FISHERMAN _ closed

[feverstar !]

ooc; for scribbles. :D


Like the other days before it, today was cold. Fat snowflakes fell from clouds that were swollen with cold air and snow and bad weather. Slender trees sagged noticeably with the extra weight, while the stronger trees adopted a magical, mysterious appearance; thin icicle arms growing from branches and sparkling in the pale sunlight. Most of the trees around the Enborne were thin, and therefore all of them seemed smaller and weaker. There was even a snapped branch laying on the thin ice that covered the river, like a worm without it's head. The Enborne itself looked especially captivating. Filmy ice covered it's rushing waters, distorting the glittering trout below it. When the sun hit it just right, it turned the area around the river into a wonderland. Beams of sun broke through the spaces in the branches, pale and glowing. It illuminated the ice on the river, causing a great sparkling light to be unleashed. Everything was glittering and sparkling and beautiful, just the way winter ought to be.

Feverstar had always loved winter, and it was because of gorgeous days like these. No, he didn't love the hunger pangs tearing his stomach apart or the sickness ravaging through the Clan, but there was nothing that could top the beauty of snow on a quiet day. Nothing. On days like these, the large calico tom often took short walks through the territory around Alder Hollow, enjoying it while it lasted. Today, however, he was on a mission: to slice through the river's thin ice and nab himself a fish; he had given up his last meal to a pregnant Queen. Walking with a high, careful step, Feverstar pulled his heavy body around the river's bank. His eyes searched for a good spot to punch through the ice. The trick was to look for the light bouncing off the fish, which was something he learned from an Elder a while back. His mind was completely tight and focused on the action of slicing his paw through the ice and grabbing that fish... right... now!

Instead of feeling a nice plump fish in his grasp, Feverstar was greeted by an electric shock of pain up his limb. A rough, raw cry clawed it's way up his throat and ruined the winter's serenity. He fell back in the snow with a giant swoosh. Suddenly, he was extremely grateful for his solitude. Imagine if Groveshadow had been here! What a laugh he would have gotten. Picturing the smug grin on his Deputy's face, Feverstar got on his paws and shook the powdery snow from his back. Wincing, the tom half-limped over to the bank of the river and carefully peeked over, his neck craning. What he saw made his heart sink. Where he had (tried) to fish, there was a ricochet of cracks and broken ice. He couldn't even break the surface of the ice! Ashamed, Feverstar took in a jagged breath. The cold air felt good sliding down his throat. "I'm a disaster." He muttered, shaking his head.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( autumn hanging in the air teasing our worries ! ) Winter, simplicity and elegance clung to the branches of the snow-laced trees. Plump, saturated snowflakes wafted down from the firmament covered in a dove-gray overcast canvas like a rippling bed sheet putting the tired world to sleep in these dormant months of leaf-bare. Leaf-bare reached into our imagination as it pulled out lengthy ribbons of ideas and thoughts surrounding the blank canvas of the beautiful snow. The skeletal anatomy of the deciduous, faded trees where dressed up like hundreds of brides, laced with snowflakes cascading and clinging like the winter's flowers. ( blooming in our imaginations ! ) The gray weather burdened her already depressive mind, gloom covering her thoughts in a mist of gray. Herbs would allude during this season, all her friends would be shut up in themselves, except the evergreens, for they would be awake forever and ever until they died. ( awake as every second mournfully dies ! ) Snow would be a healing agent if used creatively enough, from quelling fever to easing the burning pain of a wound. For the rest of the natural world may sleep, even the sun it seems, but pain would never rest, ready to bite every season from every moon and every season. Her vibrant, harvest moon eyes lucidly rolled in their sockets like those little baby doll eyes make of plastic as they clicked around in their little, adorable heads, eyes blinking and mouths open. ( resorting to anthropomorphizing and inanimate objects ! ) Her eyelashes and eye-rims seemed so contrasting to the innocent, white, pure snow. Their darkness dramatic and harsh against the poetic, smoldering of her ochre, silver-mosaic eyes. The river's whispers and babbling had been silenced as it is every winter but as the years passed she missed its lullaby and cooing more and more ( where have all the good words gone ! ). Its silenced rambling had her mind sending messages to her delicate, sparrow bones and tight muscles being started into motion, her mind the engine as she trotted through the snow towards the river, away from the scents of herbs as they wafted through the chilling, crisp air.

After moments passing and seconds dying she arrived nearby the shore, her petite, dark onyx figure like a shadow on the white canvas of the snow. ( haunting your dreams ! ) Her delicate paw steps just left little remembrances of her being there in the snow, little paw prints just slight indents in the snow ( hiding away from the world !) In this scenery of whitewash and silence except for winter birds and whispers of winds a cry shattered, electricity through her head as her head snapped to attention, eyes frightened, her expression placid ( playing masquerades and masks ! ). Licking her dark ebony ( murderous ! ) lips she slowly waltzed towards the source of the painful outburst, the voice had been filled with despair and frustration, ( a scream from the streets ! ). Shatteredheart's ochre eyes slid around the slippery scenery as a little whisper tickled her ears, sound waves playing games in the frigid air. ( i'm a disaster. ) was the voice that had roughly vocalized, frustration and ashamed emotions playing and running along the syllables. Curiosity peaked and searching, Shatteredheart moved her carriage along the shore of the frozen, sealed up river. A calico figure, looking so bright in this pleasantly plain, yet magical, scenery ( winter wonderland, m'dear ! ) His figure was vivid against the white isolation of his background. Gingerly her paws walked along the snow-covered bank that was now bathed in the sunlight of the day, ( what do we have here ! ). Are you in need of assistance? Shatteredheart spoke with her eloquent, slightly overcast and gloomy vocals that seemed to just flow through the frozen air like ink flying from an ink well. The tom, whom she recognized as the clan leader, seemed to be in pain, his position revealed that something had occurred to his leg. Ochre eyes sliding around his figure up to his face, feeling diminutive and slightly overpowered, her black, shadowy form lingered, set delicately yet squarely by the bank of the frozen, glistening river, ears swiveling to received to sounds through the bitter air.


word count : seven hundred and twenty two.

[feverstar !]

"Are you in need of assistance?"

Feverstar jumped slightly. The voice was cool and small, like that of a mouse or a timid Apprentice. The tom stared at his paws and racked his brain for something to say, some kind of excuse - "I was only trying to see how thick the ice was," or "I was practicing my cuff," Oh, Yarrow help him! Cheeks raw with lost pride, Feverstar turned to see just who had spoken to him. It was, as his luck turns out, the last (and first) cat he wanted to see. A few feet from him sat Shatteredheart, the Medicine Cat. Her sleek black coat stood out like a rose in a poppy field in all this snow. She had tiny bird-bones to keep her thin frame standing. Just looking at her he could see the shape of her sinewy muscles beneath her skin. Realizing he had been staring far too long to be polite, Feverstar pulled his ears back and clearned his throat awkwardly. "Forgive me for staring," He said quietly; "Ahh... yes, yes! Shatteredheart, you are just the dear I wanted to see."

The tom then began to shuffle over to the tiny she-cat, suddenly taking notice of the sharp size difference between the two of them. For reasons unknown to him, Feverstar couldn't take his eyes off her - she was striking, and he wanted her. But he was the leader, and he knew he couldn't go running off with anyone! When Feverstar tenderly held out his sore paw to be examined, his mind (and hormones) were reeling. "I hit it on some ice, trying to fish. Just, ah," He paused, staring Shatteredheart's tracks in the snow so he didn't have to see her eyes. "Please don't tell anyone!" He sputtered, biting his lip. Stupid, stupid! What a bad leader he was! Feverstar dug his claws into the frozen earth while he pretended he was peeling off his own skin. The soil was hard and dry; it felt like digging into clay. Still, he pushed his claws deeper, until there were several slender ruts in the ground where he had released his self-hatred. The tom cursed himself several times over. Curse himself for this and that, for doing this, for saying this, for everything. "Stupid," His mind screamed. "Stupid."

Feverstar let out a breath of air he had been holding in, focusing on the feeling of his collapsing lungs. His paw ached terribly. Raising his eyes from the snow, the tom forced himself to look the beautiful Shatteredheart in the eye - gorgeous, startling sun-colored eyes - and asked, "Is there anything you can do?" There was a note of fear in his voice, like he thought his paw would fall off or his fur would turn green. Of course, this was only Feverstar's anxiety getting the best of him. He knew this, but he couldn't convince his whole body to believe it. There was always some part of him that was prepared for the worst, even if he saw the happy ending on the horizon.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( bullets & gun smoke in our heads ! ) Seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes, it was amazing how many action and verbal outbursts could be stuffed into such a little amount of time ( suffocating the actions !). Once again her Hallow's eve eyes examined, calculated, thoughts flying like birds released from an aviary with every corner stuffed with their winged and feathered beings. A complexion that wore a mask radiating calmness and collection gazed back at Feverstar. His eyes lingered ever so long, each second either had stretched itself out to perplex her intelligent mind or he had been staring. ( staring at the freak show behind a mask ! ). An embarrassed heat wanted to rise like a storm and spread itself upon the flesh covering her cheekbones, fur cloaking the slight bit of a blush that had leaked out of her suppression of her embarrassment. Shatteredheart felt her brain want to signal her heart to start hammering ( off with a gunshot ! ) but she managed to suppress it. ( drown them drown them ! ). Remaining relatively tranquil and placid she looked away slightly, just revealing a normal bashfulness, a typical reaction. Yet she still felt her heart hammer, the cylinders in a race car ripping the track to shreds. Upon her delicate stance she shifted slightly, a carnivalesque appearance to her porcelain, delicate frame. ( oh acrobat ! oh acrobat ! ) His comment was like a whisper in the chaotic scene of her brain as she tried to quench the flames of panic and embarrassment. Vivacious eyes flashed back to him, like lightning in the somewhat sleepy pace of the day. His words had peaked her curiosity, something that was quite insatiable and difficult to sedate. She watched as he awkwardly moved towards her, for a moment she felt threatened before burning that feeling to the ground. His words seemed calm, but with tension, strings on a violin about to snap in discord and ataxia. Onyx ears let his words rush in, a cool river for her mind to distract herself from the reaction she had fought against moments ago. ( lifetimes for some ! ). Fishing ( little fisherman !), leaf-bare brought on the wounds and cries of hunger, an echo that soon seemed to just blend in with the scenery, an unseen enemy that was difficult to fight, for time was its only enemy in the end.

( panic is a contagious disease ! ) A list of herbs, names and uses, rushed like a cold river through her head yet this melodic string of herbs was interrupted by the burning distress and panic of Feverstar. ( please don't tell anyone ! ) That was his plead, like an arrow through her train of thought ( thrown off track ! thrown off track ! ) For a moment time seemed suspended before it came rushing at her, yet not at shocking speed, enough for her cool, breezy gaze to snap to his eyes that were so desperately running away away from her face. For a moment she could only stare at the destruction he was inflicting upon this sacred, lullaby landscape, the snow like a field of white roses and the trees like tendrils of imagination. She wanted to cry out, to make him stop this injury, it almost seemed murderous to the Earth. It seemed like a cork was stuck down her windpipe, though, choking all the words out of her. Her mind was nervous about him injuring his leg even more. As the inferno raged in her mind ( sirens ! sirens ! screaming ! ) and her chest was about to explode from her heart pounding quickly, about to burst through her ribcage ( free at last, free at last ! a cage little bird ! ). She remained frozen, though, oxygen filling her body in deep breaths as she calmed herself and gingerly stepped forward, a paw gently stroking his foreleg like a mother would touch the forehead of a feverish child. There is a cure for everything except for emotions, so she had found out, We must retreat to my humble den but before then to banish swelling we must use the elements that are gifted to us. Gently she guided his injured paw and leg into the depth of the snow, letting the refrigeration of the snow's banks help with the swelling that would most assuredly occur. Within a few moments I will be able to use my healing herbs upon your injury, she spoke in her dulcet tones, liquid and dark, soothing like a smooth but dark little fairytale before wandering off to sleep, ( ravens calling in your ear ! ) After long moments of silence, unspoken, untainted ( yet to be poisoned with frivolous tongues ! ). Harvest moon eyes looked upon the calico face, patched and variegated like her heart ( without the stitches and trauma ! ) Blinking away her gaze, so dramatically rimmed with her thick and accenting eye rims and lashes. Enough seconds have passed before our young eyes, she gently spoke, eloquent syllables drawn out in a volume only slightly louder than a whisper. we may now journey forth to my storage of herbs. Are you in the condition of a flightless bird and needing assistance or shall you walk alone like an injured fox? Riddles, riddles, riddles, the tendrils that reached our lips, stretching our plastic lips into a smile or frown, for they were the feathers of imagination sent to tickle your mind, a certain candy to be feasted upon. Ears vacillated like sonar, waiting for his reply to reach her ears and her mind, like the words to be pasted upon a blank page. How many more seconds would wither as her eyes rested heavily upon his patchwork face?


word count : nine hundred and twenty four.

[feverstar !]

Feverstar's heart was a soft, moist sponge sitting at the base of his throat. She had touched him. Shatterheart's paws were dainty and light, like small pebbles or a mother's tongue. Her fur was the darkest shade of black he'd ever seen, or perhaps that was just the lust clouding his eyes (probably a combination of the two). The tom did his best not to look completely aroused by the she-cat's paws against his, although he was failing miserably. In actuality, his tail was twitching in an antsy manner and just being within close proximity brought such a beaming smile to his face that it couldn't be about anything else. Feverstar, he was such a tease - but everyone loved him. Right?

Looking at him for the first time, the first image one might think of could be a teddy bear - he had those sort of features - a soft face, big eyes, and a cute patched nose. There was a childish color to his looks, one that made him appear approachable and warm. Like he might be your favorite uncle or the mentoring older brother. So, when Feverstar wanted to look cute - or so warm he could make an August day look cold - he plastered on a pair of giant, glittering eyes and twitched his whiskers like a squirrel. It was so hopelessly adorable, he had never seen it fail to pluck the heartstrings of beautiful she-cats. Never. "Hopefully" He thought, "Shatteredheart won't be the first!" Out loud, he gushed, "Thank you so much, my dear. Is there some way, any way, I may repay you?"

While he waited for an answer, the calico watched her work with a flaming curiosity. As she listed off herbs and procedures, he wondered what that slender, twig-y body would feel like underneath him, what her voice would sound like as a love-drunk whisper, rushing in his ear like a sudden spring breeze. There was no question in his mind what Feverstar wanted: this she-cat. Unethical as it sounded, he could not deny it. Would the clan reject his decision to court her so quickly, or should he work his way up to mate status? When suddenly, a new thought dawned on him... a cold, metal one - rejection. The word sat like a heavy lead brick in his mind, the elephant in the room. Now, a thousand possibilities wove through his mind - she would despise him, spit in his face, stand him up, use him, forget about him, ignore him -

"We may now journey forth to my storage of herbs. Are you in the condition of a flightless bird and needing assistance or shall you walk alone like an injured fox?" What? Blinking, Feverstar stared at Shatteredheart blanky. He had been abosrbed in 'other' things in the past minute or two, and had almost no idea what she was talking about. Foxes? Injured birds? Last he had checked, he was one-hundred percent feline. Shatterheart was sitting delicately, farther from him than earlier (which he strongly disliked, I must say). Her eyes were wide and unblinking, like two star-lit headlights in the darkest night. Because he was afraid of saying something stupid (unaware of the fact that he had already said such things, of course) Feverstar only stood, and limped awkwardly through the fluffy snow. It was hard, but soon, his body adjusted. When he was resting next to the tiny ashen female, he flashed her a toothy smile, paired with warm eyes. "Shall we, love?"



occ; to the medicine cat den? c:

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( lead sails & paper anchors ! ) Hopelessness, it was a despair filled chasm that we all seemed to drop into, either tripping and spiraling ( awaiting disaster ! ) or simply hovering and slowly descending, quite like a feather slipping quickly through the fingers of gravity. For as long as she could remember, hopeless was the emotion that had begun to spread within her heart and mind. ( diseased ! ) It seemed to spread, an infection that left her wary and so afraid. As she awoke everyday she just wanted to forget everything that had ever happened to her, ( wishing for amnesia ! ) Every event and bitter word was a brand upon her soul, never to just be brushed away like dust after a fight or to heal like a wound, but to forever remain. Permanency, that was her friend and her enemy, a discorded harmony that had twisted and kept her life together. As these thoughts began to fly through her head Shatteredheart wanted to distract herself from her depressed thoughts, afraid that the dam that had held all her emotions ( ship in a bottle ! ) from rushing forward was weakening. Walls crumbling, stone ready to crack and overflow. ( who will comfort when that wall breaks, dear ! ) Only an empty echo would reply, for no one probably would. October sky eyes returned to that quilted face of Feverstar, his warm colors seeming so reminiscent of leaf fall and the warm autumnal colors that now had been bleached into the blankness of winter. ( thank you so much, my dear. is there some way, anyway, i may repay you ? ) Benevolence rumbled in his voice, a gentle and warm summer sprinkle in her frigid, thunderous mind that would not cease its chaos and discordance. that will not be necessary, her voice lucidly replied, for she had never wanted anything but peace of mind, but that is like asking for the Midas box. As the traveling was required she awaited his reply, eyes nervously watching the delicate nature of his stance, ( to tumble into the grips of gravity ! ) Shatteredheart delicately listened to the whispers of the wind whistling through the trees so carefree as she wished to join its carefree spirit so wistfully. ( hopelessness, a leaden weight upon the soul ! ). Slowly her paws brushed and tickled the outer layer of the snow, a shell against the harsh elements as mother earth dressed herself up in a protective suit of snow and ice. ( sitting by the fire as the others shiver in the dark ! ) A certain silence, sleepy and so whimsical, wrapped a warm blanket around her slender frame, ( if only it could soothe the pain ! )

( drowning in dreams & storybooks ! ) As moments passed, ( one less minute until the end of time ! ), they entered Shatteredheart's den, a comforting and wafting smell of herbs rushed towards your senses. From flowers of vibrant but now wilting colors to dusky, questionable roots and grasses. Dramatic and melancholy eyes turned towards the animated and flippant calico, If you enter my humble abode, I will be able to administer the herbs that shall encourage healing. For a moment she lingered, she was just so tired, wanting to drown in her burning, hopeless dreams, wanting to cry herself into her own river ( melt away with a paper anchor ! ). Adroitly that paper-boned female slipped away into the dim but warm light of the den, awaiting for his arrival. The treatment was already decided as she began to softly rummage around through the organized plants to find the cure to his ails. Nettle leaves and poppy seeds to dull the pain and to banish swelling, chamomile for soreness, and kava kava and passionflower for anxiety for which she wished she could drown herself in but they never seemed to work on her problems, just dulling her into a sleep that she awoke from with dull mind and a sore body. The herbs, their uniqueness apparent among each other, compared and laid out like needles for lethal injections. ( prisoners in a line up ! ) Herbs, it was curious at how a little seed could bloom into an element that could heal and save lives with their soul to remain ( captured ! ) upon this land. She awaited for her patient ( her prisoner ! ) to come in and announce their readiness for treatment. Insomnia always wracked her body in this shelter, a dose of poppy seeds now ineffective, she felt like she was slipping away from life, the strong fingers of life and reality being coated with oil, slipping, slipping, ( falling into an abyss ! ). Are you ready for the herbs to aid you? They are nettle leaves, poppy seeds, chamomile, kava kava, and passionflower. The last one seemed to stick like a needle in her tongue, a slight staccato in the rolling, eloquent slur of her vocals. Passionflower, a certain romance swirled around the name, hammering the nails of hopelessness, a crucifying blow into her heart. ( the hammer pounded on ! ) Did anyone care, did anyone see her suffering or did their eyes turn askance like the embarrassed glances at cripples and the damaged. Perhaps they wanted that longing stare, a look that cried out for sympathy, wishing them well and blessings. Yet Shatteredheart was always alone, ( drowning in dreams ! cried to sleep ! )

word count : nine hundred and seventy seven.

[feverstar !]

The walk to Shatterheart's den was uneventful, much to Feverstar's bitter dismay. In his head, he planned it to be more... kinetic? A conversation would be started, common ground would be found, and wham-oh! The flower of love is planted. Sadly, the calico found that Shatterheart barely said two words to him the whole way, only checking over her shoulder to make certain his plodding pace was not slowing. It never did - even though he was injured, excitement flooded over the pain. The wind was also bitingly cold, pulling at his thick coat. "Stupid wind," He thought, "How could she ever take me seriously looking similar to a ragamuffin rogue?" And from this point on, his eyes remained dark and focused on the burning white snow.

The moon, he wondered, was it made from snow? It certainly glowed enough, sitting up there in that big, empty canvas of sky. Would it fall eventually, like the other snowflakes? Feverstar stared absently up at the cement-colored clouds, bloated with winter weather. Nasty stuff, but beautiful. And cats, what were those made of? Were eyes tediously carved from starry diamonds or autumn-hued leaves? The legends of Yarrow spin stories that say that cats have been around since before the beginning of time, dwelling the sky. The sky-cats had pelts made of star-drops and meteors that sparkled and skipped through the vacant night. Soon, however, the feline population become overpopulated. As punishment, Yarrow took away their glorious coats and replaced them with heavy, dirty fur. So the legend goes, anyways.

"Starlight," Feverstar mused. Like everyone else, he believed this tale without doubt. As he stared at Shatterheart's limber form walking slowly through the snow, he pictured her as she might have been in ancient times, with a swirling comet tail and eyes brighter than even the moon itself. Little did the she-cat know, in his mind, she was already his. Feverstar was already deep within the spirals of love, long past being pulled out. Oops. With a small grin, Feverstar picked up his pace (as much as he could muster) so that he was walking shoulder-to-tail with Shatteredheart. Hope sparkled in his eyes. In his mind, there were thousands of things he was dying to say to her. And they were right on his lips, when suddenly, she was slipping inside her roomy, aroma-filled den. Without hesitation, he followed.

Shatteredheart's den wasn't what he expected. It was cluttered, but clean. Many herbs and remedies were lined up along the earthy walls and the whole thing was moss-padded like a cloud. The most noticeable thing, however, was the smell. It was a mixture of many strong, pine/spring/rain scents, those of herbs and sickness and healing and pain. While the Medicine Cat gathered her things, the leader settled himself down on the moss, wincing as another throb of pain rushed to his paw. He had expected her den to be a chaotic hole of herbs, juices, mosses, and all sorts of odds-and-ends. For some reason, he was surprised when there were no remains hidden in a corner. Which, he realized abruptly, was a good sign. A knot of exciement sat in Feverstar's stomach when Shatteredheart herself slunk back into view. Those eyes, big and moon-like, looked him over and she began her work. "Now's my chance!" The male told himself.

Feverstar began his staged interaction with a twitch of his tail. This was, or so he thought, to seem casual - "Hey, I'm not up to anything suspicious." Next, he slowly lowered his soft, expressive face to the moss and squeezed his eyes shut - "I'm in pain, pity me" (Hopeless, but effective). For a while, he laid like this - head down, breathing slowly and carefully. The den was stuffy, but he liked being so close to her. Breathing the same air, breathing her. For this reason alone, he began to take deeper, richer breaths. And when Shatteredheart turned back to face him, he took the time to study her.

"You are the most beautiful she-cat I have ever laid my eyes upon, Shatteredheart," His voice was a mere whisper, delicate. Suddenly, Feverstar was raw and exposed.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( pretty faces & ugly hearts ! ) We were in a waltz of pretty faces and the darkest hearts, pins stuck through the nicest regions turning us bitter with a strong narcissism in our society. A foreigner would never guess, for pretty faces have much to hide beneath sparkling blue eyes and laser white teeth. ( living in lies ! ) Shatteredheart easily recognized this tragic dilemma, ( where have all the good words gone ! ) and though no cure would ever be reached for this was an incurable disease she made a vow. In her mind she decided that judging appearances was a silly game that too many played, she did not wish to join the Russian roulette. Therefore she would put in a new set of eyes, looking into the hearts of those passing by. Yet there was middle ground in her mind, for our shell, our appearance can reveal what's inside. These thoughts flung around, wild birds, in her mind, a havoc unleashed upon the threads of sanity she clung to desperately to, ( the rope about the snap ! ), for she felt reality slipping like a leaping fish from her grasp. She was about to fall, possibly forever, into her own insanity, ( who to catch you ! ) only empty replies returned the question, a key of depression striking in her mind. Whether it showed through her eyes she was unsure, but she tried to close the shutters, hiding in her mind, her body on autopilot you could say. Turning her attention to her patient, her sunset eyes headlights in the warm dimness of the den, a rustic feel with the candle-light like illumination from the entrance draped with cascading vines and various little pinpoints of bright light shooting like bullets through the top of the den. Her paws were ready to prepare and administer the medications when she stopped in her tracks. ( you are the most beautiful she-cat i have ever laid my eyes upon, shatteredheart. ) A few seconds passed as the sirens were released, ( wild tigers i have known ! ), clawing away an calm emotion left. ( sacrifice to insanity and fear ! ) Thank you, but you may be surprised at what can be hiding within the hearts of pretty faces. For many have ugly hearts, she spoke poetically, a minor and darkened key to her words, a metallic tang of sorrow in her voice that was covered in the shadowy, eloquent ocean of her vocals. Eyes flickering their harvest moon light upon his own face, watching for a reaction to her melancholy and enigmatic words that had rolled like wine and bullets off of her light rouge tongue. Still the sirens wailed in her mind, a fire in her brain, trying exhale and inhale normally to compensate for the dramatic shock of adrenaline that was like an injection of epinephrine through her veins. ( do not betray the mask ! ) Dramatically lined eyes, two tainted moons set in the frame of the darkest eye rims, lashes long and curved. Her paws resumed their work, her delicate, gossamer, almost transparent being close to the quilted calico.

( fringed & bleeding hearts ! ) The herbs lay in front of her in the order of treatment. The nettle leaves and poppy seeds would help with the aching as well as any anxiety. Ingest these if you would, she sat inches away from him nosing the dose of leaves and poppy seeds, the marvels of medicine about to be inflicted upon him. While waiting for him to ingest the little black seeds, cute and tiny, along with the somewhat dried nettle leaves she nosed the other herbs towards him. Chamomile leaves, kava kava leaves, a small piece of actual willow bark, and passionflower lay before him, These herbs also await consumption. What a delicate phrase that was for such a vicious act of eating and destroying the gifts of nature, await consumption, it was like saying transitioning into another world to replace execution. After waiting for a few moments she slowly approached his injured paw, for a moment feeling nervous and afraid due to his comment before, trying to inhale and exhale normally without fainting from the panic and adrenaline wanting to take her body prisoner. Meticulously her ebony paws ran across the paw and forearm, trying to detect swelling or fractures, for the ice was thick and unforgiving for any who tried to defeat its walls of protection that guarded an underwater sanctuary. As her paws worked upon his injury, their heads and minds so close it frightened her. ( intruder to the secret garden of the mind ! ) Never had any male been quite so open about his thoughts that concerned her, it made her feel like she was being caught in an iron vice or a tourniquet, draining the strength out of her, waiting to break her and make her collapse and surrender. Lying in wait to pick up the glass pieces, gluing them together to suit their needs, a puppet dancing on strings, manipulation their new game as she danced to their will. A cold swallow stung her throat, that morbid and petrifying thought making her ever more wary. Swiftly she ran over his foreleg one last time before releasing her soft grip and looking at him, Have you ingested all of the healing herbs? His patched face seemed so quaint, like a little doll that a child would play with, like a large stuffed animal, but pretty faces could hide many things. ( in a masquerade with black hearts behind nice faces ! )

word count : one thousand and seven.

[feverstar !]

Anxiety twisted in Feverstar's stomach like a coiled cobra, striking, and hiding, and striking. Each time the Medicine Cat would do so much as look at him his heart would canter up his throat and back down. Her eyes were blank and the only emotion he could ever read from them was a certain stillness that he had already begun to associate with Shatteredheart; she was like a terrified deer, too paralyzed with fear to move a muscle. But she did move, stiffly as ever. Did he make her uncomfortable? Suddenly ashamed of his blunt words and actions, the many-hued tom pressed his ears flat against his skull. "Yarrow curse me," He thought, "For I must be punished." Although everything he had said or thought of the little she-cat was honest, he knew in his heart that it was not proper conduct, especially for a leader such as himself. What would Groveshadow say?

Thinking of his Deputy's name, Feverstar guffawed quietly to himself. Groveshadow wouldn't care a whistle for any she-cat. If he wanted to court a female, then he would do so immediately. He couldn't imagine discussing his sudden infatuation with the quiet, sullen Medicine Cat. He'd be laughed out of AshClan! For the first time since he had first met Shatteredheart, he did not look at her. In fact, he took great care to ignore her as she cared for his paw and silently pushed herbs and things toward him. He digested these without a thought, or a word. "I'm different than them," His mind whispered desperately. And suddenly he was terrified because he did not know who 'them' was referring to - the Clan, or other males?

When Shatteredheart opened her mouth to reply to his statement, her voice seemed much louder than from outside; it filled up the whole den like an ocean, growing louder and warmer until it reached it's peak and finally swelled down again. Feverstar's heart then stung with the raw pain of rejection. He opened his mouth to retort, to defend this creature of beauty, but there was something stuck in his windpipe and he could not speak. Swallowing, Feverstar only stared at her with his autumn eyes, his ears flat. And for a second, both froze. Relaying messages to each other, things they already knew, secret mind games. Of course, it was Shatteredheart who broke the stare first. Little leaflets of sharp emotion stabbed at the back of Feverstar's heart. "No," He thought. "You're beautiful, inside and out. Yarrow be damned if I can't see that!"

Little did he know, he had said this last statement out loud. It came out angrier than he wanted it to, and only when he heard his voice hanging in the scented air did he realized what he had done. Once again, Feverstar's cheeks burned with lost pride and embarrassment and mistakes. He felt very much like a kit being scolded, and wished desperately for the earth to swallow him up, spongy teeth chomping his bones and a floppy worm tongue to devour the rest. The cork in his throat was back, heavy and dry. He wanted to fix his mistakes, stitch things up. But he settled for licking his physical and emotional wounds, his eyes falling shamefully to Shatteredheart's paws. For a long time, there was silence. If only the block in his throat would dissolve; then he could at last gush with apologies about how rude he'd been. That's what a real man would do, right? But what if that wasn't what Shatteredheart wanted? Was this friendliness a mere charade?

It was only then that the calico began to understand what she had meant by ugly hearts. Even so, he could see that Shatteredheart, although a little bruised and battered, was good. You can always tell who the villains are, by a tinkle in your toes or a twitch in your tail. Rather, whenever Feverstar thought of the obsidian she-cat, his heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird's wings. Finally, Feverstar could feel the plug un-lodging. He cleared his throat awkwardly, the sound like a giant wedge between them.

At the last minute, he decided to remain silent. He meant every word he said.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( sharp words & sharp thoughts ! ) Paranoia and confusion riddled her mind, a rapid song that had such a melancholy key but with an aggressive tone. It wailed in her mind, like a fiery disease raging in her mind trying to inflict damaged as she listened to his words burn in her mind. No one ever cared, looked at her, muttered in name except when it was convenient to their own sorry heart. She would just shrink into her corner, a puppet awaiting for her strings to be pulled and released as she danced and danced for them until they felt the job was done, just to throw her back in her dusty box, a little line to abuse her and use her. ( a puppet show ! ) Hopeless, she was hopeless, every bird bone, every glance she ever gave that was the only word that seemed to forever echo among her presence, an echo for eternity, never to fade or melt away but to become a leaden shackle that prevented her from floating away with her drowning dreams to save and resuscitate them. She wanted to fade into her dreams, for however fake they where, the characters artificial and her life a lie it seemed better, easier, and just gentler that way. No injections of politeness to the tongue, she wanted to go to a land that was all her own. The land where no light bulbs tried to steal away the night's true light or where we would wait for the cardboard moon to wilt and die, peeling away the prop against the painted sky, paper clouds scouring by. Shatteredheart needed to hide, disguise the panic and emotional turmoil she was experiencing, like a cancer that would only grow, her own body turned against her in a violent decomposing. She put on her thickest skin, a fluid, placid face painted onto her skin to avoid the toxic grins and arrow-like words that were directed in her way. Into a jar her emotions would go, into that glass capsule she would store her fragility, not to be ever exposed despite she was already a little porcelain statuette heading towards a cold and hard ground. We are all blind to what lurks within our minds, for our thoughts are secret gardens in which there are no intruders, her vocals eloquently explained, trying to convince. For what you see may just be mask waiting to deceive. Hopefully, he would let that thought simmer and develop within its mind for otherwise he would be forever blind even with the eyes in his skull, those amber coals that glowed warm with benevolence and certain non-intimidating emotions. ( blinds wide open ! ) A blanket of silence, thick and smothering, a blanket over the space that created a claustrophobic syndrome within her paranoid mind. A sigh, soft and unspoken rolled from her mouth, whispers of taunts running 'round her head like a carousel spinning, a phrase with every figurine's festive face. The whispers consisted of what to send through the fog of silence, what selective phrasing to either drive him deeper into the den ( noose of admiration ! ) or to expel him like that of a fiend from thy system, ( expel the poison ! ). It was maddening, the fast paced waltz that ran dizzily around and around her mind. Emotions, a poison that flowed through her veins, their thorns weaving through every corner of her mind, a dangerous weed that was untreatable. The Medusa of the mind, every time one was cut away nine more would grow in its place, rapid cloning in a feverish duplication process, the incurable disease. They flooded her body, all the words that had echoed from his mouth echoed another ten times, being heard again within her mind. Their emotional binds pinning her against her mind's slate walls, shackles on each limb, exposed. The Pandora's box of emotions within her brain were that of shame, embarrassment, fear, fragility, tangibility, sadness, gloom, brokenness, and another thorn in her side. A thorn of a certain attraction, the certain glow of admiration and attraction worked like electroshock therapy, ( which door to open ! ). These emotions, they ruled her body, making her either want to curl up in a corner, downing a frightening number of poppy seeds or to just throw her fragile, smashed, broken heart into his paws, ( mend it with your needle and thread ! ) It was a choice of resistance or surrender.

( the fisherman & the gypsy on the shoreline ! ) After the moments of deadly silence for it felt like lifetimes. Her ochre, harvest moon eyes gazed upon his patchwork, ragdoll face, the tornado of emotive resemblances burning her mind to ashes ( sleepy towns burning until june ! ). An urge, a curious and awkward urge to speak dissolved her permanent, impending noose that seemed to tighten every second that passed in her life. Feverstar. . . she almost seemed to whisper, a stream of black ink running through her vocals, their poetic eloquence drowning the three syllables. As a philosopher I have discovered we are hopeless, our paper hearts hanging on clotheslines waiting to dry. For we are dancing in a masquerade, hearts with stuffing falling out and spoiling ink dripping away. You may try and see down my throat into what lurks within my heart but I will only reveal that you would only inflict a world of curious torture upon your mind. Shatteredheart's tongue was silenced, the pouring liquid of sweet philosophy and deep thought poured from her throat, trying to keep her broken, damaged heart within her chest. Had she revealed her weaknesses? Her brokenness? Would he just wander away like all the others or refuse to leave? ( the philosopher of a gypsy and the fisherman upon the shoreline ! ) Had she just spoken her last words before her cracking walls burst? ( smoke already released ! ) Shatteredheart's eyes looked away as she sat, reclining, waiting for her object of concentration to run or stay to listen to her poetic and enigmatic speech as she tried to remain composed. Every taut muscle in her body screamed to run, run, run until only the silence of a cat falling through the air would stop the alarms in her mind. The obsidian feline, she felt so small, diminutive, a bird ready to played with by her hunter, a puppet until a long hoped for death. Thin bones, little glass supports keeping her figurine body, so breakable and fragile it brought on the illustration of life as it left its burden of knives and cleavers in her spine. ( pins and needles for your pain ! ) She wanted to be broken, every bone shattered, so her body matched her heart, the disease spreading out to her appearance. Of course that was stupid and thoughtless, and she realized that, for she was an intelligent she-cat but she knew nowhere to turn without being cut by the emotions presented in her own preachings, pondering, and wonderment. ( guillotining thyself ! )

word count : one thousand two hundred forty seven.

[feverstar !]

Yarrow has long preached the belief of everyday miracles and lost causes; that so many wondrous things happen right under everyone's noses. That miracles are not rare things, but in fact the most common thing, as common as a field mouse or a pine tree. "One simply has to open one's eyes," The calico remembered an Elder's wise words. Back then, he had been small and carefree. He was Feverkit, not Feverpaw, not Fevernose... and so far from the Feverstar he had molded himself into today. Was that alone a miracle, the changes a living creature can undergo in a lifetime? Feverstar looked up at his Medicine Cat, listening to her careful words. Her voice sounded like a dark river, satin in taste. Sliding down your throat like silver mercury, cool with a clawing sensation. If Shatteredheart's voice was a river, he would most certainly bathe in it.

The she cat's eyes were placid and still, like moonlit pools, headlights in the darkness. She would not look at his face, he noticed. Feverstar twitched his tail in disdain, trying to ignore the aggressive blood pricking his paws with dagger-like force. He was afraid to move. It was like having a butterfly land in your palm... once you lure it onto your hand, take enough care not to crush it. He had the she-cat perched on the very tip of his finger, exploring with caution. He wanted nothing more than to befriend the butterfly cat, to set free her bleeding dreams and craft with her new ones - ones built with strong, swelling foundations and starry eyes, kangaroo hearts and ballerina buffalo grass. In Feverstar's face, he grew back into a child - forced himself into the shell of that life, with the puffy cheeks and cloudy eyes, crooked whiskers, a spotted nose.

The male's mind buzzed. Shatterheart had not said a word for a few minutes, but she had send plenty of things through the thick silence between them. It felt like a fog, something not palpable but sensed, as it went down your windpipe and clogged your heart. Silence was a tool of manipulation, a sticky static that never let your mind work correctly. In this instance, it was working well. Feverstar's anxiety was bone-deep and pounding, just as real as any other physical pain. His heart punched the thin skin on his ribs, threatening and tense. He wanted to throw up the words that were climbing up his throat, and there were so many things he could say to Shatteredheart. Most of them were rather crude, something she would turn her nose up at. He did not want to risk rejection, but... well, what exactly was he after? A chance, or a lifetime?

This question hung in his mind like a fisherman's hook, dangling the juicy bait before him. How much was he willing to risk? What could he withstand? Even though it made his heart stutter, the patched male look up at the Medicine Cat's obsidian face. Her features were smooth and fluid. She reminded him so much of a rabbit, of moonlight, of the sky and promises woven behind giddy hearts and infatuation. When suddenly, Shatteredheart spoke again. Her river voice, her butterfly bones, her moon eyes. Her last words, curious torture, rang in his mind like a bell. "Curious torture," He thought, "Is lust, is love, is a relationship." And he knew this was true. However, he did not have the courage to speak his heart's voice. Instead, he replied, "I have spent my whole life being taught that she-cats are creatures only meant to be groomed to be perched by honorable Warriors sides'. On the other hand, I was also told the meaning of right and wrongs, sir and ma'am. As a Warrior, I did so many things I hang my head in shame of today. During my Ceremony into Leadership, I was dealthy afraid I would lose my heart. I was afraid Yarrow himself would come and lacerate my body, whisk my heart away and replace it with the suffix, 'star.' And yet, here I sit. Shatteredheart, I have been at war with not only myself, but also my own heart and mind, who I believe have formed their own personality in the shadows of who I used to be. That is a world of curious torture."

Softly, he added, "I would wish for nothing more than to share my life with you, not as my prize, but companion," Feverstar's voice was as tender as a fresh wound. The letters bled without a sound, simply wanting an answer.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( stepping on needles & singing fear ! ) The words bled in her ears, their tender venom seeping into the last string of sanity upon the loom of her brain. For a moment all electrical impulses, instincts, every thought just shorted out. Electric sparks flying through the air. She felt like a machine, overloaded and about to breakdown, collapsing upon implosion. ( total destruction ! ) She believed that her entire body, entire thought process just retaliated upon herself. Shot through the heart, shot through the head, ( two birds with one stone ! ) that was where the arrow ( the bullet ! ) of his words had been lodged. Shatteredheart kept her mask on, if only he knew, if only he knew the insanity, the brokenness, the absolute self-decomposing that had ravaged her mind and soul of sane thought since she was born so many moons ago ( rewind time ! ). If that is self torture, then you may want to shield your eyes from what my heart looks like, she mournfully replied, gloom seeping through her voice to her despair. For she felt the emotions she had been holding back start to seep through the crack, their venom and acid slithering away like skittish snakes. Yet the dark eloquence of her voice was like an expensive wine, calming her mind ( sedate ! sedate ! ) and dulling the panic that was a fire among her thoughts. ( burn baby burn ! ) The last, bleeding words he had spoken echoed again and again, excruciating pain shot through her head. All the pain in her mind did not even closely match the fear of the pain from being a puppet. For what if this was a charade, a mere game of good and evil, ( to take the apple ! ), to tempt her into a fake tenderness as he slowly sunk his teeth into her metaphorical neck as she was tugged about. Strings attached to each paw as she was manipulated before he stuffed her into a chest just to be used again and again until she was too weak to resist and spent the rest of her life abused until death as her poor eyes watched him find happiness with another as she was stored in a corner, a bottle of wine only for pleasure. ( sipping electric wine ! ) The hypothetical, potentially totally imagined, fate that she had dreamed up ( nightmares running the show ! ) that could be quite fake brought a painful fear. Her throat felt dry once again, a cork shoved down in there, suffocating her as she wanted to .. to cry, just release the bottle she had stuffed herself within. The fear did not have anytime to act despite its strong presence that cuddled her ravaged mind yet drilled into it with the same fondness. For a single tear slid away, departed from those ochre eyes that had the silver shards woven in from the bullets of her battlefield. The tear slipped away from her dark rims, their darkness contrasting even against her ink well coat. The paleness of the tear silently slid down her cheek, so slow that time could have been standing still. Another followed upon the other cheek, slowly she was melting away it seemed, ( wicked witch ! ).

( dark rivers & broken glass ! ) Not a sound was expressed, all the exterior sounds from outside seemed to float away, birds fluttering away, peppering the skies. He had insisted upon clawing away her stone wall and stone fence, chipping the concrete and stealing the boulders to her tomb. Why was this happening to her? She felt so strange as the tears became exponential as they created a river, flowing on and on and on. You have insisted upon tearing off my mask and the stones of my walls and fences. You will now see what I have tried to hide, she whispered, sobbing and weeping softly. Feverstar, I have kept a false face upon my skull, placid and calm, yet there has been a martyr suffering within my hopeless heart. I fear of emotion and how they can manipulate me and every being around my circle of emotions. It was becoming like a confessional, everything burbling and pouring out of her mouth, the cork being released, shot into the gray sky. ( poison flowing from stained lips ! ) Her dark eloquence made the words bleed so sadly with more despair as their syllables spiraled into depression and grim gloom. With a deep breath in her chest, expanding her ribcage, feeling her heart aching with every breath she spoke again like they were her dying words for she felt as if she was dying and fading, melting away into the snow. ( where i belong ! ) What possibly filled her with more despair was that this was not the end, she could not spread her wings and fly out of her prison, she could only slip into dreams only to awake to find herself suicidal and depressed. Breathing deeply she expelled another dose of poison from her heart, head, and lungs. For I feel that if love or admiration, or any emotion, dares to wrap its singing bells around my throat I will only be able to sing its tune like a disease. I have diseased myself, though. For I try and bottle all of these wild emotions, I have become my own Pandora's box. I fear of becoming a puppet to you or any other admirer. Strings attached to my limbs and mouth as I provide pleasure until I am thrown into a corner like a bottle of wine for occasional drinking, she poured out, that electric wine voice spilling from her mouth, regurgitated, no control over what was coming out. Tears were streaming little rivers from her depressed ochre eyes as she slowly slid to the floor of her comfortable den, feeling like rejecting all of the contents of her stomach or passing out into her own wonderland. Pulchritudinous eyes shut tight, windows nailed to her home, she curled up, wanting to implode upon herself for all the senseless things she had just muttered. Tears still flowing from her eyes, she wanted to unsheathe her claws and release the rage upon herself and to see carmine blood upon the moss. Breathing heavily and weeping she gently whispered a few gentle syllables, I'm sorry. She was exposed, raw and could be taken in his grasp, too weak to resist. She felt entirely broken, ( the figurine has fallen ! )

word count : one thousand one hundred and sixty four.

[feverstar !]

It was like watching a ship sink. With chagrin in his autumn-hued eyes, Feverstar witnessed the she-cat's downfall. She seemed to crumple before his eyes like a wilting flower, back hunched over in a sharp curve of sorrow, her sobs tearing from her being in a wretched fashion. She was going down, down, down, sinking to the dusky, fathomless depths of an ominous sea. And it was he, of all cats, who had first punctured a hole in her hull. Shatteredheart's sobs were not loud, but when someone around you is crying it is impossible to ignore. This sort of sobbing is not regular crying; but a beastly sound, a foreign, wild one heard only from the very dustiest, untouched corners of those tender broken hearts. These cries are spawned from knife blades, betrayal, battle scars, grudges; they are the uncensored cries of the truly broken. Feverstar was well aware of this.

However, he blinked back the shame that burrowed in his bones like a sleeping bear and instead sat himself up, both his injured paw and heart quivering in pain. His soft orange ears were pressed fixedly against his skull. Shatteredheart would not look at him. He did not deserve such a reward, anyways. But his affections for the rabbit-hearted she-cat were still alive, and you could see it in the way he looked at her, even now. Something was different, softer, perhaps, a reassurance of trust. A smile. There was no denying that Feverstar felt something for his Medicine Cat. He adored everything about her, from her debutante appearance, to the poignant way that she spoke, her tiny little build, her fragile scent. Although he wasn't calling it love, he wasn't calling it a friendship. What would it take to get Shatteredheart to realize this? The tom shuffled the wet, soft earth under his paws. The black she-cat's face was streaked with tears; deep, deep cuts that never stopped bleeding, never scarred over. He saw them and felt instantly pained, as though someone had caught him in the throat or knocked the wind out of him.

Feverstar's throat felt doughy, full of a putty that blocked any chance of speaking or swallowing. He wanted to choke, re-digest the words he had said moments before. What a stupid fool he was. He was better off leaving. But even as he looked to the thin entrance, a small filter of sunlight poking through, he couldn't bring himself to move even an inch towards it. The only way his body would allow him to move was towards Shatteredheart, like a magnetic pull he could not fight. He knew it would take every ounce of courage to speak. The anxiety was tearing through his body, chewing the bones like they were flimsy carcasses and treating the tendons and muscles like spaghetti and steaks. It did not even leave his heart alone, for it was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings, scaling up his slick windpipe with each beat. The calico tom sighed, surprised when Shatteredheart spoke. Her voice was like a fox, seeking and hunting it's prey without mercy. When it reached him, it sunk it's fangs into Feverstar's juicy neck, ripped him apart and watched him bleed. And when he did, he suffered for not one but two: Shatteredheart and himself. Shame oozed from his eyes.

"Shatteredheart," the three syllables alone that conceived her name was a challenge to say. Feverstar's voice was raw, cracked, expose. The layers that made him up had rolled off, as though he dissolved with water. He was nothing more now then a thin baby skin, flinching whenever something did as much as breezed by. The male's voice was commanding, but in a soothing way, with strength woven in the silence between each letter, knitting it together so that he did not fall apart. Feverstar clung to this thought as he forced himself to speak again: "It's alright. You will not be the throw away wine or the crude wooden puppet. No, my lady. You shall be the main attraction, far better than any grape juice or slice of oak." The more he spoke, the more his voice quivered and shook in fear. Although he meant every word that was trailing from his pink lips, he had never spoken to anyone so honestly before. It was frightening, frankly. The tom shuffled himself to Shatteredheart's bleeding ribcage, until he felt the curve of her bird bones press against his own. He forced his breathing to steady into an even, rich rhythm before he spoke again.

"It's alright, Rabbit, it's alright," Feverstar soothed gently, calling her by the animal she most reminded him of. His voice was a whisper of comfort in her satin ear, a streak of affection. And he enveloped himself around her crumbling skeleton, letting her fall against his own weight. "Shhhhh..." He repeated, his tone soft and sweet. The calico tom rested his head on Shatterheart, so that he could feel her breathing, and the feeling of her speech as it clamored up her windpipe. In his heart, Feverstared prayed that the she-cat would accept his tender embraces, his attempts at stitching up his mistakes.

[shatteredheart !]

SHATTEREDHEART !
( PAPER HEARTS STRUCK BY DARTS ! )

( sinking ships & wailing birds ! ) The titanic began to sink, alarms and screamed returning to land as little whispers to be brushed away. Sirens singing their panic, revealing the panic and direness of the situation as Shatteredheart lamented and deplored as she spiraled away ( spirited away ! ). Why had she done this to herself, piercing her heart with needles viciously and cutting away her emotion, beating them back with knives and sticks to no avail as they stalked her and she had finally be pounced upon. Taken down into the dirt and dust, gun smoke filling the air around her head as they hammered the bullets into her head, heart, and mouth. Strength knew nothing of Shatteredheart no more, for it had soared away as quick as frightened doves. Tears screamed the panic within her head, the pains growing as she felt her chest heaving to and and fro like a door on loose hinges. He had torn away her mask, ripping it out of her flesh, trying to find her true identity ( The Scarlet Pimpernel ! ). She felt his presence pressed again her limp skeleton of a body, a broken bird slammed against a window as she felt to the rock hard ground just to be swallowed up by its root-filled grasps. Shatteredheart wished she could rise and retaliate, for the abhorrence in her heart made her feel like the boy crying wolf for the last time when the games became deadly, swallowing him whole. Her mind was dashing through a forest, red cape flying, darting through the pine trees of emotions until she met Feverstar, the wolf demanding answers, shoving the questions down her throat wanting an answer to be regurgitated. The lacerations and injuries of her heart were bleeding through her tears, a martyr burning at the stake. ( civilians throwing stones ! ) Nerves sensing his body against her dainty figure she surrendered and let his embrace be, leaning into his ragdoll frame, wanting to be swallowed whole by his stitches and patches. The words in which he spoke almost hit deaf ears, just little sibilants twisting through her mind, black ribbons trying to tie her up. Energy was flying out her mouth, feeling like her soul was going to accompany it, wanting to get out of its prison, this train wrecked mind. Yet there was some relief from the release of tears and words, a confessional that purged the emotions that had been captured and sealed, their wooden box cracked and breaking until they were convicts running around. All the emotions flying out of her mouth along with her laments and cries, weeping gently. Heartbeats passed, her racing car heart slowing, tempo diminishing into a tone quite familiar and typical.

( inns & night lights ! ) Slowly the sobs wilted, dying away, the breakdown growing from spring to the death in the fall and winter. Silence was heard as much as silence can be heard as she finally let the dirges of her souls fade away. ( wilting roses ! ) Her physique remained quite limp, a corpse who cried herself to the grave, ( wishing her heart would end ! ). A song played on, though, for she was still stuck in this circus world where all the idiots were on show and the acrobats flew through the air, ( lie low lie low ! ) the song was of a duet, two heartbeats, a rhythm that would be the theme song of thyself and life. Ochre eyes opened once again, taking a hammer and prying out the nails that kept them shut tight. They lucidly became animated in their sockets, their sagacity and grandeur coruscating in the dimly lit atelier. Breathing gently she wanted to feel smaller underneath his fur, wanting to be swallowed by his paws and patchwork pelt. Releasing a ragged sigh ( torn and shredded ! ) for she was quite ragged as it was, she spoke softly but with the black satin voice that seemed to keep him hanging upon the tip of her tongue, begging for more of her electric wine voice. If only you knew of my numerous mental dilemmas, she weakly sighed. It does my soul good graces to purge those foul emotions that I have tried to keep behind a mask. I find comfort that you can speak such words after facing my dire, deploring confessional. For my pain goes deeper than the superficial surface of expression, it carves into my heart that is so ragged and broken. Her heart strings were being plucked by Feverstar, nimble fingers weaving their way into the poverty ridden abode of her heart. Shatteredheart felt so cold, a kit tossed into a stormy river that tried to run down her airways. In the silence that swung like a pendulum, counting the moments passing, she thought back to his words, his syllables that had bled out of his mouth with a tenderness that just slid from his predatory jaws ( snapping up little red riding hood ! ). ( i would wish for nothing more than to share my life with you, not as my prize, but companion. ) Those sweet words, agave syrup or honey dripping into her ears, ( the songs of summer ! ), it made the drama that had passed just want to shut tight and fade away from her memory, departing. Those words were the healing serum that seemed to prove that she had some worth besides just a hay penny on the side of a quaint country road where the cornfields stretched for miles, their golden fingers tickling the cerulean firmament. If I may dive into the past, she delicately placed her words upon her tongue, dropping the lexemes like elegant sweetmeats and confections. I would desire to capitulate and accept as well as consent to allowing our fates to begin to twine. Quite delicately the words dropped off of her tongue, morning dew dripping off of flowers. It felt odd and queer for those curious words to roll off of her dainty pink tongue, for they opened her up to the most brutal emotion torture. For Feverstar had gone through the trouble of tearing down her walls and fences, leaping and tearing to find her at her heart despite the damaged it caused along the way. Shatteredheart had now exposed herself, opening her heart to the life as a pincushion and her mind as a residence for a swinging axe, yet she was still slightly wary, though she felt that was protected slightly by the sharp words of rejection and the needles and syringes of disagreement. She felt somewhat sheltered for now, protected against any potential injuries he could give her, she felt like a little girl hiding in an inn meeting a street urchin, for this was not a fairytale plot but it was pleasant even for accepting it. ( stitch up the patient ! )

word count : one thousand two hundred and twenty one.

[feverstar !]

Feverstar's heart was a menagerie of emotion. It sputtered with irregular, timorous beats, perched at the top of his slick throat. Every time he looked at the female crumpled inside his fur, it would beat a little faster, pushing the blood around in a flurried excitement. Feverstar was afraid to move; he did not want to ruin this miraculous moment. He so loved the feeling of Shatteredheart burrowing into the safety of his chest, the way her body expanded and shrunk with each splintered breath. Her coat was smooth and sleek. "She's absolutely lovely," the calico tom thought, smiling happily. "And she smells like spring herbs and cinnamon," Thinking this, he pressed his spotted nose into her belt and focused on breathing, letting her scent flow through his veins like an intoxicating drug. Together, they sat in silence; for each of them knew what the other was trying to say without having say a word. The Medicine Cat was crying softly, gently. It seemed the further she lost herself in the male's pelt the more safe she seemed, or so he hoped. "What do I smell like?" Feverstar thought aloud, speaking in a tiny whisper. "You smell like spring herbs and cinnamon," there was no hiding the smile in his voice. "It's rather lovely," he added, for good measure.

After those words had been brought to the air, the mood seemed different. Shatteredheart was no longer crying, but simply breathing in slow, uncertain breaths. Checking to make sure she was still alive, focusing on the still beating of her own heart, he figured. Anxiety had a way of knocking you off your feet. While he waited for the she-cat to collect her senses, Feverstar took the time to explore his own mind. The memories of the hour or so before had seemed like they occurred years ago. Could so much really happen in such a short period of time? Only sixty seconds, sixty minutes, twenty four hours? Time had a funny way of working like that. Blink and your entire life with flash by, without any rewinds. The tom knew this, but each time something like this happened it had always taken him a little while to adjust, to keep up with it instead of being left in the dust. How would time treat him and Shatteredheart? Kindly, slowly, dripping slow like molasses? Or would their relationship fly by like a powerful hawk? Before Feverstar could conjure an answer to his own question, Shatteredheart spoke.

"If only you knew of my numerous mental dilemmas," Her voice was cool and quiet; a winter wind. "It does my soul good graces to purge those foul emotions that I have tried to keep behind a mask. I find comfort that you can speak such words after facing my dire, deploring confessional. For my pain goes deeper than the superficial surface of expression, it carves into my heart that is so ragged and broken." Instantly, Feverstar imagined Shatteredheart only minutes before, caught in the depths of her own inescapable sorrow. It clawed at her heart with greedy fingers and bloody canines, wanting nothing more then to see her fall, bleeding and broken. He bit his lip, uncertain of how to reassure her. He knew he could not deny the fact that she was covered all over in bruises deep purple in color. But what he did know was that that did not matter to him. He was intrigued by Shatteredheart, was there any other way to put it? Suddenly, the den felt cold and stuffy. Feverstar felt as though he could not get oxygen to his mind fast enough, and soon his vision began to swirl.

Only then did he come to the realization that his heart was pounding so hard that he literally feared it would shatter his mosaic of flesh and bleed onto the den's floor, with soft animal cries coming from it's lips. Anxiety trashed angrily through his bones and pushed needles into his eyes and ears. Feverstar closed his eyes and took a breath, calming as he felt the sweet cinnamon curl down his throat. He clung to this sensation as he said, "I only wish that you will allow me to comfort your scarred and bleeding heart. If you are beautiful now, at your lowest, then I cannot even begin to imagine the heavenly light that will fall upon you when you are at your highest. Yarrow must turn over in his cumulus throne. He will have to name a constellation after you, and even that may not be enough for someone like you. Let me carry you there, Rabbit, to your highest. That is all I desire," Feverstar's voice was riddled with a gentle determination, a strength of the heart. He whispered the syllables into Shatteredheart's ear like a summer breeze, warming, encompassing. That was the first time he had ever spoken from the heart - to a she-cat, nonetheless.

The calico tom sighed, feeling the air expand his lungs slowly. And then, he could sense the words working their way up the ashen she-cat's throat, soft and terrified. And at first, he thought he had heard her incorrectly. Feverstar's heart leaped and sputtered in happiness. His autumn eyes shimmered like the night sky, winking and blinking and dancing in the weak light. However, he did his best to contain his joy and simple twitched his tail in delight, carefully licking the top of Shatteredheart's skull in pleasure with his pallid tongue. She tasted sweet, like what he imagine sunlight to taste like, and warm. She tasted like summer, with a cold winter after-swallow. Slowly, a deep, throaty purr swelled to life in Feverstar's stomach. It filled the den easily, but it oozed sweetly like maple syrup, coating with sugar droplets.