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Description
TTB-verse ahoy~

A bunch of sketches from last night, filled in with greyscale to look more fancy. I'm uploading em in case I end up forgetting about the thing entirely //derp face

"Do you ever wonder if, well..."
"Sometimes. But I don't linger."
"Then you would never...?"
"Who knows. But we'll be home again one day. And then you won't look back. You're yet young."
Squirrelpaw snorted. "I'll have to remind you I'm stubborn."
Stoneclaw's eyes danced with mirth.
"So am I."

"Run!" he urged them all, dropping back to get the injured Feathertail out of the way. Squirrelpaw ran fast as her paws could go, but in the moment of desperation she was compelled to look back, to assure herself they were still following. Feathertail raced past; Stoneclaw did not.
Her eyes met his, and the moment lasted forever; the shadow approaching, the crunch of bone, the splatter of blood.
Yet even in his last moments, his orders rang clear over a bloodied tongue; "RUN!"
She did as he bid. Her first true act of obedience. When she wished for nothing else but to disobey and run back for him.

Squirrelflight felt a twinge of guilt, not for the first time, as Ashfur's head stroked against her cheek. For all his affections and promises to wait for her, it felt unjust to promise him a heart that had yet to stop bleeding for another.
"Are you really okay with me?" she asked, shuffling her paws over his back to use him for a pillow.
"Yes," he answered reverently. "It has to be you."
She closed her eyes and willed her mind to be filled with warm promises and speckled fur. She willed herself to believe in it.

"Blood... so much blood... protect them..." Such were the last words of Leafpool, and her head lolled back, amber eyes coating over with the sheen of death.
"Oh no no no, please no," Squirrelflight croaked, pressing her cheek against her sister's, which still flared with the remnants of her fever; her bane.
The days-old kits at her side fuzzed, not understanding in their infant minds why their mother wasn't purring in return at their urging and kneading. Cinderpelt, her green eyes misty with sorrow, picked up one by the scruff, and held him out to Squirrelflight. The action forced the she-cat to look up from her deceased sibling.
"We don't have much time," the medicine cat meowed, her voice hollow. "You have to decide now. You're first of kin, Squirrelflight."
She stared at her wriggling nephew for all of a split second, before agreeing; "I'll take them."

The words died in the back of her mouth, suffocated at the sight in front of her; Ashfur's hazel eyes blazed vividly, and his grin was marred by the blood sticking to his lips and chin. Gone was the tom who had promised her everything and more, and the disgust welled up in her chest, mingling with the scent of his demanding excitement, and the smell of Jaykit's blood on his muzzle.
She fixed her eyes on his, challenging him with her void stare, even as her scent spiked with fear and the fur down her spine rose. Be calm, play his game, she urged herself.
"Monster," she breathed. His grin slackened.
"You monster," she repeated. "Where have you hid my children?"

Her first thought when she spotted them was 'why her', and the unbid envy sent her mind reeling with self-incrimination and disgust. Who was she to demand his attention, when Shrewpelt throughout the seasons had been such a good friend, and she never invited more? How petty and shallow was she, to only start wishing for his attentions when they were no longer within grasp? Had she taken him so for granted she expected him to stay by her side forever, friend or more, based on her own whims? Was she really so cruel?
The calm, contented gazes that passed between Shrewpelt and the heavily pregnant Whitewing pierced her like claws at her throat; she was so jealous. So much it hurt.
In the back of her mind, a voice like Ashfur's started to laugh.

"You won't be honest?" he asked, and his voice was warm and teasing; it beckoned, and Squirrelflight steeled her heart to avoid giving in to those unspoken promises. Promises she was afraid to believe in. Her stubbornness, the backbone of her existence, was failing her.
"Whitewing said you wouldn't be. She sent me here, Squirrelflight - she sent me after you. Neither of us has done anything wrong," he consoled, picking up on her worries, and her breath hitched. Still she wouldn't say.
His amber eyes warmed further, like molten stone, and Shrewpelt pressed close to her, muzzle slowly forming a grin.
"Who'd have thought the infallible Squirrelflight could be so shy?"
In silence, she leaned in, embarrassed to find her heart all aflutter when her cheek fit perfectly under his jaw. In her stunned silence, she caught the sound; a steady, but rapid, beating of a heart. Not hers. His.
In a second, her tongue formed the words, assurance reigniting her speech, and before she knew it, she countered; "And you dare call me shy."
From his purrs she realized this was all the admission he needed, and her embarrassment came back tenfold.

The sight of small furballs in the middle of a scuffle always did make her feel happy and nostalgic. Doubly so as she gazed down on her own furballs' little playfight; Flamekit had the advantage at first, but found himself outmanoeuvered by his sister when Plumekit made a feint to the left and bounced up on his back.
Their little antics reminded her of all her extended family; the way Hollykit had used to dart between her brothers like a shadow, tapping them on the back and making the toms believe it was the other one who'd done it, and not her, leaving Hollykit to sit back and watch the spectacle. But it also reminded her of Shrewpelt running after Ivykit and Dovekit, begging his adoptive daughters to stay put and not get in trouble, and Whitewing had to ask her for assistance before the kits turned their doe-eyes on him and took off.
Perhaps they made for a rather puzzling family picture; her, with her foster kits, and him with his foster kits, and now they, with their own kits.
Her amused purr rumbled low and content, and doubled in strength when Shrewpelt, who sat at her side, started up his own song.

(c) Dearly disliked Erin Hunter
Art and AU: Me

Description
TTB-verse ahoy~

A bunch of sketches from last night, filled in with greyscale to look more fancy. I'm uploading em in case I end up forgetting about the thing entirely //derp face

"Do you ever wonder if, well..."
"Sometimes. But I don't linger."
"Then you would never...?"
"Who knows. But we'll be home again one day. And then you won't look back. You're yet young."
Squirrelpaw snorted. "I'll have to remind you I'm stubborn."
Stoneclaw's eyes danced with mirth.
"So am I."

"Run!" he urged them all, dropping back to get the injured Feathertail out of the way. Squirrelpaw ran fast as her paws could go, but in the moment of desperation she was compelled to look back, to assure herself they were still following. Feathertail raced past; Stoneclaw did not.
Her eyes met his, and the moment lasted forever; the shadow approaching, the crunch of bone, the splatter of blood.
Yet even in his last moments, his orders rang clear over a bloodied tongue; "RUN!"
She did as he bid. Her first true act of obedience. When she wished for nothing else but to disobey and run back for him.

Squirrelflight felt a twinge of guilt, not for the first time, as Ashfur's head stroked against her cheek. For all his affections and promises to wait for her, it felt unjust to promise him a heart that had yet to stop bleeding for another.
"Are you really okay with me?" she asked, shuffling her paws over his back to use him for a pillow.
"Yes," he answered reverently. "It has to be you."
She closed her eyes and willed her mind to be filled with warm promises and speckled fur. She willed herself to believe in it.

"Blood... so much blood... protect them..." Such were the last words of Leafpool, and her head lolled back, amber eyes coating over with the sheen of death.
"Oh no no no, please no," Squirrelflight croaked, pressing her cheek against her sister's, which still flared with the remnants of her fever; her bane.
The days-old kits at her side fuzzed, not understanding in their infant minds why their mother wasn't purring in return at their urging and kneading. Cinderpelt, her green eyes misty with sorrow, picked up one by the scruff, and held him out to Squirrelflight. The action forced the she-cat to look up from her deceased sibling.
"We don't have much time," the medicine cat meowed, her voice hollow. "You have to decide now. You're first of kin, Squirrelflight."
She stared at her wriggling nephew for all of a split second, before agreeing; "I'll take them."

The words died in the back of her mouth, suffocated at the sight in front of her; Ashfur's hazel eyes blazed vividly, and his grin was marred by the blood sticking to his lips and chin. Gone was the tom who had promised her everything and more, and the disgust welled up in her chest, mingling with the scent of his demanding excitement, and the smell of Jaykit's blood on his muzzle.
She fixed her eyes on his, challenging him with her void stare, even as her scent spiked with fear and the fur down her spine rose. Be calm, play his game, she urged herself.
"Monster," she breathed. His grin slackened.
"You monster," she repeated. "Where have you hid my children?"

Her first thought when she spotted them was 'why her', and the unbid envy sent her mind reeling with self-incrimination and disgust. Who was she to demand his attention, when Shrewpelt throughout the seasons had been such a good friend, and she never invited more? How petty and shallow was she, to only start wishing for his attentions when they were no longer within grasp? Had she taken him so for granted she expected him to stay by her side forever, friend or more, based on her own whims? Was she really so cruel?
The calm, contented gazes that passed between Shrewpelt and the heavily pregnant Whitewing pierced her like claws at her throat; she was so jealous. So much it hurt.
In the back of her mind, a voice like Ashfur's started to laugh.

"You won't be honest?" he asked, and his voice was warm and teasing; it beckoned, and Squirrelflight steeled her heart to avoid giving in to those unspoken promises. Promises she was afraid to believe in. Her stubbornness, the backbone of her existence, was failing her.
"Whitewing said you wouldn't be. She sent me here, Squirrelflight - she sent me after you. Neither of us has done anything wrong," he consoled, picking up on her worries, and her breath hitched. Still she wouldn't say.
His amber eyes warmed further, like molten stone, and Shrewpelt pressed close to her, muzzle slowly forming a grin.
"Who'd have thought the infallible Squirrelflight could be so shy?"
In silence, she leaned in, embarrassed to find her heart all aflutter when her cheek fit perfectly under his jaw. In her stunned silence, she caught the sound; a steady, but rapid, beating of a heart. Not hers. His.
In a second, her tongue formed the words, assurance reigniting her speech, and before she knew it, she countered; "And you dare call me shy."
From his purrs she realized this was all the admission he needed, and her embarrassment came back tenfold.

The sight of small furballs in the middle of a scuffle always did make her feel happy and nostalgic. Doubly so as she gazed down on her own furballs' little playfight; Flamekit had the advantage at first, but found himself outmanoeuvered by his sister when Plumekit made a feint to the left and bounced up on his back.
Their little antics reminded her of all her extended family; the way Hollykit had used to dart between her brothers like a shadow, tapping them on the back and making the toms believe it was the other one who'd done it, and not her, leaving Hollykit to sit back and watch the spectacle. But it also reminded her of Shrewpelt running after Ivykit and Dovekit, begging his adoptive daughters to stay put and not get in trouble, and Whitewing had to ask her for assistance before the kits turned their doe-eyes on him and took off.
Perhaps they made for a rather puzzling family picture; her, with her foster kits, and him with his foster kits, and now they, with their own kits.
Her amused purr rumbled low and content, and doubled in strength when Shrewpelt, who sat at her side, started up his own song.

(c) Dearly disliked Erin Hunter
Art and AU: Me