' ' WAS IT WORTH IT? ' ' Flint SRP Part 2

Instructions

<< Part 1: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1274978329/ >> From the shadows he could see two small bulbs, glowing. Whatever was lurking in the darkness emerged: a huge, bulky figure, and the two small bulbs turned into vicious, hungry eyes. A bear. A bear. He’d never fought a cat properly before; Soul had been perhaps the age of an apprentice, and he’d lost- let alone an enormous, aggressive, full-grown bear. A nervous smile crept up his lips, and with a shaky voice, he managed to squeeze out an utter. “Let’s solve this, er- little problem calmly, shall we, Mister Bear?” Slow, unsteady steps backwards turned into pelting and stumbling as he turned the other way and ran as fast as his lanky, long legs could carry him, but his uncomfortable sweater limited his movements and the heavy pickaxe on his side greatly unbalanced him, making his steps uncoordinated and clumsy. The massive lumbering bear was catching up, and he could hear it snapping violently at his tail feathers. Searing pain flared as it managed to land its bite on one, tearing it away. The exit of the cave wasn’t anywhere in sight, and the only thing that kept the tom running was fear- his legs would’ve collapsed by now, but he propelled them forwards still. It was closing in, huge paws thundering on the cold stone floor, sending tremors throughout the cave. Flint’s limbs were getting heavier, moving sluggishly and difficultly, slowing drastically. His breathes came short, ragged now, every inhale painful in his bursting lungs. Finally, the light to the outside appeared in the not far distance, and hope alighted his heart once more. Relief fuelled his last few steps as he raced towards the open, bounding up in a joy-filled leap, spreading his wings… Pain. Scorching, unbearable pain shot from his right hindleg and upwards and he winced, his wing beats pausing for a split second in reflex. He’d nearly made it. Why? He twisted his head around, a gruesome sight meeting his eyes: the bear had reared up on hindlegs and clamped its jaws around his leg, crimson staining the fur around his foot. His wings had begun to flap wildly, a sorry attempt to break free of the bear’s firm maw, beating madly as if his life depended on it, and it did. Was this truly the end? How could he have possibly believed this was Starclan’s blessing, no- it was their punishment. Punishment for his craving for the underground, punishment for his disloyalty. Would he ever see his kits again? Would he ever see his nester, his flamelet again? Would he ever see his beloved Moonflowerdawn, his Moonie, his flower again? Perhaps it was his crazed thrashing caused by his panic, perhaps Starclan had bestowed heavy-hearted mercy upon the tom, but in the mess of the struggle, his sharp-edged pickaxe had met cruelly with the bear’s skull, and the bear, roaring in fury, trundled away back into the darkness of his cave. But the damage had been done, and while spared from mortal peril in the last second, the price of his recklessness had been paid: his toe was gone. The pain should’ve been throbbing, but fear dulled out everything; he had been sent into a trance-like state ever since the jaws had closed onto his leg, gaze straight and meaningless. Flintforge, taking in deep, raspy breaths, flew on, flew without looking back once until he was safely back in camp. He dragged his leg limply, a trail of red following taut, ignoring the whispers and gazes that fell upon his silly costume and bloody leg. He didn’t stop for a second in front of the medicine den where his son Silencepaw would surely be working hard, no- he flew directly to his nest and collapsed onto it, a cyclone of voices billowing in his head: Was it worth it? Was it worth it, your toe for a piece of fabric and a few digging instruments? Was risking your life worth it? Somehow, he didn’t know how, he managed to fall into a slumber with the voices, but all that greeted him in his dreams were the glowing white bulbs, the bear, replaying over and over again in his mind, and he awoke suddenly drenched in sweat, gasping for air. He had been asleep for a mere hour. Dreadful realization was starting to sink in. He’d succumbed the wiles of the caves yet again. It was a terrible fact and would plague him for the many nights to come, with him waking up deep into the night, the nightmares always the same, vivid scene of the terrifying bear and its deathly bite. As for his leg, all courage had been flushed out of him, and he couldn’t possibly endure the humiliation he’d receive without doubt. He chose to avoid his mate and kits with his head hung low, and it was a painful thing he’d subjected himself to. Oh, what was this cruel joke… Why did he have to be so stars-damned idiotic, mouse-brained… Useless. So useless. So pitifully useless.