- Nov 26, 2022
- 492
- 115
- 43
They are now closer to StarClan, many say. Even closer than WindClan had ever been, and they were the clan who prided themselves on being "StarClan's favorite". Slate had never bought into such nonsense; as if how much the clans could see the stars would truly affect anything. WindClan certainly had not been spared from the wrath of Yellowcough, so did StarClan even favor any of them?
Slate can recall a time before StarClan — before any clan, actually. He can recall sitting perched atop a Twolegplace fence, bantering back and forth with a red and white colony cat who stood atop the pine needle-strewn ground below. He can recall returning frequently just to talk to her, as she was far more interesting than the strays that populated the smelly sidewalks. He can recall just the two of them lying on the outskirts of the pines, gazing up at the silver canvas of twinkling lights, exchanging stories about the two very different lives they led. At one point, Slate had criticized himself for fraternizing with a colony cat, believing that their lifestyles were incompatible. They would never work. He had lived alone for so long, making his own rules and not having anybody else to hold him back; it had been foolish to even entertain the notion.
Now, here they both were. Again.
The deputy and lead warrior of SkyClan lay belly-up, gazes dancing around the stars, light discussion of the journey and the challenges they had faced thus far filling the thin mountainous air. The air was crisp and biting up here, almost as if leafbare was upon them already, but it almost seemed as if the sky was clearer too. Slate swore that he noticed patterns that he had never seen before.
After a brief moment of silence, the Maine Coon opens his maw, "We haven't done this since...." He trails off, knowing that he didn't need to answer. Orangeblossom knew perfectly well. Did she still think about those times, or had they been lost in the past, disregarded as silly and meaningless memories of her youth? Does she feel hurt about what he did, even to this day? His tongue teeters on the edge as he searches for the words. Admitting that he was wrong was like slowly extracting a thorn from his paw; uncomfortable, cringe-worthy, but necessary. The longer he'd ignore this, shove this aside, the worse it would get.
He wants to look over at her, gauge a reaction, but he can't bring himself to do so. His stomach begins to churn, his heart rate quickening in turn — Slate silently curses at his body for betraying him, hoping to the stars above that the deputy wouldn't notice.
Slate can recall a time before StarClan — before any clan, actually. He can recall sitting perched atop a Twolegplace fence, bantering back and forth with a red and white colony cat who stood atop the pine needle-strewn ground below. He can recall returning frequently just to talk to her, as she was far more interesting than the strays that populated the smelly sidewalks. He can recall just the two of them lying on the outskirts of the pines, gazing up at the silver canvas of twinkling lights, exchanging stories about the two very different lives they led. At one point, Slate had criticized himself for fraternizing with a colony cat, believing that their lifestyles were incompatible. They would never work. He had lived alone for so long, making his own rules and not having anybody else to hold him back; it had been foolish to even entertain the notion.
Now, here they both were. Again.
The deputy and lead warrior of SkyClan lay belly-up, gazes dancing around the stars, light discussion of the journey and the challenges they had faced thus far filling the thin mountainous air. The air was crisp and biting up here, almost as if leafbare was upon them already, but it almost seemed as if the sky was clearer too. Slate swore that he noticed patterns that he had never seen before.
After a brief moment of silence, the Maine Coon opens his maw, "We haven't done this since...." He trails off, knowing that he didn't need to answer. Orangeblossom knew perfectly well. Did she still think about those times, or had they been lost in the past, disregarded as silly and meaningless memories of her youth? Does she feel hurt about what he did, even to this day? His tongue teeters on the edge as he searches for the words. Admitting that he was wrong was like slowly extracting a thorn from his paw; uncomfortable, cringe-worthy, but necessary. The longer he'd ignore this, shove this aside, the worse it would get.
He wants to look over at her, gauge a reaction, but he can't bring himself to do so. His stomach begins to churn, his heart rate quickening in turn — Slate silently curses at his body for betraying him, hoping to the stars above that the deputy wouldn't notice.
-
@orangeblossom
-
✰ SLATE
—— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
—— bisexual; single; not looking
—— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
—— "speech", thoughts, attack
—— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
—— penned by beatles