Wolf RPG - once i took your medication to know what it's like

Regained health came slowly. Food, drink, medicine; the warmth of a lover on nights she could snake into the flowerpetal embrace without others noticing. Each morning, Wren woke with a choking fear that it had all been a dream, and each morning she soothed with the ebbing realization that @Silvertongue was still here. Still alive.
You never truly realize how much an event has frightened you until after the fact.
She kept to herself and to Silver and to Ash Paw, much too afraid to face the teenaged girl with Crowfeather's pelt and Silver's face. From time to time she wondered if children, again, were something she sought this impending year; and if Wren could bring herself to become mother when she had fought so hard to avoid it a few seasons ago.
She lays, now, splayed with belly exposed by the side of the perhaps dozing sharpfang.

recovery was a slow dragging process. silvertongue woke often in terror, not with cries or screams, but eyes fluttered open to a body locked by remembered terror and anguish, her gaze the only thing that could move in these moments, darting always for wren. and wren was seldom away, and so when the horror passed and the sharpfang was granted the use of her limbs once more, it was in shaking breath she reached for her lover. still here. still alive. in such paroxysm she awakened now, chest weighted as if by a thousand stones, her immobilization complete down to her ankles and tail. this time, as wren took soft, sleeping breaths alongside her, silvertongue did not panic; she stared at the stars above them and for the first time, she prayed to the clan whom crowfeather had taught her lived among their glowing bodies.

for a woman who often spoke too much, there was nothing, at first, that came from wren's lips save for a soft moan laced still with sleep. the first thing she notices is the burning soreness that snaps and snarls within the meat upon her bones. the second thing she notices is that silvertongue, too, is awake, and that her head is tipped upward to the broad stretch of constellations.
do you ever see things in them? she asks, shuffling so that one paw may reach out toward her. always touching; always. like, shapes and shit. my ma always used to make up names for them.
with the paw exposed bitterly to the cold, she points to a string of three dimly lit stars, all in a row. that one she called the hunter.

apologies for the sudden lowercase i'm tryin it out LOL

no worries! <3

chest rising with a breath, silvertongue listened to wren's voice as she traced the gestured star with eyes that had regained some tiny semblance of wonder. for now, she could not speak, but as they remained in the warm quietude of their communion, the unseen shackles at last slipped from the thin body. there came a slow blink, and then silvertongue turned her head to face wren, cheek pillowed on vibrantly soft grass. "all i know of the stars is what i learned in riverclan. i would like to hear more." voice imperfect, breaking gently with cracked tone, but earnest and affectionate despite the weakness.

she always used to tell me there were faces in the clouds, and that the stars write messages to us, it seemed so ridiculous in hindsight, didn't it? a hushed, dry laugh crawls from the fang's chest. the hunter is, like, part of some bigger shape, but i don't remember what she called it. there's all kinds of little shapes in the big shapes.
gazing upon them now made her feel inescapably small; miniscule beneath such a vast array of other worlds. wren wonders if her mother can still see the stars from wherever she rests in eternity. what did riverclan teach you about 'em?

"i am told" — by whom? they knew "— that the stars hold our ancestors. our mentors. that they speak to us in visions." solely because she was able, solely for the pleasure of touch and the loveliness of autonomy, silvertongue lifted her rawboned arm and brushed the back of her wrist along the edge of wren's mouth. "starclan." her eyes filled with something unreadable, but at last it was not pain, only wondering.

starclan?
so, like, wren's eyebrows knit in earnest. heaven? but not heaven. are the stars the souls, then?
her father had always made claims she had worked so hard to unwrite. salvation, damnation. what actions would land you where. she found an unruly joy in knowing how enraged he would be by the way silvertongue's arm draped now across her chest.
her lips brush against the dainty wrist. y'think we'll go up there with 'em when we kick the bucket? then, her brows knit together quizzically. maybe we can haunt people together. send 'em spooky visions.

silvertongue slowly nodded, but she did not know all of starclan. she had not asked crowfeather enough, and now. and now. "i hope that we are together when we haunt people," the sharpfang teased, drawing wren now closer for a kiss that lingered, even if she was still too weak for them yet to smoulder together in the long green shadows. soon, her eyes said, for once devoid of all pain if only for a glancing moment. "they are more mentors, starclan. we come to them for wisdom. there is a way they come to us, through a vision."

together, even in death. wren felt herself warm at the thought. i followed you to the desert, her teeth graze playfully against the plush lower lip. you'll bet your ass i'll be following you around the spirit realm.
the desert had been close enough to it, anyway.
have you ever had one? wren's eyes dance from a cluster of stars to the moonglitter of silvertongue's eyes. a vision. are they like dreams?

"once, i think. but i was only a child." she did not want to elaborate yet on the parents who had been arguing too fiercely to realize she had disappeared from them, the meek mother who had represented weakness for a child named belen, a father cruel enough to admire. "but starclan has not come to me before, no. perhaps i am not worthy," she said with an arch of her brow.

or maybe they have something big planned for you, wren comments, one ear twitching in thought. maybe they're not worthy of you.
in the same way that i am not.
she rolls over with a nudge of cold nose to the junction of silver's chin that says move with me. if allowed, strong forelimbs would snake over the thin set of her hips. it felt good to speak of these things; it felt good to know her.
you really think i'll get to go to starclan one day? y'know, after we're done terrorizing the mortals. settle down in the afterlife.

"i am not sure. i want to think there is something after this." something with you. "a place where we are whole again." a place where i met you first and loved you first. her heart was hurting so much it felt as though her chest might crack, expand; "i must rest, querida. stay with me." silvertongue knew by now that she did not need to ask. it was freely given.

fading here!! <3 another?

i hope so too, baby. a kiss is delicately placed to the cold tip of a feathery ear. belief is all that matters, right?
a sigh, content, warm; she buries her face in the ruff of silvertongue's neck and closes her eyes as her body shudders with the cold. get some sleep. i love you.
i love you. casual, easy, simple, the way things were always meant to be. perhaps now they could be that way forever.