I didn’t even realize where I was going until I was already there. The sun had barely risen, but the world outside was glowing. That weird golden kind of light that makes everything look like a memory. The wind tugged at my fur as I slipped past the outer stones. Quiet. Not sneaky- just quiet. Like the world knew where I was going and didn’t want to interrupt. The cave was still here. The one Sully and I had found together. The “treasure vault,” the “criminal hideout,” the “mossball museum,” depending on which game we were playing that day. It was small- barely deeper than three tail-lengths- but it meant something. It was ours. We'd etched our pawprints into the wall once. Clumsy clawmarks. His was all sharp loops and wild confidence. Mine was a little more crooked. He made fun of it at the time. Said it looked like a crab sneezed. I sit down where he used to curl up and pretend to be dead, just to mess with me. I think about the way he’d laugh afterward. How he’d grin like he’d just discovered the secret to immortality in a pile of rocks. I should’ve come back sooner. It hurts. It hurts more than I thought it would. Because he’s not here. And this place is too quiet without him. Too cold. Like the laughter got ripped out of the walls. I curl into myself. I bury my face in my paws. I try to stop shaking, but I can’t. I try to breathe like I’m fine, like I’m a clever little trickster with jokes tucked under my tongue. But I can’t. Because he’s gone. And I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t done having a brother. I wasn’t done being one. That’s when I feel it. The warmth. Not outside- inside. Right in my chest, under my ribs, where his voice used to echo in my head. It’s small. It’s bright. It hurts. But not in the way I expected. Not like a wound. Like a flame. Like he lit something in me before he left. And it didn’t go out. I look at the wall, at our paws, now cracked and faded. I reach out and press my paw onto his. And I whisper, “I’m not letting you go.” My voice breaks, but I keep going. “You’ll stay with me. In everything I do. In every story I twist, every prank I pull, every stupid lie I tell that somehow makes someone laugh instead of cry.” I press my claws into the stone, just beneath our prints. “I’ll carry you. And I’ll burn, Sully. I’ll burn for you.” When I leave the cave, I do it slowly. Not because I’m afraid. But because I’m bringing something with me. A fire. A promise. A name. Kindlingpaw. He / burn. And burn will never forget.
oooooo loreeee
