- Feb 7, 2023
- 25
- 8
- 3
To the wildfire-brushed kitten, everything in the world seemed so big, crafted by titan's hand and Starclan's benediction. Despite the turmoil that bayed from a shelter of woolen wraps and childlike fancies, change was unbeknownst to the little girl. For her, she had known everything then that she knew now - Swiftshrike, Russetnose, Sootstar... To her, the adults were nothing short of the infallible moor itself, which did not fault nor fall away at her gaze - like the sky, it simply hung in the distance. Well, it was an adventure she was bound to undertake when she became an apprentice, which was quite close. Pillars of soil held up the dens, as though planted and never built, a natural formation akin to the smoothed pebble and the dirt 'neath her feet. The vast sea of white snow proved endless, though even in her naivete she noticed how the tapers melted away and revealed the greater (wilted and austere as it was) greens of the hills.
Swiftshrike had let Burnetkit out of the nursery this morning, and she had gratefully snatched up that opportunity as it came. Today, the cold only nipped at curious noses and danced along the waysides of tigrine tousles, and no longer did she feel she needed to shelter beside the milky-warm belly of her mother, as though she had finished weaning off of fire and conflagration. Leaf-bare bothered most, tickling at peeking ribs and rustling in hoarfrost throat, but she didn't let it perturb her in the slightest. The flame of youth burned brighter than any forenoon sun, and even as the apprentices and warriors would complain about the meager rays, she had known it all her life, and knew better to spurn it. She made sure to follow her daily routine as well - wish Swiftshrike well, visit Russetnose in the elder's den, and go about with her very exacting day.
"I'm Burnetstar, leader of Burnetclan!" Came the valiant war-cry of the two-moon-old kit, a piercing shrillness through the camp, though it still proved momentary among the grander stream of conversation. Notwithstanding her efforts, her voice still shuddered and shook as though a leaf beset upon sharp winds. She tried, anyways. She pounced on an old wad of bedding, stolen from an errant pile somewhere else in the camp - she made sure to take the one that seemed the most languished. She figured it wouldn't be missed in favor of stronger, softer wads. The girl rolled around as if she were in a great battle with her age-old energy - the moss ball. "Don't disobey me! I'll claw your ears off!" She squeaked. It was nice, for once, to pretend that she had the strength to do so, instead of letting herself be pushed around by the bigger kids. Imitating what she had seen from her leader and her peers, copying what she decreed as just and right - she was but a echo of those that stood taller. To her, their ears grazed at the clouds and their eyes rested upon the blue.
Swiftshrike had let Burnetkit out of the nursery this morning, and she had gratefully snatched up that opportunity as it came. Today, the cold only nipped at curious noses and danced along the waysides of tigrine tousles, and no longer did she feel she needed to shelter beside the milky-warm belly of her mother, as though she had finished weaning off of fire and conflagration. Leaf-bare bothered most, tickling at peeking ribs and rustling in hoarfrost throat, but she didn't let it perturb her in the slightest. The flame of youth burned brighter than any forenoon sun, and even as the apprentices and warriors would complain about the meager rays, she had known it all her life, and knew better to spurn it. She made sure to follow her daily routine as well - wish Swiftshrike well, visit Russetnose in the elder's den, and go about with her very exacting day.
"I'm Burnetstar, leader of Burnetclan!" Came the valiant war-cry of the two-moon-old kit, a piercing shrillness through the camp, though it still proved momentary among the grander stream of conversation. Notwithstanding her efforts, her voice still shuddered and shook as though a leaf beset upon sharp winds. She tried, anyways. She pounced on an old wad of bedding, stolen from an errant pile somewhere else in the camp - she made sure to take the one that seemed the most languished. She figured it wouldn't be missed in favor of stronger, softer wads. The girl rolled around as if she were in a great battle with her age-old energy - the moss ball. "Don't disobey me! I'll claw your ears off!" She squeaked. It was nice, for once, to pretend that she had the strength to do so, instead of letting herself be pushed around by the bigger kids. Imitating what she had seen from her leader and her peers, copying what she decreed as just and right - she was but a echo of those that stood taller. To her, their ears grazed at the clouds and their eyes rested upon the blue.