|
Post by Deleted on Oct 18, 2017 20:59:23 GMT -5
Rushwhisker stepped out of Stormstar's den, ears angled forward as he stared into the dense fog that had rolled in overnight, barely able to see more than a few mouselengths in front of him. He kept to the edges of camp as he maneuvered through the mist, moving carefully and keeping his senses open for any sign of a Clanmate, passing around the word that Stormstar had asked him to deliver to the Clan. Patrols would be delayed, apprentices were to remain in camp until the fog cleared or at least lightened, helping to clear old bedding and replace it with new moss. A few warriors trickled out to attempt to fish and bring back a bit of prey for the morning, but most cats took full advantage of the delay to sleep in.
Rushwhisker sat at the base of the River Stone, sentinel in the swirling silver fog, alert for any sign of apprentices growing bored and trying to sneak out. He heard cats moving around him, but was lucky to see even dull shadows of where they were, and only when they moved particularly close to him. The camp was alive, even if it couldn't be seen, moving like so many fish through murky waters. He heard one of the elders gathering apprentices and kits alike near for a story and his whiskers twitched in amusement, wondering what it would be about. He stood and moved closer to hear, curious if it would be one he'd heard before.
“When the Clans first came to the valley they endured an entire moon filled with fog like this. Kits opened their eyes for the first time and could not even see their mothers before their noses. They could not see their littermates beside them.” Elders and their hyperbole. Rushwhisker shook his head lightly, doubting any fog had ever lasted an entire moon, but continuing to listen for lack of much better to do. At least it was keeping the apprentices entertained for a little while. “One young kit had fur as silver as the mist, and so that is what her mother named her: Mistkit. Now, she was born before the mist had come, she knew what it was to run and play and see the world, but she had not gotten much of a chance to do so before the mist obscured it all. She wanted to explore more, to see more of the world. She was sure if she just got out of camp, she could escape the mist.”
Ears flicking back, Rushwhisker wondered if he should stop the story. Stormstar wanted the apprentices in camp, not exploring the territory out in the mist, trying to escape it like this supposed Mistkit. But he waited, hoping the story would take the opposite turn. “Mistkit slipped out of camp easily, after all no cat could see her in the fog, and it also dulled every cat's sense of smell, made her hard to track. When her mother finally noticed her absense, search parties left to look for her, but her scent trail simply disappeared into the camp stream and no cat could find where she had come out on the other side. Still, they searched every day, to no avail. Finally the mist cleared. A thorough search was conducted, but little Mistkit was never found.”
Rushwhisker sighed lightly. It was a story with a lesson, imprinting into the younger cats of the Clan the dangers of the mist. Good. Hopefully it would deter them from trying to leave camp. He was about to stand, to perhaps see if he could scrape up a small hunting patrol, but the elder continued. The story wasn't done. “The next time a fog rolled in, some moons later, a fishing patrol went out into the mist. After all, mist or no, the Clan still needs to eat. While they were out, each cat swore they heard a kit playing, laughing in the mist. But when they tried to track the kit down to take it back to camp, there was nothing to be found at all. Not even the slightest scent.” Rushwhisker heard a few frightened gasps and murmurs among the younger cats and found himself leaning forward slightly to hear more. “When the patrol returned to camp, they went to the queens to ask if any kits were missing, but every kit was accounted for. A little later in the day, however, a kit went missing. The kit's littermates told their mother that Mistkit had asked them to play with her, out in the camp stream, but they had all known better. All except their littermate that had disappeared.”
“Wh-what... happened to them?” a small, quavering voice asked, as if afraid to know the answer. Rushwhisker could tell it was one of the kits.
“They never found the lost kit,” the elder answered, “No cat knows what happened. And every time fog rolled in after that, queens kept a real close eye on their kits... but every so often one would still go missing, or some poor apprentice who thought they were being helpful, trying to bring a kit back to camp, or even a warrior. They all disappeared without a trace, but plenty of cats kept hearing Mistkit, asking cats to play with her in the fog.” There were squeaks of fear, and some of the apprentices tried to put on a brave front, assuring the kits in uncertain voices that it was just a story made to scare them. Rushwhisker shook his head again. He wasn't sure about using such a frightening story to keep the younger cats in line, but... better frightened than hurt or worse, he supposed. He stood and turned, intending to get together that fishing patrol, when out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught sight of movement accompanied by a soft giggle, and a young voice asking him if he wanted to play.
|
|