oneshot MEANWHILE \ dream

Jul 27, 2022

Trufflepelt's dream was so wonderfully vivid, verdant grass staring at him like slit stars, brightening his path as he walked. He remembered settling down to sleep, and did not recall awakening, yet he had never felt so alive in slumber. Every step he swore he could feel the shock of, through his muscles and into the next as each advancement was made. Was he, perhaps, sleepwalking yet dreaming all at once?

No, no... he had never done so. After so long of being alive, he would know if he was prone to somnambulence, surely... so simply did he frolic through these flower-dotted fields, luminous yet covered by trees. It felt like ThunderClan... in his heart, he knew it was meant to be so. More vibrant, but ThunderClan all the same... it was not the sights but the feeling that convinced him of such a thing. That unshakeable knowledge that he was supposed to be here. There was a reason that all the horror had stopped when he was left the last one standing. Trufflepelt had always known that his destiny had ensured that he be lead here, now, for why else would fate's hands have left him alive? He had struggled with the pain so much that, toward the beginning of his life in nomadic loneliness, he had wondered why he was not dead too. Being dead would at least stop the pain.

Many daisies and dandelions reared their heads, but none were of the colour not stature of one flower that stood tall above the rest, bright blue as the clear, rainless sky and kindly even in its inanimateness. It smiled upon him though it was faceless... he felt its spirit. He knew it was the apex of this dream.

And then, in a gilded glimmer, his eyes fluttered open. There he lay, curled in his nest and not skipping light as sun rays through hooded fields. His body ached as he rose and it was then that Trufflepelt recalled that this must be his one-hundred-and-eighth moon.

In sallow morning light, not yet fully warmed by summer's clarity, he watched as the cats of ThunderClan began to rise. Among them was he, swept in with the thrumming throng, the buzz of pleasant conversation around him. No effort to reach out extended though his words- he was wandering elsewhere, his mind separate from autopilot paws. They carved their path out of the camp's threshold as Trufflepelt's mind began whirring. No dream he had ever experienced had felt so real, so meaningful. And he recalled what Cinderfrost had said to him- that her arrival to ThunderClan, her discovery of her destiny, was dreams sent from StarClan. All the clues lead to a wonderful conclusion, one that thrilled the old tom to the very core of his being. His heart, left wandering and pained for so long, felt full and hopeful once again.

He had to find that flower.
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