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Post by Kodiak on Sept 8, 2011 20:47:37 GMT -5
Indubious orbs shifted warily to the queen, watching her departure with keen attention. Sharp feline eyes advert to the healer. There was qualm in his gaze, but he veiled it in cryptic silence. “Until then he is with me.” Yes…Loststar. Hailcloud dips his ashen head briskly and departs to help Waterpulse. Shardstar named you well.. A scene replayed before him, blurred by memory. And old and frail cat crumpled beneath others, the deep aura of grief radiating from each visitor. The cat held the highest league of importance, as the sorrow was felt in everyone who bore witness. One cat in particular, ashen white and delicate, regarded the portrayal with a duel sense of melancholy and achievement. She stood over her fading leader, offering not a word in parting. The weakening tom’s voice held shocking vigor, though his body had exhausted its limits. With a last spark of energy, he summoned his deep vocals, and let doubtful glare fall upon his deputy. “Your paws have become lost on your path, this cat has gone astray. You will be a leader, but with a title that will remind all of Starclan’s Lost faith in you.”
I was young and beautiful once. My fur soft and tender to the tip, rich with youth. Now there will be no one left to remember the appearance I held, the era of acceptance. Pale lips drooped awkwardly, weighed down on one side. Left eyelid sagged heavily, making Loststar's face appear stretched. Paws embraced the kitten, pulling it close to her chest. I have lost everything that ever had meaning. My mentor, my mother, father, sister, children..But I have you.. Claws unsheathed with no discretion, piercing the kittens fur. A lithe tom held a position unnoticed by them.White striped flanks turned against the nursery, eyes narrowed to sharp flints, fixed in a glare although not looking. Senior warrior, Lightstep has his back distinctly turned, purposely shunning the pair.
Elder set his narrowed eyes set upon the deputy. The old tom let a distinct snort rattle his frail body. “May Starclan grant these young’ins have the same amount courtesy as you when they’re older, Roanfur.” With a brisk flick of his tail, he returned to his den “I don’t wanna hunt!” Pipped the young feline to his mentor, youthful eyes wide in expanding in foolish excitement. The fear had completely deserted Frogpaw, like it never once existed. “I want to get fresh moss for all the new kittens!” “Smart plan, better off leaving the hunting to the skilled apprentices.” Scorchpaw sneered crudely, before giving a rough nudge to his sister. She followed him quietly as he padded away.
Snakekit began to dream. Twisting and turning at every rustle, every shadow. The grim world around him gripped him with unfathomable fear, sinking in his shaking form like articulate thorns. He explored in trepid instinct, but also in discernible interest.The petite kitten was searching. Over time, the panic bore in, completely immersing the young cat into overwhelming despair that inundated all of his sense. Drab orbs shot open, frail body waking in a shudder. Snakekit’s flanks rattled desperately for air. Exasperated, the feline gazes fastidiously around for Holypaw, only to find that he is alone. I cant go back..The shaking began to lessen at a slow pace. Never go back..
A tom crossed the clearing of the Grass Clan camp, prime of his life, he was a cat of study physic beneath a lithe exterior. Sunlight struck his fur, brilliant ginger glowed under the brink of the day. Tongue caressed thick fur protruding from his chest at an attempt to tame the wild strands, only to have them unleash freely once again. He had recently retired from informing a group of senior warriors of their daily duties, and sought out the apprentice den. A curious head protruded the entrance, curious eyes seeking a single cat.Senses scoured for his apprentice, if unsuccessful, he would continue his searching further in the depths of the camp.
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Post by asail on Dec 29, 2011 4:23:04 GMT -5
The older cat sauntered casually up to the bungalow where the apprentice lay dusted in a heap of loosened earth. “Come,” Gravelclaw’s pale eyes hovered on the young one with impassive regard. “I will teach you how to fight.” Spiderpaw studied him in diffident hesitation, the grisly tom indifferent to his underling’s reservations, departing from him with the smooth lackadaisical jaunt he had arrived with. Spiderpaw’s wide eyes blinked at the dubious thought his trainer would leave him, yet felt his heart quicken to faster and faster of a pace as the blur of his teacher grew slimmer and narrower until the urbane swivel of his master’s smooth stride was smeared from perspective. Spiderpaw tripped over his delicate paws, tiny bounds leaping into stumbles as he hurried to chase after Gravelclaw, the dust that had tempered his eccentric pelt a bloom in the air. He romped after his teacher with wounded class, awkward and unmindful of the sticks and mulch in his frazzled state, diminutive chest rapidly huffing. The mangy Gravelclaw maintained his superior gait, the vanilla sweet sunlight glinting through the canopy capturing the smaller cat; onyx pelt endowed with a bleary halo, and the fall stains blaring like kindle. The light, however, seemed nervous about Gravelclaw, for the cherub like glow of summer on the backs of nature’s creature’s had misplaced him. The cool whispering grasses softened by effulgence, the worn white bark of older elms lurid and relaxed in the light. Yet Gravelclaw’s matted pelt, greased with the dirt and grime of living, was dull, the patterns of grays etching his fur the only dimensions it possessed, flat, and without the shine of the sun’s beloved nectar. A pang of something Spiderpaw didn’t quite understand throbbed somewhere in his heart. Unfortunately, his focus spent on travels, vast eyes perusing the tree tops and the succulent scenes of the forest, the sensation went almost completely unnoticed and vanished altogether. They ventured to a darker part of the woods, into a dense copse he had never been before. The bark and tangles of bracken bleached with unusual scents, the strongest, he recognized with a grimace, was that of his own teacher. Gravelclaw patrolled the border of the enclosed glen, scenting a choice few leaves on a nearby thorn bush, his left ear twitching with a calculating sharpness of motion. “I am going to attack you, once. I will not tell you when,” Spiderpaw’s orbs spanned, blanching beneath a film of zealous fear, unprepared, and naïve. A sly tongue curled from Gravelclaw’s grinning mouth, stroking a whisker, wrinkling his face in an unpleasantly blithe manner. “Nor will I ever tell you or abate my strength. Rather,” He emitted a cool chuckle, spilling hollow from his mouth as if on a secondary plane of thought. “You should learn to defend yourself… Very quickly.” Gravelclaw’s gnarled ears swayed to play a coy tilt at the side of his head. Spiderpaw’s legs trembled, the feeling of his forelegs collapsing as adrenaline transfused with his gelid blood, numbing his tremulous, petrified form; a pure and darting form of pent, pensive energy—a tightened ball of twine threatening to spring, only to unravel. Paws ravaged the earth as Gravelclaw burst forward, talons serrated with grit and chips, his eyes blazing with a zealous and radical thirst. Spiderpaw’s mewl emitted a soundless gape of his meek jaws, rushing to scramble away, hysteric for safety. An agony cracked his skull as a heavy paw battered him in repeated, scathing swats, stone shearing deep into his supple skin, raking in through the pelt. Spiderpaw saw colors, teeth secured his scruff pulling the tenuous flesh. Gravelclaw pounded at the younger cat’s frail body until throwing his bedraggled form to skid and flip across the disheveled ground. Plumes of dust smoked from the sands, Gravelclaw’s eyes harsh and feral as he ravaged the child, striking him across the copse floor with cruel repetition, eyes growing brighter as the swipes grew in increasing ferocity. Spiderpaw outreached his forearms, grasping for escape, agony abusing his mind to blind and outrageous fright, his only glimpses of movement between battery withering, gradually disintegrating to nothing more than pathetic gasps of motion, halting, dilapidated, bruised. Faint motes of blood muddled the sands and saturated meager portions of the sordid fur at Gravelclaw’s maw and jowl. He regarded the apprentice, paralyzed by misery and quietly wheezing, with rosy calm, peace tendering his eyes and infusing the deep swallows of his lungs with fullness. He watched sanguine gouges in the apprentice’s body inflame and pucker with a flint of a smile, satisfied as if by food or drink, basking in the indulgence of a sated mind. Spiderpaw’s orbs swiveled slowly to gaze up at the cat who loomed above him; the irises faded by anguish but vibrant with a pitiful and heart wrenching disbelief. Gravelclaw eased his jaws to open, tasting the roof of his mouth, his long unkempt tail aimlessly swaying. “The scabs I gave you can be armor for tomorrow.” Spiderpaw maintained his weak consciousness, feeling viscid warmth compress his fur, imagined it invade the autumn patches of his pelt with claret stains— a red snake swallowing him. His eyesight wavered, and as he envisioned his blood and his pain in the face of his mentor, another feeling placed a black seed in his heart—never to be dislodged.
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Post by asail on Jun 25, 2012 14:10:58 GMT -5
Waterpulse swept flattened paws across the ground of the back nursing den, sifting the disheveled earth, brushing up spurs and loose thorns to cart away in her mouth to the back corners so as they would not harm the tenants close at hand. She kept her limpid eyes on labor, yet her stubborn mind consistently drifted. She ruffled the hairs at her ears with a dusty paw, face pinched as sinful thoughts wandered, darkness draining her of strength and madness parching her throat. Her lips parted meekly and her breath felt cold as it left her trembling frame. “Oh, Starclan… What has become of us?” Her billows of fur bristled to the tail tip as her weary prayer spoke listlessly back to her in an echo against the walls, horror afflicted her and immediately devoured her in disbelief and self-disgust. Clan was family, and you never question its solidarity. However, the foul thoughts she dismembered merely multiplied, and bred, in fear, below the conscious level she was willing to acknowledge, and the happy cat feigned ignorance. Delicate paws navigated the tangles of weathered roots constituting the nursery floor, slipping through the notch and into the main hall, trouble no long weighing her lips but a great fatigue had washed over her. Her skull, lumbering close to the floor to scent for sickness or yelping that needed attended to, raised and found the elder warrior within her vision. A smile wore into her mouth in regard, sparing a few nimble strides across the roots so her voice, lowered in respect to the burdened females around her, could be heard. “Lightstep, pleasant evening,” She purred cordially. “You are here to see Starlingsong, correct? She’s in the back den, many bright moons to you and your kin.” The traditional words tasted stale on her tongue and as the warrior (I’m assuming) walked passed her, she curled her tongue upon the roof of her mouth to crush the taste. Lassitude rattled her joints, tuckered wind emptied from her trialed lungs, then she noticed—the den she stood athwart from was her sisters. Pain settled, but was then slighted by piercing alarm as she realized the length of time the kittens had been left with an attendee. She hurried into the pass, translucent eyes arched, but then grew shallow as relief tempered her breast. The gravid female dozed on her swollen side, two kittens, in a drowsy bundle, nestled and squirming in tender curiosity under her delicate paw as she groomed them absently. For a moment it seemed the third kitten had disappeared and she stiffened from the terrible thought, but her quickened gaze fell upon the child huddled in isolation behind the attendant’s leg. Waterpulse’s tail curled at her leg, contentment warming her bosom as the indelible pangs the day had endowed her were assuaged by present joys. Her salutation fell cold, dusk’s red light filtering through the bracken and mingling with the darkness so it spurted and licked and devoured in hellish bedlam, laughing and cackling hell fire. Incandescent dust was ignited by the red light and oozed about the chamber in molten, churning cataracts, all of which seemed to swirl and center and pour from the tiny kitten before her. It raised its head, and, for a moment, the sun embalmed its fur in lurid blaze, a burning aura, a demon’s crown. She understood then—Starclan had given her a revelation. Blood of day and body sullied her frigid paws, her spine stiff and frame so tense her shivering threatened its breaking. The queen, Stillshadow, who had finally noticed her, questioned her softly in alarm. She did not heed, nor answer, nor hear, for it had all become clear—it was this one, this one had killed her. She could no longer say whether she was breathing.
She craned her head toward the coming light, feathers of her chest crested by dew and the chocolate which striped her white fur was enriched by the glorious sunlight permeating the trees that she endeavored to scale. She clambered at the base of higher boughs groaning under the winds, the bark a superb grip for her claws, hunched forward with an eager fervor slighted only by a glaring lack of experience. Yet, this assumption, begged by the shivering of her lithe limbs and the imbalanced crouch of her slender form, was pitifully false as Rowanpaw’s singular virtue was her drive to conquer her incompetence and thus had most likely spent hours in the high timbers. Unfortunately, whether in the dirt or sky her plague of impotence ravaged her and often scorned her from success, in the disturbance of leaves and the crack of small twigs, in the noise of her pounce and the clumsiness of her reach. The curse arose as her paws curled to grip the tree’s progressive branch, its girth, miscalculated, giving way with an awful crack and tumbled out from beneath her who, having been leaning too heavily forward, tumbled down in a carnival of flora and cacophony into the bushes athwart the apprentice’s den. She landed into sores, tangled in her tail and prostrated to the elements, forelegs bent at her heaving chest and belly coyly savoring its brief exposure to the sun’s warmth. She shook her head, debris and mulch scattering from the coal marks of her cheeks, whiskers quivering, agitated with shame. Her paws stretched, one swiping listlessly at the air, lids falling in exasperation while a sigh churned from her abused body. Words crept secretly from her scowling mouth, “Sore again, I see” She criticized herself with childish bitterness.
Holypaw’s nimble gait led her toward the alcove of boxes where snakekit lay, her mind encumbered by brooding thoughts. Her normally brisk trot was a detached, slow progression as she dwelled on grave thoughts. She was awakened from her ruminating upon seeing her friend conscious, though the breath of glee wilted as she recognized his alarm, smile paled and toes prickled in worry, making cursory work of the last steps toward the youth. She purred meekly to comfort him, head low to calm him with her scent and presence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left. I did not want to be gone when you awoke,” Her eyes, bright and tender with worry, searched him for complications that may have caused him such an unruly stir. “I promise I was only gone for a few heart beats,” She cooed, her tongue passing a brief, warm lick across the fur at the top of his head. “Please forgive me.” She knew she had only moments before her escort to Poison Clan arrived and she would have to leave this fragile, febrile child again, and the thought ached her. There was an instant, sitting with this new friend, when she resolved not to go, to betray her word and leave that region of enmity and nihilism to oblivion. An immediate shame scalded her, and the very fact of that callous thought having existed in her subconscious abhorred her, her light limbs and delicate shoulder blades succumbing to slight quivers. She brushed her face against snakekit’s, uncertain as to whether she was persisting to comfort him or herself, and the equivocal property of such a supposedly kind gesture depressed her. Her moods, distressing as they were, came as no mystery to her. She was afraid. She was frightened of Doublestar and of his capabilities. What could she, a low apprentice, do to confront a cat who had turned an entire generation of cats away from starclan? But she could not refuse to help; she could never refuse. Her slight, thin form began to shake harder as she suppressed her worries, her voice blithe and calm while absently rubbing her nose into Snakekit’s neck. “I need to go somewhere soon. There are people in the north who really need my help, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Tomorrow, if I can manage,” She reclaimed her pink nose from the scruff of his neck, soft and staid in voice. “Will you wait for me?” Her composure in poise never seemed to falter, eased upon her haunches, slight spine erect, an equanimity exuding from her shape but dismantled by her trembling, by the earnest look of her face upon his with her rounded, quivering ears fighting to cower into her dove colored pelt. She imagined, disdainfully at herself, how mawkish and sad she probably seemed to him; a cat who, in fervent apprenticeship and obsessive verve after ancestors and magic, forgot to make honest friends, and, subsequently, had but one friend: this sick, shaking, precious cat who had looked for her when he awoke.
Roanfur ignored the taunting youth, his massive, imperial form seeming to swell as he straightened further, muscular chest taut and puffed outward as he gazed at the young cat, deprecating, troubled. “A true cat thinks of his clan, not of himself,” He chastised calmly, bold ears sharp and tall upon his skull. “Do you wish to be a true cat?” He frowned. To many young cats his cutting green eyes always appeared scrutinizing, but the elders always spoke of him a different way, the perspicacious or those willing to spare the time to look could see it for themselves as well, that his eyes, for all their frightening and biting color, were oddly empty.
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