Post by ginger on May 13, 2021 15:52:50 GMT
Stoatwhisker stood at the edge of the pine forest, her golden eyes trained on the clearing, where sat a small, yet cozy looking ski lodge. The sun had sank low behind the horizon leaving behind only its final streaks of pale lavender light awash in the darkening sky. One by one, Stoatwhisker watched as the lights within the two leg dwelling went dark, and the glimmering pinpricks of the stars emerged from the darkness. How was it possible, Stoatwhisker could not help but wonder, that the two legs, not to mention all of the cats who called themselves their 'pets' could spend the whole day dashing about only to rest at night, when they would miss such a beautiful display? Not to mention, the twilight was undoubtably the best time for hunting, as one could catch a few of the daytime animals before they crept into their den, as well as being the first to uncover those who emerged in the moonlight.
Did my mother even have a taste of rabbit that had not come in a can? Stoatwhisker thought to herself. Had she ever walked the trails that snaked through the trees? It was hard for her to believe that the she-cat who had given birth to her could have been so removed from the forest that Stoatwhisker had always called her home. Of course, maybe Stoatwhisker was wrong. Maybe Crysanthemum had loved looking at the stars, or sneaking out of her garden to feel the cool forest breeze rushing though her whiskers. There was so much that Stoatwhisker didn’t know….so much that she would never know.
What did she sound like? What kind of things did she keep in her nest? Did she enjoy collecting stones, or painting her fur with berries? Did kittypets even do that sort of thing? Stoatwhisker had no way of knowing. All she had was a vague description, and the faint memory of soft fur and the ever present scent of lavender.
The pale she-cat's claws sheathed and unsheathed, hooking into the soil below as blurred emotions flew through her mind. She felt sadness, mourning for the mother that she never had a chance to know. She felt regret as she could not help but wonder what could have been. She felt jealousy towards Raptor, her brother who had been allowed the few remaining days with their mother that Stoatwhisker never got to share. She felt...anger. Anger at herself. Anger at Crysanthemum. Why did her mother have to be some pretty, pampered kittypet who had probably never even known what it was to feel claws rake her skin? Stoatwhisker had spent much of her childhood wondering about the mysterious cats that had brought her into the world. Sometimes she liked to imagine that they were some great warriors who had left her behind so that they could go on a secret mission. Or perhaps they were fugitives who were protecting their daughter from their life on the run. Or, if Stoatwhisker allowed her imagination to run away, she even could have been the ward of the great PeakStar herself. That would explain why she had seemingly appeared from nowhere, left on the forest trail right where the first PeakClan patrol was sure to travel. Stoatwhisker could have been the daughter of any number of strange and wonderful cats. But no. She was just a misplaced kitten of a pretty young kitty pet and her lodge-living mate. So, in other words, Stoatwhisker was nobody special.
"Why couldn't you have at least been a clan cat?" Stoatwhisker mewed, wishing that her mother, wherever she was, could actually understand her. "At least then I would be able to see you in StarClan after all of this is over."
Of course, even that belief was banking on the fact that Stoatwhisker herself would be allowed to enter into the land of endless stars once she had finished her time in the living world. She had never been a proper, devout worshipper so to speak, nor was she exactly the picture of innocence. The scars that crisscrossed her face were more than enough evidence to support that. Honestly, if it were not for the fact that she was so close to her classmates, Stoatwhisker did not know if she would even have reason to believe in StarClan at all.
Maybe circumstances have decided everything...the white she-cat thought, the edge of her face curling into a cynical smile. Maybe everyone's life was simply put together by The Who, the what, the where and the when. After all, if she had not gotten lost, she could have been a kitty pet all of her life....she could have lived the very sort of cushy lifestyle that she sneered at. And she would never have been any the wiser that she was missing an entire life in the forest. And maybe....maybe that was how Crysanthemum had felt all of her life.
Stoatwhisker looked up to the moon, smiling.
"Pleasant dreams mother...wherever you are."
