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"Run!"
The harsh roar of wildfire seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Had it been any other tribe, the results would have been not nearly so disastrous, but the wind whipped up by the air-tribers only served to anger the flames. They leaped higher, consuming trees, brush, cats, and everything in their way. Yowls of pain and terror echoed through the forest, blending with the sound of the fire to create a terrible symphony of destruction.
Singed pelts darted through the orange-lit woods, often with unnatrual speed and the glow of a tattoo. A lone queen struggled along, trying to keep her cluster of kits moving forward. Amid the panic, no one stopped to help. The she-cat gritted her teeth and pushed her shaking kits forward with a harsh word. There was no time to be gentle now, not in the midst of this crisis.
One of the kits stumbled, a white and grey female with fur streaked almost black. She hit the ground hard, and whimpered, her cry lost in the roar of the approaching fire. Exhausted by the ordeal, she didn't bother to lift herself. Her mother, distracted by the other three, didn't notice for several paces, only to give a wail with dismay as she realized one was missing.
There was little more than a shower of sparks as warning. With a final, creaking sigh, a large oak gave up on the fight with nature, and let itself topple. The queen stopped, halfway between her kits, unsure for a split second what was happening. Then she bolted, paws flying across the hot ground, to dive for the three kits she had left in the path of the falling oak. A defaning crash, a whirl of disrupted embers, and the flames re-claimed the tree. The twitch of paws beneath the bulk of the tree told of a survivor. A single kit, sheltered by his mother's body.
He was still alive as he burned, shrieking in agony.
With her eyes glazed in terror, the abandoned kit watched unseeing as the fire stole her family. The stench of burning fur and flesh would haunt her for seasons to come. She barely stirred as a large mouth grabbed her roughly by the scruff and pulled her out of the fire and back to the rest of her tribe.
Her brother's screams had saved her life. But she would never know that.
The harsh roar of wildfire seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Had it been any other tribe, the results would have been not nearly so disastrous, but the wind whipped up by the air-tribers only served to anger the flames. They leaped higher, consuming trees, brush, cats, and everything in their way. Yowls of pain and terror echoed through the forest, blending with the sound of the fire to create a terrible symphony of destruction.
Singed pelts darted through the orange-lit woods, often with unnatrual speed and the glow of a tattoo. A lone queen struggled along, trying to keep her cluster of kits moving forward. Amid the panic, no one stopped to help. The she-cat gritted her teeth and pushed her shaking kits forward with a harsh word. There was no time to be gentle now, not in the midst of this crisis.
One of the kits stumbled, a white and grey female with fur streaked almost black. She hit the ground hard, and whimpered, her cry lost in the roar of the approaching fire. Exhausted by the ordeal, she didn't bother to lift herself. Her mother, distracted by the other three, didn't notice for several paces, only to give a wail with dismay as she realized one was missing.
There was little more than a shower of sparks as warning. With a final, creaking sigh, a large oak gave up on the fight with nature, and let itself topple. The queen stopped, halfway between her kits, unsure for a split second what was happening. Then she bolted, paws flying across the hot ground, to dive for the three kits she had left in the path of the falling oak. A defaning crash, a whirl of disrupted embers, and the flames re-claimed the tree. The twitch of paws beneath the bulk of the tree told of a survivor. A single kit, sheltered by his mother's body.
He was still alive as he burned, shrieking in agony.
With her eyes glazed in terror, the abandoned kit watched unseeing as the fire stole her family. The stench of burning fur and flesh would haunt her for seasons to come. She barely stirred as a large mouth grabbed her roughly by the scruff and pulled her out of the fire and back to the rest of her tribe.
Her brother's screams had saved her life. But she would never know that.
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You know how Miria is derpy? Well this is why.
She has PTSD.
Witnessing her mom and siblings burn right in front of her... Her mind couldn't handle it, so it just sort of started blurring the real world to compensate. That's also why she has panic attacks. She's spent so long living only half-awake that when she does come back to reality, she doesn't know how to deal with it, or she starts to remember things she's forgotten on purpose.
She has PTSD.
Witnessing her mom and siblings burn right in front of her... Her mind couldn't handle it, so it just sort of started blurring the real world to compensate. That's also why she has panic attacks. She's spent so long living only half-awake that when she does come back to reality, she doesn't know how to deal with it, or she starts to remember things she's forgotten on purpose.
© 2011 - 2024 Nyla-Silverlyth
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OMG this is sooo pretty! I mean, so well written! I love it! Amazing work btw, and what a sad story D:>