More Of A Warrior
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Rainflower looked in horror at her kit, her handsome little warrior who wasn't so handsome anymore.
Her mind reeled at the sight; Stormkit looked at his mother with wide eyes as he tried to eat, meat spilling out the side of his mouth. Rainflower shut her eyes to avoid the gruesome sight, her heart throbbing.
Why, oh Starclan why, did this happen? Why did Stormkit have to leave camp without letting her know?
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Rainflower looked at her son, face blank.
This had to be some kind of curse, Rainflower thought bitterly. A curse cast on her kit because Shellheart had an affair with the mange-pelt Mapleshade.
In the dim, it looked as though Stormkit's jaw was normal. It made her hope this was just some kind of nightmare and she could wake up at any moment.
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Shellheart's words fell on deaf ears.
Yes, Rainflower knew that she was being cruel. She knew her son would never look to her again for comfort, never see her reasons for what she'd done.
Something in her being protested this, screaming that it was her kit and he was still handsome. But it was silenced quickly, cut off by the horrible sight of Crookedkit.
Rainflower turned her back to hide the tears. She'd failed Crookedkit, but she couldn't fail Oakkit. She would not allow herself to.
In the back of her soul, she hoped this treatment would strengthen her kit. Make him less of a monstrousity, more of the handsome warrior she'd hoped he would one day become.
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She watched in the background as Crookedpaw grew up, the thorn of regret and grief prickling stronger each day.
He was getting larger, more grown up. His techniques were getting stronger, less clumsy and more skilled.
Rainflower felt the shards of ice she'd woven around her heart break when Crookedpaw got the better of his mentor.
She had been wrong. Crookedpaw was more of warrior than she herself was.
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Rainflower gritted her teeth, her head pounding.
She watched Crookedjaw leave her to die, some sort of relief filling her mind. Good. He realized she was a lost case, he probably even saw the monster she felt she was.
It was refreshing, to say the least. Now she couldn't hurt another poor kit with her cold words and neglect.
Rainflower smiled the slightest bit when she felt herself slip out of her body, self-hatred loosening the smallest inch.
Maybe one day Crookedjaw would forgive her. He was more of a warrior than herself, after all.
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A/N: Holy mother of piss this took a bit out of me! The prompt I assigned myself for this challenge was "horror, bitterness, feeble protest, regret, and self-hatred." Quite angsty, isn't it?
Later,
-Em/Fox