Post by ~Sapphire~ on Jun 26, 2017 16:27:40 GMT -5
An empty, scentless tundra, snow and rock and tufts of scrubby grass stretching out as far as I can see.
A short, straggling line of tired cats, tangled fur clinging to starved bone.
A leaden sky overhead, the faint glow of false dawn on the western horizon the only sunlight of the day.
None of this is how I thought it would be.
-
“Join me,” Mothstar had said, and I had obeyed.
She wasn't called Mothstar then, just plain old Mothflight, and if I'm honest shouldn't be called Mothstar now, but (as I put it) we needed a leader and a leader needed their name, even if we couldn't provide the nine lives to go with it. So Mothstar she became. There were more of us when I said that, and she must've felt like a real Clan leader, especially with the mission she was taking us on.
We were returning to our homeland - going back to basics, as Mothstar had put it. Shedding the lax ways our Clan had picked up, living around Twolegs and other Clans as we did, and retreating to the frozen, mysterious north that our ancestors left long ago. StarClan shone brighter in the north. In isolation, our souls would be purer.
We made plans in secret for moons: Mothstar, Eelfoot, Hareleap and me. We'd leave at the beginning of new-leaf, when the northern days would be rapidly growing and we could find our feet in our new home before the harshest season hit. We'd take whichever Clanmates saw the sense in our mission. We'd survive, we'd surmount, we'd succeed.
-
And then our plan to find peace was interrupted by, of all things, a war. Civil war, I mean. It was nothing to do with the four of us, at least at first - the whole Clan was disintegrating into factions at this point, another reason Mothstar wanted us to leave - but amidst all the backstabbings and threats and paranoia, a plan like ours couldn't go unnoticed for long.
“These cats don't care about the success of our Clan, an end to this war,” Emberstar (who did have the right number of lives for his leader's name, if not the number of supporters) proclaimed from his perch high above the camp. “They are plotting to leave us. They are merely eating our prey and sleeping under our shelters while they bide their time. They are as bad as - no, worse than - the rebels!”
That caused an uproar - but not the sort Emberstar wanted. Mothstar, moving among the crowd itself, quickly explained our situation, and soon the numbers committed to leaving had grown from the four of us to almost half the Clan. Emberstar, furious, wasted most of his remaining strength forcing the whole lot of us from the territory he still held. I doubt he lasted much longer - not that I'm one to talk.
“This is it,” Mothstar said then. “This is the sign. StarClan have driven us from our old territory, given us the supporters we need to reclaim our true home. We must make our return now.”
“We’re well into leaf-fall,” Eelfoot argued. “Are you saying StarClan would send us north with leaf-bare approaching?”
“Did StarClan give the idea to you?” I rounded on him, to my later guilt. And Hareleap sided with me, so we were three against one.
Three against one, and the others we had with us didn’t - couldn’t? - question Mothstar either, especially when I announced at the same time the plan of calling her Mothstar. Because what’s the point of anointing a leader if you’re not prepared to follow them to the ends of the earth?
-
We set off.
Previously I’d thought of the home I’d grown up in as really quite northern, with its endless snowfalls and short leaf-bare days. I’d certainly met cats from further south who’d thought so. The north of our ancestors couldn’t be very different, I thought - maybe colder, and certainly less populated, but there would still be trees and prey and flowing water. All the things that seemed necessary for a homeland, especially a homeland as brilliant as the one Mothstar was promising, so necessary I barely thought to question them.
But we stopped passing the tall trees after half a moon’s journey. A few scrubby evergreens grew further north, but even they petered out eventually. It became harder and harder to find water that wasn’t frozen. The only prey that survived was as skinny as we were, and so timid and fleet-footed we spent more energy hunting than we gained from our catch.
Hareleap started coughing. She’d been an elder before we left the Clan, too young to have lived in the north himself but old enough to have known cats who did, and I think her main motivation for supporting Mothstar was a longing to see the land of their stories. She’d been frail and faint since before we’d passed the tree line, but now she was barely able to stagger to her feet to begin the day’s march. We could find none of our familiar healing herbs. Eelfoot shouted us to a stop, and we waited.
And when we’d done waiting, and Mothstar had said the funeral rites, there was nothing to do but carry on, further across the endless tundra.
-
Deaths came thick and fast after that; the old and young were worst affected, but the north doesn’t really discriminate. Hareleap had had greencough, I reckoned (as our old medicine cat’s sister I had the best medical knowledge of the bunch, which tells you how badly off we were). Other cats died of the cold, of sicknesses too exotic to be named, and of that old bogeyman, starvation. Mostly of starvation, because if the lack of food wasn’t what finally killed them, it certainly made them more susceptible to whatever did. I’ve told you how hard it was to find food.
Eelfoot fought with Mothstar then. We were surely far north enough, he said, to satisfy both her and StarClan. We ought to stop, and concentrate our energies on finding food, on making shelter, on staying alive. Continuing was a fool’s errand, and Mothstar knew it.
Mothstar shook her head, always with that determination in her eyes that she’d had since she first broached the idea of a journey. “This isn’t the place. StarClan will show me the place.”
StarClan did shine more brightly here, their light uncontested by the glow of Twoleg settlements, but they didn’t seem to give any more answers.
When the sunlight went - when the sun set one day barely after it had risen, and abandoned us to days of grey twilight - and Mothstar still refused to stop, Eelfoot shook his head in return and refused to travel any further. So then it was just me and Mothstar and a handful of others, and a gaping whole in our conversations where the others had once been. Our plans of finding peace and unity were ruined beyond repair, even if none of us would admit it out loud.
In near silence and almost total darkness, we walked on and on and on, until I begin to think that I had followed Mothstar to the ends of the earth. I couldn't remember any of the reasons I'd began the journey.
I don't know how much time it's been from then to now.
A short, straggling line of tired cats, tangled fur clinging to starved bone.
A leaden sky overhead, the faint glow of false dawn on the western horizon the only sunlight of the day.
None of this is how I thought it would be.
-
“Join me,” Mothstar had said, and I had obeyed.
She wasn't called Mothstar then, just plain old Mothflight, and if I'm honest shouldn't be called Mothstar now, but (as I put it) we needed a leader and a leader needed their name, even if we couldn't provide the nine lives to go with it. So Mothstar she became. There were more of us when I said that, and she must've felt like a real Clan leader, especially with the mission she was taking us on.
We were returning to our homeland - going back to basics, as Mothstar had put it. Shedding the lax ways our Clan had picked up, living around Twolegs and other Clans as we did, and retreating to the frozen, mysterious north that our ancestors left long ago. StarClan shone brighter in the north. In isolation, our souls would be purer.
We made plans in secret for moons: Mothstar, Eelfoot, Hareleap and me. We'd leave at the beginning of new-leaf, when the northern days would be rapidly growing and we could find our feet in our new home before the harshest season hit. We'd take whichever Clanmates saw the sense in our mission. We'd survive, we'd surmount, we'd succeed.
-
And then our plan to find peace was interrupted by, of all things, a war. Civil war, I mean. It was nothing to do with the four of us, at least at first - the whole Clan was disintegrating into factions at this point, another reason Mothstar wanted us to leave - but amidst all the backstabbings and threats and paranoia, a plan like ours couldn't go unnoticed for long.
“These cats don't care about the success of our Clan, an end to this war,” Emberstar (who did have the right number of lives for his leader's name, if not the number of supporters) proclaimed from his perch high above the camp. “They are plotting to leave us. They are merely eating our prey and sleeping under our shelters while they bide their time. They are as bad as - no, worse than - the rebels!”
That caused an uproar - but not the sort Emberstar wanted. Mothstar, moving among the crowd itself, quickly explained our situation, and soon the numbers committed to leaving had grown from the four of us to almost half the Clan. Emberstar, furious, wasted most of his remaining strength forcing the whole lot of us from the territory he still held. I doubt he lasted much longer - not that I'm one to talk.
“This is it,” Mothstar said then. “This is the sign. StarClan have driven us from our old territory, given us the supporters we need to reclaim our true home. We must make our return now.”
“We’re well into leaf-fall,” Eelfoot argued. “Are you saying StarClan would send us north with leaf-bare approaching?”
“Did StarClan give the idea to you?” I rounded on him, to my later guilt. And Hareleap sided with me, so we were three against one.
Three against one, and the others we had with us didn’t - couldn’t? - question Mothstar either, especially when I announced at the same time the plan of calling her Mothstar. Because what’s the point of anointing a leader if you’re not prepared to follow them to the ends of the earth?
-
We set off.
Previously I’d thought of the home I’d grown up in as really quite northern, with its endless snowfalls and short leaf-bare days. I’d certainly met cats from further south who’d thought so. The north of our ancestors couldn’t be very different, I thought - maybe colder, and certainly less populated, but there would still be trees and prey and flowing water. All the things that seemed necessary for a homeland, especially a homeland as brilliant as the one Mothstar was promising, so necessary I barely thought to question them.
But we stopped passing the tall trees after half a moon’s journey. A few scrubby evergreens grew further north, but even they petered out eventually. It became harder and harder to find water that wasn’t frozen. The only prey that survived was as skinny as we were, and so timid and fleet-footed we spent more energy hunting than we gained from our catch.
Hareleap started coughing. She’d been an elder before we left the Clan, too young to have lived in the north himself but old enough to have known cats who did, and I think her main motivation for supporting Mothstar was a longing to see the land of their stories. She’d been frail and faint since before we’d passed the tree line, but now she was barely able to stagger to her feet to begin the day’s march. We could find none of our familiar healing herbs. Eelfoot shouted us to a stop, and we waited.
And when we’d done waiting, and Mothstar had said the funeral rites, there was nothing to do but carry on, further across the endless tundra.
-
Deaths came thick and fast after that; the old and young were worst affected, but the north doesn’t really discriminate. Hareleap had had greencough, I reckoned (as our old medicine cat’s sister I had the best medical knowledge of the bunch, which tells you how badly off we were). Other cats died of the cold, of sicknesses too exotic to be named, and of that old bogeyman, starvation. Mostly of starvation, because if the lack of food wasn’t what finally killed them, it certainly made them more susceptible to whatever did. I’ve told you how hard it was to find food.
Eelfoot fought with Mothstar then. We were surely far north enough, he said, to satisfy both her and StarClan. We ought to stop, and concentrate our energies on finding food, on making shelter, on staying alive. Continuing was a fool’s errand, and Mothstar knew it.
Mothstar shook her head, always with that determination in her eyes that she’d had since she first broached the idea of a journey. “This isn’t the place. StarClan will show me the place.”
StarClan did shine more brightly here, their light uncontested by the glow of Twoleg settlements, but they didn’t seem to give any more answers.
When the sunlight went - when the sun set one day barely after it had risen, and abandoned us to days of grey twilight - and Mothstar still refused to stop, Eelfoot shook his head in return and refused to travel any further. So then it was just me and Mothstar and a handful of others, and a gaping whole in our conversations where the others had once been. Our plans of finding peace and unity were ruined beyond repair, even if none of us would admit it out loud.
In near silence and almost total darkness, we walked on and on and on, until I begin to think that I had followed Mothstar to the ends of the earth. I couldn't remember any of the reasons I'd began the journey.
I don't know how much time it's been from then to now.
