Post by ☪ঌяανєηƒαηтαѕуঌ☪ on Aug 7, 2016 4:58:48 GMT -5
This is a short thing I've written for Swiftstripe1243's So You Think You Can Write writing contest. ^^ Please enjoy. This might be rushed; written in one sitting, in around 1 hour-1&1/2 hour.
If you'd like to put on some music while you read, I suggest 'Here I Am' (from the movie) or either 'Home Again' or 'Benzai-ten' by Blackmore's Night. ^^
EDIT;; reposted from the old forums ^^
I’ve been many places, I’ve traveled round the world;;
The field mouse calmly nibbled on the seeds it got out of the golden stalk.
I slid my paws silently, tall, sun-kissed wheat hiding my grey pelt as I quietly neared my prey. I could feel the warmth of the morning sun and smell the sweet, dry grass around me with every breath I took.
The mouse’s head shot up, nose quivering, and the prey vanished, leaving in place only a rustling stalk.
I was close enough already though. I lunged after the small creature, wheat whipping my muzzle and poking my eyes, forcing me to close them and see nothing as the sharp and stiff grass poked my sides.
But my claws found and sank into warm flesh anyway, and I pulled the struggling mouse towards me, and forced my muzzle down through the unyielding mass of golden wheat, towards the piteously writhing body.
All became silent and still.
I lifted my head, my fresh-kill dangling from my muzzle.
The beautiful golden fields stretched out before me, rippling like the fur on my clanmates’ pelts used to.
There were birds singing, hidden among the grasses. The gentle morning sun barely looked over the edge of the sky, pink and streaked with lovely delicate white clouds like puffs of fluffy cotton.
I could see the sleepy two-leg barns and farther, out, beyond the fields, beyond the rivers, the faint and majestic mountains, solemn sentinels of the dawn.
It was beautiful.
It was perfect.
Stalking through the tallest and stiffest stalks, my paws found the smooth dirt littered with prickles of shredded grass. I neared the place of the more tender shootlings, and lay down beneath them, mouse on my paws.
I quietly tore apart the small body with my sharp teeth, chewing the tender flesh in the blissful, golden silence. Yes, golden. Everything was golden, and pink, and warm.
Looking over the fields, I wonder where I'll head now. My mind is almost blank, and I can’t fetch a destination from it. Where will I go-?
Oh my. I sighed, and looked down on my field mouse, its tiny fur, on its tiny body, rippling like the wheat, only a dozen times smaller. It’s that time already? I looked out towards the mountains, tried and failed to figure out a new destination. Yes, it is. I hadn’t thought it’d come that fast. Why should I? I felt so good right now, so at peace with my life . . .
The fact remains, I can’t figure out where to go next, so I'll just wander where my paws lead me. I'll just follow the trails, the prey, the sun . . .
And I’ll end up back home.
As always.
Back where it all ended, back where this began.
I’ve been through this before so many times. I know what will happen now, I suppose. But I honestly thought I had finished with this last time, I had thought the cycle had ended . . .
The cycle that’s so familiar to me, like a path well-trodden. Perhaps that’s to be expected, as this cycle is now my life.
I always leave, set off with a journey in mind and the site of my destination before my eyes. My trail this time. The mountains. Then the sun-drown-place. Then the barn. Then the Moonstone. A pilgrimage to a beginning; the beginning of the clans.
A different beginning.
I suppose that proves how foolish I am.
There is only one beginning for me, no others. The beginning I always return to. Now, looking over these fields, I close my eyes. It comes to me this must be my never-ending pilgrimage.
But I had thought it was gone, the cycle was over . . . there had been no trace of the dead, burnt trees, the empty forest of ghosts and ashes. The place of my beginning was now teeming with life, greenery. I had wandered amongst the trees and heard birds singing. I thought it was gone, my cycle over.
The first time I had returned, the forest had looked exactly as I had left it, dead, trees forever frozen in the agony of flames. It had been the exact image that had haunted me on my first journey, on which the memories were with me every step I took. Their faces before my eyes and a forced hope in my heart. I had returned then for the first time, compelled by a need to . . . to . . .
I still don't know. But it was something to do with the need to return to the memories, I think. The old dead forest, dead as my clan and the life I had known.
But the dead forest was gone now, the trees had burst into new life, so shouldn’t I have had too?
But if it had been memories, than how? My first leaving had been filled with memories, true, and the second one had been of regret but determination. But the third? This one, the fourth? I haven’t thought of them at all. Not Owlcry, not Birchdawn. Not Nettleblaze. Not even Specklebreeze. My beloved Specklebreeze.
I haven’t thought of them.
No, not at all.
Lifting my head to gaze in the morning sky, I could still smell the sweet dry grass over my mouse.
I’ve never forgotten them.
Even if he doesn't haunt my every step, I still see Nettleblaze next to me, every time I step on a sharp stone, offering me his shoulder. I still think of my sweet Owlcry, every time I hear a bird call.
I still feel my beloved Specklebreeze, every time the rain falls.
I still hear him, laughing like a kit and chasing the rain drops, turning to look at me with those happy green eyes.
I still hear myself; I still hear Rainfeather laugh with him, yield to his coaxing and play with him in the rain, amidst the thunder and lightning, living the happiest moments of her life.
I still smile when I hear the crash of thunder.
I still love, because Specklebreeze taught me to.
Because, despite my journeys, and the dead forest, and that horrible fire, that thought it had taken him away from me, he’s here with me. Always.
Don’t be sad, don’t ever be sad, because there’s never reason to be! Don’t be afraid, because no one can make you stop trusting! No one can make you stop being happy. Because we are the ones that choose if we’re happy or not, don’t we, Rainbreeze?
Yes, Specklebreeze, yes.
That’s why I’m still happy. Because you’ve never left me, and when I forgot you were still there, you slapped your paw over my eyes till I tripped and fell and admitted you were. And thanks to that, I can see all of them.
Everyone is here with me.
I sighed, looking over the golden fields and taking a bite out of my mouse.
That’s why I still love the flames, still think that they’re beautiful, and wondrous, and majestic. Even though I could hate them with all my being for taking everything from me. Because Specklebreeze forbid me to hate, and made me love.
But . . . why do I still follow this cycle?
Return, feel determination rise in me anew, then head out on a new path, start new life, falter.
Repeat.
Whenever I come back to the old forest and see what's become of it, new strength rises in me. I stand up, turn my back and run out, ready to forge a new trail. I want to show them- Specklebreeze, love, Owlcry, sweet daughter. Nettleblaze, brother, who was always the one there to help me, I want them to see I can do it.
I won’t fall into grief and despair.
I can live anew.
I head out.
Brave and tall.
Free.
My heart pounding and blood warm.
I explore the undergrowth paths, climb the wizen trees, and live on islands amidst the rivers.
I stalk my prey, learn new names amongst the two-leg dens.
I live, I hunt, I thrive.
I'm happy.
And then, this moment comes.
I watched the wheat ripple for a moment, before turning back towards the hazy and solemn forms of the faraway mountains that I know I’ll end up crossing again.
Maybe I’m misinterpreting them? Maybe they’re the ones calling me back? How can I know?
Maybe they’re always there, waiting for me?
Calling me?
Come back home again.
I rose to my feet, giving my grey pelt a shake, before licking my paw and stretching. Giving the dawn a final look, I smiled and started for the trees and the stream I had passed yesterday, deciding I'd try following it.
Maybe I'll keep to it for a day, chase some fish. Then I'll try to find some sweet berry bush to gorge myself. Maybe I didn't have a destination yet, but I'm sure something will come to me. I might meet some new cats. It should be rather difficult to end up back in the forest by accident if I'm aware of where I'm going.
The stalks bent as I brushed past them, thick pelt waving in the breeze, my pawsteps silenced by birdsong as I left.
A half-eaten field mouse laid abandoned among the wheat, its hunter leaving behind only a rustling stalk.
If you'd like to put on some music while you read, I suggest 'Here I Am' (from the movie) or either 'Home Again' or 'Benzai-ten' by Blackmore's Night. ^^
EDIT;; reposted from the old forums ^^
- --l|[-]|l-- - --l|[-]|l-- - --l|[-]|l-- -
I’ve been many places, I’ve traveled round the world;;
The field mouse calmly nibbled on the seeds it got out of the golden stalk.
I slid my paws silently, tall, sun-kissed wheat hiding my grey pelt as I quietly neared my prey. I could feel the warmth of the morning sun and smell the sweet, dry grass around me with every breath I took.
The mouse’s head shot up, nose quivering, and the prey vanished, leaving in place only a rustling stalk.
I was close enough already though. I lunged after the small creature, wheat whipping my muzzle and poking my eyes, forcing me to close them and see nothing as the sharp and stiff grass poked my sides.
But my claws found and sank into warm flesh anyway, and I pulled the struggling mouse towards me, and forced my muzzle down through the unyielding mass of golden wheat, towards the piteously writhing body.
All became silent and still.
I lifted my head, my fresh-kill dangling from my muzzle.
The beautiful golden fields stretched out before me, rippling like the fur on my clanmates’ pelts used to.
There were birds singing, hidden among the grasses. The gentle morning sun barely looked over the edge of the sky, pink and streaked with lovely delicate white clouds like puffs of fluffy cotton.
I could see the sleepy two-leg barns and farther, out, beyond the fields, beyond the rivers, the faint and majestic mountains, solemn sentinels of the dawn.
It was beautiful.
It was perfect.
Stalking through the tallest and stiffest stalks, my paws found the smooth dirt littered with prickles of shredded grass. I neared the place of the more tender shootlings, and lay down beneath them, mouse on my paws.
I quietly tore apart the small body with my sharp teeth, chewing the tender flesh in the blissful, golden silence. Yes, golden. Everything was golden, and pink, and warm.
Looking over the fields, I wonder where I'll head now. My mind is almost blank, and I can’t fetch a destination from it. Where will I go-?
Oh my. I sighed, and looked down on my field mouse, its tiny fur, on its tiny body, rippling like the wheat, only a dozen times smaller. It’s that time already? I looked out towards the mountains, tried and failed to figure out a new destination. Yes, it is. I hadn’t thought it’d come that fast. Why should I? I felt so good right now, so at peace with my life . . .
The fact remains, I can’t figure out where to go next, so I'll just wander where my paws lead me. I'll just follow the trails, the prey, the sun . . .
And I’ll end up back home.
As always.
Back where it all ended, back where this began.
I’ve been through this before so many times. I know what will happen now, I suppose. But I honestly thought I had finished with this last time, I had thought the cycle had ended . . .
The cycle that’s so familiar to me, like a path well-trodden. Perhaps that’s to be expected, as this cycle is now my life.
I always leave, set off with a journey in mind and the site of my destination before my eyes. My trail this time. The mountains. Then the sun-drown-place. Then the barn. Then the Moonstone. A pilgrimage to a beginning; the beginning of the clans.
A different beginning.
I suppose that proves how foolish I am.
There is only one beginning for me, no others. The beginning I always return to. Now, looking over these fields, I close my eyes. It comes to me this must be my never-ending pilgrimage.
But I had thought it was gone, the cycle was over . . . there had been no trace of the dead, burnt trees, the empty forest of ghosts and ashes. The place of my beginning was now teeming with life, greenery. I had wandered amongst the trees and heard birds singing. I thought it was gone, my cycle over.
The first time I had returned, the forest had looked exactly as I had left it, dead, trees forever frozen in the agony of flames. It had been the exact image that had haunted me on my first journey, on which the memories were with me every step I took. Their faces before my eyes and a forced hope in my heart. I had returned then for the first time, compelled by a need to . . . to . . .
I still don't know. But it was something to do with the need to return to the memories, I think. The old dead forest, dead as my clan and the life I had known.
But the dead forest was gone now, the trees had burst into new life, so shouldn’t I have had too?
But if it had been memories, than how? My first leaving had been filled with memories, true, and the second one had been of regret but determination. But the third? This one, the fourth? I haven’t thought of them at all. Not Owlcry, not Birchdawn. Not Nettleblaze. Not even Specklebreeze. My beloved Specklebreeze.
I haven’t thought of them.
No, not at all.
Lifting my head to gaze in the morning sky, I could still smell the sweet dry grass over my mouse.
I’ve never forgotten them.
Even if he doesn't haunt my every step, I still see Nettleblaze next to me, every time I step on a sharp stone, offering me his shoulder. I still think of my sweet Owlcry, every time I hear a bird call.
I still feel my beloved Specklebreeze, every time the rain falls.
I still hear him, laughing like a kit and chasing the rain drops, turning to look at me with those happy green eyes.
I still hear myself; I still hear Rainfeather laugh with him, yield to his coaxing and play with him in the rain, amidst the thunder and lightning, living the happiest moments of her life.
I still smile when I hear the crash of thunder.
I still love, because Specklebreeze taught me to.
Because, despite my journeys, and the dead forest, and that horrible fire, that thought it had taken him away from me, he’s here with me. Always.
Don’t be sad, don’t ever be sad, because there’s never reason to be! Don’t be afraid, because no one can make you stop trusting! No one can make you stop being happy. Because we are the ones that choose if we’re happy or not, don’t we, Rainbreeze?
Yes, Specklebreeze, yes.
That’s why I’m still happy. Because you’ve never left me, and when I forgot you were still there, you slapped your paw over my eyes till I tripped and fell and admitted you were. And thanks to that, I can see all of them.
Everyone is here with me.
I sighed, looking over the golden fields and taking a bite out of my mouse.
That’s why I still love the flames, still think that they’re beautiful, and wondrous, and majestic. Even though I could hate them with all my being for taking everything from me. Because Specklebreeze forbid me to hate, and made me love.
But . . . why do I still follow this cycle?
Return, feel determination rise in me anew, then head out on a new path, start new life, falter.
Repeat.
Whenever I come back to the old forest and see what's become of it, new strength rises in me. I stand up, turn my back and run out, ready to forge a new trail. I want to show them- Specklebreeze, love, Owlcry, sweet daughter. Nettleblaze, brother, who was always the one there to help me, I want them to see I can do it.
I won’t fall into grief and despair.
I can live anew.
I head out.
Brave and tall.
Free.
My heart pounding and blood warm.
I explore the undergrowth paths, climb the wizen trees, and live on islands amidst the rivers.
I stalk my prey, learn new names amongst the two-leg dens.
I live, I hunt, I thrive.
I'm happy.
And then, this moment comes.
I watched the wheat ripple for a moment, before turning back towards the hazy and solemn forms of the faraway mountains that I know I’ll end up crossing again.
Maybe I’m misinterpreting them? Maybe they’re the ones calling me back? How can I know?
Maybe they’re always there, waiting for me?
Calling me?
Come back home again.
I rose to my feet, giving my grey pelt a shake, before licking my paw and stretching. Giving the dawn a final look, I smiled and started for the trees and the stream I had passed yesterday, deciding I'd try following it.
Maybe I'll keep to it for a day, chase some fish. Then I'll try to find some sweet berry bush to gorge myself. Maybe I didn't have a destination yet, but I'm sure something will come to me. I might meet some new cats. It should be rather difficult to end up back in the forest by accident if I'm aware of where I'm going.
The stalks bent as I brushed past them, thick pelt waving in the breeze, my pawsteps silenced by birdsong as I left.
A half-eaten field mouse laid abandoned among the wheat, its hunter leaving behind only a rustling stalk.
But what does it matter, when all the roads I’ve crossed;;
Always seem to lead back to you?;;
- --l|[-]|l-- - --l|[-]|l-- - --l|[-]|l-- -