All The Wonders Of This New World (joining), Hidden To All Eyes But Ours

[Wheattail]

How long had she been walking?

It had been so many moons since autumn-hued paws hauled her away on this journey to nowhere, Wheat wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. Amber eyes looked above, picking through stars twinkling overhead as she tried to figure it out. Four moons? Yes, that seemed right. A flowing tail idly swished to and fro as the ticked tabby took in the meaning of her own casual conclusion.

Four moons meant she’d been traveling for half her life now. Wheat was eight (more or less), and the wanderer had been alone for most of it. Any nagging thoughts about her solitary nature were pushed away as the well-worn woman focused on the landscape both ahead and behind, though. How much of the world had been seen by this one set of eyes, she wondered? Was it enough to satisfy the curiosity as vast as the horizon before her?

For a moment the moggy considered going back home; but the thought of willingly wading into the torpor she’d escaped made Wheat wince, seemingly infusing her paws with the energy to forget their soreness (if only for a few moments). Still, it was something that had to come eventually. All journeys had to end, and the wanderer didn’t have anyplace else to call home. At least for the moment she had a convenient excuse to delay: Wheat didn’t know the way back.

It was understandable. When Wheat had set out to see the world, she hadn’t path nor heading in mind. Landmarks blurred together in the mist of memory, and it seemed every day she had picked some new direction to head off in. The girl was sure she could sort out a path in her head given enough time, but it wasn’t a task the ticked tabby was eager to start. Yet it was a whirlpool of thoughts Wheat had found herself sucked into more and more often as of late; catching herself thinking about the family so casually crossed out of her mind until now.

Wheat sniffed the air, momentarily releasing herself from the trance of introspection. The wanderer was quite certain she’d crossed a scent marker earlier while lost in thought, but the cat was too tired to care. It seemed stale, and it was the middle of the night. Whatever loner had laid it was either asleep, or ran off days ago. Not one to consider the odds (especially when exhausted after a day of walking), Wheat decided to chance it, unaware of the dangers lurking in the territory.

It was lucky that the woman worried after her own pelt so much. Fearing rain, she’d found the husk of a dead pine tree to squeeze into. An invisible brow furrowed as she realized too late that her makeshift home was within earshot of a nearby thunderpath, but Wheat weighed her options and decided dry fur was worth a rough sleep.

Whoever would stumble upon Wheat’s sleeping form come morning would be greeted to a rather interesting sight: what seemed to be a living pile of autumn leaves slumbering peacefully within a log; far from the regal and refined figure she hoped to cut on any first impression.​

 

[Needledrift]

ShadowClan's predicament had escalated from bad to pitiful. A shameful thing to most cats, something that garnered scorn and distaste among the ranks of the marsh cats. Needledrift couldn't find it in herself to be angry or admonished by their status as a travelling clan, one displaced by tragedy after tragedy. Curse or coincidence followed them wherever they went - StarClan's wrath would not be abated by ThunderClan's kindness, of this, she was absolutely sure. Squatting on ThunderClan land would not drive out the bears or bring Poppypaw back or mend the wounds caused by internal strife. In fact, the added stress would no doubt sever the clan into more digestible chunks - singular units shambling around in approximation of a colony.

It is with this sour attitude that Needledrift had taken off, looking for pine needles and moss to decorate her new nest in their ThunderClan campground. It felt... disrespectful to gather materials while Howlingstar's warriors looked on from the undergrowth and the gray warrior didn't feel like being judged for only staring back, her aching jaw preventing any sort of suitable explanation or conversation. No, it would be far better to attempt collections in a more familiar space, somewhere still distinctly ShadowClan, even if the clan did not feel it.

Pine needles and moss, she set out to find, pine needles and moss and .... red fur? Needledrift blinks, tip-toeing closer to inspect the hollow in front of her. Yes, that was fur. Red fur. The fur of a cat. A young cat. A young she-cat. A young red-furred she-cat asleep in a log on ShadowClan territory. A silly sort of hope trickles down her spine, making her curl. She lives in the unreality for a moment, the unreality that Poppypaw miraculously survived the bear attack and ran away to fall asleep in a little hiding spot, forgetting to say anything to anybody out of exhaustion, but in a heartbeat, the daydream fades.

The cat's fur is too orange, their form the wrong size and their pelt carried the wrong scent. Poppypaw was dead. This was a different cat entirely.

The creeping mental storm looms in the back of the she-cat's head as she exhales, allowing herself to come back to earth before she leans forward and taps the child lightly with a white-tipped paw - brrrrmp! is her gentle wake-up call.​

i will never leave your room, tell everything that bothers you​

 

[Wheattail]

It was strange. So many places visited, so many sights seen by amber eyes, and yet in slumber her mind always returned to the same few dreams. She was always at home, surrounded by the snow that had shaped her childhood. The vast plains were all around her, endless horizons exaggerated by sleep’s spell. It was like looking over a sea of sheep’s fur, while the blackest sky imaginable loomed overhead, punctuated by occasional pinpricks of stars.

Perhaps that was where Wheat’s lust for travel was born? When the horizon lay in every direction, one could only wonder what was beyond it. Still, even with all she’d seen, the sheer emptiness of the image her mind and memories conjured up made the she-cat feel cold. Standing there on those snow-covered plains, it felt like she was the only living thing in the world. It was scary.

Amber eyes flick open as she feels an impact on her head. It takes a moment to focus on what’s in front of her, but after a few seconds she lets out nothing more than an annoyed huff. Since this stranger had opted to tap instead of stab, it was clear Wheat was in no danger (at least for the time being). Still, she couldn’t let this slight slide.

Scampering outside, Wheat showed off some insecurity by way of hopping onto the log as to attain an artificial height advantage. Once there, amber eyes glowered down at the stranger for a few moments before an expression shifted to that of mild annoyance. “You touched my fur.” She said sternly, like a judge reading off charges to the accused. “There are many who have wished to touch it in the past, and many who asked. Only to a lucky few did I acquiesce, yet you tap your paw against it like you would the dirt beneath us.”

Wheat hopped down from the log and began to circle Needledrift, a mischievous smile crossing autumn features. “My fur is quite remarkable, is it not?” She asked rhetorically, brushing a bushy tail along the Shadowclanner’s nose as she made another lap around, before stopping to sit in front of her with a sigh. “One should punish malice, not ignorance. Since you plainly weren’t aware of my pelt’s quality before touching it, I’ll forgive you this once.” An autumn head cocked to the side slightly, and her mischievous smile shifted towards genuine kindness. Clearly, that was Wheat’s idea of an introduction. ​

 

[FERNDANCE]

A cat sleeping out in the open was not an uncommon sight in the old days when territories were safer and Clans were naught but a distant tale told by those who wanted to impress children. Since the rats and the bears, it had become a luxury of the past, and it was that naivety that made Ferndance first realise that the snoozing stranger was not from her Clan. Needledrift approached first and, willing to assess the situation a little more, the ticked tabby hung back, red-tinted fur pressed against the tinted grasses of the marshlands. It was only when the other awoke and appeared to have some indignation towards her clanmate that Ferndance slinked forwards, her tail motionless behind her. Wheat began to talk and so, Ferndance began to listen. Tales of the importance of her fur hooked the Lead Warrior in immediately, causing her to lean further and further forward until she was certain she was invading someone's personal space - be it her own or Needledrift's.

Ferndance gasped, her maw parted even after the inhale was completed. Awe infused into her shy voice, she asked, "Are you made of fire?" She moved closer as if assessing an open flame for danger, skirting left and right, slightly hunched, spine fur bristled in anticipation of an escape. A smile appeared on her muzzle, her own brand of mischief. Wordlessly, she reached out and booped the 'remarkable' fur of the apprentice-aged cat, uncertain if the fur was actually as soft as feathers or if Wheat's words had manipulated her in some way. Regardless, when she reclined, the wide-eyed Ferndance remained speechless, staring with the careless turbulence of had acted in spite of someone else. Nothing. A second passed. Nothing again. Then, the cinnamon tabby's whole body rippled with a wave of bristling fur. The Lead Warrior suddenly collapsed onto the ground, all four limbs shooting towards the very heavens that had struck her down like the legs of a dying fly. She rolled her neck and let her tongue loosely blep out the corner of her mouth, 'dead' eyes staring towards Wheat, occasionally blinking despite her juvenile attempts to play dead. It was much more fun than asking her what on earth she was doing near ShadowClan.

​

 

[Wheattail]

Another one. Amber eyes flicked towards Ferndance, eyeing the newcomer with a mix of suspicion and confusion. Until now, she had assumed Needledrift was a loner like her, But the fact that this long-eared weirdo had shown up so soon after (and that the two didn’t seem to be enemies, or even strangers) threw that into doubt. The ticked tabby tasted the air, drinking in the duo’s scent. They even smelled similar. Were they related? No, their features were too dissimilar. One long and gangly, the other shorter and fluffier. So what was going on?

The question left Wheat for a moment, like a dropped coin hidden in the rug, as Ferndance seemed to take an interest in her elegance. “I have been referred to as fire before” she began with a self-satisfied smirk. “Wild and untamable, yet beautiful and elegant, I am-“ The wanderer stopped short as she felt another tap against autumn fur, and she struggled to compose herself. A harsh and egotistical reprimand was sure to follow, until Ferndance decided to inject some mirth into the moment.

Despite her best attempts to stay mad, the child couldn’t help but laugh at the display. It was an embarrassing sight, an expression so set on remaining unmoved slowly collapsing into chuckles. “If only I’d had that effect on some other cats I’ve had the misfortune of meeting” she said with a sigh and soft smile. “Though I’d deem it a shame for either of you to wind up dead.” she cast her eyes between the duo, finally remembering her initial inquiry. “So, you two know each other? Sisters, I presume?” as impossible as Wheat knew it was, the idea of them being part of some group was even further beyond her imagination.​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Granitepelt had always suspected Ferndance to be more than a little daft, but Needledrift, too, purrs and fawns over the cat who’d been napping contentedly in their territory. The young warrior gives first his superior, and then Needledrift, an incredulous look. Because the lead warrior had chosen not to defend their borders, Granitepelt cannot without looking insubordinate—but his claws are unsheathed, and his tail lashes behind him like a dancing gray adder.

“Is this how we treat trespassers now?” A voice taut with unamusement sounds from behind the three she-cats. Granitepelt shoulders his way between Ferndance and Needledrift, his lip lifting in the barest hint of a snarl. “This is ShadowClan territory.” Blunt, like the bear claws, but heavy.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[Needledrift]

Ferndance's presence is a welcome one, the casualness of draping oneself around their clanmate shared between the she-cats. There is a sort of fearless, careless, touchiness that attached them at the flank, their communal anchorage only broken by Ferndance's very ferny-dancy antics. Needledrift waits for the cat to be concerned, confused, offended by her clanmate. Instead, the cat shares in her folly, laughing and jesting right back. Perhaps a little presumptuous but ultimately friendly and unthreatening, Needledrift finds the sleek tabby charming and is all to happy to purr in her amusement at the situation.

Granitepelt is the wrench in the scene, a metallic and clunky piece of ShadowClan material, not totally sure of how to reciprocate fun and fancy if it is not first offered by Starlingheart or his sister. Come to think of it, Needledrift can't conjure up a time in her head where Granitepelt seemed to be anything more than passively a part of his community. She does begrudge him for it - Chilledstar and Primrosethorn very much outwardly shared his sort of quiet ambivalence while having rich inner lives and fulfilling relationships in the privacy of their own dens and hideaways - but it is a bit of buzz-kill to hear a snarl on the tip of her tongue.

She presses a delicate paw to her face, pressuring her jaw into a semblance of a speaking position to say: "It's just a kid. Half the clan is on ThunderClan territory anyways. Chilledstar has never turned away a chi-" Pain laces through her jaw, a thousand bee-stings on the inside on her cheek, and she moves her paw to massage the area. This kid was barely bigger than Loki was, and they had been accepted with a sniff and a blink. Needledrift knew her friend wouldn't have the heart to send this one back out into the wild as well, especially with bears afoot in the marshes.

She turns to Ferndance, blinking prettily (as if she could beam the words into the ticked tabby's elongated skull directly from her own.) Hopefully she'd have an easier time swapping sentences than Needledrift had at the moment.​

i will never leave your room, tell me everything that bothers you​

 

[Wheattail]

Yet another moth drawn to the flame that was her form. Wheat drew back slightly, stepping back onto the log as Granitepelt began his tirade. Amber eyes narrowed to slits as ears like autumn leaves drank in every word. Ah, here it was, the response she was accustomed to. Some loners were territorial, and this new one seemed to fit that mold perfectly. However, there was something that struck the she-cat as strange.

While Granitepelt was exchanging words with his (sister? Mate? Enemy? Wheat was still in the dark as to the nature of the trio’s relationship to each other), amber eyes flashed in surprise for the briefest moment as the party-pooper made it plain that this was Shadowclan territory. Wheat had expected a phrase like my territory or my family’s territory, not…whatever this was.

Before she could inquire further, it seemed the first one to arrive had leapt to her defense. Wheat was quiet, deciding to see how it played out, until an unintended slight struck her soul. “I am no child” she said to Needledrift, eyes hypocritically conveying annoyance and gratitude over her small speech before rounding on Granitepelt. “Nor am I a trespasser.” Both statements were technically incorrect, but her rebuttals were based more on protecting pride than logic.

Amber eyes swept over the strange trio before her, and the child, even with the frustration she’d suffered through, decided it might be nice to talk to them some more. The she-cat hadn’t seen anyone else in what felt like moons, after all. “I am Wheat, and Wheat is all that I am.” The wanderer rarely gave out her name, never staying long enough for it to be useful, but she liked two thirds of these strangers well enough that the ticked tabby hoped they remembered her after she left.

“I do not know this Shadowclan, Thunderclan, or Chilledstar, but they sound quite important.” there was an air of detachment in her voice, like someone reading news about a country they couldn’t place on a map. Wheat wouldn’t be staying long enough for it to matter, but it might be fun to meet the leaders of this strange, dysfunctional family. “Are they interesting cats?” ​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

"just because you can articulate your words, that doesn't make you any less of a kit."

chilledstar comes from behind needledrift, looking over at her with a gentle blink. they offer a look of slight concern that is soon faded into nothingness as they turn their attention back to the trespasser. she was a trespasser, no matter how she refused to look at it. they lashed their tail with a frustrated crinkle of their nose.

"you are trespassing. if you cannot smell our scent markers then your nose is utterly useless. even for a kitten. what is it that you want? why are you here?"

they ask bluntly. they wish for an answer before they even dare to make up their mind, but the stars once again urge them to not ever leave children behind. clearly she's not yet of warrior age. that much was clear. but what could she possibly offer to shadowclan that would make this a lot less... soft? they had no idea.
​

 

[Wheattail]

Proud amber eyes dropped their fierce facade, startled - for the smallest instant - by a new voice that seemed to boom with authority no matter the volume. Wheat regained her composure as quickly as she’d lost it, swishing autumn tail the only sign she was still moving. A barbed retort had formed like a hairball in her throat, and the wanderer was eager to release it, but she bit her tongue.

From the way they carried themselves, Wheat could tell that this cat could claim some authority over the others. It was clear that the moggy would have to maneuver carefully if she wished to stay-

Stay?

Why had she thought that? Wheat’s plan was to move on when she awoke. That was her plan every day. What changed? What was keeping her here? Amber eyes flicked to Needledrift, Ferndance, and even Granitepelt before a small sigh escaped her. Talking to others was nice, even if the experience could be grating , she supposed. Maybe the wanderer could linger a bit longer? Just a day or two more. However that inch given to her desires soon became a mile, and a core of loneliness was swaddled in a shell of calculated practicality. Wheat needed to return home, but it would take time and focus to shuffle through moons of memories and plan a route back. Not to mention the task would practically double in difficulty if the wanderer was still worrying after her next meal or place to rest. Amber eyes assessed the gathered group in a new light. Here, before her, lay the perfect solution to her problems.

“Your markers were stale” She finally huffed in a half-truth, unsure of how fresh they really were. Still, pride made Wheat stick with it, and she stamped the log beneath her. “I trespassed inside this tree because it was old and dead. Your borders were the same. In this, I am blameless.” Again, the wanderer had to hold back her worst impulses. She wanted to go on a tirade about how borders were a silly concept and how any cat claiming to control a part of the world was a fool, but even she had enough sense to see how that would go over.

Wanting to repair the situation (even if it was akin to a rocket with duct tape), Wheat stepped down and towards Chilledstar. “I am a traveler” She responded, the hardness in her voice gone. “Yet the life no longer suits me. These eyes have drank in much of the world, and their thirst has been sated. Now, I am looking for home.” A natural saleswoman, the Somali lookalike stepped back before showing off with a twirl. “I can fight. I can hunt. I can smell-“ Amber eyes narrowed for an instant, unable to resist the opportunity for a small retort against Shadowclan’s leader before continuing. “-and quite a bit more. I am self taught, so there is no doubt my techniques can be improved upon, but let no one say I am not eager to learn.” She flashed a smug smile before dipping her head to the group.​

 

[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ A kit that could fight was an amusing concept. Very odd. And the absurdity of it shows on his ever grinning face. Frankly he doesn't know what to think of such a weird and strange situation but he can say that he doesn't enjoy the words spilling out of the trespassers maw. They seem to be slighting his leader. A snort finally pulls from the tom's throat as he finally emerges from the shadows of the home he has lived in for moons. His grin is perpetual as he stars at the strange feline with a slightly narrowed expression. What is necessary? Do they need another mouth to feed? Are they actually useful in hunting in these marshlands? He glances toward Chilled them and he suddenly releases a sharp crack of a laugh. "Can we pass them on to another clan? If they aren't useful?" He is curious of the answer and at the moment he doesn't see a need to have more cats in a clan that is already struggling with enough problems. But he is simply here to do as he is told.​