private WE'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE — gravelpaw

[Thriftfeather]

The reality of having an apprentice of his own hasn't settled over Thriftfeather yet. Gravelpaw seems so much younger than Thriftfeather considered himself when he was apprenticed—so much smaller. He doesn't take them far beyond the makeshift camp, too certain that there are dangers neither he or Gravelpaw can face. It is impossible not to think of Gravelsnap—but Thriftfeather would be thinking of them regardless of Gravelpaw's name. It is impossible not to wonder about his own mentor when Thriftfeather finds himself caught like this.

"We can take a break," They've hardly started training, but Thriftfeather is in no state to be offering corrections in the moment. He gestures towards his side, a quiet invitation for Gravelpaw to join him at his flank. His green eyes flick skywards, to where the first vestiges of Silverpelt begin to glow in the dark corners of the horizon. The sun isn't fully set yet, but it will be soon.

"We used to be proud about having nothing between us and StarClan," Thriftfeather catches the slip as he says it—we is WindClan. Sootstar hadn't worshipped the stars in the end, and Thriftfeather doubts them. Faith isn't a commodity in DuskClan, "That's uh, that's how WindClan thought, anyway. They made a point to sleep exposed to the sky to show... to show their love for StarClan, or maybe so StarClan could better watch them."

@GRAVELPAW ​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[GRAVELPAW]

"Okay." Gravelpaw is eager to please their mentor and so he gets a pleasant agreement, and then they settle besides him, tucking themself in. They try to draw in smaller, as to not take up much space. They've done too much of that lately... Too much space taken, too much attention on them.

Thriftfeather speaks and so Gravelpaw listens, swiveling their ears towards him. He speaks of something called Starclan.

What a silly name. They gloss over his use of "we", because perhaps it meant them, too. One day, maybe, or maybe in the past. Whatever it was... "What is Starclan," they seek answers, pale eyes shifting from where his gaze laid across the horizons unto a yellow face. "What... do they do? Are they just... as mad at us... as..." they flounder for the clans name, they were Duskclan... the other clan, naturally had to be (they should know this, since the raid and all, but they find themself grasping for straws), "Windclan?" they nervously gnaw on their lip, not liking the implications of what could be. Starclan, deduced by his glancing of the Stars themselves, had to be a clan in the Stars.

Something makes them wholly uncomfortable of this new knowledge, they just can't place their paw on it... "Are they always watching...?" or maybe so Starclan could better watch them, perhaps this is the start of their discomfort. Why would... the Stars watch them? Gravelpaw takes a shuddering breath, waiting on a precipice for Thriftfeather to answer questions.

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴, ˚⋆｡°✩₊🦇 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂

• 
  ❥ baby ,, gravelkit ,, gravelpaw
  ❥ demi-girl ,, she/they ,, 04 months
  ❥ duskclan apprentice ,, mentored by thriftfeather
  ❥ black/blue smoke chimera with high white and blue eyes
  ❥ "speech, 9d9adf" ,, thoughts
  ❥ too young to be interested in anything ,, single
  ❥ smells like heather and pine needles
  ❥ art by woodlandpest ,, penned by chuff

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

The questions Gravelpaw asks are ones Thriftfeather must have asked when he was young. He was born at the wrong time to have seen StarClan for himself, and he was born in the wrong place to have been raised having already known such a word. Still, he tries to remember a time when it was explained to him and finds his memory lacking. Thriftfeather doesn't have a reference too follow—he doesn't know the correct turns for this story to take.

"Silverpelt is StarClan," The sky is more populated now. Thriftfeather gestures upwards to it, "A clan cat dies, and they go there."

He frowns. The sky changes only in the way it always does.

"That's what WindClan thought, anyway. That's what all the clans think," Thriftfeather cannot shake his doubts—and he cannot shake the indecision over whether to pass them along to Gravelpaw or not, "A cat dies and they go to live there—they hunt in Silverpelt, and they look down on the clans from up there. The clans have leaders and medicine cats who speak to StarClan." Bluefrost's unwavering certainty that dreams were always meaningful comes to Thriftfeather now; his frown cuts more severely into his face.

"But we don't have those things here. StarClan doesn't—they don't look kindly on us here." How simple it would be if Thriftfeather could spit his responsibilities at the stars. When they came back to him, he could pretend it was StarClan sending rain to spite him. Everything feels rather convenient, "When I was—back when I was an apprentice in WindClan, we were supposed to travel to Highstones before we became warriors. Supposedly, you can see StarClan there. I never went."

Perhaps that is the problem—perhaps Thriftfeather would feel differently, had he gone.

"I don't think they are angry with us. I don't even think they are watching us. If they are—if a clan cat dies and they go up to the sky, just like they say it happens, then those dead would have no reason to turn their faces our way. What is there for them to see here?"​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[GRAVELPAW]

"Oh." the Stars are called Silverpelt and its a hauntingly beautiful name, really. "So can Granitepelt speak with them...?" the full reasoning on no has not hit them yet as they tip their chin up to search the sky above. The stars glitter in a different way, now, or maybe its just their eyes playing tricks on them.

When cats die, they go there. Watching the living. Hunting, living again in a sense. It would be heaven if this new information didn't make them wholly uncomfortable with the way this was brought upon them. Always watching.

"... I see." the faint sense of cosmic horror settles within her stomach, the fear of being watched even as Thriftfeather says he doesn't think they're looking, or if they are, not kindly upon them. What is there for them to see here? "We're here. We know they exist so why-" they swallow, a frown etching itself across their face. "Why are we much different from the clan cats? Aren't we... clan cats?" it's in the name, isn't it? What makes them different from the other Clans?

What makes Starclan cast their eyes away from them? Why, if they believe, do they look away?

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴, ˚⋆｡°✩₊🦇 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂

• 
  ❥ baby ,, gravelkit ,, gravelpaw
  ❥ demi-girl ,, she/they ,, 04 months
  ❥ duskclan apprentice ,, mentored by thriftfeather
  ❥ black/blue smoke chimera with high white and blue eyes
  ❥ "speech, 9d9adf" ,, thoughts
  ❥ too young to be interested in anything ,, single
  ❥ smells like heather and pine needles
  ❥ art by woodlandpest ,, penned by chuff

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

The question sounds undeniably innocent to Thriftfeather’s ears. It verges on naive—Thriftfeather cannot fault Gravelpaw for not knowing, however.

“Not Granitepelt,” Thriftfeather clarifies gently, “Not anyone in here.”

He doesn’t know how to explain certain aspects of a leader—how they are granted their name and their lives. Thriftfeather’s eyes instinctively seek the horizon-breaking Highstones, stoic and crouched in the near-distance. He wonders, quietly, if the lives are a natural function of the moonstone rather than of StarClan. There is a familiar lack to his apprenticeship: all of the experiences inherent to WindClan that Thriftfeather has somehow missed.

Gravelpaw asks about the distinction between DuskClan and the rest of the clans—Thriftfeather feels his neck startle into a bristle that smooths itself almost immediately.

“The clans care about certain—the other clans put a certain importance to… to being original,” Thriftfeather’s eyes narrow in thought, “They share common customs with each other that we do not follow. Their leaders have names that end with star, and every full moon they gather in a single place to discuss—mostly to gossip with one another.”

Thriftfeather pauses, considering, “We couldn’t go to a gathering. I doubt we would be welcomed.” ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​