reflections of a battlefield - srp

Instructions

Silence descended with a whisk on the sand-riddled dunes, utterly devoid of emotion. Splashdance felt quite the opposite, his paws aching as he padded across the grainy terrain, and his mind a battlefield. He walked along the terribly familiar territory of his home clan, a storm of emotions brewing within him. They fought for dominance, those emotions - but in the end, one won out against the others. Anger. He had not felt it when he had brawled with Arachnidspindle, nor when he had fought Veiledgrace. Then, he had been concerned, distraught, for what kind of warrior found themself in multiple conflicts within a singular moon? He had been desperate, searching for a foothold in both arguments to gain the upper paw. He had been vulnerable and weak. Helpless, yet again. The thought rang through him, tearing at his insides more than the wounds that were scattered across his pelt had. He kept walking. He hated the feeling, loathed it more than anything in the world. Why? Because being vulnerable, and weak, and… and /helpless/, that’s what got those he loved hurt. That’s what has plagued him since the beginning, nipping at his heels, taunting the fact that he’d never be strong enough, worthy enough. And he /hated/ it. Rage, unbecoming of a cat who had once been the embodiment of its opposite, consumed Splashdance. Rage towards Arachnidspindle, the medicine cat who had marred him so cruelly despite his own innocence. Rage towards Veiledgrace, the warrior who had tricked him with naïveté despite having been met with nothing but friendliness. Rage towards Shiveringpaw, the sister who had left him without another word despite them being /kin/. Rage towards Skvaderslumber, the love who had toyed with his heart for moons despite his own devotion. But, most prominently, he felt rage towards himself. Towards his own faults, towards the cracks that had begun to spread within him, no longer hidden by his carefully crafted facade. He kept walking. He had been so happy once. Those times were nothing but a memory now, clouded with his mistakes, but still - what had he done wrong? Splashdance paused, his steps faltering as his mind raced. He’d tried so desperately to recover the joy he remembered from back then, and sometimes, he could feel it. Its edges brushed him softly, tempting him to indulge in the fleeting emotion. Then, when he finally began to let go, it left. A tortured laugh escaped him as he dropped to his haunches, ignoring the demanding pain littered across his body. Everyone left. A melancholy fact of life, but one he had begun to learn nonetheless. After all, you can only get abandoned so many times before you realize that truth. However, for the first time since he had discovered it, sadness did not tag along. The desire for revenge did. Revenge against who, he wasn’t exactly sure - against the world seemed a bit too arrogant a goal, even for him. For now, he’d settle for a different kind of revenge, this one against himself. A preventative measure, if you will - he was tired of getting hurt. So, he would simply stop putting himself in a position to be hurt. Positive relationships are overrated anyway. With that resolve in mind, Splashdance scanned his surroundings wearily before he began to examine his wounds. He winced slightly at the sight of some deeper gashes he had failed to notice. He didn’t even want to begin counting the smaller scratches he had obtained, for it would take much too long. StarClan, how was he going to explain this to the medicine cats - that he had taken a fall down from Trifalls? Had met a particularly ferocious flamingo? A snort left him at the thought.