anything , anything
Aug 12, 2022
in the night grows a panic. paws in a rapid dig, tearing apart the fertile earth as if she will find something. eyes wide, unblinking. a girl caught in a trance, the nightingale tells her to dig, dig until her paws bleed and grow sore. to that she can find the beginning of the stars and who is she to deny the truth of a nightingale? the exposed wound of the earth is soft and raw, it crumbles beneath her, she thinks this is what power over another must feel like. she has been captive and complaint her entire life. a domesticated girl must learn to exist in the blanket of nightfall. "child of the sun..." is all the falls from her maw, a repetitive tune. it seems to control her, a constant murmur of it that makes her mouth grow tired and tongue sore from use. she sees nothing but the dirt below her. the residing residents. the worms that hide away, the beetles and ants that fuss at her presence. they don't seem fond of her chant-induced search. she is not able to tell them that she is not fond of the growing soreness in her limbs.

yet it all grows still and silent. she is silent. an impassive look as she finds the child she had been looking for. a pebble smoother than any calm water. gold etched into it as a garish mark of the overpowering sun. to any other, it is a uniquely colored pebble but nothing more. to moonspeaker, it was something far more holy. stuck in her staring at the object, failing to realize the approaching souls of this land. far too entranced in the pebble. the land disrupted and broken beside her. a deep hole that could cause trouble.

There before him, a face- a figure, pale, paler than most. The moon itself given feline form, surrounded by earthen spectator, and holding in a dainty paw a prize. A tear from the heavens, perfectly round- in his dream that night he had seen stones lit by the moon. It had been speaking to him of this very moment, he was sure- the senior tom approached on ageing paws, feather-light footsteps still audible with the crunch of fallen leaves. Perhaps she, too, spoke to StarClan- she, too, had been sent this sign...

"Who sent you this gift?" he asked, rapture radiating from his tone in warm glow. Gilded eyes widened, rheumy as they were- oh, her poor pure paws, dirtied by her task. Funny, the lengths StarClan would make one go to answer to them- but perhaps that was to test the true dedication of their prophets. Had he here found a kindred spirit?

The way her eyes quavered- they held unreadable thoughts. He dared not make closer approach, for fear of the ravine that encircled her... perhaps a ward constructed, to keep those unworthy away? Or simply, the crevice from which she had obtained her holy offering?
Howling Wind is unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. Moonspeaker, mumbling to herself, tearing mercilessly into the earth with a crazed look in her eye. It's unsettling, and the dark tabby finds her own claws twitching in their sheaths as if she should be afraid of something. Finally, the ivory she-cat freezes, digging out something that Howling Wind can't quite see. Trufflepelt approaches the other, unfazed and, in fact, intrigued. Forcing herself to relax, she hoists herself up to her paws and picks her way over, alarmed eyes drawn to the stone in the warrior's grasp. "Why...was that so deep in the ground?" She asks, trying to seem friendly but there is still a twinge of concern in her voice.

Weaving around Trufflepelt and Howling Wind, the child would gaze down at the pebble with curiosity. Never before had she seen such a thing, and was taken aback by its beauty. “What is that?” To the child, she didn’t understand why the warriors were so worried about the object. Was it bad? “Did Starclan help you find it?