“Every breath that I’ve been taking since you left feels like a waste on me…” A rosetted little cat lay on his side, staring blankly at the crystals that jutted out from the walls of his cavern home. He didn't care how they sparkled brilliantly in the dim moonlight that seeped through the tunnel, or how their multi-hued glow cast dancing fragments of colored light across the ground ahead. All he could think of was the fact that his sister, Metanoiasweven, was still missing, and that his mate Strongcaper lay in a coma, unable to help his struggling clan. Fikafrolic was not a great warrior, nor was he a fast runner or a stealthy hunter. He was just a good-for-nothing, underly small tom; A member of WindClan, which meant he was supposed to hunt and fight like his ancestors before him. But he wasn't cut out for that kind of life. He was too sensitive, too soft-hearted, too easily overwhelmed by the sorrow and chaos that surrounded him. He hated himself for that. He missed his sister, remembered the way she had always been there for him, the way she had protected him and loved him, even when he felt unworthy of her kindness. He didn't know where she was or what had happened to her, and it tore him apart to think that she might be gone forever. And then there was Strongcaper. The thought of his mate lying there, unresponsive, still, and nearly lifeless was almost too much to bear. Fikafrolic wanted him to wake up, to smile at him again, to take his paw and lead him out into the star-lit desert with those beautiful violet eyes. He knew it was unlikely. Where had his hope gone? As Fikafrolic lay there, tears glistening in his single, willow-hued eye, he couldn't help but feel that the world was too much for him. He longed for the safety and security of his childhood, before Ghost had chosen to become a daylight kittypet and before their clan had fallen into such disarray because of it, before his sister had left… Before Spintobolide was murdered by a ShadowClan cat, before Odie sacrificed himself for Fikafrolic. Before Monarchmorphean passed, before his oldest friend Corn-snakecatastrophe had died and abandoned the little pastel cat for StarClan. But even as he despaired, Fikafrolic knew in the very back of his mind that he couldn't give up. The thought of curling up and never moving again repeated several times over in his broken mind. But his clan ‘needed’ him, perhaps now more than ever before. It was so, so hard, though… What could he ever do for them, truly? The little cat forced himself to stand, to venture out into the elongated shadows, and to try to make a difference in whatever way he could. However, as he limped through the heavy silence of the crystal-studded cavern that WindClan called home, the weight of his emotions became too much for him. He sank to his knees under a ledge, feeling crystalline tears pour down his face, and began to grieve for everything and everyone he had lost. He cried for his sister, for Strongcaper, for Ghost… For every one of his old friends and family members that had been gone for so long. He cried for the broken and battered clan he knew so well. He cried until his throat ached, until his eye burned, until he could no longer stand the pain. And then he cried some more, because there was nothing left to do but cry. Tanny was gone. His beloved Eilah might never wake up. His mother was torn between two worlds; Her own clan and the life of a kittypet. Fikafrolic cried because he just didn’t know what to do anymore. He wasn’t like those strong, fierce warriors of the past. He was just one, pathetic… Fikafrolic. And without Strongcaper by his side to hold him up and guide him, without his sister’s boldness and gentle touch to tell him to keep going… Fikafrolic felt that’s what he would always be. Not strong enough. Not big enough. Not brave enough. Not even worthy enough. … Not even close.
Background from Google Lyrics from Bruises (Lewis Capaldi)
