Post by nimble on Jun 19, 2018 22:06:58 GMT -5
The stars seemed dimmer to Featherstep than they had before. Before what? She couldn't quite remember. It had been so long since the world had felt right to her. Seasons had passed since she'd left NightClan, following omens like a kit chasing crickets. She'd become so caught up in the journey, so consumed by starlight, that she had hardly noticed how her waking world was changing. Her paws carried her beyond the very farthest peaks that could be seen from her birthplace, so distant that even the breeze didn't taste the same. But, oh, how the moon had bathed her path in silver, shadows clinging to her pelt like friends. Most nights, she could feel spirits moving beside her, ethereal companions in the lorn alpine scape they shepherded her through.
Deep within the mountains, Featherstep had found the Tribe, a group of cats not unlike the clans – well, minus the warlike tendencies. She'd lived among them, hunting and healing, sharing tongues and entertaining with tales of NightClan and of home. But it was not until their cave home treacherously collapsed that it became clear to her why she'd been led there. It was then that Featherstep felt the weight of the sky itself drop upon her shoulders. The Tribe's leader, Stoneteller, had been among those killed in the cave-in. She shuddered. Those were not to be the last of the lives lost. Greencough had swept through the Tribe, and with the stores of herbs she'd gathered with Stoneteller entombed in the cave, the life fled their stricken bodies, kits and cave-guards and prey-hunters alike. The early onset of leafbare found the remaining cats sheltering in a hollow tree, unable to leave the unforgiving mountains that had been the Tribe's hunting grounds for generations.
When, at last, she'd guided them to their new home, her mind was filled with thoughts of her own. She felt the old, familiar call of the half moon, tugging at her paws and pelt. So, she'd answered. The Moon Tree's cavern proved simple for her to find, and though she ached to enter, to lie among it's twisting, opaline roots once more, to visit StarClan on her own terms, for once.... She'd found herself frozen in place, crouched beneath a bramble, watching at a distance as cats approached the sacred site. Her heart caught in her throat as she recognized the NightClan escorts approaching. Palepaw? The gray tom was surely no longer an apprentice. She thought of Starlingpaw, wondering how she might have grown. When she'd left, after all, she'd been a 'paw herself. She'd shared the traditions of the clans with the tribe, and, before the cave-in, Stoneteller and the other Tribe cats had held a mock-ceremony, giving her her full name. Suddenly she wondered if her mentor would even approve of her naming, her heart pounding in her ears.
Smokefur. The aged gray tabby came into view. Featherstep's heart soared, every muscle preparing to leap out from behind her bramble shroud and bound down the hill to greet her beloved mentor. But the next cat to enter her vision stopped her in her tracks. The way that the black tom strode beside the she-cat... That was no warrior. Suddenly Featherstep felt as if she was a piece of shattered ice. Of course. Of course Smokefur had taken another apprentice. How many seasons had passed? What was she doing? Why was she here? She felt selfish and foolish, hardly daring to breathe as she watched Smokefur and the young black tom enter the cavern. She sat still for a while longer, before silently disappearing into the night, undetected by the clan cats.
When she'd returned to the Tribe, she didn't mention what had happened, instead working beside Rumble of Distant Thunder to settle and rebuild. She taught him of the valley's herbs, versing him in splints and poultices, in coughs and fevers. It was clear to her that he'd follow the same path that Stoneteller had before him. She shared with him what she could about the spirits of their ancestors, though she knew the stars had a way of making themselves known to their chosen. The seasons they spent working alongside one another made them closely bonded, friends and allies. But all at once, Featherstep had noted a flicker of warmth in her belly, foreign and forbidden. It only took one glance from Rumble that lingered curiously, just a fraction of a heartbeat longer than it might have, for Featherstep's blood to freeze in her veins. It was not what StarClan had intended for her. She hadn't given the Tribe much warning. She'd imparted enough knowledge to the ginger tom; he was seasoned enough to care for his Tribe. The stars will guide him, she'd assured herself. It was better that she leave.
Two seasons had passed since she'd left the Tribe. The isolation had gnawed at her for moons, colder than the leafbare she wintered alone, until she'd crossed paths with Blackpelt. He was an odd cat with a warrior's name, though he was not of the clans. He smelled different – not like any tom she'd met before – and the old injury to his ear was unnaturally flat. Nevertheless, he was an innocuous creature, never acting recklessly, and it made him a pleasant companion. He didn't speak much of his past, and she chose not to pry. Blackpelt had traveled from the mountains with the Tribe, but left before Featherstep herself had. She was glad to find a familiar face, and they'd stayed near each other since then, sharing prey and sheltering close to one another.
Now, her heart felt heavier. Her pelt hung closer to her bones. The weight of the sky had worn on her, and it showed. But her pawsteps: they fell as softly as ever.
Words: 966
Tags: @poptart Hellion Taxx
Deep within the mountains, Featherstep had found the Tribe, a group of cats not unlike the clans – well, minus the warlike tendencies. She'd lived among them, hunting and healing, sharing tongues and entertaining with tales of NightClan and of home. But it was not until their cave home treacherously collapsed that it became clear to her why she'd been led there. It was then that Featherstep felt the weight of the sky itself drop upon her shoulders. The Tribe's leader, Stoneteller, had been among those killed in the cave-in. She shuddered. Those were not to be the last of the lives lost. Greencough had swept through the Tribe, and with the stores of herbs she'd gathered with Stoneteller entombed in the cave, the life fled their stricken bodies, kits and cave-guards and prey-hunters alike. The early onset of leafbare found the remaining cats sheltering in a hollow tree, unable to leave the unforgiving mountains that had been the Tribe's hunting grounds for generations.
When, at last, she'd guided them to their new home, her mind was filled with thoughts of her own. She felt the old, familiar call of the half moon, tugging at her paws and pelt. So, she'd answered. The Moon Tree's cavern proved simple for her to find, and though she ached to enter, to lie among it's twisting, opaline roots once more, to visit StarClan on her own terms, for once.... She'd found herself frozen in place, crouched beneath a bramble, watching at a distance as cats approached the sacred site. Her heart caught in her throat as she recognized the NightClan escorts approaching. Palepaw? The gray tom was surely no longer an apprentice. She thought of Starlingpaw, wondering how she might have grown. When she'd left, after all, she'd been a 'paw herself. She'd shared the traditions of the clans with the tribe, and, before the cave-in, Stoneteller and the other Tribe cats had held a mock-ceremony, giving her her full name. Suddenly she wondered if her mentor would even approve of her naming, her heart pounding in her ears.
Smokefur. The aged gray tabby came into view. Featherstep's heart soared, every muscle preparing to leap out from behind her bramble shroud and bound down the hill to greet her beloved mentor. But the next cat to enter her vision stopped her in her tracks. The way that the black tom strode beside the she-cat... That was no warrior. Suddenly Featherstep felt as if she was a piece of shattered ice. Of course. Of course Smokefur had taken another apprentice. How many seasons had passed? What was she doing? Why was she here? She felt selfish and foolish, hardly daring to breathe as she watched Smokefur and the young black tom enter the cavern. She sat still for a while longer, before silently disappearing into the night, undetected by the clan cats.
When she'd returned to the Tribe, she didn't mention what had happened, instead working beside Rumble of Distant Thunder to settle and rebuild. She taught him of the valley's herbs, versing him in splints and poultices, in coughs and fevers. It was clear to her that he'd follow the same path that Stoneteller had before him. She shared with him what she could about the spirits of their ancestors, though she knew the stars had a way of making themselves known to their chosen. The seasons they spent working alongside one another made them closely bonded, friends and allies. But all at once, Featherstep had noted a flicker of warmth in her belly, foreign and forbidden. It only took one glance from Rumble that lingered curiously, just a fraction of a heartbeat longer than it might have, for Featherstep's blood to freeze in her veins. It was not what StarClan had intended for her. She hadn't given the Tribe much warning. She'd imparted enough knowledge to the ginger tom; he was seasoned enough to care for his Tribe. The stars will guide him, she'd assured herself. It was better that she leave.
Two seasons had passed since she'd left the Tribe. The isolation had gnawed at her for moons, colder than the leafbare she wintered alone, until she'd crossed paths with Blackpelt. He was an odd cat with a warrior's name, though he was not of the clans. He smelled different – not like any tom she'd met before – and the old injury to his ear was unnaturally flat. Nevertheless, he was an innocuous creature, never acting recklessly, and it made him a pleasant companion. He didn't speak much of his past, and she chose not to pry. Blackpelt had traveled from the mountains with the Tribe, but left before Featherstep herself had. She was glad to find a familiar face, and they'd stayed near each other since then, sharing prey and sheltering close to one another.
Now, her heart felt heavier. Her pelt hung closer to her bones. The weight of the sky had worn on her, and it showed. But her pawsteps: they fell as softly as ever.
Words: 966
Tags: @poptart Hellion Taxx