- Jul 18, 2022
- 56
- 15
- 8
Ghostpaw ponders the stars.
It's not something you can do within the camp's walls. Too many trees. Too many faces... Too many grumbling voices and sore sights. He found that it wasn't so hard to get away from it all; wasn't so scary to come out alone. At least, it wasn't as scary as it had been when he was little. He'd had no other words to his name, and his mother had scruffed him, telling him not to go into the scary world alone. He still tries to think about if she was right or not. He thinks the world can only be so bad when you have the stars with you.
Is that why the worst things seemed to happen during the day? Should he be scared that the stars wouldn't be there to see him become a warrior?
...He wonders what his warrior name will be. Ghostscreech, like his mentor? He doesn't think he's loud enough for something like that. Or for something like Ghostmaw. Were his eyes pretty enough to be Ghostgaze? Were his steps fair enough to be Ghostdance? He's clumsy. His footing was no good. What is there to say about him?
...Starlingheart saw ghosts before she'd even laid her head to sleep. They weren't so powerless in the day, not entirely. Would the ghosts come to watch him too? He thinks it's only fair. He thinks that they should be friends. Same in name and face.. "What do you think my name will be?" he asks StarClan. They'll hear him, won't they? "I hope... It's good."
There's rustling behind him, plants shivering with a friend's presence. Friend, he knows– at least he thinks, from the smell. Ghostpaw turns upon the stranger with wide eyes. They were no less wide than usual, though. He doesn't mind company. He likes it when it's nice company. Were it not for moon-silver eyes, he'd hardly be able to see who came for him. Black as night, she looks at him with owlish eyes. Owlish enough that he'd think he could see the whole world, but he sees nothing at all.
"W-what're you doing?" It's Sharppaw. The apprentice's fur is spiked. Suddenly, Ghostpaw acknowledges the similarities to her name. It's against the rules, he knows, but–
He plucks at the grass beneath his feet. The stars don't shine any less bright for a certain someone. They must feel the same way about them all. Ghostpaw blinks at him. "I... I'm talking to the stars..." he replies. "You can too... if you want."
There's a wave of silence. Sharppaw remains half-hidden amongst the bushes. Sharppaw doesn't seem to mind the press of nettles. Or maybe she can't while she's busy minding Ghostpaw. He misses the way her claws flex against the ground, but he sees how her face screws up and hears the tiny sliver of breath. Ghostpaw doesn't know what to make of it, though. He doesn't.
Sharppaw creeps forward, eventually. By the time he does, Ghostpaw has looked away and he's scraping at his claws, wondering what StarClan thinks of the noise. Did it sound super far away from them? If he lived in the stars, he didn't think he'd be able to hear anything in ShadowClan. Not even if he had the biggest ears like Eeriepaw. Did they make up for it with magic? He wants to ask, but he needs to think about how to ask it.
"Th-they won't listen to me... As long as I'm not Starlingheart." Sharppaw says. She isn't looking at the stars like he told her to. She's looking at the ground, and there's nothing to see there. "They won't listen to you, either."
Ghostpaw blinks at him. "I'm Starlingheart's best friend," he tells him. If there's anyone else the stars may listen to...
The midnight apprentice gives him a funny look. His brows are furrowed and his lips are deep in a frown. "No you're not." Ghostpaw stares at her. "Granitepaw is."
The paler tom doesn't know what to say; besides to hope that he was nicer now, at least... Because Starlingheart deserved somebody nice. Sharppaw is still looking at him funny. It's not like he didn't know... "They'll still talk to me..."
Sharppaw looks sad. Or something like it. Her muzzle is wrinkled and her lips are bitten. Ghostpaw wonders if she's even going to say anything, for a moment. "They won't." He eventually says. He isn't looking at Ghostpaw anymore.
Ghostpaw only shakes his head. Slow so that his ears wouldn't ring and his head wouldn't spin. "They will if I..." His ears shift atop his head, listening to the sounds of the night. He wonders if the moon has a sound. It seems like one of those things that should. "If I ask nicely... If I say please and I ask every night..."
And suddenly, Sharppaw looks angry. The fur upon her back bristles; her face scrunches in the strangest one she has made all night. His eyes turn into crescents– not the happy kind, coupled with knitted brows and scrapes against dirt and the twitching of a crooked tail.
Then it mellows into a sad face– or does it? It's like she can't decide. Ghostpaw can't keep the same attentive eye he normally would. There's so much more to see than faces at night. So much more for him to look at. Sharppaw almost looks like just another shadow. The quiet stretches. Ghostpaw plucks at nearby leaves.
"When... When will you grow up?"
The tom lowers his head. "What?" The other says nothing for a moment, and he doesn't think that's fair. "...I'm grown."
"You're not." Sharppaw tells him. She's not looking at him. "Who knows who– who the stars even bother to listen to? And if they do listen to you, then they don't care." The apprentice shakes his head, eyes creased at the edges. It doesn't even seem like he likes his own words. "They don't."
Ghostpaw's lips dip in the slightest of frowns. Sharppaw isn't making sense. He's nearly a warrior. "They... They sent Starlingheart a ghost."
"After we..." The smoke inhales, gaze between blank and sorrowful. "After we asked for how long... And..." She looks very tired. And Ghostpaw doesn't know why. It's night, he supposes; and her sleep is spent on him instead. But Sharppaw looked more tired than the night could ever cover. Ghostpaw watches with a frown, his eyes wide as moons. "Besides..." Her head lulls to the side as if it took too much energy to hold it up. "Starlingheart could tell us anything she wanted... And say it's from StarClan."
He can't agree. The world doesn't work like that. What reason would Starlingheart have? Why would she do that to her friends? "Starlingheart wouldn't... tell a lie."
Silver eyes meet his, and he can't tell what they mean to say. The rest of Sharppaw doesn't look along with them. He is still aside from the one fleeting look. It looks like she wants to say more. But she doesn't. Not really. Sharppaw puffs a breath. It's cool in the nighttime air. The last thing he says is mumbled so that Ghostpaw can't hear. It sounds like the moon is whispering.
Ghostpaw watches her turn to leave. Shadow slips into nothing.
He's stewing in something now. He's not sure what that means, can't grasp it all... But his mother had told him the one time he was and told him to quit. And he supposed he was doing it again. Ghostpaw tucks his paws close and wraps his tail around them. He's making himself small like he's learned to do in the apprentice's den. He has to when there's so little room. Was there room for him here, either? The sky seems never-ending, and yet it makes him feel... cramped.
He does not speak another word to them, only gazes on with a cautious eye. His head tilts to hear the moon, but there's nothing there anymore. Should he not think what he thinks? Maybe not...
It's not something you can do within the camp's walls. Too many trees. Too many faces... Too many grumbling voices and sore sights. He found that it wasn't so hard to get away from it all; wasn't so scary to come out alone. At least, it wasn't as scary as it had been when he was little. He'd had no other words to his name, and his mother had scruffed him, telling him not to go into the scary world alone. He still tries to think about if she was right or not. He thinks the world can only be so bad when you have the stars with you.
Is that why the worst things seemed to happen during the day? Should he be scared that the stars wouldn't be there to see him become a warrior?
...He wonders what his warrior name will be. Ghostscreech, like his mentor? He doesn't think he's loud enough for something like that. Or for something like Ghostmaw. Were his eyes pretty enough to be Ghostgaze? Were his steps fair enough to be Ghostdance? He's clumsy. His footing was no good. What is there to say about him?
...Starlingheart saw ghosts before she'd even laid her head to sleep. They weren't so powerless in the day, not entirely. Would the ghosts come to watch him too? He thinks it's only fair. He thinks that they should be friends. Same in name and face.. "What do you think my name will be?" he asks StarClan. They'll hear him, won't they? "I hope... It's good."
There's rustling behind him, plants shivering with a friend's presence. Friend, he knows– at least he thinks, from the smell. Ghostpaw turns upon the stranger with wide eyes. They were no less wide than usual, though. He doesn't mind company. He likes it when it's nice company. Were it not for moon-silver eyes, he'd hardly be able to see who came for him. Black as night, she looks at him with owlish eyes. Owlish enough that he'd think he could see the whole world, but he sees nothing at all.
"W-what're you doing?" It's Sharppaw. The apprentice's fur is spiked. Suddenly, Ghostpaw acknowledges the similarities to her name. It's against the rules, he knows, but–
He plucks at the grass beneath his feet. The stars don't shine any less bright for a certain someone. They must feel the same way about them all. Ghostpaw blinks at him. "I... I'm talking to the stars..." he replies. "You can too... if you want."
There's a wave of silence. Sharppaw remains half-hidden amongst the bushes. Sharppaw doesn't seem to mind the press of nettles. Or maybe she can't while she's busy minding Ghostpaw. He misses the way her claws flex against the ground, but he sees how her face screws up and hears the tiny sliver of breath. Ghostpaw doesn't know what to make of it, though. He doesn't.
Sharppaw creeps forward, eventually. By the time he does, Ghostpaw has looked away and he's scraping at his claws, wondering what StarClan thinks of the noise. Did it sound super far away from them? If he lived in the stars, he didn't think he'd be able to hear anything in ShadowClan. Not even if he had the biggest ears like Eeriepaw. Did they make up for it with magic? He wants to ask, but he needs to think about how to ask it.
"Th-they won't listen to me... As long as I'm not Starlingheart." Sharppaw says. She isn't looking at the stars like he told her to. She's looking at the ground, and there's nothing to see there. "They won't listen to you, either."
Ghostpaw blinks at him. "I'm Starlingheart's best friend," he tells him. If there's anyone else the stars may listen to...
The midnight apprentice gives him a funny look. His brows are furrowed and his lips are deep in a frown. "No you're not." Ghostpaw stares at her. "Granitepaw is."
The paler tom doesn't know what to say; besides to hope that he was nicer now, at least... Because Starlingheart deserved somebody nice. Sharppaw is still looking at him funny. It's not like he didn't know... "They'll still talk to me..."
Sharppaw looks sad. Or something like it. Her muzzle is wrinkled and her lips are bitten. Ghostpaw wonders if she's even going to say anything, for a moment. "They won't." He eventually says. He isn't looking at Ghostpaw anymore.
Ghostpaw only shakes his head. Slow so that his ears wouldn't ring and his head wouldn't spin. "They will if I..." His ears shift atop his head, listening to the sounds of the night. He wonders if the moon has a sound. It seems like one of those things that should. "If I ask nicely... If I say please and I ask every night..."
And suddenly, Sharppaw looks angry. The fur upon her back bristles; her face scrunches in the strangest one she has made all night. His eyes turn into crescents– not the happy kind, coupled with knitted brows and scrapes against dirt and the twitching of a crooked tail.
Then it mellows into a sad face– or does it? It's like she can't decide. Ghostpaw can't keep the same attentive eye he normally would. There's so much more to see than faces at night. So much more for him to look at. Sharppaw almost looks like just another shadow. The quiet stretches. Ghostpaw plucks at nearby leaves.
"When... When will you grow up?"
The tom lowers his head. "What?" The other says nothing for a moment, and he doesn't think that's fair. "...I'm grown."
"You're not." Sharppaw tells him. She's not looking at him. "Who knows who– who the stars even bother to listen to? And if they do listen to you, then they don't care." The apprentice shakes his head, eyes creased at the edges. It doesn't even seem like he likes his own words. "They don't."
Ghostpaw's lips dip in the slightest of frowns. Sharppaw isn't making sense. He's nearly a warrior. "They... They sent Starlingheart a ghost."
"After we..." The smoke inhales, gaze between blank and sorrowful. "After we asked for how long... And..." She looks very tired. And Ghostpaw doesn't know why. It's night, he supposes; and her sleep is spent on him instead. But Sharppaw looked more tired than the night could ever cover. Ghostpaw watches with a frown, his eyes wide as moons. "Besides..." Her head lulls to the side as if it took too much energy to hold it up. "Starlingheart could tell us anything she wanted... And say it's from StarClan."
He can't agree. The world doesn't work like that. What reason would Starlingheart have? Why would she do that to her friends? "Starlingheart wouldn't... tell a lie."
Silver eyes meet his, and he can't tell what they mean to say. The rest of Sharppaw doesn't look along with them. He is still aside from the one fleeting look. It looks like she wants to say more. But she doesn't. Not really. Sharppaw puffs a breath. It's cool in the nighttime air. The last thing he says is mumbled so that Ghostpaw can't hear. It sounds like the moon is whispering.
Ghostpaw watches her turn to leave. Shadow slips into nothing.
He's stewing in something now. He's not sure what that means, can't grasp it all... But his mother had told him the one time he was and told him to quit. And he supposed he was doing it again. Ghostpaw tucks his paws close and wraps his tail around them. He's making himself small like he's learned to do in the apprentice's den. He has to when there's so little room. Was there room for him here, either? The sky seems never-ending, and yet it makes him feel... cramped.
He does not speak another word to them, only gazes on with a cautious eye. His head tilts to hear the moon, but there's nothing there anymore. Should he not think what he thinks? Maybe not...
