fur, he might've been cold. Thankfully it staved off the worst of it.
Through all this, he was aware of the eyes upon him. Always, though it was getting a little bit easier to disregard as Frozen. Frozen, who was always lingering on the tip of his tongue. Frozen, whom he could have sworn-- somehow, was related to the water. Golden.
... He could taste blood in his mouth, hadn't realized he bit his tongue. Perks of thinking too hard.
"You." He regarded Frozen, furrowing his brow. "why are you in the corner." A den ought to be more comfortable, save the warriors'.
His insides squirmed. In the corner of his vision, he could feel Falcon's stare directed at him he was staring at him and suddenly self-consciousness brought a couple swipes over his pelt because... he was always so unpresentable and there was no reason to change that, except he felt compelled to be slightly less in pieces in front of Falcon if for the sole reason Falcon was somehow doing better than him-
(healing, healed)
not remembering would do that to a cat. Jealousy and discontent dripped over him like the rain.
Despite his best efforts, Frozenberry peered to Falcon and caught him looking as he was addressed, or at least he thought he was the one being addressed with the sharp YOU from a voice he'd recognize anywhere. Okayokayokaykeepittogether. He was bad at that. The keeping it together.
Both of their situations could be turned into an if-then statement, but they could play out this skit.
"Why aren't you in the corner," he said, measured. "Might've helped with the mud." Corner wasn't looking so crazy and deranged and asocial now, was it? (mud hadn't been on his radar when he chose this spot.) The grime would eventually overtake this place too if the rain didn't let up, but for the time being it worked.
"I don't like the dens here." Anywhere. Not anymore. But these were holes in the ground and there was something loony about that, something unevolved -- and he didn't know how they were comfortable being the cats of Open Space cramped beneath earth's surface.
Oh, so that is how he wanted to be. Fail Cone narrowed his eyes as he started to approach Frozen, paws lost to the sea of mud between them.
Then, in a quick flash of his paw he sent a wave of mud splattering toward Frozen. If he wanted to be all high and mighty about being mud-free, Fail Cone would make him regret it. "It does not look like it helped you much, honey." It was without affection, just a term that meant little to Fail Cone but he felt compelled to say. He watched Frozen, but for a moment.
".. I do not understand them." Underground in the open Clan. it did not feel right, but what did he know. He was an outsider who could not remember. "It is not much of a den anymore, so probably for the best."
Brought to his paws in an instant, Frozenberry sputtered as mud dotted his pelt (probably should've seen it coming) wondering why he bothered looking somewhat nice when Falcon was just going to do that, though it was more embarrassing that he'd thought to aim for presentable in the first place.
Didn't appreciate it, that was for sure. Here he was ruining his neglecting-self-care streak . . . it would definitely draw (unwanted) attention if he didn't bother washing that off.
What Falcon said briefly erased his annoyance. The term of endearment bounced around in his head: honey, honey, honeyhoneyhoney. Stirred memories. That somehow Falcon.. didn't have. And yet.
Them. Frozenberry processed that for a second. "So, you're not from here." The deduction felt less than genuine because he knew that, knew where he was from, but. might as well prompt Falcon with a topic the general populace found more acceptable than you ruined my life and everything i held dear. the usual subjects for usual suspects.
"Where..." he trailed off, glancing beyond the clearing for some kind of freshwater puddle that didn't look muddier than they were. A river came to mind first, but he tensed at the notion of heading that direction.
"Nothing to say to that?" Fail Cone was surprised, for a moment. He really thought he would illicit something.. More, by mud slinging. In a way it was disappointing. Was that intentional? Frozen did not seem like the type to play him like that... mmm.
A shrug. "No, I was outside for some time." No-Clan, taken by skinless. Details were fuzzy, he was wounded and healed. Escaped.. but none of that mattered. "The fire brought me here." Smoke in the skies, a beacon of a chance. .. And now he was here, drenched in mud with a cat he couldn't pinpoint meeting.
He wished he could be mad at him, but any anger and irrationalities was not at his expense. He was just infinitely frustrated with the Unknown, the circling giant bird that threatened to steal away any semblance of what he thought he knew. Noticing Frozen's look for-- what, water? "Oh, just jump in one of the puddles. It will come out." More seriously, ... he actually was not quite sure. He had not gone around the territory very much. There was probably a stream not far from the plateau.
Frozenberry's frustration resumed, coming back from its distracted honey hiatus to be reignited by the fact he was now coated in mud too. Mature. Really mature. Haughty, he snipped, "It's not how I would've responded." He liked this scenario where he could pretend he would've taken the high road when in reality recognized that wasn't true at all. least he looked the part of the mess he was these days, for now. and he still would after they washed off this muck and his fur was left to dry at weird angles.
a part of him didn't want to. a very sizable part of him. He could just let the stupid mud sit there because he already felt caked in grime from the inside out, what difference did it make. would save him a trip--
into the outside-camp, too. He liked his monotony, the safety. Didn't go out unless he had to (like the times his paranoia whispered he was being followed).
Zoning out again. He needed to stop that. It was more noticeable now that he was.. actually interacting with- someone. No, not someone. Falcon. The lump rose in his throat. "You're not supposed to run toward the fire."
Frozenberry hesitated at his prompt. That would be the . . healthy, normal thing. To go outside camp like it wasn't a big deal, because he was a warrior with another warrior, and to clear the mud from his fur. He wished a downpour would come and take care of it, brutalize him with water until he finally deemed himself cleansed (foreign feeling). His gaze slid to Falcon. (Healing. Healed. With the no-memory caveat.) Living a regular life in spite of what they went through -- what he went through. it was long past time to at least attempt reentering some semblance of existence that wasn't just rehashing the horrors he'd seen.
He'd waited too long to answer. Rising humiliation at his own silence forced words, "Owls don't like the rain, right?" roughly translated to a tepid: let's go.
Re: WindClan Warriors' Den
