three lakes & five ponds || injury

Bloodscent curls in the air, consuming, distracting. It is morning, although the sun is hidden behind a curtain of clouds. Rain smooths the ragged edges of the world. Tansypaw rises from her nest, gingerly, and ignores the curious and concerned eyes that track her as she hurries from the apprentices’ den.

She immediately makes her way over to a sizable puddle, from which her reflection stares back, murky and distorted. Recognizable still. A wound rests on her shoulder, a perfect impression of teeth. The black fur surrounding it is darkened with absorbed blood. Her main concern is a scratch, superficial, that sits crooked on the bridge of her nose. The fur there is too thin to absorb the blood, and so it mixes with rivulets of rain that trail down her face, until it drips from her chin, pink.

Every drip sends further ripples over the puddle, and her reflection warps and shivers with it. Tansypaw blinks rapidly, as if it is a problem with her eyes and not with the nature of puddles. This is not the first time Tansypaw has woken bloody, but it is the first time she’s woken wearing a mark on her face.

With everything wrong with her, Tansypaw has always thought this: At least she is pretty. Not a virtue or a skill, but it was something. Something that was hers, something she could laud over others if she so desired. Vapid, maybe. Vainglorious. Too grand a word for her, no, shallow is more suiting. The mark will not scar, Tansypaw thinks, it has as much depth as herself. No longer it bleeds, and already the rain has washed it clean, running clear down her face once more.

Shallow, yes.

The wound on her side is far more serious, and yet Tansypaw stares at the imperfect approximation of her face in the water, at the scratch on her nose, barely visible against the brown water, and Tansypaw finds herself unable to care about the throbbing from her shoulder. Around her, the steady rain taps out a melody, to which Tansypaw doesn’t listen.

Their worry shouldn't be any surprise to Tansypaw. It shouldn't, and yet it is. A sting, the insistent thought that they wouldn't care if it wasn't their duty to care. “You'll get wet if you sit out here for too long.” Too late for that. The rain still drums out a steady beat, and Tansypaw looks up long enough to look at who has joined her. Daisypaw, who might just be her friend. Tansypaw hasn't asked, but she thinks and she hopes; but Daisypaw needn't be burdened with Tansypaw. She is deserving of friends who are good.

And then there is Icepaw.

Tansypaw looks at Icepaw's face, and then looks down to the point where her legs taper into her paws because it's easier than seeing the blue of her eyes. She feels both like she should say something and never speak again, and it's a terrible feeling, and maybe Tansypaw hates Icepaw. Tansypaw knows the feeling of hate well, and it's nothing like this, but it swells strongly in her chest in the same way and it warms her ears in the same way and-

“Hi,” She says, and then immediately thinks that it is possibly the stupidest thing she could have said. Hi? “I'm going to uh- I'm just... hi?” Again? AGAIN? “But I already said that so uh, hey.” Tansypaw shifts then, trying to hide her still bloodied shoulder from sight, “You really will get all wet out here if you uh- the both of you will anyway. I was just looking at this puddle.”