- Feb 9, 2023
- 522
- 170
- 43
She’s seen this stone before - touched it with her own nose and felt the coldness it provided. But before tonight, Cottonfang’s never dreamed of the land of the Stars. She’s closed her eyes and waited, only for minutes or hours to pass and be roused by the other medicine cats. At first, the young feline struggled with the secret that StarClan did not speak with her. However days bled into weeks, and more pressing matters clouded her judgement. Eventually, she left it be. At the end of the day, more than half of her job did not need the cats up above to weigh in. And sure, she struggled with remembering flowers and leaves, but she never equated it to her lack of a connection with their ancestors. How would that make sense?
And then, Weaselclaw said they were cursed, and her mother denounced the very stars that bore her her name. The Moonstone became forboden, and Cottonfang seemed all-too okay with leaving it be. She can’t recall Wolfsong’s reaction to the separation, truthfully - perhaps she was all too focused on her own internal monologue to pay attention.
It's been a short while since the release of her mother's rule, and she's slowly accepted StarClan back into her daily mantras. Still, she doubts much will come of this visit.
Regardless, they settle around the Moonstone and each cat, in turn, touches their noses to the glowing slabs. She doesn’t wait to lean forward, to pretend. The cold touches her muzzle with a sense of distance and yet familiarity - and the shivers of the chill ruffle the fur on her spine. She tenses, grimaces, and pulls away. Yet when she opens her eyes… it’s not as it was before.
The cavern has shifted into a field, tall grass teeming with unlimited amounts of prey. Stars speckle just about everywhere she looks - even when she presses her paw into untouched ground, it poofs with glitter. Is this…? Cottonfang almost doesn’t believe it. Perhaps she’s sleeping, the exhaustion of the recent events finally pressing her into such a deep slumber, she’s dreaming of a realm that doesn’t care for her. “This can’t be real…”
”But it is.”
Cottonfang whirls around, briefly the ferocity of a cornered prey-beast flashing in her eyes, only for it to calm as she looks upon the StarClan cat that’s addressed her. She cannot discern who they are, in truth; their markings and stature rings no familiarity in her. Yet, she feels calm, she feels safe. Cottonfang’s curiosity quickly trumps that of her floundering fear.
“And so, it is,” she repeats, still uncertain, “How am I to know that I’m not fooling myself, hm? I’ve dreamt of hunting alongside tigers and lions, y’know. Catching hares the size of oak trees, even. Those dreams are certainly not real,” Cottonfang quirks a brow inquisitively, and the being shivers with a short, songlike laughter.
“They’re as real as you make them,” they say before stating, “The truth is much more about believing and hope than… tangibility, let’s say.” Cottonfang finds herself relaxing the more the being talks, and she seats herself casually, among grass and clouds and stars and pixie dust.
“Then…” she starts, and her ears fold back onto her head, “Then why have I not seen you before? I’ve been training with Wolfsong for… StarClan,” Cottonfang shakes her head, “Just before leaf-fall - it was still warm, I remember - when you sent him a sign. Several moons, two seasons worth, maybe.” She doesn’t mean to give the StarClan cat any pause, simply stunned by the time she’s spent in her position, with her mentor. She feels no better than a kitten tottling through the tunnels at times and yet, here she is. They flinch when she speaks, but say nothing initially. Eventually she mutters a pitiful, "Why not then, when I needed you?" The cat frowns, only slightly.
“It is difficult to convene with a cat who does not believe us true,” they reply cleanly. Blue eyes flick over to the ghostly feline, confused at first.
“I’ve believed you. I’ve always believed in you,” she murmurs, but fear and trepidation crawls up her throat.
“Lying doesn’t suit you,” they murmur. “We see almost every step you commit to, dear Cottonfang. You followed so closely behind Sootstar, you could not see more than a mouse-length in front of your nose. You were blind because of her misguidance.” They wave a paw, however, gracing the air with sporadic shimmers, “But all is well, now that you’ve found us. Hopefully you will not lose your way so soon once again.”
She blinks, each word fluttering through the air, and a soft, “So… you trust me? Even after all of that…?” leaves her maw, quiet, like kitten mewls.
“Trust is the foundation of all. WindClan has gone through hardships and your ancestors and Clanmates alike hope to push through it, only to come out the other side stronger and better than before.” A pause, a tail twitch, “You’ve made a mistake, Cottonfang. One we can correct in time, surely. A correction we can start with… now.”
The cat pads closer to her, pressing their nose briefly to her forehead. “Cottonfang,” they say, softly, “Your name is a burden, bestowed upon you by a leader struggling on her last legs. We release you back to Cottonpaw, so that you may return to your training beneath Wolfsong, and so that in due time, you may receive a name more becoming of a strong, young woman such as yourself.”
Never before did she feel excited to be called Cottonpaw once again.
“You must go now, little Cottonpaw,” the StarClan cat says, stepping backwards, “I have nothing more for you. Your life will unfurl in time and you may have more questions to ask - we are only just above your head at all times. Do not forget us, Cottonpaw.”
She smiles - something genuine, something sweet. “I won’t - thank you, I won’t.”
Cottonpaw blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she’s returned to the cavern.
And then, Weaselclaw said they were cursed, and her mother denounced the very stars that bore her her name. The Moonstone became forboden, and Cottonfang seemed all-too okay with leaving it be. She can’t recall Wolfsong’s reaction to the separation, truthfully - perhaps she was all too focused on her own internal monologue to pay attention.
It's been a short while since the release of her mother's rule, and she's slowly accepted StarClan back into her daily mantras. Still, she doubts much will come of this visit.
Regardless, they settle around the Moonstone and each cat, in turn, touches their noses to the glowing slabs. She doesn’t wait to lean forward, to pretend. The cold touches her muzzle with a sense of distance and yet familiarity - and the shivers of the chill ruffle the fur on her spine. She tenses, grimaces, and pulls away. Yet when she opens her eyes… it’s not as it was before.
The cavern has shifted into a field, tall grass teeming with unlimited amounts of prey. Stars speckle just about everywhere she looks - even when she presses her paw into untouched ground, it poofs with glitter. Is this…? Cottonfang almost doesn’t believe it. Perhaps she’s sleeping, the exhaustion of the recent events finally pressing her into such a deep slumber, she’s dreaming of a realm that doesn’t care for her. “This can’t be real…”
”But it is.”
Cottonfang whirls around, briefly the ferocity of a cornered prey-beast flashing in her eyes, only for it to calm as she looks upon the StarClan cat that’s addressed her. She cannot discern who they are, in truth; their markings and stature rings no familiarity in her. Yet, she feels calm, she feels safe. Cottonfang’s curiosity quickly trumps that of her floundering fear.
“And so, it is,” she repeats, still uncertain, “How am I to know that I’m not fooling myself, hm? I’ve dreamt of hunting alongside tigers and lions, y’know. Catching hares the size of oak trees, even. Those dreams are certainly not real,” Cottonfang quirks a brow inquisitively, and the being shivers with a short, songlike laughter.
“They’re as real as you make them,” they say before stating, “The truth is much more about believing and hope than… tangibility, let’s say.” Cottonfang finds herself relaxing the more the being talks, and she seats herself casually, among grass and clouds and stars and pixie dust.
“Then…” she starts, and her ears fold back onto her head, “Then why have I not seen you before? I’ve been training with Wolfsong for… StarClan,” Cottonfang shakes her head, “Just before leaf-fall - it was still warm, I remember - when you sent him a sign. Several moons, two seasons worth, maybe.” She doesn’t mean to give the StarClan cat any pause, simply stunned by the time she’s spent in her position, with her mentor. She feels no better than a kitten tottling through the tunnels at times and yet, here she is. They flinch when she speaks, but say nothing initially. Eventually she mutters a pitiful, "Why not then, when I needed you?" The cat frowns, only slightly.
“It is difficult to convene with a cat who does not believe us true,” they reply cleanly. Blue eyes flick over to the ghostly feline, confused at first.
“I’ve believed you. I’ve always believed in you,” she murmurs, but fear and trepidation crawls up her throat.
“Lying doesn’t suit you,” they murmur. “We see almost every step you commit to, dear Cottonfang. You followed so closely behind Sootstar, you could not see more than a mouse-length in front of your nose. You were blind because of her misguidance.” They wave a paw, however, gracing the air with sporadic shimmers, “But all is well, now that you’ve found us. Hopefully you will not lose your way so soon once again.”
She blinks, each word fluttering through the air, and a soft, “So… you trust me? Even after all of that…?” leaves her maw, quiet, like kitten mewls.
“Trust is the foundation of all. WindClan has gone through hardships and your ancestors and Clanmates alike hope to push through it, only to come out the other side stronger and better than before.” A pause, a tail twitch, “You’ve made a mistake, Cottonfang. One we can correct in time, surely. A correction we can start with… now.”
The cat pads closer to her, pressing their nose briefly to her forehead. “Cottonfang,” they say, softly, “Your name is a burden, bestowed upon you by a leader struggling on her last legs. We release you back to Cottonpaw, so that you may return to your training beneath Wolfsong, and so that in due time, you may receive a name more becoming of a strong, young woman such as yourself.”
Never before did she feel excited to be called Cottonpaw once again.
“You must go now, little Cottonpaw,” the StarClan cat says, stepping backwards, “I have nothing more for you. Your life will unfurl in time and you may have more questions to ask - we are only just above your head at all times. Do not forget us, Cottonpaw.”
She smiles - something genuine, something sweet. “I won’t - thank you, I won’t.”
Cottonpaw blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she’s returned to the cavern.
