Post by Phoenix on Jan 29, 2015 22:29:30 GMT -5
YOU’VE HELD YOUR HEAD UP. YOU’VE FOUGHT THE FIGHT.
She thought that the mist that curled around the trees like a winding snake was closer to that which one might expect during Leaf-Fall, not warmer moons toward the end of New-Leaf. Yet there it was, coiled and lying in wait, though perhaps the fog itself was not as predatory as the monsters that could had cloaked themselves in its depths. Hidden behind its own shield, the sun did little to illuminate the shadows and chase away the seemingly perpetual air of mystery that occupied NightClan territory. All of her life had been spent beneath the boughs of the evergreen forest, and though she felt as comfortable within the boundaries as anyone would their own home, she did not pretend to know all of its secrets. The world around her had a mind of its own, and against whatever it might throw at her, she was but a fly in the wind, only able to react and rely on herself to make the best of the situation.
Life – and StarClan, if they were there – certainly would not do it for her.
There was no mercy from the stars. She had learned that moons ago, when her world had been flipped upside down by the disappearance of her brother. What had happened and how it had occurred were set in stone, and it seemed as though everyone understood everything about it. They did – everything except the most important, wretched, and heartbreaking part. Hazepaw was now presumed dead by the majority of the clan. But a body was never found. How could they be so sure that he was gone? Few questioned what reason dictated, and indeed, the seemingly undeniable logic was insidious, worming into the depths of her mind that sheltered the skeleton of hope. And forced her to face an ugly truth: how could she, his own supposedly steadfast sister, find herself starting to doubt her own conviction in his survival so soon after his disappearance?
How often had she walked this path – metaphorically and literally. Every day, it seemed, her paws brought her to this now-familiar part of the territory. Sheltered from all of the elements but the sun, it lay nestled toward the back of their land, and had her brother not introduced it to her, she might never have discovered it on her own. He had never told her of his favor for it, but she could see proof of its near-sacredness in the way he had relaxed upon entering the clearing. Indeed, she understood the appeal; pine needles formed a soft blanket, smoothing out the rough forest floor, and the arching branches of the trees above allowed just the right amount of sunlight to illuminate the lower levels. It was the perfect place for a nap, and her brother was very familiar with those.
Walking in the area herself, she could almost sense the ghost of Hazepaw – perhaps not his ghost, for he might not be dead, so perhaps his spirit – striding along beside her. His presence seemed to linger in the small clearing, and though she knew that it was only a projection of her mind – a potent mixture of memories and emotion – she indulged herself and sank into its depths. White fur, meticulously groomed as always, mixed with the darker pine needles as she settled down in a patch of sunlight. Out of habit, she inclined her head and ran a sandpaper tongue across already flat chest fur, blinking. Today was harder than yesterday. She missed Hazepaw.
Life – and StarClan, if they were there – certainly would not do it for her.
There was no mercy from the stars. She had learned that moons ago, when her world had been flipped upside down by the disappearance of her brother. What had happened and how it had occurred were set in stone, and it seemed as though everyone understood everything about it. They did – everything except the most important, wretched, and heartbreaking part. Hazepaw was now presumed dead by the majority of the clan. But a body was never found. How could they be so sure that he was gone? Few questioned what reason dictated, and indeed, the seemingly undeniable logic was insidious, worming into the depths of her mind that sheltered the skeleton of hope. And forced her to face an ugly truth: how could she, his own supposedly steadfast sister, find herself starting to doubt her own conviction in his survival so soon after his disappearance?
How often had she walked this path – metaphorically and literally. Every day, it seemed, her paws brought her to this now-familiar part of the territory. Sheltered from all of the elements but the sun, it lay nestled toward the back of their land, and had her brother not introduced it to her, she might never have discovered it on her own. He had never told her of his favor for it, but she could see proof of its near-sacredness in the way he had relaxed upon entering the clearing. Indeed, she understood the appeal; pine needles formed a soft blanket, smoothing out the rough forest floor, and the arching branches of the trees above allowed just the right amount of sunlight to illuminate the lower levels. It was the perfect place for a nap, and her brother was very familiar with those.
Walking in the area herself, she could almost sense the ghost of Hazepaw – perhaps not his ghost, for he might not be dead, so perhaps his spirit – striding along beside her. His presence seemed to linger in the small clearing, and though she knew that it was only a projection of her mind – a potent mixture of memories and emotion – she indulged herself and sank into its depths. White fur, meticulously groomed as always, mixed with the darker pine needles as she settled down in a patch of sunlight. Out of habit, she inclined her head and ran a sandpaper tongue across already flat chest fur, blinking. Today was harder than yesterday. She missed Hazepaw.
Brightfeather | NightClan | Warrior | Dust to Dust – The Civil Wars
YOU BEAR THE SCARS. YOU’VE DONE YOUR TIME.