{tGB} Holes

Every day was exactly the same. Or almost, anyways.

It was am easy routine to repeat: Wake up every morning to the darkness of his life, get Marianna up as well, go training. Once that was done, there was guard duty, which, after nearly a sorrow-filled season, he made Marianna come with. That took up most of the day, easy, leaving little time for the dangers that lay in letting his mind wander to the haunting places that were so, so tempting. Training with Marianna, he felt like he was almost himself again. It was easy to forget, in the moment, though the wall was trobbing behind every pause or stretched silence or sound of the waves against the shore. Hunting happened at night - sometimes alone, sometimes with Kakia or Tule or Blaire, even. He didn’t pay the company any mind, not really. He watched out for Blaire - he was always watching out for her - though he provided little to no conversation. Then he would return to the camp, curl up in the deepest, darkest parts of a cave where the ground was rockiest and most uncomfortable, and fall asleep.

That was life. It was easy, uncomplicated. He followed orders, he trained his apprentice, he lived, physically. Everything was done in a near emotionless state, his jaws hardly ever parting to present those who surrounded him with words. That was saved for only the most absolutely necessary cases, and even then he spoke with as few words as possible, his voice a quiet monotone. His eyes never threatened to open, and he partly began to believe that he no longer had the ability to do so. It was natural, keeping his eyes closed, more natural than relieving himself of the remnants of what few nutrients he allowed to pass through his lips. 

His thoughts wandered across the territories to the little sister with the wave on her shoulder, and occasionally to his littermate with the same marking, but it never lingered for long. It was to painful to think about that tattoo, to remember who else had bore it and realize for the fiftieth, hundredth, thousandth, millionth time that she was no longer padding across the dismal piece of land that all life clung to with such need. Why was there such a thirst for life? It was one of the topics he occasionally contemplated in his solitude. It was supposed to be an adventure, and yet it had been not but a disappointment for the black tom. Death, he knew, would be a relief when it finally grasped him in it’s open arms, but he was not one to walk himself into them.

Because, despite everything, some things were still important. He had lost so much, had so little left, but what he did had left was worth feigning as much health as he could for. Blaire and Cyntheale. They were important. They had lost so much, so early. A mother, a father, a brother, a mother-figure, a cousin. Two of their older sisters, a littermate. They had so little left, he could not remove himself from their grasp. Shadow-Tribe. Even when all else had left, when all else had abandoned him, his tribe had never left him. It had been there, a constant since he left his mother’s side, perhaps not the most welcome of constants, but it had never failed him.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to move his paws every morning and pretend, pretend like what he was doing actually had meaning for him.

One day, when he returned to camp early from his nightly hunting session, the smell of his sister caught his attention and he found his paws making his way towards her rather than towards the cave where he usually spent the rest of the night. From then on, sitting with the Pink-Orange Shadow every evening as she ate became a part of his routine, his own jaws chewing prey as he listened to her speak of her day with such enthusiasm before retiring to his solitary sleeping arrangement.

And so, life continued on, in it’s dreary, unfortunate forms with no true excitement held within them. He heard the others speak of creatures from beyond, but they held no interest for the dark tom. Strange tales, to be true, but they did not distupt his day to day being, his one-pawstep-in-front-of-the-other. No, everything continued on as normal. Hunting, eating, Listening to Blaire, training Marianna, Sleeping. Routine had an odd sense of comfort about it, it kept his paws busy and didn't give him enough time to think, to really thing. Thinking was bad, that caused the pain to come creeping back up, its little tendrils rooting themselves so deeply into his bones he struggled for ages to shove them back away, behind the wall he'd put up between himself and the realization he would never see his best friend again, he may never see his sisters again.

It never really went away, though. Not entirely. He could feel it pounding against the wall, just waiting for him to get distracted, to let something slip through so that it could cling on and infest him with the destructive tendencies it brought with it once more.

One day, while listening to Blaire describe how training went, he was surprised to find himself smiling. He wasn't quite sure when or how the corners of his maw had twitched up, but sure enough it was there. It was the first time he'd felt a smile grace his maw since Arcis had left.

It didn't happen again, not until after things changed.


It was supposed to be just an ordinary patrol. Sojir had asked him to come along, but made no mention of Marianna, so he let her sleep that day. It was a small patrol, only a few cats, and yet it caused everything, everything to change.

What had she been thinking? The dark tom would never know what was coursing through the mind of the Yellow-Shadow. He'd been steady, steadier. He was... living. And then she'd just had to go and use her skills, to influence him, break down his wall and expose his mind to the darkest corners of himself, to the things he'd been trying so hard to avoid.

Things got much worse after that.

He was destroyed. Broken. Not even an empty shell anymore, but a cracked one instead, the darkest of caves became his home, his anger, his fury, his outright despair was what drove him to bits. His paws dragged him to the borders of Water-Tribe, the place he'd so activley tried to avoid because it smelled so much like Kamili, and when he found Cyntheale he broke down in front of her, too. Showing weakness was not his thing, exposing himself like a nerve to the world so ready to break him, but Sojir had broken his wall and he couldn't hide behind it any longer.

And one day, suddenly, he found he was okay. Not great, but.. it didn't hurt to wake up and realize that so many cats had left him anymore. He nearly felt ashamed, that day, for all he'd done. To Cenek. To Kakia. To Blaire. To Cyntheale. To Aleu... He'd been so rude to his sister when he ought to have protected her. Protected them.

Life wasn't good. Kyer wasn't truely happy, and a fierce hatred for Sojir boiled up within him, but he knew, deep within himself, that the worst of the storm was over. In a while, he'd look back and come to the decision he'd been stupid.  So many things had happened, sure, but he still had more than enough to live for. That would not be yet, though, not so close, not so soon.

But for now?

It was time to get back to what the world needed him to do.

The next time he saw Blaire, a true smile stretched across his features.