Out for a Wiggle-Walk (CROOKEDWING)

[Dewstar]

Now the sun was fully in the sky. Dewstar watched that one hawk descend again, flying overhead, clearly hunting something. He remembered hearing tales of cats that would hunt the bird as it hunted prey, killing both with one blow, and taking out a potential threat. He couldn't remember where they lived or what they were called, but he was sure someone knew. That wasn't the sort of thing he bothered to remember, that kind of ancient tale. Not when it couldn't affect them. Of course, that hunting technique might be helpful. He'd have to bring it up as a possible addition to the training of apprentices (and warriors -- they'd have to learn how to do it, too). That was the sort of thing Dewstar enjoyed putting his mind and energy toward.

Now, however, he was paying specific attention to the she-cat with him. Crookedwing had agreed to come on this walk with him, and he was glad that she did. When he heard of her dreams of the tunnels, he knew that she was important somehow. She could be key in enacting his plans, plans that he was just starting to imagine. He'd never thought that he'd actually see the day when he could act on the discovery he'd made all those moons ago, he simply imagined he'd tell his successor (he assumed Haretail, for she'd been his deputy this entire time) about it. He didn't think Haretail would do much, though, so he'd hoped to find another cat, a successor in this project if not in the leading of the Clan. But it seemed he could do it all now.

Since speak of simply StarClan made the already nervous Crookedwing skittish enough to flee, Dewstar decided to start off fairly simple once they were far enough away from camp that no sense could detect them or what they said from there. "I love the moors," he began, his green eyes sliding over the sloping meadowy hills. A small patch of purple wildflowers popped up a little ways over, and Dewstar decided he wanted to check them out. He wasn't going to take Crookedwing to the tunnels, not just yet, he thought. Perhaps he might change his mind, but as of this instant, he found no good cause to bring her there yet. He hadn't even considered that telling her that they were real might be a good idea. He needed to gain her trust first, make her comfortable. If she was afraid, she would be no help. "Do you get to come out here often?" he inquired once they reached the nearby wildflowers. He opened his mouth to let the scent roll across the top of his mouth. "Mmm. Aren't these flowers lovely?" he murmured.

Yes, Dewstar did literally stop to smell the flowers. They were quite nice. Honestly, Dewstar was old enough that many cats might even forgive raging senility as a fuzzy side effect of his age. Of course, his mind was still quite sharp. He wasn't sure if anything was as sharp as it was in his youth, his claws, teeth, senses, mind, tongue, heart, but he certainly was still himself. In his youth, he probably never would have considered Crookedwing at all. In fact, he hadn't, not up until this day. Wasn't that fascinating? Only passing thoughts, perhaps some cruel words or thoughts during sharing tongues, watching as Brookwing patiently handled Crookedwing. Dewstar was patient, too, but he wasn't kind or nurturing.

Though they hadn't walked too far -- just out of sight, scent, and hearing of the camp -- Dewstar sat down at the edge of the flowers. He didn't know herbs, but he didn't think that this was any particular healing herb. If it was, of course, they could always return and collect some for Sootflower on the way back. Dewstar'd asked about the flowers already, though. Perhaps Crookedwing would know. In fact, he wondered why she was able to go through the typical warrior track -- wouldn't it make sense for her to have been a medicine cat? Instead, the lovely Sootflower was chosen to apprentice for Nightstream. What could Nightstream have been thinking, Dewstar wondered? Although he'd found Sootflower to be an exemplary and talented medicine cat. Perhaps StarClan simply spoke to her and she simply understood them. He hadn't paid attention at that time when she'd been chosen over Crookedwing. But why hadn't she, then, taken on Crookedwing as an apprentice herself? So many questions. Perhaps he would ask the lovely black she-cat. Perhaps he would not.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 759 WORDS | NOTES: so much thinking and staring at flowers lolol

[Crookedwing]

Crookedwing

I WISH THAT I COULD FLY

    Crookedwing didn't know why she agreed to go with. Well, that wasn't entirely true. At first, she had been immediately spooked and surprised by the sudden appearance of Dewstar, having expected that the tom would have been perfectly fine to let the topic be and go on about his life, while she did the same. She had been even further surprised that the tom had come back to seek her company, and make his request, when usually he had nothing to say to her. This was even worse after feeling she may have offended him with her views on StarClan. At first, she had thought ill of the idea, but it was only a split second later that she began to make up her mind, and shakily agree to join him on a walk. Alone. With Dewstar.

    Her walk of shame away from the camp was perhaps the most spectacular thing, because though the eyes still burned in to her, as they all stared in awe, and some at least tried to attempt to act as if they weren't staring, but for once, after just a few steps, she found herself more entranced on what was happening then her prying clanmates. She didn't know the truth behind why her leader had suddenly taken such a keen interest in her, after seventy-two moons of her life had passed without much of his attention. Now, she was strolling behind him, leaving the camp and heading out to the bright moorlands. Stroll was a little nice of a word however. She noted with the slightest hint of bitterness that Dewstar could live up to the word stroll, muscles gliding under his sleek silver pelt as he walked smoothly, with absolute grace, away  from the camp. Crookedwing however made the word stroll look like a cruel joke. She quickly fell several paces behind him as she hobbled and limped, her twisted shoulder slowing her pace significantly as the elder tom kept moving at a face pace."I love the moors."  She hadn't noticed. Lifting her head, she glanced around noncommittally, at the green moor grass and sparce shrubs, before focusing on her paws again. She wouldn't fall behind. The moors were beautiful, she wouldn't deny, and the day promised to be warm, the sun beginning it's climb, the pale blue sky bright over heard. A few puffy clouds floated, more built on the horizon.

    "Do you get to come out here often?" Dewstar came to, what to her seemed to be a very sudden stop and she halted, still a few paces behind him, concerned for a moment, until she noticed him stopping to... to smell the flowers. It took everything in her to choke back a giggle of amusement, the imagine of a cat that she believed to be a big, burly, powerful warrior simply taking the time to sniff the plants. This, she found, put her a little more at ease. "No... well, yes, but not very far." She wasn't able to do border patrols, and her hunting skills were more than sub par. Usually, she only went out for small personal chores, or doing things she could to help around camp, without going far enough to risk running into predators or enemy cats. "Only occasionally, getting materials for the nests, or sometimes I fetch herbs for Sootflower." And fetch herbs she did. It was perhaps one of her favorite chores, as it made her feel far more useful than just collecting and discarding nests. Occasionally, when she could find it growing within WindClan territory, she would even pick lavender to slide into some of the bedding, giving a pleasant smell.

    She finally closed the distance between them, standing over the flowers he currently found interest in, one with purple, bell shaped flowers and thick green leaves. "Mmm. Aren't these flowers lovely?" She sat back on her haunches to take some of the strain off her shoulder, nodding and smiling."They are. It's, ah... It's comfrey I believe. Good for broken bones, you can also line a nest with it to reduce swelling." She swallowed hard to keep her voice from cracking, and dipped her head to sniff the potent herb. Most herbs usually comforted her, likely stemming from it being the one task that made her feel like she had some sort of purpose to her clan- at least for a brief period, until she delivered it, Sootflower thanked her, and then she moved on to a decidedly less important task. She didn't speak as she closed her mouth and raised her head, only sparing Dewstar the quickest, and shyest of glances. For all the crushes in the world though, for as much as her heart skipped at little with that glance, and as much as she'd like to believe he had taken her out here just to enjoy her company, she knew better, for all the ways that wouldn't happen. She couldn't help but feel there was an ulterior motive lurking in her leader's gaze, but for now she continued her silent streak. It wasn't her place- she had no place.

849 words

@dewstar

Sorry if I didn't give you much to go on, my brains fuzzled.

ulla

[Dewstar]

After a certain point, Dewstar realized that Crookedwing had fallen behind. It was a bit too late, though, for it was by the time they had reached the flowers. He resolved not to whoosh ahead of her next time, but to keep a steady and slow pace which she could match comfortably. To Dewstar’s great pleasure, Crookedwing seemed to relax even the slightest as he sniffed the purple plants. He supposed his looking almost ridiculous helped put her at ease. If that was true, then perhaps he should become a clown so that he could really gain her confidence. Although that wouldn’t happen. Dewstar had too much gravity for that type of thing -- but he could be a goofball if he wanted, he thought. Not that he’d tried to in a very long time. In fact, he wasn’t certain if he’d played around just to play since Stonefang died. Did it all always come back to Stonefang? Dewstar was so young, just an apprentice, and yet his heart never yearned for another. Maybe that would change. Did he want it to? Now that he could recognize the emotion as love, did he want to feel that again? Would it make what he had with Stonefang any less special, any less precious, any less treasured? Dewstar feared the answer, in truth.

So it was great for him that being with Crookedwing did nothing because he never found any interest in she-cats. How ironic that he still looked to her with other sinister intentions. “Sinister”! Well, Dewstar probably wouldn’t identify them as sinister, but perhaps that is how they should be defined. He wanted her dreams, he wanted her to guide him to the tunnels. She was the one who could, and if he could harness that ability, use it to explore, use a budding friendship with her to convince the other cats to love and follow them, well… After all, who can resist the sage old leader and the shy disabled seer and their quest to make the Clan strong?

Dewstar listened carefully to Crookedwing, giving her his full attention, even with the lovely purple bell-shaped flowers by his paws. It sounded as if Sootflower used her help but granted her none of the powers and rewards of being a medicine cat. Perhaps if she knew of Crookedwing’s dreams… or perhaps Sootflower had spoken with StarClan and this was what they ordained, that Crookedwing not be a medicine cat. Sootflower always had a better grasp on them than Dewstar ever could hope to.

When Crookedwing finished speaking, Dewstar paused for a moment, feeling the light breeze brush through his fur. At length, he meowed, “How far out would you like to go today? Farther than you’ve been before or within the limits?” He could feel the brown-and-white tabby close to him, and his green gaze almost felt intense to him as he looked at her. Didn’t everyone wish for greatness?

“Comfrey,” he echoed her. If he were corny, he might say, “I’m sure it makes for a comfrey nest!” But Dewstar is not corny and does not make such jokes, if he makes any jokes at all. Though he’s clever, he wields that ability in a different way than a jokester would. “Do we need any? Should we take some with us on the way back?”

The light gray tom enjoyed asking questions. He preferred to watch and wait than to act, truly. It was no secret about him. A true hunter. Like that hawk that flew so high, hovering, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. Though he recalled his thought from before, how the bird could make itself vulnerable as it swooped low to catch its quarry. Would he be just as vulnerable when he finally enacted his plans? Ah, he didn’t want to think about that at the moment and get distracted, so he wouldn’t get distracted. He would look right at Crookedwing and wait for her to answer his series of questions, all of which he tried to phrase with as gentle a voice as possible.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 680 WORDS | NOTES: idk why i'm having trouble doing longer posts ;_; I hope this is enough to go off of!

[Crookedwing]

   

Crookedwing

I WISH THAT I COULD FLY

    “Do we need any? Should we take some with us on the way back?” Crookedwing turned her head back to the herb, inspecting it and wracking her brain. She didn't spend much time in Sootflower's den, only as much as the she-cat would allow. She certainly hadn't been in there at all this morning, having spent her time with Dewstar and briefly with Mintcloud.  She had, however, spent most of the afternoon huddling in the shadows of the medicine cat's den, watching Sootflower waddle around, obsessing over her herb stores and treating a few minor injuries- no broken bones though, so she hadn't really paid attention to the comfrey. She had, however, gathered some not half a moon ago, and still didn't think there had been any breaks, though perhaps a few complaints to Mintcloud about her joints. She frowned and nodded ever so softly. "I... don't think Sootflower needs any more, at least... at least not in her stores for, you know, someone breaking something?" She dipped her head to sniff around and inspect the plant, assuring that it not only was at an optimal point for gathering it's precious root, but there were enough rooted plants in the bundle that they could confidently harvest it without worry that they were hurt the supply. Once she was certain all was well, the plants were healthy and growing, and ready for harvest, she nodded again and pulled back, "We shouldn't get any for Sootflower's stores- those are stocked, but we should harvest a little- Mintcloud would probably appreciate some fresh comfrey for her nest. She seemed a little stiff today, and fresher is always better when lining nests." She made a mental, private note to get a little extra for her own nest. Her spine usually killed her if she wandered too far, but she wouldn't show herself as weak, not to Dewstar, not if she could help it. At the very least, she had to prove she was determined.

     Maybe it was just her being stubborn. “How far out would you like to go today? Farther than you’ve been before or within the limits?” Ah, mousedung. Of course, as soon as she thinks about her shoulder, and staying strong and determined, he asks that. She swallowed hard, and glanced around the moor, avoiding Dewstar's gaze. It wasn't often she went far. Usually, the herbs Sootflower asked her for were relatively close to camp, never towards the borders or, of course, across the borders, where the medicine cat could roam. For the briefest of seconds, she felt a tinge of resentment. Oh, how she would have loved to have those- well, perhaps it wasn't the ability to cross borders and roam freely, it was the ability. The lack of a deformity to hinder her, or, even perhaps just having been made a medicine cat, being given a purpose. She frowned again, now staring out at the horizon, where suddenly a flicker of excitement started in her belly. When was the last time she had gone out? Certainly not since she was an apprentice, and it was required of Brooksong to take her out to learn the territory. She she even really know the territory anymore? Maybe perhaps as far as the Moonpool stream, gathering water or drinking herself, but that was it. It had been so many moons since she had seem more than nearly just the surrounding area of the camp. She was certainly allowed to roam, but there was a foul mixture of her disability slowing her, making it difficult, and the persistent fear that, with virtually zero fighting ability, she would be a sitting duck for predators or enemy clans wishing to pick off a weakling. She turned her attention to Dewstar. Now she had a bodyguard.

    Well, perhaps bodyguard was the wrong term for Dewstar. He would protect her because her had to, she was his clanmate. It was required, the same reason any of them cared about her, save the few of her clan who legitimately cared, like Honeydapple or Cherryspot. They were always too busy to escort her far though. She was usually an... afterthought, even to cats who called her mother- though it wasn't true. That was okay though, that was life. She inhaled, hesitated, and then spoke with surprising conviction. "Farther. I never get to roam... it's difficult... it's dangerous for me." But hey, if an eagle came for her now, maybe Dewstar could save her- or at least tell the clan what happened to her. Oh, Crookedwing died, scooped up by a bird of prey. Next order of business, who wants to be the new designated nest cleaner? She just barely suppressed a indignant snort. She made eye contact with her leader, "I want to explore today."

796 words

@dewstar

Ugh.

ulla

[Dewstar]

Dewstar nodded at Crookedwing’s declaration that they probably didn’t need any more comfrey. He didn’t know, so he’d take her word for it. If they were to come back this exact way, then Dewstar might suggest again that they snatch a clump, but it wasn’t a priority, he figured.

When Crookedwing spoke again, after pondering his question, Dewstar felt the lift of pleasure and anticipation in his chest. He would take her to the tunnels. Why wait? Well, there were probably many reasons to wait, for it was only earlier this morning that she had revealed her dreams to him, but now the ever-patient Dewstar saw something and didn’t want to wait. Crookedwing seemed excited about the prospect of proceeding onward, and Dewstar would give her what she wanted -- and what he wanted.

“Then explore we shall,” he replied, rising to his paws. This time when he walked, he adjusted his pace every time he needed to so that he would never leave Crookedwing behind, always trying to match his shoulder with hers.

They traveled for a while, and Dewstar was always willing to stop and rest if Crookedwing would need it or requested, or he would slow down if he thought he saw she might be struggling. No matter her state, he tried to be helpful and to make sure she didn’t feel ashamed. Once, he asked that they stop, complaining of his old bones jokingly. The gray tom might’ve been sore, but he wasn’t falling apart. Perhaps it was his extra lives that kept him going strong. Either way, it was a lie, but he was a fairly competent liar.

Finally, when it was almost sunhigh, Dewstar stopped the circuitous route through the rolling hills and halted at a small pile of torn underbrush and brambles and trampled grasses, something that could have just appeared like an abandoned den to someone who wasn’t really looking closely, nestled at the bottom of a small slope. “Are you ready?” he meowed conspiratorially. Then he reached out a paw and nudged some of the plants away.

When Dewstar’s white paw moved the barrier out of the way, the tunnel grew more and more clear -- as any mass of complete darkness would. The ground dipped down and dropped into the shadows; it wasn’t too steep, but it certainly was a visible decline.

This entrance wasn’t the first one Dewstar had found all those moons ago when he brought the topic to Thistlestar’s attention. It was another he’d found, and he’d covered all that he found. Dewstar’s memory was still sharp, so he recalled where many of the entrances were. He suspected one or two might have slipped from him by this point, but they could always be found again.

“Do tell me if you might find this place familiar, Crookedwing.” Dewstar sat back on his haunches, not daring even to take another step toward the dark entrance without checking in with his Clanmate first, and glanced at her. In the distance, behind the brown-and-white she-cat, he spied the hawk from before swoop down and emerge with something in its talons. Dewstar awaited Crookedwing’s response, a pleasant expression on his face and the patience of one who had already waited an eternity and to whom the prospect of three more eons of nothing was no more terrifying than the possibility of swallowing a tiny spider in his sleep.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 565 WORDS | NOTES: essentials

[Crookedwing]

Crookedwing

I WISH THAT I COULD FLY

    Crookedwing was pleased that Dewstar agreed that they would go farther and explore. It truly was something she hadn't done in far too many moons, and as he began to stroll away, she had a bit more perky energy as she followed. She noted, however, that this time he seemed to keep his pace even with hers, making an effort to remain at her shoulder and not leave her behind. This did make her a little uncomfortable at first, feeling as if she was slowing them both down, and not proving herself to be capable as a warrior. Of course, she mused bitterly, she wasn't a capable warrior, no matter what she did or how hard she tried to speed up their pace. It wasn't as if slowing down for her was what would make Dewstar realize she was a waste of space, oh no, she probably did that many, many moons ago, when Brooksong first attempt to train her to fight and hunt, and she ended up on her face instead. When the tom stopped, complaining of aching bones, she felt a pang. It wasn't his bones, she knew, he was old yes, but he was strong and stubborn, and he certainly wasn't going to let that slow him down- no, it wasn't for him, it was for her. She said nothing to this though, and was nonetheless grateful, as a steady ache and burn of muscle in her shoulder had begun to accentuate her limp and slow then further, a mixture of her deformity protesting to the exercise, and perhaps a bit of weakened muscles from simply never getting out much. You only had to use so much effort when most your day to day tasks didn't take you more than two dozen fox lengths from your home, when you weren't flying across the moors chasing hares like a true warrior.

    Before her mood could sour from these thoughts, however, she instead turned her focus to the surrounding moorland. It was a lovely day, and she certainly wasn't going to sulk when she was getting an opportunity she was rarely afforded. After a few minutes of basking in the sun, enjoying the fresh air and resting her aching body, they were up again, and continuing their casual pace. Not much was said, perhaps a comment here or there about the flora and fauna that called the moor home alongside them. Birds of prey swooped in the sky, flying high and free in search of their prey. Occasionally, they would dive, and in their general direction she would hear the screech of a rabbit. It was a surprisingly unsettling sound, though she knew that it was the way of life, and how even she and her clan survived. So caught up the birds as she was, she nearly ran in to Dewstar when he came to a sudden stop. She looked to him, confused. Was something wrong? They had stopped not long ago to rest, did he think she needed another break. She opened her mouth to protest, when she caught his conspiratorial look, his eyes shining, a strange, mischievous look she hadn't seen on her stoic leader before. “Are you ready?” He meowed and she furrowed her brow, her gaze moving to the small decline in the earth in front of them. Ready for what? She nearly asked aloud, but she couldn't find her voice. Something in her chest moved, and all her senses focused heavily on what seemed to just be an abandoned den, perhaps once owned by a fox, but now awoke things in her she couldn't yet grasp.

    He moved forward to remove the overgrown plants, fully revealing the dark, yawning abyss of... a tunnel? A tunnel. Her breath caught in her throat, and next to her, Dewstar began to speak, “Do tell me if you might..." His voice trailed off in her ears, though a low buzz told her the old tom had a longer question- but she was unsure. The pulse and rush of blood in her ears drown out all of his words, as she gazed wide-eyed into the darkness. For a brief heartbeat, she swore she saw a familiar tabby she-cat, faint and shining with starlight, dart deep into the shadows. She didn't speak, and on their own accord, her paws began to move. With surprising quickness, her limp forgotten, she made her way into the tight, dark confines of the tunnel, the rich scent of dark moor-rich soil and damp, forgotten spaces oh so familiar, prodding her forward. Her brain had short circuited, and no thoughts crossed her mind as she confidently navigated the dark path, going primarily straight before making a sudden, sharp turn down a branching side route, a twisting, confusing maze that to her felt like she had wandered it her entire life. Perhaps she had, in her dreams. She didn't even look back to see if Dewstar was following, silent and steadfast as she traversed the tunnels, her eyes perhaps deceiving her and over and over again she swore she caught just the tail end of a form that made her chest tighten and burn. Heatherpool?

    So lost in her own thoughts as she was, she winced as suddenly she found herself no longer shrouded in darkness, the cramped space suddenly opening up in to perhaps the most beautiful sight to her, her paws halting on her own accord, as if subconsciously knowing that wandering to deep into the space would end in a watery splash. A large room. A shimmering pool, fed by a trickling stream of water down the stone wall that glittered with rich minerals. A crack in the ceiling, small, and with several dangling roots hanging through, but just large enough for only sunlight to drift through, illuminating the cavern with warm newleaf light. Her breathing halted, but her heart slowed. In her head, her mother's warm, familiar purr filled her ears, her pleasure palpable at her daughters success. Maybe it was also in her head- but if so, it was the best hallucination ever- she nearly moaned in the pleasure of it all. Her voice felt far away, soft, barely a breath when she finally spoke to no one in particular, unsure if Dewstar had even followed, and too in awe to look for him, almost to afraid to speak, as if doing so would rouse her from another dream. "I've been here...
oh I've been here. Oh, StarClan. Oh, Heatherpool."

1008 words

@dewstar

INTO THE TUNNELS.

ulla

[Dewstar]

Crookedwing mesmerized was just as mesmerizing to Dewstar. It seemed that she didn’t even hear him speak, and he spied her peculiar shift from the moment he started shifting those plants. Without another word, Crookedwing took off at the quickest pace Dewstar had ever seen her use, into the darkness. And, without another word, Dewstar followed her, keeping right behind so that her scent was strong in front of him. Almost immediately, the sunlight made no difference whether it was night or day to his eyes, and the world was dark. He’d been here before, but not recently -- it was a good thing that Crookedwing seemed to visit this place every single night.

In the completely darkness, Dewstar felt his way with the tips of his white whiskers, brushing along the cold stone wall. It was wide enough that if he walked in the middle, he would feel nothing, and he suspected at least two cats could walk abreast, at least in this spot, two small and slender cats. So, he kept to one side, and directly behind Crookedwing, and made note of where they were going. Really, though sometimes it dipped or rose, it was a straight shot. Every so often, Dewstar would feel a gap, as though there were an opening, a side tunnel to go down, though in a few steps, he would once again feel the comforting brush of cold, cold rock and dirt. There was nothing warm here save the two cats’ bodies, hurrying down the path, deeper into the labyrinth along their straight shot, she seemingly unaware of him and he utterly and totally aware of everything. His very toes tingled with anticipation. This was it. This was what it was all for.

The tunnels grew tighter and more cramped the deeper they went, as though the project had become less about moving many cats and evolved into moving only a few, but very sneakily. As though near the entrances of the tunnels were good for quick hiding, and this deeper space held some larger purpose. Suddenly, Crookedwing veered off sharply, and Dewstar followed right quick, though his heart skipped a beat for just a moment. If she were to guide in the future, she would have to ride out this excitement now and then let it calm down. But this excitement was well-deserved and Dewstar did not begrudge it her. It was a beautiful thing, really.

No -- what was a beautiful thing was the cavern the tunnel seemed to open up into. Dewstar could hear the water before they saw it, the gentle lapping, the tiny waves and ripples bumping into each other and into the stone floor. Crookedwing stopped before the edge where the stone vanished and left a glistening pool of water. He’d no idea how deep it was, but he had no desire to find out, either. But what was beautiful was Crookedwing’s shining eyes, the soft trickle of sunlight seeping between her tabby stripes, her breathless emotion. It was as if she glowed, as if she were the source of light in the cavern, and no eyes could register anything but her, and all sound faded, the water and the birds high, high above, to just the sound of her gentle breath. In Dewstar’s mind, she looked every inch a StarClan cat, and for a heartbeat, just a heartbeat, he wondered in amazement if she truly was. That was beautiful beyond beauty.

“I’ve been here…” Dewstar heard nothing else but her voice. “Oh I’ve been here. Oh, StarClan. Oh, Heatherpool.”

Carefully, Dewstar stepped up beside Crookedwing, aware of the dampness of the stone beneath him, aware that any further could result in drowning. If he fell in, she might go after him, and though he had seven lives left, she had only one and almost certainly was a worse swimmer. Gently, he pressed his flank to hers. “Is it even more wonderful than you dreamed?” he asked, his voice just as soft as hers.

The old leader felt something stir in his chest not dissimilar to the feeling he got every time he visited the Moonpool. At night, though it would be hard, a smattering of stars might sparkle on this pool. The hard bumpy rock on the walls glittered, and Dewstar imaged that this would be a room of stars and nothing else, that you could touch Silverpelt simply by walking through that hidden entrance and taking a sharp turn. Indeed, when Crookedwing mentioned her mother’s name, Dewstar thought he saw Stonefang sitting in the corner, purring, his kind glittering eyes stars themselves, locked onto Dewstar, unlocking his heart again, as the living Stonefang had done once oh so long ago. But it couldn’t have been. Now, after so many long heartbeats of staring, Dewstar could speak no more, for his heart was caught in his throat, and he could barely breathe. Was it Stonefang or his imagination because he was so moved by the present scene? Though there was much to see and even more to be imagined in the shadows, Dewstar’s green gaze was trapped by the handsome starry tom across the pool in the corner, the brightest thing in the room besides Crookedwing herself. But she was real. Stonefang was dead. Oh, but Dewstar’s heart so wished him to be here.

He’d no idea he was opening himself to this sort of feeling. It was as though he had entered a dream himself and was frozen and tongueless.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 913 WORDS | NOTES: ~feelings~

[Crookedwing]

Crookedwing

I WISH THAT I COULD FLY

    Crookedwing held her breath as she continued to stare in to the shadows, watching what seemed to be the outlines of cats, mere silhouettes sliding across the stone, glittering minerals embedded in the walls taking place of their shining eyes, watching her. Her gaze searched for the source of her mother's presence, looking for the shadow that could be here, the source of the purring- until she realized in a jarring moment, that the purring was now coming from her. The heavy pulse and buzz in her ears faded out suddenly and she suddenly inhaled, her breathing, and focus, returning. She heard the soft padding that alerted her that, yes, Dewstar had followed. Suddenly he was next to her, his warm pelt pressing into her gently. She allowed herself to lean in to his side, stabilizing her body as she steadied her breathing and pounding heartbeat. “Is it even more wonderful than you dreamed?” She stayed silent for a long moment, her gaze softly traveling the walls, the floor, the pool. Though her head was clear- rushing with emotions, but clear, and her hearing had returned, the air still seemed to pulse with... something. It was something she couldn't quite place, something she didn't understand, but it was powerful, and it made her feel oh-so at peace. Beyond at peace. This was where she was meant to be, perhaps somehow it was her purpose.

    But how? How could this room, these tunnels, benefit her as more than just a safe haven, a place to feel right. It clicked suddenly. She turned, staring up at Dewstar as the gears turned. He had brought her here, just after she had blindly confided in him about her dreams. He had known of these tunnels, had known, or at least hoped, that her dreams were linked. That she would recognize them. Why? She turned her attention slowly back to the water, walking closer yet to the edge, so that her toes curled over the sharp drop into the water that, with the sunlight even shining in to it, she was unsure if she could see the bottom. While crystal clear, it faded to a dark blue, perhaps several fox lengths deep. She was certain that when the moon rose high and the stars glittered, that they would reflect crystal clear, and you could fall in to Silverpelt. StarClan. That sent her for another loop and had her taking a single, quick step away from the welcoming waters. A cat who fell in could drown and really go to StarClan- StarClan! Couldn't this be proof to her that they existed? Heatherpool had visited her almost nightly, silently teaching her to navigate these tunnels. What once was a mundane dream, she realized, was her mother's gift to her, a mental map to the winding underground labyrinth that she could navigate with ease- and her mother was gone, but very much alive, in StarClan. Rabbitpaw, all of the other cats she had seen die over the years, all watching over them.

    But leaving her to be born a cripple. Her heart momentarily had soared at the idea, and knowing that Heatherpool still existed somewhere, that she would see her again, was still a sweet relief, but she ached now with the idea that they had abandoned her- had they? She was more than confused now, perhaps even more than she had been ever. The warring emotions crested and crashed within her, glee, misery, confusion, anger. Were they using her? Or was Heatherpool simply trying so hard to give her daughter something. She bowed and shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. This was imporant now, Dewstar had asked her a question, and she had a few of her own that she knew, if StarClan wouldn't answer, maybe he could. Her voice was thick with emotion when she spoke, "It is.. oh it is. It's beautiful." She swallowed hard, once again leaning in to his side, as if she could absorb his strength though her body felt like rubber. At the very least, his warmth and very presence grounded her, allowed her to stride away from him, to inspect the walls and time-smoothed floor. She wanted to have every last detail of this room for when she ultimately had to leave.

     She didn't look to him as she spoke, studying ancient claw marks that raked the otherwise smooth stone. "How long... how long have you known about these tunnels?" And how had they learned of them. Had StarClan blessed him with the same dreams? Who, or what, had created these tunnels? Were they natural from the rains, as this cavern had? Or had clan ancestors of all carved the winding paths, the very same cats who had left their mark here before her. She raised a paw to stroke the gouges, and then rose on her back legs to rake her own claws softly along the same path. There was little resistance from the deep and worn grooves, and she dropped down satisfied, inspecting another spot further down. She repeated the motion, this time meeting resistance as she created fresh scores in the stone, leaving her own mark alongside the ancient ones. Now everyone would know, if not that she was here, that yet another cat in the grand history had- and she would know, she would know that it was her mark, that she had been here, that she had changed something, even something so minute, so forgettable. Finally, she turned back to Dewstar, sitting down and leaning against the cool rock behind her, feeling it leech her warmth. "I love it here. It feels so right. I feel like I'm meant to be here."

950 words

@dewstar

NOTES

ulla

[Dewstar]

Stonefang, or the starry shadowy simulacrum that pretended to be him, dissolved as he -- or it -- stepped into the sunlight above the deep blue water. Dewstar restrained himself from flying toward him, from flinging himself into the water to chase after a distant memory. Then he noticed that Crookedwing had stepped even nearer to the edge, but seemed steady, so he didn’t try to grab her scruff and drag her back. “It is… oh it is. It’s beautiful,” Dewstar heard her mew. She was right. He hadn’t been here in so long, but he was reminded every time that he came how much more beautiful it was in reality than in his dreams and memories. Something always fades once it’s not alive and present, and Dewstar found it no different for the tunnels with all their twists and turns and wet stony oases, such as the one they were in at the moment.

“How long have you known about these tunnels?”

He didn’t answer her for a time, instead watching her run her claws through the ancient grooves in the wall, then watching as she created her own marks. He waited for her to drink in her fill, to satiate herself -- as much as anyone could in so wondrous a location -- and observed every motion. As fascinating as this place was, he’d been here before in the day and the night. He knew his way around enough to figure out how to get out and trace his steps, but there was too much for him alone to have memorized. Meanwhile, here was a cat who had traversed the tunnels her entire life almost, all safely in her dreams. What an asset!

In response to her exclamation, Dewstar purred. “You move as if you belong here, too.” He didn’t think there was anything resembling fear coming off her, either. She truly seemed to belong here, she seemed more at home in these dark caverns than on the moors or even in the camp. Like the sunlight beaming in through the hole in the roof, confidence seemed to pour into Crookedwing. She was luminous.

“I found these caves many moons ago by wandering. I would like to think that StarClan led me, but I would not presume to say I’m blessed in such a way. Certainly not blessed as you have been to see these in your dreams.” Dewstar chose his words carefully, as he always did. “When you told me about the tunnels, I knew, I simply had to bring you here. I’m not trying to convince you that StarClan exists -- I don’t mind what you believe one way or the other. I want you to know that you’re not mousebrained, you’re not an unfortunate with no purpose. It is clear that StarClan saw a purpose for you from the beginning.

“Did you know,” he added, feeling the words flow from him, “that WindClan once had a web of tunnels beneath its territory? In the old territories, so long ago. When I found these here, I knew simply that WindClan was destined to have them again. They’re under our territory, and one of our very own warriors has had StarClan speak to her about it, has walked every step of it in her dreams. I was younger when I found this, younger, perhaps, than you are now. I’ve been waiting for the right moment, for the right warrior. Crookedwing, you’re it. I believe you are going to be central in this, this saving of our Clan.”

Of course, he omitted how knowledge of the tunnels terrified Thistlestar so much that she gave him an apprentice and eventually made him deputy to avoid anyone finding out about this, that he saw Crookedwing as a way to solidify his place in history. Would they remember her, a doubtful and disabled warrior who did nothing until she was only a few seasons away from being a senior warrior? Or would they remember the silver tongued leader who collected a band of heroes to save the day? Or would they remember both? And since when did he start caring about his reputation in the elders’ tales? It was for WindClan, he reminded himself, all of this was for WindClan. And if too many knew at once, it could all fall apart. Crookedwing was just the first step, but Dewstar was finally ready to start this journey.

And who knew how much longer he had left, anyway.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 741 WORDS | NOTES: finally

[Crookedwing]

Crookedwing

I WISH THAT I COULD FLY

    Her gaze, attempting to focus on him so politely, continued to wander the cave, heart fluttering. "Certainly not blessed as you have been to see these in your dreams. When you told me about the tunnels, I knew, I simply had to bring you here. I’m not trying to convince you that StarClan exists-" Was that what she should consider it? A blessing? No, it wasn't him altering her view on StarClan, the moment her paws, against her own thoughts, had pulled her in, the second she sat there and stared in to the darkness and sensed her mother's presence, the second her dreams became a reality, her belief fluttered anew. It all seemed so impossible, absolutely no way it could be true, but now she found herself rethinking everything she knew. It had to be, there were no other explanations. Heatherpool had never shown her in life, she had never wandered here of her own volition- she barely left camp of her own volition!

    But, with this new knowledge, and this fresh, no longer hazy and dreamlike, mental map of the tunnels- every second she sat in that cave, it got clearer- could she really, truly, call it a blessing- such a powerful word? She, of course, knew it was special, but special to more than just her? More than just her easy getaway, her sanctuary? Could it help her clan? The thought filled her with fresh excitement, tinged with hurt. They had never cared about her before, how could this change it? If it did change it, if they suddenly appreciated her, she was unsure if she could take it in stride, soak in their praise and feel like she did something useful, and be remembered as a hero.

     Or, she mused wistfully, hating the doubt and cynicism creeping in to her thoughts, they could just turn against you again once you're no longer useful. Once you're expendable again. Her eyes settled on the pool again, though she didn't move over to the edge. "I want you to know that you’re not mousebrained, you’re not an unfortunate with no purpose. It is clear that StarClan saw a purpose for you from the beginning." No, she wasn't mousebrained, she was bright, intelligent, and yes, maybe StarClan did have some purpose for her- perhaps, if she wasn't so caught up in her own thoughts, she may have taken in to consideration that Dewstar saw a purpose for her too, but not for her own sake.

    But she was blown away and in awe, and respected, and loved, her leader far too much to let any of those thoughts and feelings to come to fruition. Instead, it was not a loyalty to only himself that she feared, but a lack of loyalty towards herself her clan offered. Dewstar, she felt in her heart, only wanted what was best for her, and had brought her here to give her a gift of sorts, a purpose- even if that purpose came from StarClan. “Did you know that WindClan once had a web of tunnels beneath its territory? In the old territories, so long ago. When I found these here, I knew simply that WindClan was destined to have them again." She nodded softly in response, though stayed quiet.

    She knew, she knew everything. She listened. When the elders gathered up the apprentices as the sun disappeared from the sky, and began to tell grand stories that had been passed down to them by their elders, and to them by their elders, she listened. She was never among the group, instead sitting some distance away, hiding and eavesdropping, as she did these days when she picked up all her information from clanmates that saw her an invalid, those who didn't think that her hearing was a big deal at all. It was like having a mouse nearby, or a rock. What could she do? And so she learned. She had not, however, ever made the connection between those old stories and her dreams, and if she had put the two together, she would have simply assumed that those old stories were affecting her subconscious and adjusting accordingly.

    "They’re under our territory, and one of our very own warriors has had StarClan speak to her about it, has walked every step of it in her dreams." Every. Step. Even as she had noted the mental map, she hadn't truly noticed until that moment. It wasn't just the path she had taken to reach this room today, it was every path. She blinked and stood suddenly, pacing around the room and inspecting the walls. With ease, she located every archway, every crack, every seemingly tiny, insignificant space that, in her head, she was certain lead to more winding tunnels, and if she focused on each, she with absolute confidence could map their path in her head, note their twists and turns, their branching, maze like routes, and even where each opened up to the surface, or ended in a sudden wall of soil- and even which of those could be cleared for new entrances, or which were complete dead ends.

    "I.. I do. This one..." She approached a crack, small, but just large enough for a small cat such as herself to be able to slip though. She thought for a second and focused, elation filling her and fresh excitement muddling with her doubts and fears further. Now was not the time for fear. "It's a tight squeeze for several fox lengths, but then it opens up to a more reasonable size," She tilted her head as she followed the mental rout, silent for several heartbeats,"It has an entrance underneath a cluster of boulders, small, partially obscured- looks like a snake hole from the surface." Her eyes went wide and she felt almost giddy as she continued, "It branches off twice to dead ends, one from a collapsed entrance, one natural." She fidgeted excitedly as she moved to the next opening she could see, saying nothing but repeating her internal process, mapping it out and nearly bouncing out of her pelt, giddy, when once again she mentally guided it, certain of it's route. "I’ve been waiting for the right moment, for the right warrior. Crookedwing, you’re it. I believe you are going to be central in this, this saving of our Clan."

    For a second, her heart soared- and then it plummeted like a bird shot of the sky. She stilled and slowly turned back to Dewstar, emotions etched deep in to her face. Confusion, sorrow, indignation, pain. Of course she wanted to help her clan, they fed her, they housed her, it was her duty and the one chance in her life she could make a difference, but once again the doubt crept in. They only wanted her when she was useful. Her eyes were focused on the stone floor, worn smooth from water and paw pads of cats long gone. Slowly, her gaze rose from the floor and back to his face. "Dewstar, I can't help but feel... used. I... I know I shouldn't, i-it's my duty but..." She shook her head sadly, I've spent my whole life an, an, an... outcast." Her voice cracked and she sat down hard, as if her body were suddenly made of lead instead of floating on air. Her head drooped, "Now they'd only want me to save them from some future, unknown, untold danger, and then I'd probably get tossed to the side again."

    Bitterness seeped in to her voice, and she rose slowly, creeping back to the water's edge and staring down at it's impossibly smooth, mirror surface, scowling at the weak she-cat staring back at her. Definitely not her mother, she was nothing like Heatherpool- strong, charismatic, wise- but here she was, feeling sorry for herself. "They won't remember me when I'm gone. They'll remember that once there was a cat who did this but they won't remember me." Heatherpool would have done it, without a second question, anything for WindClan, anything for her clan and home. She was not Heatherpool, and WindClan was hardly home.

1,344 words

@dewstar

"Who lives, who dies, who tells your story" was regretfully omitted from this post at the risk of being called a dork or Hamiltrash.

ulla