Diagnosed with a developmental disorder at a young age, Duskelle Waterlee has always been special - but not necessarily in a good way. Even at the age of fourteen, she is still unable to truly grasp human ways of life.
Her only relief is River, a st...
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Horror coursed through Duskelle and she stood stock still as she gazed upon what was in front of her. Stormpaw. This couldn't be happening. No. Not when she'd accomplished her goal. Not when she was about to be accepted for once. Not now.
Lightning flashed, and thunder followed after it, the boom ringing in Duskelle's ears and arousing her from her stupor. She rushed forward, Hawkkit still grasped in her paw. She reached the still gray form and bent over Stormpaw, dropping Hawkkit as she did so. The kit mewled and pressed herself against the only source warmth that was not taken by the storm: Duskelle's body, the owner of whom was too busy shaking the tom in front of her.
"Stormpaw! Stormpaw! Please, Stormpaw, please get up! I know it, I know you're not dead! Please... I beg you..." her voice cracked and for a moment, there was nothing except for the soft pitter patter of rain and the whistling of wind as Duskelle bowed her head. He was gone. And it was all her fault. She shouldn't have gone inside the den. She should've waited outside for him to find her. Or she should've gone looking for him when she'd found the hole. She should've gone after him in the first place, she should've refused to let them split up, she should've stuck with him, so that she could've at least protected him, maybe given up her life for him, because it was better spent than his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something told her that she wasn't thinking straight, that it wasn't her fault, that she hadn't done anything to cause this, but she ignored it. All her thoughts were filled with blame, blame directed at herself.
And so the salty liquid that sometimes ran out of her eyes when she thought about how alone she was in the world began to pour out of her eyes, and she wept. She wept, the cause of which was the other cats in the clan. She wept for the sadness they would feel when they found out their beloved, their friend, their kit, their littermate, their Stormpaw, was gone. She wept for their anguish, for the grief that would eat away at their minds, for the crushing sadness that would suffocate them.
For she knew exactly how that felt.
Duskelle threw back her head and howled at the cloud-ridden sky above her, a feral howl that made her sound more like a dog than a cat or a creature. It was a sound full of sadness, full of regret, and most of all, self-disgust. It was because of her that this had happened. If only she hadn't been so selfish. If only she hadn't cared so much for herself. If only, if only, if only — they filled her head, all the thoughts of other things she could've done, how she could've saved him, how it was all her fault.
A soft sound that broke through her sobs made her tilt her head down to look at the tom before her. What she saw made her gasp.
"Stormpaw?"
Emerald green eyes stared back at her, the eyelids barely able to keep them open.
Elation filled her. Stormpaw was alive! He wasn't dead, he was fine, he was completely alright!
