- May 17, 2023
- 327
- 120
- 43
Even the afternoon, gentle autumnal afternoon, falls harshly in the mountains. The sky is a blue so wide and fierce it aches to look at, the glowing back of a divine maw stretching to fit the earth entire. Capped in untouched white, mountains like kitten teeth dot the underside as far as the eye dares to see, spiraling endlessly into the azure throat of the sky. Snow unfurls infinitely beneath her paws; sometimes she can imagine it, plush and wet, as the dew-kissed forest floor of her birthplace. A stroke of breath, crisply fashioned upon the edge of a canvas knife, cuts any delusion of such to ribbons, like budding shoots under claw.
All around her hums the chatter of souls desperate to assert their mere existence upon the lonely, numb face of the mountains. Thirty-five sets of paws crunch resolutely through the snow, their prints proof that they lived even if they died with no witness but the sun's brilliant eye.
They are alone now, and it is exhilirating.
The wandering troupe had chanced upon a scraggly grove of pines. Not the stately towers who'd grown nourished and strong in SkyClan's sun and earth, but twisted and haggard skeletons of the same trees she knew from home. No wonder the girl had darted off so quickly, trading the grosteque shadows they laid upon the snow for an unfettered view of the mountains. It's not very SkyClan of her, she knows, but a girl could sun herself for a moment without consideration of her clan.
After her incident with Flamewhisker, Orangeblossom had been too eager to warn her of the dangers of straying away from the group and to keep her eyes on the sky. Cherrypaw already knew about owls, but mama told her these were different. Scarier. Birds with wings so wide they blotted out the sun, with claws as large and sharp as a TigerClan warrior's. They'd taken Hazecloud's face and Bobbie's collar with their monstrous strength and insatiable greed, more like winged foxes than the twittering birds that filled their home forests.
Cherrypaw strides across the glowing plain of white without hesitation, more like a WindClan warrior, born and raised upon the open moors, than a SkyClan apprentice two moons out of the nursery. After all, she could still pick out the details of the others from within the shadows of the trees, a colorful motley of pelt and scent she couldn't miss unless she was blind. Orangeblossom and Slate probably had their heads together, murmuring about orders Slate could only give through her mother. Scorchpaw wasn't around either, likely with the rest of her clan. (Otherwise, Cherrypaw would've dragged her along with her.) There's no one to notice her absence, especially if she was back within the time it took to catch a mouse. She could always say the hunt was unsuccessful.
Besides, they'd found the lungwort! They'd done it, and no one died! A few cats had gotten hurt, but they were cats like Duskpool, who got hurt all the time, or warriors from other clans, who obviously weren't as well-trained as SkyClanners. Most of the deadliest injuries had happened recently anyway, when everyone was all tired from climbing the cliff and exploring brand-new territory. That just meant the return trip couldn't possibly be as bad for their band of now-experienced and alpine-hardened warriors. Perhaps StarClan had something to do with it, like a few ThunderClanners and RiverClanners are claiming, but Cherrypaw doesn't think so. StarClan, benevolent as they are, have no paw in successes all their mortal own.
Each glittering step leaves in its wake a soft blue daub, mere footsteps just another brushstroke upon the crowded canvas. In the yellowed reflection of a burning eye, her spine is a matador's cape, crimson waving, screaming against a silent backdrop of white. Cherrypaw walks a one-cat parade across the field, tail vaulted into the sunburned air as though to cry, "Look at me! Look at me!" And look at herself she longs to; better yet would be the admiration in the gazes of everyone else. Homesickness is not a new feeling, not to her nor their ragtag group, but in the dizzy glory of the montane sunlight the ache for her clanmates mounts to something almost intolerable. She wishes her eyes could somehow save this picture and bury it safely into the back of her head, so that she could tout it back to her friends like a fat sparrow back in SkyClan camp.
Lupinepaw would be awestruck, she thinks; she might even start crying. Every one of her siblings, and probably Edenpaw, would probably be bouncing around with joy, except for Glimmerpaw. She'd probably tell Cherrypaw to get her tail back to the rest of the group, like a bigger and fluffier copy of their mother. Crowpaw would blubber out a few words and find something weird to comment on. She even thinks about Falconpaw, Plaguepaw and Doompaw. Falconpaw probably wouldn't even register the majesty of where they were, what with his head stuck under his the tail of Orangeblossom and Smogmaw. Doompaw might've just scaled that cliff by himself and run off into the mountains, never to be seen again. And maybe they should've brought Plaguepaw along: his ugly mug would've scared off all those birds before they could attack them.
She finds herself missing them. All of them. She'd of course throw it in their faces when she got back, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing what she saw and knowing they'd never get to see it with their own two eyes. Sun-shaded eyes stare all around herself, softening in the brief, quiet moment she'd never realized she could take. Cherrypaw mutely regards the silvery gashes of the nearby mountains, the distant ones with their bite softened in the cerulean haze. The swathes of struggling forests painted dusky brown below, with errant flickers of green so dull and quiet she reckons she imagined them. The purest white, never before sullied until she arrived, gradually shifting from the shaded blue pooling around her to vibrant, porcelain frost.
Around her?
Cherrypaw glances about herself, blank expression deepening into confusion. This isn't her shadow, so soft around the edges, and there aren't any trees nearby—
Its wingbeats are a thunderclap straight into her ears. A wall of feather umber engulfs her for a moment; the shockwave of the eagle's braking sends a flying a shimmering cloud of snow, as though even the earth is fleeing from the onslaught to come. A cry, furious and fearful, escapes her parting jaws. Adrenaline crackles through her spine like lightning, twisting it into a better look at her attacker—and her heart skips a beat.
If the sun could take the form of a creature, this would be it. The thing's eyes are twin mirrors of the sun, intensifying what should be watchful and warm into a burning, hateful stare shot straight through her. Its maw is simply a monstrous pair of golden claws, cruel and hooked just the same. For moment Cherrypaw forgets herself in the sheer terror, and she only feels faintly the catch of unseen claws into her flanks.
She regains herself in another moment. The winged horror flaps again, and she flattens her ears against the roar of wind. Her claws, pinpricks compared to the talons in her back, scrape the ground without finding hold; the snow crumbles in vain between her outstretched toes. "No!" A shriek tears unbidden from her as the weight of realization bores full down, and she doesn't know whether the vice grip upon her ribcage is from that despair or the beast. "No, no! Get off!" The girl thrashes against her scaled restraints, claws flying everywhere but into feathered flesh. With each swipe she can feel the hooks burying themselves deeper into her ribs, but to stop fighting would be certain death.
Even so, the pain is seeping through the adrenaline faster than she notices. As her paws fully and finally detach from the ground, it's all upon her. For all her fire and born fury, she is only an apprentice. War and famine are foreign concepts still to her six-moon old mind; thus far she's known no pain beyond a splinter stuck in her uncalloused pad. The eagle's talons are ten thousand splinters sent straight into the fragile webbing between her ribs.
Her sides, her sides. Her screams quickly dissolve into gasps as the heat devours her whole. Porcelain limbs contort and stiffen, unable to move for fear of calling down greater agony. "H-Help! HELP!" Cherrypaw barely hears herself above the barrage in her ears, barely feels the warmth stinging her cheeks, wet and hot in a way her flanks are not; her voice is somewhere between a shriek and a sob. It's taking her; Mama would miss her. She tries for another kick. Weak as it is, she lets loose another cry at the retribution. "MAMA! MAMA!"
Cherrypaw can only watch, fading, as ruby stars begin to dot the forever alabaster night below. Blurred in tears and flame, moon-wide eyes stare blankly at the dark figure rising to greet her.
ooc: tl;dr: local girl makes the dumb decision to venture out alone, eagle carries her off. please don't post yet unless we've discussed this beforehand!
All around her hums the chatter of souls desperate to assert their mere existence upon the lonely, numb face of the mountains. Thirty-five sets of paws crunch resolutely through the snow, their prints proof that they lived even if they died with no witness but the sun's brilliant eye.
They are alone now, and it is exhilirating.
The wandering troupe had chanced upon a scraggly grove of pines. Not the stately towers who'd grown nourished and strong in SkyClan's sun and earth, but twisted and haggard skeletons of the same trees she knew from home. No wonder the girl had darted off so quickly, trading the grosteque shadows they laid upon the snow for an unfettered view of the mountains. It's not very SkyClan of her, she knows, but a girl could sun herself for a moment without consideration of her clan.
After her incident with Flamewhisker, Orangeblossom had been too eager to warn her of the dangers of straying away from the group and to keep her eyes on the sky. Cherrypaw already knew about owls, but mama told her these were different. Scarier. Birds with wings so wide they blotted out the sun, with claws as large and sharp as a TigerClan warrior's. They'd taken Hazecloud's face and Bobbie's collar with their monstrous strength and insatiable greed, more like winged foxes than the twittering birds that filled their home forests.
Cherrypaw strides across the glowing plain of white without hesitation, more like a WindClan warrior, born and raised upon the open moors, than a SkyClan apprentice two moons out of the nursery. After all, she could still pick out the details of the others from within the shadows of the trees, a colorful motley of pelt and scent she couldn't miss unless she was blind. Orangeblossom and Slate probably had their heads together, murmuring about orders Slate could only give through her mother. Scorchpaw wasn't around either, likely with the rest of her clan. (Otherwise, Cherrypaw would've dragged her along with her.) There's no one to notice her absence, especially if she was back within the time it took to catch a mouse. She could always say the hunt was unsuccessful.
Besides, they'd found the lungwort! They'd done it, and no one died! A few cats had gotten hurt, but they were cats like Duskpool, who got hurt all the time, or warriors from other clans, who obviously weren't as well-trained as SkyClanners. Most of the deadliest injuries had happened recently anyway, when everyone was all tired from climbing the cliff and exploring brand-new territory. That just meant the return trip couldn't possibly be as bad for their band of now-experienced and alpine-hardened warriors. Perhaps StarClan had something to do with it, like a few ThunderClanners and RiverClanners are claiming, but Cherrypaw doesn't think so. StarClan, benevolent as they are, have no paw in successes all their mortal own.
Each glittering step leaves in its wake a soft blue daub, mere footsteps just another brushstroke upon the crowded canvas. In the yellowed reflection of a burning eye, her spine is a matador's cape, crimson waving, screaming against a silent backdrop of white. Cherrypaw walks a one-cat parade across the field, tail vaulted into the sunburned air as though to cry, "Look at me! Look at me!" And look at herself she longs to; better yet would be the admiration in the gazes of everyone else. Homesickness is not a new feeling, not to her nor their ragtag group, but in the dizzy glory of the montane sunlight the ache for her clanmates mounts to something almost intolerable. She wishes her eyes could somehow save this picture and bury it safely into the back of her head, so that she could tout it back to her friends like a fat sparrow back in SkyClan camp.
Lupinepaw would be awestruck, she thinks; she might even start crying. Every one of her siblings, and probably Edenpaw, would probably be bouncing around with joy, except for Glimmerpaw. She'd probably tell Cherrypaw to get her tail back to the rest of the group, like a bigger and fluffier copy of their mother. Crowpaw would blubber out a few words and find something weird to comment on. She even thinks about Falconpaw, Plaguepaw and Doompaw. Falconpaw probably wouldn't even register the majesty of where they were, what with his head stuck under his the tail of Orangeblossom and Smogmaw. Doompaw might've just scaled that cliff by himself and run off into the mountains, never to be seen again. And maybe they should've brought Plaguepaw along: his ugly mug would've scared off all those birds before they could attack them.
She finds herself missing them. All of them. She'd of course throw it in their faces when she got back, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing what she saw and knowing they'd never get to see it with their own two eyes. Sun-shaded eyes stare all around herself, softening in the brief, quiet moment she'd never realized she could take. Cherrypaw mutely regards the silvery gashes of the nearby mountains, the distant ones with their bite softened in the cerulean haze. The swathes of struggling forests painted dusky brown below, with errant flickers of green so dull and quiet she reckons she imagined them. The purest white, never before sullied until she arrived, gradually shifting from the shaded blue pooling around her to vibrant, porcelain frost.
Around her?
Cherrypaw glances about herself, blank expression deepening into confusion. This isn't her shadow, so soft around the edges, and there aren't any trees nearby—
Its wingbeats are a thunderclap straight into her ears. A wall of feather umber engulfs her for a moment; the shockwave of the eagle's braking sends a flying a shimmering cloud of snow, as though even the earth is fleeing from the onslaught to come. A cry, furious and fearful, escapes her parting jaws. Adrenaline crackles through her spine like lightning, twisting it into a better look at her attacker—and her heart skips a beat.
If the sun could take the form of a creature, this would be it. The thing's eyes are twin mirrors of the sun, intensifying what should be watchful and warm into a burning, hateful stare shot straight through her. Its maw is simply a monstrous pair of golden claws, cruel and hooked just the same. For moment Cherrypaw forgets herself in the sheer terror, and she only feels faintly the catch of unseen claws into her flanks.
She regains herself in another moment. The winged horror flaps again, and she flattens her ears against the roar of wind. Her claws, pinpricks compared to the talons in her back, scrape the ground without finding hold; the snow crumbles in vain between her outstretched toes. "No!" A shriek tears unbidden from her as the weight of realization bores full down, and she doesn't know whether the vice grip upon her ribcage is from that despair or the beast. "No, no! Get off!" The girl thrashes against her scaled restraints, claws flying everywhere but into feathered flesh. With each swipe she can feel the hooks burying themselves deeper into her ribs, but to stop fighting would be certain death.
Even so, the pain is seeping through the adrenaline faster than she notices. As her paws fully and finally detach from the ground, it's all upon her. For all her fire and born fury, she is only an apprentice. War and famine are foreign concepts still to her six-moon old mind; thus far she's known no pain beyond a splinter stuck in her uncalloused pad. The eagle's talons are ten thousand splinters sent straight into the fragile webbing between her ribs.
Her sides, her sides. Her screams quickly dissolve into gasps as the heat devours her whole. Porcelain limbs contort and stiffen, unable to move for fear of calling down greater agony. "H-Help! HELP!" Cherrypaw barely hears herself above the barrage in her ears, barely feels the warmth stinging her cheeks, wet and hot in a way her flanks are not; her voice is somewhere between a shriek and a sob. It's taking her; Mama would miss her. She tries for another kick. Weak as it is, she lets loose another cry at the retribution. "MAMA! MAMA!"
Cherrypaw can only watch, fading, as ruby stars begin to dot the forever alabaster night below. Blurred in tears and flame, moon-wide eyes stare blankly at the dark figure rising to greet her.
ooc: tl;dr: local girl makes the dumb decision to venture out alone, eagle carries her off. please don't post yet unless we've discussed this beforehand!
