Now You See Me (Dewstar)

[Crookedwing]

    
    The sky had barely begun to change colors by the time the hunchbacked she-cat found herself awake. The dawn patrol- one she knew she wouldn't be a part of, had already begun to gather under the orders of Haretail, and the silhouettes of the warriors were already moving away through the watery early dawn light, heading out of camp to check and renew a borders. She knew their patterns well, she knew the territory, and she knew she would never be called upon early in the morning to participate. The hunting party gathered soon after, and also swiftly took off, while Crookedwing remained in her nest, watching silently. The tabby brown and white she-cat did not feel a pang of remorse at her inability to go with, at least, not at the moment- not today. It wasn't due to any special occasion or important task, no, she never had any of the sort. There was no rhyme, no reason to her reaction to her disability. Some days, she felt like a burden, and longed to join the other cats feeding and protecting her clan, others she had long gone numb to, and simply sighed, resigning herself to doing nothing for the time being. She scanned the camp for any other movement as the hunting party dispersed and the little secluded area of moorland grew quiet once again. Most of the cats slept nestled together under the open sky, but Crookedwing preferred to segregate herself some, as well as offer herself some protection from the elements. Due to her constant feeling of vulnerability, stemming from her disability that left her ineffective as a warrior, she had found some comfort in the shadow of a small, scraggly gorse bush on the edge of camp that served as her nest and her hiding spot.


    As for what she could do to make herself useful around camp, well, that wasn't much at the moment. When she wasn't hiding in her bush, throughout the day she would change out bedding for those cats that liked some comfort, and somehow, it brought her comfort. Who liked organizing the fresh kill and disposing of the food that started to turn? Who like changing out all the bedding because of fleas? Who liked the monthly chore of cleaning out the dirtplace? Well, Crookedwing didn't particularly like that last one- hell, she didn't particularly love any of the tasks, but when it's all you can do to keep from becoming a leech who contributes nothing else, it becomes your life. She chuckled to herself as she stiffly staggered to her feet and gave a slight stretch. The apprentices of the clan had little to do when being punished, what with Crookedwing taking all the punishments. She frowned. Of course, she did note that, when the warriors did feel the need to punish their apprentices, she could see the cringe on their faces and the furtive glance in her direction when the dreaded words, "You're helping Crookedwing today." crossed their mentors muzzles. She snorted and heaved a sigh, padding up one of the surrounding hills, "crouching" as best she could behind a craggy boulder, and looked over the clan. Deep down, the she-cat didn't know if she enjoyed the isolation or not, while she would definitely prefer to be a part of the clan, in her current state, with her level of usefulness, well... 

    She was snapped out of her thoughts as the sun climbed a little higher and the hunting party returned bearing prey. Ah yes, the other task she took upon herself. Climbing to her feet as swiftly as she could, she trotted her way back down to the central camp area and quickly snagged prey, and set it upon herself to deliver it where it should go. Prey to the elders. Prey to the queens. Finally she grabbed a fat hare, and took a furtive glance in the direction of the Tallrock. She always got a little nervous taking prey to Dewstar, but in her absolute need to please, there was no chance she would stop. Composing herself, she briskly limped over to the area he usually slept in, announcing herself quietly, meekly, "Dewstar?" She chirped, dropping the limp carcass. She didn't wait, however, far too shy around a cat she respected, idolized, perhaps even crushed on a bit, and began to awkwardly back away after making her delivery, quickly searching for her next task. Perhaps the elder's nests first today, as they were usually the most difficult- yet the easiest way to get herself into routine.  

[Dewstar]

Dewstar had been having unpleasant dreams of late. The one plaguing him this dawn was that he was hunting, through the moors, young and spritely. There was a breeze blowing toward him, but he couldn’t smell it. It ruffled his fur, but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel its little touch between his furs. He could see far off, on the horizon, but just down the hill, a small shape. It quivered and darted back and forth, zooming around without seeming to have any kind of path. Dewstar would creep forward, not crouching as low as he normally would, his tail swaying back and forth. The grass pricked at his paws, but he felt it through his whole body.

The shape before him in this dream was a hare, silver furred, as he’d seen no hare before – except in previous instances of the dream. And yet, he knew not where it was going to go nor what would happen, for every time it tasted of newness. So he approached this hare, with each step growing more confident, seeing him striding across the moor. The hare was frozen, its green eyes wide and wild and bulging, its body trembling, its tall ears swiveling back and forth.

And then Dewstar was watching himself, or this strange cat, with gleaming gray fur and shining green eyes, and white paws, boldly approaching. He pressed a single white paw on Dewstar’s neck – for now Dewstar was the hare, trembling and wide-eyed, and this other cat in his body was utterly foreign – and unsheathed his claws and purred. And he was filled with the purring as he died, and he could feel himself dying, his lives slipping out, one after the other. And he wondered if he was actually dying, if StarClan was actually taking his lives, that he was too old and he needed to relinquish the seven lives he had left. He was taking advantage of their power. Was that it?

But as the dawn came and as Dewstar the hare lost his final, original life, he awoke, hearing Haretail assign the patrol. He stressed and yawned, flicking his tail tip back and forth, his rump shuddering with the force of his stretch. He kneaded his nest, curling and flexing his back, waking up his entire body. It took longer now to awaken than it used to when he was younger. He wasn’t the oldest cat around, but just about all of those other cats were elders now. He still figured he had a few seasons left, but he knew his plans for the tunnels would probably never come to fruition during his life. Perhaps he could find a mind great enough and a heart loyal enough to take on the project for him, to work on it beside him, assembling the perfect team. Dewstar had yet to find anyone. He wondered if perhaps he was not looking in the right places.

As he considered this, his stomach growled, and he turned to fetch some fresh-kill from the pile; before he could get far, though, Crookwing came with her offering. “Dewstar?” she mewed, bringing with her a fat hare. After dropping it, she tried to slink out quickly, but Dewstar called out, “Crookedwing, wait. Have you eaten yet? This is lovely – thank you – but it is much too large for me to eat myself. Would you be willing to share it with me?” He twitched his whiskers and purred, hoping that could soothe some of her anxiety – she always seemed so anxious around him. “I’d appreciate it if you did. I’ve been having the worst dreams.”

Crookedwing was a lovely she-cat, always trying so hard. Dewstar could recall Brooksong working with her. Dewstar always considered himself to be a patient cat, but Brooksong was willing to mentor Crookedwing for twelve moons, willing to put in the effort to help a cat who would probably never be a very successful warrior. When he was a deputy, Dewstar always made sure to give her easier assignments. He didn’t want to send her to the borders where there might be tensions, for instance, and usually asked her to help on tasks around the camp. He realized now, for the first time in how-many-moons, as she was bringing the fresh-kill, that this could have taken a serious toll on her. He decided that he would ask her about it. She was a cat that he had never fully considered before, and what better time than a morning after a terrible dream when prey was plentiful and tensions low.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 759 WORDS | NOTES: omg crookedwing is so cute

[Crookedwing]

    Crookedwing had her sights set across the camp, focused on the shape of a pair of elders, huddled close together and finishing off the prey she had delivered. Out of their nests and out of the way, she could quickly roll and remove their dirty bedding, harvest new bits of heather and perhaps some feathers and down if she was lucky. She had barely made it a step or two however when she heard Dewstar speak behind her. "Crookedwing, wait." The tabby she cat immediately locked up and her heart fluttered a bit, apprehension rooting her to the spot. Few cats ever interacted with her when she crossed their paths, and even then it was only the occasional, thanks, or just a general grunt in her direction when coming across some of the more brutish toms, including her brothers. For the most part, they even simply ignored her. She was a part of the decor in WindClan, not a true clan cat. Not like her siblings. Not like Heatherpool.

    "Have you eaten yet? This is lovely – thank you – but it is much too large for me to eat myself." Her head twisted towards the fresh kill pile. Of course, how could she have not known? She had grabbed a fat, muscled hare from the mass of gathered prey in an attempt to offer her leader the best, but had failed to think about how no sole cat could eat that on their own. Perhaps the hare was best saved for a pair of warriors to share, perhaps she should have brought it to Gorsefur and Runningleap. They wouldn't have particularly appreciated her kindness, but they would have enjoyed it. Now she scanned the mass of fresh kill, looking for something else to bring Dewstar. "Would you be willing to share it with me?” His voice was a soft purr, meant to soothe her, but her heart rocketed into her throat anyway as her head snapped around to look at the handsome grey tom. Inwardly she scolded herself, knowing that her anxiety must be palpable, but what could she do, when a cat she oh-so idolized was actually holding a conversation with her, offering to share prey with her. Her eyes had gone wide and doeish as she searched his gaze, heart throbbing harder and faster than she was sure the rabbit before her had before it's neck was snapped by a member of the hunting party.

"Are you sure? I could just go fetch you something more... manageable..." Her voice was barely a squeak and trailed off suddenly, wide green eyes darting between Dewstar and the rabbit. “I’d appreciate it if you did. I’ve been having the worst dreams.” Well, she couldn't very well say no to that, could she? And she hadn't eaten yet, as evident by her stomach quietly mumbling it's protest. Usually, she just took the scraps of the pile once everyone else had eaten. It alleviated the worry that someone would take offence to the cat who did the least taking more than their fair share. It's just a rabbit, Crookedwing, she told herself, Breakfast. Take this kindness as a gift. Inhaling deeply, she slowly, cautiously, turned back towards Dewstar, barely breaking eye contact for awhile until that became too difficult, and then down at the rabbit, as if it was some sort of venomous snake, rearing up and threatening to bite her. With excruciating slowness, she limped the two strides or so back in his direction and sat before him, the prey between them. She hadn't shared prey with another cat since her mother had been alive, and that was oh so many moons ago. She sent him one more hesitant glance, before crouching- a slow and stiff movement, the taut muscles stinging with the effort, before the rabbit, preparing to tuck in. Before she did, however, she shot him another hesitant glance, but this time, composing herself as much as she could, she held his gaze, brows furrowing in concern.  When she spoke, her voice was still frail, but it didn't waiver. "What sort of dreams?"

[Dewstar]

Dewstar watched all of Crookedwing’s phases of discomfort and anxiety, as she checked for another piece of fresh-kill, as her eyes grew wide. He assumed it must be because not many cats ever spoke with her. He’d seen them around the camp, seen how she was treated – he himself wasn’t exactly certain what to do with her, but he knew she wasn’t so disabled that she must be forced to the elders’ den, to waste away and chat and do nothing. She was an aid to her Clan, Dewstar had seen – never take a cat for granted and never underestimate one. Of course, not everyone was so forgiving or kind or open-minded about her presence. Many cats glared even as she brought them fresh-kill. He pondered on the best way to handle this situation. Of course, if he made a Clan meeting about it, it would do little but shame Crookedwing and brew resentment of her in the other cats. If he approached them individually, that would take a great deal of time and might also have an adverse effect on her. He wished to discuss it with Sootflower and Haretail, who both were more accepting of her, to see what they might consider to be a good course of action. Seventy moons, or however many Crookedwing had been alive, was far too long for a cat to suffer such isolation and disdain, and it was a blemish on Dewstar that he had been so slow in noticing it.

Not that he would ever admit to this mistake aloud.

As Crookedwing dragged herself over to the hare, Dewstar considered that simply staring at her as she did so might be rude or make her uncomfortable, so he lifted his paw to his mouth and began to wash casually, simply relaxed and unconcerned about her approach. Her anxiety was almost palpable; it was well enough that Dewstar was already a very patient cat. Once you’ve lived for as long as he has, especially, though he’d always had a knack for waiting. That was perhaps one of the reasons Thistlestar chose him as a deputy (besides, of course, her fear of him revealing secrets, which, after all these seasons, he still had yet to do). At last, Crookedwing reached the hare (though it was not so long as perhaps she had felt it was) and took the first bite, at which Dewstar twitched his whiskers and took a bite as well.

“Oh, fairly unpleasant dreams. I’ve been having this one that I am a hare, frozen in fear, and hunted by a younger version of myself.” He glanced down at the hare and realized there was a possibility Crookedwing might take this the wrong way, so he added, “Of course, it is perhaps because hare is one of my favorite meals. I am still quite happy to eat them.” He took another bite of the hare, chewing as he crouched above it, reddening his white muzzle.

He swallowed and looked at Crookedwing. “Tell me, Crookedwing. Do you have any interesting dreams? Even uninteresting ones? I’ve heard some cats say they do not dream at all.” This was one way to make pleasant conversation, as well as to find out if StarClan had shown a particular interest in her. All through the history of the Clans, StarClan had used dreams as an opportunity to communicate with the living. It had not passed Dewstar’s mind that his recurring nightmares might be from them, but he had yet to be concerned enough to bring it to Sootflower’s attention. On the other paw, Crookedwing might be something truly special – Dewstar always had in mind his tunnel plans.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 611 WORDS | NOTES: hope it's all good

[Crookedwing]

    “Oh, fairly unpleasant dreams. I’ve been having this one that I am a hare, frozen in fear, and hunted by a younger version of myself.” Crookedwing mused on that for a second as she chewed, eyes glued to the hare, though as gentle conversation started, her fears eased somewhat- uncomfortable, but not afraid. She was however very rusty at conversation, and seemed to forget some etiquette when she nearly choked on another bite of hare as she stifled a little chuckle at her amusing line of thinking. Oh how she did love dreams. She peered up at the large tom, offering a shy smile. "You know, Dewstar... maybe you're afraid of your age catching up to you?" She blinked hard and averted her eyes back to the hare, feeling her face flush. Age wasn't a polite topic, as neither was commenting on the age of your leader. She hastily continued, "Of course age brings wisdom, it's not a bad thing, but I mean, if you feel you have unfinished business- not saying you're going to die soon, it's just..." She clamped her muzzle shut and hastily took another bite, feeling an immediate need to change the subject before she continued to ramble, on and on, forever. Thankfully, he continued, “Tell me, Crookedwing. Do you have any interesting dreams? Even uninteresting ones? I’ve heard some cats say they do not dream at all.”

    She did indeed dream, nearly every night. Dreams were perhaps the only thing keeping her in one piece, keeping her sane. In her dreams, her life seemed right, instead of some miserable accident that most cats didn't want to acknowledge. Even in her bad dreams, her shoulder was usually repaired, and she was a normal clan cat, ready to take on the world. It was always jarring when she awoke, alone in her nest, stiff, and rattled. Her eyes finally jumped back up to Dewstar, her interest piqued. She hesitated, and then softly nodded. "I do. Frequently." She took one more bite and swallowed, sitting up and forgetting the hare as she wracked her brain, suddenly eager to have a captive audience. "Usually they're rather pleasant. Usually, I'm not... deformed." Oh how she hated that word, deformed. By nature, the very word was wrong, and with it came the all to real implication that she was wrong. She did however need to be honest with him, and that certainly was the correct term, as much as she hated it. "It's dreams of hunting, dreams of fighting- I may have never cared for fighting as an apprentice, bad at it or not, but... I still crave it. I crave the normality, and so I dream of it. Some nights it's simply patrols, some nights, it's the skirmish that took Heatherpool, but I'm there, and I can save her, and I can save Rabbitpaw." She frowned hard, the memory stung. It was a lot of information, maybe more than he wanted to know, but now her floodgates were open, and she kept going. "I guess most of my dreams deal with wanting to feel like I belong. I dream of kits, my kits. I dream of a mate-" She stopped very suddenly, her gaze, which had wandered off into the watery morning sunlight flicking suddenly back to Dewstar, heart rocketing back into her throat. Nope. She immediately looked away, back off into the morning, and changed the subject matter of the dreams immediately. "Ah, those are mundane. I do have one interesting dream. It's recurring, once in awhile. It's not... it doesn't bother me, but it's... strange. I don't know what to make of it." She shuffled her paws and shifted her weight, taking it off of her bad shoulder.

    "I'm... here. Well not right here, but I know I'm in WindClan territory. I can smell the moorland. I can sense the clan. Heatherpool is there, and she's leading me- at least I think she's leading me, I just know I need to follow her. I absolutely have to, though she never actually interacts with me." She caught sight of Gorsefur walking away from camp, but he hesitated when he saw her, his face screwing up in a bit of confusion, not used to seeing his sister with company. He hesitated, then continued on, and so did Crookedwing's story. "She takes me down a rabbit hole, and it's completely dark. I can smell the earth all around me, I can feel the clan all around me. I can see absolutely nothing though, and all I can do is wander, aimlessly, through this.. this.. maze. Somehow, I'm not afraid. Even after I lose sight of Heatherpool, even after I can't even catch her scent anymore, I feel secure... and I just wander. I wander and I feel at home and everything feels right, though I don't understand why. I'm confused, I'm alone, but everything is okay." She had talked herself blue and inhaled deeply, feeling a little ashamed at rambling again, her eyes once again wide and swimming with emotion when she finally worked up the courage to look the handsome tom in the face and give a nervous chuckle. "And then I wake up. That's pretty mundane too, huh? Hah, I'm so sorry for rambling. I don't have conversations very often, I'm a little rusty, I think."

[Dewstar]

Dewstar flicked his ears and twitched his whiskers in amusement at her comment about his age. Sure, he was getting older, but he didn't usually hear about it from his warriors. Sometimes his mother says something, but she's just rude, so. And Brooksong, but she's the same age, so it makes sense, just chugging along with him. Still, he wasn't offended or hurt -- he was just thinking recently about how many lives he had left. Seven, seven lives left. He didn't know if even Turtlestar had that many. Probably, she hadn't been leader for nearly as long as he had, but ThunderClan was a different place. So who knew. Still, Crookedwing seemed to be digging herself into a verbal ditch -- not that Dewstar was hurt by what she was saying, mind you, because he really wasn't -- and it seemed that she could tell she was. Dewstar simply was listening to her. Not just waiting for her to finish talking, but really listening to what she had to say. He didn't drop his gaze or shuffle uncomfortably or become fascinated with his paws. Nothing about the encounter made him uncomfortable. Why hadn't he bothered to speak with her before?

And then it all changed: for she told him of her dreams.

And what dreams they were. And what a chatty cat she was; Dewstar suspected she’d not had a willing audience in many, many moons to whom she could open up and speak. He listened very intently, more and more curious with every word she spoke. He was flattered – no, not that, that wasn’t quite the right word… impressed, maybe, but not quite – that she would open up about her vulnerabilities, that she would share the intimate detail of her physical state in dreams. Of course, he asked after her dreams, and she answered. He was so used to having to work for information and wait for it that it was a bit surprising when she opened up so readily. Though he chided himself, he should not have been surprised by that. She is his Clanmate, and he her leader, and it is right that she trust him and that he be trustworthy. Thankfully, he didn’t feel his eyes widen, and so he hoped that his face revealed little, though he already wasn’t a particularly expressive cat anyway.

Crookedwing was incredibly self-deprecating, Dewstar found, noticing all the moments when she spoke of herself as incapable in one way or another. He noticed how she seemed to feel guilty when she spoke of her family, lost. He did, in fact, recall the day they died in a border scuffle. Gorsefur and Runningleap became warriors that day, too, though it was a joyous day tinted with pain. Heatherpool was always a welcome presence and Rabbitpaw had such potential. Dewstar suspected he might not need to mention that last bit. He continued to listen silently, making no comment.

They were fairly normal letters, he considered, for what she might be feeling. It would make sense, wanting to be a normal warrior, wanting to have a normal life. He never felt the desire, but he also suspected that not everyone was particularly normal themself, and that’s probably what joined them. He’d lost someone important when he was young, and there was nobody who had yet to fill that hole in his heart; he knew that most other cats didn’t have that gaping hole, most cats were able to let it heal or find someone else, and he hadn’t. An entire life, alone. He sometimes still had dreams of Stonefang, and sometimes Stonefang even visited him from StarClan. So he understood those types of dreams.

It was what came next that truly caught Dewstar.
Crookedwing started off speaking vaguely, mysteriously, intriguing Dewstar in a way that was not the same as mere interest. When she cut herself off, pausing, he followed her gaze and saw her brother a ways off. Dewstar nodded in greeting, ignoring the peculiar expression Gorsefur had on his face.

“She takes me down this rabbit hole, and it’s completely dark.” Crookedwing then went on to describe the tunnels. Dewstar felt his breath catch in his throat as she described it. She dreamed all this? It must have been a sign from StarClan. It didn’t sound as if she’d spoken to Sootflower in this much detail about it, which was nice because he had yet to speak to Sootflower about his plan, either. Was she the key to his plans?

“No, no, don’t apologize,” he replied, once she finished. “It was fascinating. Truly. I’ve enjoyed every moment of your story.” He took another bite of the hare and chewed thoughtfully. Before she could try scampering off, though, he swallowed and licked his lips. “Have you been having this recurring dream a long time?”

Dewstar longed to ask her how well she felt she knew those tunnels she was in when she dreamt, if Heatherpool took her to any specific place every time, or if there were any places in particular she enjoyed, if she ever got close to the sunlight or to water. But he would wait. All in due time. He was patient and would ask one question at a time. Even if it took moons. It was worth it.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 881 WORDS | NOTES: sorry it took so long looool ._.

[Crookedwing]

    
    The tabby she cat seemed a little puzzled as the tom seemed to show no disinterest in her rambling. She made eye contact for a long second before her confidence waned and she hastily looked away again. “It was fascinating. Truly. I’ve enjoyed every moment of your story.” Shock overrode her shyness however and she shot him a look filled with surprise and pleasure. A low purr rumbled momentarily in her throat before she snuffed it out and settled on a small smile. "Ah, thank you..." As he lowered his head to the hare, she gave her chest a few quick licks, hiding her embarrassment and smoothing the ruffled fur. She was a senior warrior, she shouldn't let herself get flustered so easily- and yet here she was, as worked up as an apprentice with a crush. Oh, surely she had a crush, but she certainly wasn't an apprentice anymore, those days were long passed, and besides, she'd only make herself look silly. As if you're not silly looking enough. She chided herself, but was so caught up in her thoughts that she flinched when Dewstar suddenly spoke again. “Have you been having this recurring dream a long time?” 

    Recurring for a long time? Why is this so interesting to him? Or, is it just small talk? She dwelt on it for a few long moments, the silence between them stretching out until it seemed that she may not answer him at all, but inside the gears were turning as she traced the memories of waking up bewildered in her nest as long as she could. It had been many, many moons, so many that time seemed to blur and it was hard to pin down. She mulled it over in her mind, staring up at the crest of a nearby hill, until finally she inhaled deeply and brought herself back to the present. When she spoke, her heart ached, "Since Heatherpool died..." She paused, then remembered that her leader actually seemed interested in what she had to say- she could talk without fear for once, and while part of her wondered if surely he would eventually grow bored of her rambling, she wanted to talk while she could. "It was exciting at first, to see her again, and all I wanted to do was sleep, I know it's just a dream, she's long dead and nothing can change that, but I could imagine her." She swallowed hard and gathered herself. "I suppose it was more like a more or so that the dream started, hazy. Within two more moons the dream reached a stable, where I know what to do, where to go- somehow, I feel as if I know every inch of those tunnels, even after Heatherpool vanishes, oh, but, sometimes.." She licked her lips as, back in a talkative frenzy, she was able to turn back and face Dewstar. "It's recurring, but it's not always the same, it's not always clear either. Sometimes, i'll go in, and there will be uncertainty. Instead of following a path I feel I know by heart, I'll make a turn I've never made before. I find things. I make discoveries, new tunnels, new entrances, and while she never speaks to me, I can feel Heatherpool's praise deep inside."

    She gave a heavy shrug, a little amused at herself. "Dreams are weird like that. They don't mean anything, but they always seem oh so important- at least, until I wake up and shake away the sleep. Then I always feel a little silly for the restless, disgruntled feeling that comes with immediate wakefulness from those. I have a feeling Heatherpool would have chided me for such an overactive imagination as a grown cat. I should probably be more down to earth, like her." And what an imagination it was, and while Heatherpool had been amused at her kit's antics while she was young, she could see the exasperation in her mothers eyes after she became an apprentice and the kitten tendencies remained. She grinned suddenly, "Once, I dreamed that while traversing the tunnels, I found a path that opened up into a pond. I fell in, of course, splashing around and clawing my way out." A giggle bubbled in her chest and she shook her head at her own antics, "I woke up, scrambling in my nest and soaked to the bone with rain." She had looked like a drowned hunch-backed old rat, and the other clan cats had stayed even further away than usual. "It wasn't all so bad though, I had the same dream the next night, but this time my mother stayed with me. She brought me back to the pond- carefully this time! That wouldn't have changed if there was another rainstorm or not and if I got saturated, but hey, I didn't wake up ripping my nest to shreds. I got to look at it this time- it was underground and the pond was actually tucked to the back of what seemed to be a larger room, being fed by some water trickling down, and a crack in the ceiling actually lit the cavern. I could see the stars, so many of them, so many the sky seemed to be pure silver.." She trailed off, her voice dreamy. The room had filled her with emotion, filled her with hope, so much so that she had committed it's every last detail to memory, from the glittering quartz embedded in the soil and rock studded wall, to the mineral stains left by the trickling waterfall seeping from a split in the stone, feeding the rock basin with fresh, cool water. She could almost smell the refreshing liquid, and she wanted to dive in and swim like a Riverclan cat- until she remembered the cold shock from the night before and remained seated at the edge. She had reached out gingerly and touched the water with a paw however, and then dipped her head to drink. It had filled her body with ice, with even more warring emotions, she had felt Heatherpool's warm body at her side, had scented Rabbitpaw at her other, and then she had woken up again, peaceful this time. "I can feel the clan, long dead and those alive. I feel them all, I feel what they feel, I feel everything." Her voice broke, "And then I wake up, and feel nothing." She dipped her head, averting her gaze. "Do you have any other dreams that feel like they mean something? Do you ever dream of.. loved ones?"

[Dewstar]

Crookedwing seemed very caught up in her own thoughts. Dewstar wondered if this was how she always would be when she spoke to other cats, or if perhaps it was because he was her leader, and somehow that gave him some sort of gravitas she wasn’t used to encountering. Either way, she licked her chest and seemed so out of it that, when he asked his question, she winced. In surprise, he assumed, that he shook her out of her internal conflict or monologue or whatever was going on inside her head. When she spoke, it was stop and go for a moment, for she seemed to have forgotten that he truly was interested in what she had to say. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked. He supposed, though, there were probably cats who spoke and asked questions just to fill the void, that they didn’t really care about what the answers were, just so long as something was happening and they didn’t have to be trapped in their own thoughts. Or so that they could make a situation feel less awkward, which it might do for them, but which often makes the other participant in the conversation rather uncomfortable, for it is usually obvious when one participant in a conversation really couldn’t care less.

That was an internal ramble, not entirely dissimilar to Crookedwing’s vocal rambling. It was fairly dissimilar, though, because at least Crookedwing’s speaking was filled with fascinating information. Dewstar listened intently again to how Heatherpool took her through the tunnels, how it seemed as if she’d been having these dreams since she before she became a warrior, for he could recall when Heatherpool and Rabbitpaw died, it was Gorsefur and Runningleap who became warriors, though Crookedwing had some time to go. Had she truly been having these dreams this entire time? It must have started around the same time he found the tunnels in the first place, for it was only perhaps a pawful of seasons before he became deputy that he discovered those tunnels. Here they were, living parallel lives right next to each other. Did StarClan truly intend for them to find those tunnels? Did they intend for Dewstar to work with Crookedwing? Was this part of their plan, part of WindClan’s ancestors’ ideas to return their Clan to its former glory? To give it an advantage that it seemed every other Clan had?

And what if they could live in the tunnels? But no, there was no light or water. It was damp, but Dewstar had not found any true source of water.

But Crookedwing had.

She spoke of her two encounters with the pond, when first she fell in clumsily and then when she was able to see the stars in it. So there was air, light, water. All of it down there. In case something happened, WindClan could go down there. Oh, if only Dewstar’s name was Foxstar or Badgerstar, a proud creature that burrows. But he was the morning damp on the grass. In name, at least. Another inane rambling.

Though Rabid might get distracted with wordy internal ramblings, Dewstar was still listening intently. He was so eager inside to ask her everything, to know everything, to take her there right now, but he did not, for she asked him a question. “Do you ever have any dreams that feel like they mean something? Do you ever dream of… loved ones?” Dewstar paused for a moment before he responded. Of course he did – Stonefang had been in his dreams since Dewstar was Dewpaw. Not too many cats knew about Stonefang, for he had been young and quiet when he died, and Dewstar himself was rather old now.

“Yes,” he answered at last. “StarClan often visits me. I had a friend when I was young, and I still see him quite frequently. It certainly makes waking… an event.” He lay down, tucking his paws under him, and twitched his ears. “What do these dreams mean to you, Crookedwing?”

Her name even. He wished he could change it – well, he could – to something better. Shiningheart, maybe, came to his mind. But this was his first real conversation with the she-cat; if she was even being honest about herself and his dreams. He felt she was, but it was difficult to know anyone. More time with her was required. He wasn’t dreading it, and he supposed that his question could spur some more interesting words from her, and that his other questions could wait. They wouldn’t have felt right after what she asked, but he still kept them tucked in the back of his mind, all of the logistics. They could wait.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 778 WORDS | NOTES: hope I gave you enough to work with

[Crookedwing]

    The she-cat waited patiently, quiet and still, in the silence that followed her question. Her heart ached and her eyes burned from her emotional outpouring, so the silence was appreciated, giving her the long moment she needed to collect herself. "Yes, StarClan often visits me. I had a friend when I was young, and I still see him quite frequently." She managed to internalize her wince. That was the one extra thing that seemed to separate her from her clan. Her whole life, it had been StarClan this, StarClan that, StarClan always has a plan for you. At first, she had latched on to that as a kit, always seeing it as her chance to move forward in life. If they had a plan for her, then all she'd have to do is wait- wait for her glory, wait for her chance. As she aged, however, as the clan seemed to turn their backs on her, and as she proved more and more incapable, she started to wonder. If they were all so wise, if they had a "plan for everyone", then what was hers? Was their plan for her to just be the nest-cleaner?

    And that's when Crookedwing came to her conclusion: StarClan was dead. If StarClan had a plan for everyone, then either they forgot about her, and let her be born a cripple, or more likely, they didn't exist. She preferred the latter option, because she didn't want to face an idea that the ever-loving ancestors that were supposed to be watching them all didn't care about her or what happened to her, though she did see the flaw in this belief due to the very present fact of the leaders all gaining their nine lives, and that wasn't quite something that could easily be faked. She frowned down at her paws, suddenly very interested in the springy moor grass beneath her claws, picking absently at the green carpet as she dwelt on her lack of faith. It wasn't a topic that frequently came up, most cats simply believed everyone believed in StarClan as fervently as they did, and so most of the time it went under the radar. They were a few times, however, during her apprenticeship, that it would come up in her ever waning conversations with her brothers, and they always seemed so taken aback when she'd sheepishly admit that she didn't believe- and here she was now, in front of Dewstar, preparing to give her most condensed version of her personal beliefs.

    “What do these dreams mean to you, Crookedwing?” She continued to frown at her paws, silent for a very long time, so long that she assumed the tom may even grow bored and move on. Finally she spoke, softly, as if she didn't want to admit it out loud. "My dreams...? They're just... just dreams." She shook her head and stopped her assault on the grass, though she didn't raise her eyes. "I know, as a leader, and as most of the Clans do, that you all believe so very much in StarClan." She shifted uncomfortably, like a kit being caught doing something naughty. She didn't know what sort of response she could respect- some cats she knew took it very, very seriously, though she was also very aware of the several other cats dispersed among the clans who felt similarly to her, for all of their own reasons. This did not, of course, raise her confidence, and when she continued, there was a tinge of fresh pain to her words. "I find it incredibly hard, Dewstar, to believe in a cruel StarClan who could have forgotten me so. One that, seeing a kit born so twisted, useless and crooked-" She did indeed feel a spur of bitter resentment. Many cats were named after physical traits, but they were usually complimentary, based on color, or size, or beauty- but for some reason her mother had decided to name her after the least flattering trait she could find on her daughter. Heatherpool had always loved her, always been a kind mother, and yet the she-cat still couldn't fathom why a loving mother would do something that she found so vile. Maybe if there was a StarClan, I could actually ask her. Shame. There was intelligent defiance in her eyes when she slowly, ever so slowly, raised them to her leader "For what? What purpose do I have? You claim to receive dreams from them, I tend to believe that truly they are just dreams. As much as I'd love to believe I have some greater purpose, I'm afraid I just see it as the confusing dreams of a lonely she-cat who has nothing but her dreams to escape to." She raised her chin and stared down her nose at her, and then suddenly flinched, growing somewhat fearful, "I- I apologize. I don't know what got in to me." She gulped and hopped to her feet, starting to rapidly backtrack. "I... I greatly appreciate you sharing breakfast with me. I truly do hope your dreams get better- more of your friend and less of... hares?" She offered a weak smile and spun, limping swiftly towards the elders den, shame making her face burn hot. She hadn't grown irritated with Dewstar, per se, but with herself, but the bite had come out, the reminder that if there was a StarClan in any degree, that they had left her long ago, and with her fear and self loathing, she had ruined a lovely morning. Typical Crookedwing.

[Dewstar]

“My dreams...?” she replied. “They’re just… just dreams.” At first, Dewstar wasn’t sure if Crookedwing was simply saying that as a way to convince either him or herself of it, that she might be worried he wouldn’t believe her if she claimed she thought they were sent by StarClan. When she said that she didn’t believe it StarClan, though, that changed things. Not in the way that Dewstar wouldn’t want to keep her around -- he was happy to have her -- but it seemed to set her off. Alright, he thought. I simply won’t mention StarClan around her. As she went on, Dewstar realized this was something much deeper.
 
And of course he did believe in StarClan -- they gave him lives, they gave him names. He wasn’t sure how a leader could not believe in StarClan. Unless, of course, they didn’t receive their nine lives. He had suspicions about some of the past ShadowClan leadership, that at least one of them might not have received nine lives. Swampstar certainly had, though, and she’d been going strong ever since. Although she was always gruff and usually unpleasant to be around, he found her to be the most trustworthy of all the leaders. Poppystar hid everything behind a purr, and who knew what was going on in Turtlestar’s head at any given moment.
 
Dewstar made sure not to react strongly when she poured out her beliefs to him, that StarClan had abandoned her. In Dewstar’s mind, StarClan wasn’t some force that dragged the cats along by the nose, deciding each and every choice they’d make; after all, everyone of them would one day be StarClan. An old mouse-brain who died two days ago would join StarClan -- did that grant them infinite wisdom and the ability to shake the Clans to their roots? Dewstar didn’t think so. Perhaps some others did.
 
The brown-tabby-and-white she-cat lifted her gaze and actually met Dewstar’s green eyes. He did not falter from her look. “What purpose do I have?” she asked. Of course, the gray leader could think of at least one purpose, one major purpose. But she seemed to be speaking rhetorically, so he let her finish. When, of course, she fled after speaking, he took a moment for himself, licking his paw and then swiping it over his ear, doing a quick clean. Should he chase after her? Call out to her? Tell her everything about his plan? He lowered his white paw and rose from his seated loaf-position, tail swishing behind him. Other cats were waking now, and Dewstar spotted Haretail speaking to Gorsefur and some other warriors. Swiftly, he approached her. “I’m leaving camp for a little bit. Don’t worry, I’ll be back shortly. You’re in charge until then.” The warriors blinked, for clearly he had interrupted something. While he wasn’t hasty, he did wish to move quickly, and so had not waited for an opening in the conversation. Haretail, on the other paw, was quite used to such interactions, having been Dewstar’s deputy for his entire time as leader, and these happened every so often.
 
When his deputy nodded her assent, Dewstar turned back to Crookedwing, who had hobbled on over to the elders’ den. At a pleasant trot, he approached her; on his back, he could feel the gazes of some of his Clanmates. Perhaps they were confused. Perhaps they thought he was going to do something to her. Perhaps they were pleased that someone was finally taking an interest in the she-cat. Perhaps they had forgotten that she existed and were startled to see such a creature by the elders. “Crookedwing,” he purred. “Would you like to go on a walk with me? I wanted to go for a walk, but I have no one to go with, and I quite enjoyed our conversation just now. We don’t have to continue it if you don’t want to, but I’d love for you to accompany me on the moors at the very least.”
 
He glanced at his mother, Mintcloud, whose green eyes glittered back at him. She was always so grumpy, that old cat, though she was quite the warrior in her youth, and she never let Dewstar forget it when he was younger. Of course, he didn’t try to keep up with her. Brooksong, on the other paw, could be as good of a warrior as Mintcloud claims she used to be, though Dewstar’s sister had a much more agreeable disposition. Now, though, the old black-and-white she-cat said nothing, just grunted and curled back up into a ball. In his mind, Dewstar could hear her joints creaking.

After that briefest of interactions, Dewstar focused intently on Crookedwing, awaiting her answer to his request. Of course, with or without her, he’d love to take a walk, see what was happening out by the tunnels. In case he ran into anything unseemly, he was pretty good at running, and anyway, he still had almost all of his lives left. Too many, in some opinions. Not in his, most days.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 840 WORDS | NOTES: out pops her angst xD

[Crookedwing]

    The she-cat's mental scolding continued as she trekked across camp, moving as fast as her crooked shoulder would allow, without going at an outright sprint. She flushed hot under her fur, her embarrassment growing with every thought. What had she been thinking? Not only had her mouth run it's course, rambling and spewing information that Dewstar likely didn't actually want, or need, to know, but then she had grown defensive over her mistrust of StarClan, hostile even, snapped, scolded, likely infuriated her leader. Of course, she was unaware of the tom's inner workings, and had nothing on which she could base these ideas of a furious Dewstar coming to punish her, and he had always been nothing but calm and kind with her- ah but yes, that wild imagination, and that self-conscious demeanor, pushed her anxiety to the max, and now her heart throbbed in her throat. It took all she had not to glance back at him, to gauge his reaction, possibly falsely, and make it worse, so instead she stared straight down and made her escape.

    She halted suddenly, and took a deep, calming breath. Whatever had happened was over now, and she had a job to do- the only thing she was good for. After a long pause, she put on a pleasant, but strained, smile, and approached the elder's nest, chirping out a greeting to WindClan's sole elder. "Good morning, Mintcloud!" But of course, this greeting went ignored, and Mintcloud, ever the angry, grouchy cat she was, didn't even look in Crookedwing's direction. This had long since stopped bothering her, as there were several of her clanmates that disregarded her when she attempted to speak to them, and most of those that did respond were too busy and gave curt, borderline polite, greetings of their own before continuing on their way. This was how she knew most of the clan going ons, rumors, and secrets. When cat's barely acknowledged you even when you spoke, they typically ignored your present overall even if you were just a few tail lengths away. This wasn't so with Mintcloud however, and these days, she rarely seemed to speak to anyone. Crookedwing felt for the old she-cat, though her isolation was self induced, she couldn't help but pity her. While she knew Mintcloud likely didn't enjoy Crookedwing's company, as she didn't enjoy anyone's, Crookedwing had taken to speaking to the black and white she-cat every time she cleaned the elder's den. It was never a true conversation of course, and very one sided: Crookedwing would spew words much like she had with Dewstar- talking about hopes, dreams, clan life, all the little things that no one else would listen to. Of course, she had no way to know if Mintcloud was actually listening, and she was sure on a few occasions that she was actually sound asleep, but for a cat who most others would walk away from when she started to speak at all, it was a little bit of a relief that at least she didn't just run from the immediate area. "It is truly a beautiful morning isn't it? Going to be hot today, I can feel it." And so it started. She rambled softly as she began to sort and clean the nest, not quite as talkative as usually, but softly commenting on how rich the prey had been running, based on the growing size of the fresh kill pile, and how she hoped such a rich New Leaf would aid to many healthy litters in the coming months, how much she loved kits, and a favourite topic, what she dreamed her own kits would look like. Perhaps too personal, particularly for a cat that would likely never find a mate, but one that she liked to dwell on- and as per usual, Mintcloud said nothing.

    "Crookedwing," The voice was a pleasant purr, but she was so entrenched in her own rambling that she let out a bark of surprise and nearly shot from her own skin. She spun with surprising nimbleness, though when attempting to stop the sudden movement, her shoulder gave and she stumbled a bit, simultaneously backing up a few steps and staring wide eyed at the tom. Oh no. What did I do? She shuffled her paws slightly, like an apprentice caught doing something wrong, gaze darting around in anticipation as she waited to be scolded, as she deserved. “Would you like to go on a walk with me? I wanted to go for a walk, but I have no one to go with, and I quite enjoyed our conversation just now. We don’t have to continue it if you don’t want to, but I’d love for you to accompany me on the moors at the very least.” Her jittery movements ceased. Oh. She wasn't in any sort of trouble? She met his gaze, her own swimming with confusion. He wanted to go on a walk? With her? With her? The flush returned to her body and she felt all too warm under her pelt, heart racing and stammering for a response. "I- I- I mean I.. b-but M-Mintclou-" She swallowed so suddenly on her words that it nearly hurt and she had to take a second to breathe. "S-sure, y-eah, I'd l-love y- ah, to. I'd love to." 

    She stepped towards him and turned back sheepishly, "S-sorry Mintcloud. I promise I'll clean your nest later." She hoped her sudden departure and the unfinished state of Mintcloud's nest wouldn't offend the elder, but she simply couldn't pass up this opportunity. She quickly realized that if the she-cat cared at all, she wasn't showing it, and after sparing a glance at her son, she curled up in a ball, presumably to go back to sleep. She shared that same sheepish smile with Dewstar, but just as she was about to speak, she noticed the eyes. All of them. Every cat in camp, save Mintcloud, had their eyes on her. Certainly Dewstar too, but it felt as if they all bore into her pelt. Some were confused, some carried disgust that made her stomach twist in shame, and a few seemed... oddly pleased. This confused her, but she didn't have time to dwell, and she pushed down the discomfort she felt suddenly being the center of attention for the first time in many, many moons. The first time since she became a warrior, and the clan gawked, wondering what their leader possibly could have been thinking. Crookedwing hastily looked away from the prying glances being shot their way and lowered her head, burning now with shame instead of the warmth of a she-cat with a crush. She met no one's gaze as she spoke softly. "I'm ready then, if you are."

[Dewstar]

Dewstar was honestly fascinated by how self-conscious Crookedwing was. He hadn’t observed her with anyone else in the Clan, so perhaps she was always like this, but he hadn’t truly encountered anyone else quite the same in this respect. It seemed when he approached that she had been chatting quite pleasantly at Mintcloud, but that changed when he announced his presence to her. Perhaps there was something more -- at least the fact that he was her leader. His sister, of course, had been Crookedwing’s mentor, that silly smothering she-cat he loved so well, so perhaps Crookedwing had some perception of him from her influence. After all, Brooksong was his only friend, really. He didn’t particularly enjoy sharing secrets or thoughts with other cats on a good day. Crookedwing was a good listener, though, and she seemed so emphatically interested that it was hard to resist indulging the sweet she-cat.

But Dewstar was pretty good at resisting. Or at least, resisting for the moment -- perhaps he would open up to her in the future. He was patient, after all. And, as fit his character, he waited patiently while Crookedwing stammered, looking to Mintcloud as an excuse, but not seeming to want an excuse, not really. Mintcloud was rarely a good excuse, unless, perhaps, it was Dewstar’s unwillingness to connect to others. (Just kidding (maybe).)

While Dewstar felt the warmth of others’ gazes on him all the time and was quite used to it, it seemed that it affected Crookedwing quite differently. She was probably not used to it -- Dewstar had seen how often cats’ eyes glazed and passed over her when she was near them. So, this trip would probably be nice, give them a chance to speak without any prying eyes at all. Even before, when they were eating, Gorsefur had looked over quizzically, and now it was all the waking Clan (so Mintcloud didn’t count, sleeping as she seemed to at least be pretending to be). It would be nice to get all those inquiring eyes off his back.

Dewstar purred when finally Crookedwing assented. “Excuse me, Mother,” he meowed, “while I steal your nest-cleaner. I’m sure the apprentices can come over and handle it for the rest of the day.” He expected no response from her and got none. Turning back to Crookedwing, he twitched his whiskers. “I’m ready right now. Let’s go.”

He flicked his tail and turned back. Most of his prying Clanmates snapped their heads back and at least feigned returning to what they were doing. If they were trying to fool him, it didn’t work. If they were trying to fool Crookedwing, well, Dewstar could not speak for her, but she seemed aware and uncomfortable. If they were trying to fool each other or themselves, he suspected they were succeeding, but only at that.

Without another word, Dewstar padded the most direct route, nodded in greeting and acknowledgment of the guards, and left the camp for the moors of WindClan’s territory, he hoped with Crookedwing in tow. At least there was barely a cloud in the sky as the sun rose ever higher -- it would be a good day to take a walk. And to fly, too, he thought as he watched a hawk soar high overhead. Perhaps it was hunting something. Dewstar glanced toward the nursery; he saw no kits out and about. As he moved farther away, the hawk lifted higher into the sky and flew off into the distance. So they were safe. The gray tabby tom wouldn’t leave if he thought for an instant his Clan might be in danger, though some other cats and Clans might consider him cowardly because of his willingness to flee. It’s all to protect his Clan, however. These walks, though, were to protect him and his sanity.

Sometimes on his walks, Dewstar went with Sootflower; she was always enjoyable company, and always had wise counsel for him, packaged in the most backhanded-yet-kind way. He suspected Crookedwing would be just as interesting.

Crookedwing is TAGGED | 667 WORDS | NOTES: sorry it's like half the length of yours. I hope it's okay? Also we can probably move to another territory now and mark this thread as complete?