. NUMB . a Shoalcry SRP

Instructions

Numb. That was what Shoalcry felt. He felt it in his head, felt it in his heart. Felt it when he woke up in the morning to discover Serenadelark was gone. What was it she had said? "I'm doing the right thing. Love you." He'd been barely awake, too recently pulled out of sleep to understand what she'd been telling him. He should have been listening. He'd woken that morning in a panic, indescribable besides a father's instinct until he remembered what his daughter had said to him the night before. He'd sprung up from his nest, and, heart sinking into his stomach, raced out of his den. "Serenadelark!" Everyone was staring at him like he'd sprouted a second head—he didn't notice. His heart was pounding too loudly in his ears to hear their concerned queries. He followed her scent across the bridge, through the dunes, beyond the fragments. His bad leg throbbed with the effort, but he kept going until ShadowClan's border loomed in front of him. No. ". . . Songbird?" No. Her scent led over the border. Nonononono. He sat. She didn't. . . She couldn't. . . The sun beat down on his back, and he shook from the exertion of running and the heat. He couldn't feel his right foreleg. He couldn't feel his heart. Did he do something wrong? It was his fault, wasn't it. If only he'd listened to her last night, maybe he could've stopped it. . . if only. . . He had to talk to her. He had to beg her to come back. He had to—He had to something. Shoalcry took a step toward the border before turning and bolting in the opposite direction. The desert's heat was getting to him. Bluejays shrieked and larks screamed in his ears as he sprinted back through the territory, eyes screwed shut. He wanted nothing more than to turn back, to burst into ShadowClan's camp and scream at them to give him his daughter back. But that was completely irrational. Besides, he had to trust that Serenadelark had left for a reason. "Don't lose faith in me." If she hadn't announced her leaving then maybe she didn't want to be found. He had to trust her. It was the least he could do, after everything. She wasn't dead, just lost. Just lost. It was getting too hot. He wasn't going to be able to make it back to camp. Not today. Gasping for breath, he slowed as he reached the spot where he knew there was a tunnel. It was the same tunnel that he'd taken refuge in when he'd been attacked by the bobcat, and the cool ground felt familiar beneath his paws as he skidded down the small slope. He thought he could still see patches of dried blood on the floor. His choked gasps turned into coughing as he finally collapsed at the bottom, and it took him several minutes to steady his breathing. Even when the coughing subsided he still couldn't stop shaking. He lay at the bottom of the tunnel's slope, staring up at the patch of bright light that shone through the entrance. His right leg and his head and his heart pounded, reverberating through his skull. He still couldn't comprehend this thing, this missing part of him. Of course, this wasn't the first time that Serenadelark had disappeared: she'd left on a moons-long rescue mission, been captured by ShadowClan, and left for shorter periods of time for a number of reasons. But this time was different. Because this time she didn't go involuntarily or say goodbye, or even let him know was leaving. She didn't say that she would return. That was what hurt most of all—that she'd left him with no intent of coming back. The boundary between consciousness and sleep was non-existent, but one thought repeated itself in his mind until he finally drifted off: She's gone. She's gone. She's gone. ... When Shoalcry entered camp the following night he was in a dreadful state. Sand clung to his unkempt fur in large clumps, and his limp was considerably worse than it had been the day before. Those who hadn't gone out on the territory of their own accord were milling about camp, waiting to be sent out on patrol, and the congregation looked up at him now through concerned eyes. Listlessly he told someone they would be in charge of patrols tonight before slipping into the warriors den. Before returning to his own nest, though, he stopped by Serenadelark's. Sitting atop it was Mr. Minnow, whom Shoalcry picked up and carried over to his own nest. He remembered the day when Serenadelark—Serenadekit then—had shown up with it, hopping atop the green abomination with such excitement. “I’m doing good now that I have /this/!” She'd been so young then. “His name is Mr. Minnow!” The chew toy was still colored that ugly green, mindbogglingly both a pig and a mouse. The stitching was beginning to fall apart now after years of abuse, and the leathery surface was covered in stains. Mr. Minnow was still as horrid as always, if not more. Shoalcry buried his face into the toy and hugged it tight. He'd held back the tears since that morning, but now he let them fall freely down his freckled cheeks. He'd been lulled into +