dig me out [p]

[narcissus]

???

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

[silver.]

he/him // 25 moons // thc warrior
purrks: mind reader [INACTIVE], flock together tier 1 [INACTIVE]

---

It had been some time since anyone that cared about him had visited him. And by that he means only one that cared enough to still think of him. Wherever Sparrow had ended up he only hopes that she's happy. That she still thinks of him, too. Whatever happened to his kits he hopes the same. That maybe twolegs scooped them up and they're living a safe life away from the bloodshed of the forest.

It's wishful thinking. Stupid thinking. But he had never been good at letting go of hope.

Sleep has a difficult time finding him tonight. Tossing and turning, his eyes closed but feeling so very open, as if he were still wide awake despite his efforts to find rest. But it does take him eventually.

In the familiar grasses of his dreamscape he hunkers down into a comfortable loaf. It wasn't often that dreams came to him. When they did, they were nightmares. But tonight seemed pleasant. As if maybe just once something good was going to happen for him. And when the call of his name from behind draws his attention he could never be more sure of it.

His father. Alderstep. He came to see him again.

Springing back to his paws and whipping around to squint at the faint silhouette in the distance, he can't help but smile. The familiar shape of his father amongst ferns and sunlight, not too far off. Blue hues light with excitement, like a kit receiving 'paw' at the end of their name at their very own ceremony. And he's running.

White paws carry him to collide into the larger tom's frame in mere seconds, a loud purr rolling from his throat as he greets Alderstep. His muzzle buries into the comforting scent of his russet fur for only a moment before he's taking a step back in confusion. No. Something was off. Something... Didn't feel right. What was going on?

"Alderstep? Are you alright? This... This feels different than last time. I don't like it."

alderstep | @narcissus