Post by feeling kinda blue on Jan 28, 2016 18:44:18 GMT
The instant he felt Newtclaw's skin pull in his mouth Batwing tightened his grip so that as the black and white tom rolled to his feet Batwing was nearly pulled to his feet before he finally convinced his jaw to release. He tried to not slink back into the mud but it was a tough fight. Thin limbs shaking, lungs heaving, Batwing tried to tell himself not to breathe hard. Not to suck in air greedily, not to shake, not to drop back to the ground and go limp. If he did that meant Newtclaw won and there would be no end to the gloating, to the teasing, to the scorn. Even as Newtclaw snarled at him Batwing couldn't quite make out what he said, ears ringing as oxygen tried to work its way back into his bloodstream. He blinked against the spots in his vision and without really thinking about it spat out the blood in his mouth. It tasted putrid. 'Because it's family blood' Batwing thought, mildly dazed. Not that family blood had ever counted for much. He stared at it, pooled near Newtclaw's paws. His brother's claws were still out, caked with mud like the rest of his fur...Batwing's claws flexed in response.
It took a moment before Batwing realized he'd been sitting in the mud, half propped up, body refusing to sink back to the ground but not quite ready to rise. He'd been staring at his brothers feet, at the blood running down Newtclaw's shoulder and painting his fur, at the blood he'd spat out at his brother's feet. Everything felt hazy, blurred at the edges. Batwing's whole body felt vaguely squashed. Weakness. All of it. Every time. He lost because he was small. Thin. Weak. Breakable. His claws flexed, biting into the soft mud. Frustration churned in his belly and anger, rage, burned in his veins, flashed in his eyes as he finally dragged his gaze away from Newtclaw's feet. He'd had enough of that unpleasant view to last him a lifetime...ever since he'd been a kit. Everyday. Every hour. Disregard. Snide sneers. Simpering. Tutting. Oh how Batwing was sick of it all.
'Just get out of here!'
A flare of rage burst in Batwing's belly and his amber eyes flashed. Dragging himself out of the mud the skinny tom was able to get his feet under him. He lashed his tail and glared at Newtclaw, his pelt caked with mud and sleek against his sides from the rain and muddy water. His spine straightened and Batwing kept his head high, silently hating the drastic difference in size between them.
"That's not for you to decide," Batwing snarled. "You can't send me away and I won't let you kill me so screw you," the small tom snarled. "Do us both a favor: Get a hobby and quit planning my funeral."
Nearly thirty moons they'd had this same song and dance. Snarl, snap, fight, stalk away and huff. Newtclaw would go back to their cousins and tell them stories of Batwing's weakness, tell them how he'd squashed Batwing into the mud and could have snapped the smaller tom in half. They would guffaw and tut at him for not just doing them the favor of finishing it off. Rosestar would cast them a glare but not correct them. No one ever did. It didn't matter that Batwing was just as much ShadowClan as they were. He didn't fit and so he might as well pop off and die like a good little kittypet. Screw that. Batwing had bucked the system from day one and he wasn't about to bend to his arrogant brother and stuffed up cousins. Mousedung on that. Mousedung on them.
'Don't shake,' Batwing told himself, glaring into his brother's eyes. 'Don't tremble. You can slink off and lick your wounds later but if you do it now he'll eat you alive.'
Had there ever been a time when Batwing didn't think of Newtclaw the same way he thought about a fox or a badger? No...probably not. At least he respected the badger and the fox. What would the world have been like if the brothers could have gotten along?
'Sentiment. He's no better than the rest. Never has been.'
Notes: this is getting really interesting..he's getting emotional for some reason
Word count: 703
Tagged: @sandfire
