- Dec 1, 2022
- 97
- 16
- 8
TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆
Riverclan is going through a chaotic time, Hazepaw knows — moving camp twice, being attacked by Windclan and losing Sunningrock to Thunderclan, whatever else the warriors are worrying about at the moment… but it’s hard to see the storm brewing when the night is so quiet, the air so sweet, and the company so nice.
Catfishpaw and her set out with no particular destination in mind, just for the pleasure of exploring the territory together, and have been walking in comfortable silence for some time; their asymmetrical — but never one-sided — conversations wax and wane to the rhythm of their own private rhythms, easy with the knowledge that they could equally talk or stay quiet for hours. It feels natural. Safe, as well: despite the adults’ warnings, she knows that she’ll always be safe with the other apprentice.
A warm breeze ruffles her long fur and Hazepaw fancies she could follow it through the rustling of foliage the way she would a prey; as if she might catch wind itself between her teeth if she were quick enough.
They smile, a small, private joy at the whimsical thought. Something about the hour is making them dreamier than usual. Turning to share it with Catfish, they instead notice a singular sight: a deep void in the grey darkness of the night. A strange hole that wasn’t there before.
Leaning their shoulder against Catfish’s, they nod their head towards it and throw their friend a look that glints with unrestrained curiosity. Where did this hole come from? They’ve heard Windclanners dig tunnels underneath the earth, but they couldn’t have dug through the gorge. And it doesn’t smell like anything they know, nothing that rings a bell, not even in alarm. Only damp earth and a musty smell, faint, that she can’t quite pinpoint.
More importantly, where could it possibly lead to?
That, unlike the hole’s creator, she can discover for herself. Lightly nudging her friend — a gesture to convey both follow me and watch this — she makes her careful, discreet way towards the yawning maw of the Hole. Maybe it goes all the way across the river. Or further, even, to the Twoleg place! Or perhaps it goes nowhere at all but there’s a treasure in its depths, like a piece of the moon, or a cool rock.
There is no treasure.
In the darkness of the claustrophobic space, loose pebbles rolling under her paws, Hazepaw blinks to acclimate her sight and meets sharp, beady eyes, set into a lean, black-and-white face. Everything stands very, very still. And then it shifts — and the shadows shift with it, revealing the bulk of a body twice the size of Haze’s, revealed in glimpses of scant moonlight: outlining wicked claws, the briefest flash of teeth, thick muscles shifting under its pelt. A creature out of nightmares. A monster.
A predator — and Hazepaw the prey, for the first time in her life.
Panic, foreign and vertigo-inducing, jolts through her frozen limbs. Struggling to turn around in the narrow passage, Hazepaw scrapes her face against the walls of the tunnels as she twists around and scrambles back the way she came from. Her paws slip on the stones scattered on the ground, some revealed as tiny, bare bones as they snap under her weight. She feels a warm breath on her heels; imagines teeth closing a whisker’s breadth from her as she drags herself out of the hole. The burrow.
They rarely need words to be understood by their best friend — but fear tears this one out of them, unbidden:
”CATFISH!”
// please wait for @Catfishpaw !
Riverclan is going through a chaotic time, Hazepaw knows — moving camp twice, being attacked by Windclan and losing Sunningrock to Thunderclan, whatever else the warriors are worrying about at the moment… but it’s hard to see the storm brewing when the night is so quiet, the air so sweet, and the company so nice.
Catfishpaw and her set out with no particular destination in mind, just for the pleasure of exploring the territory together, and have been walking in comfortable silence for some time; their asymmetrical — but never one-sided — conversations wax and wane to the rhythm of their own private rhythms, easy with the knowledge that they could equally talk or stay quiet for hours. It feels natural. Safe, as well: despite the adults’ warnings, she knows that she’ll always be safe with the other apprentice.
A warm breeze ruffles her long fur and Hazepaw fancies she could follow it through the rustling of foliage the way she would a prey; as if she might catch wind itself between her teeth if she were quick enough.
They smile, a small, private joy at the whimsical thought. Something about the hour is making them dreamier than usual. Turning to share it with Catfish, they instead notice a singular sight: a deep void in the grey darkness of the night. A strange hole that wasn’t there before.
Leaning their shoulder against Catfish’s, they nod their head towards it and throw their friend a look that glints with unrestrained curiosity. Where did this hole come from? They’ve heard Windclanners dig tunnels underneath the earth, but they couldn’t have dug through the gorge. And it doesn’t smell like anything they know, nothing that rings a bell, not even in alarm. Only damp earth and a musty smell, faint, that she can’t quite pinpoint.
More importantly, where could it possibly lead to?
That, unlike the hole’s creator, she can discover for herself. Lightly nudging her friend — a gesture to convey both follow me and watch this — she makes her careful, discreet way towards the yawning maw of the Hole. Maybe it goes all the way across the river. Or further, even, to the Twoleg place! Or perhaps it goes nowhere at all but there’s a treasure in its depths, like a piece of the moon, or a cool rock.
There is no treasure.
In the darkness of the claustrophobic space, loose pebbles rolling under her paws, Hazepaw blinks to acclimate her sight and meets sharp, beady eyes, set into a lean, black-and-white face. Everything stands very, very still. And then it shifts — and the shadows shift with it, revealing the bulk of a body twice the size of Haze’s, revealed in glimpses of scant moonlight: outlining wicked claws, the briefest flash of teeth, thick muscles shifting under its pelt. A creature out of nightmares. A monster.
A predator — and Hazepaw the prey, for the first time in her life.
Panic, foreign and vertigo-inducing, jolts through her frozen limbs. Struggling to turn around in the narrow passage, Hazepaw scrapes her face against the walls of the tunnels as she twists around and scrambles back the way she came from. Her paws slip on the stones scattered on the ground, some revealed as tiny, bare bones as they snap under her weight. She feels a warm breath on her heels; imagines teeth closing a whisker’s breadth from her as she drags herself out of the hole. The burrow.
They rarely need words to be understood by their best friend — but fear tears this one out of them, unbidden:
”CATFISH!”
// please wait for @Catfishpaw !
[⋆]
