Post by Littlefang❀ on Oct 25, 2017 10:58:59 GMT -5
hi everyone!
this story needs a bit of context. in my 4 Fanclans, there are different clans with different morals and stories they tell to their kittens in order to teach them lessons.
It's a part of the CliffClan's stories, a clan that lives in the mountains. It's used as a moral lesson for kits about how the scare prey is not to be wasted.
I will be posting more about these clans, and if you'd like to read more about them, i have a blog called ImpossibleFanClans.tumblr.com that has some basic information and will soon be updated!
i hope you enjoy!
Shrike and the Fishtail
Before CreekClan was CreekClan, and before Featherstar was Featherstar, there was a cat who prowled the rivers and streams in northeast. He was called Shrike, and was faster then any Bis*, clever then the Wagos* and more ferocious than any Mak*. Shrike had control of a northern river, and any Bis that came near his home was torn to pieces.
One day, a sickly she-cat by the name of Plover had wandered onto Shrike’s territory. Some say she came from the desert, others from the forest. We know she came from the northern mountains.
Shrike cornered her and hissed.
“What are you doing here!?” He demanded. Plover had fallen onto her paws, too weak to move more.
“I am very sick, please, let me rest for a while.” Plover looked up to Shrike with sadness in her eyes, and Shrike grumbled.
“Fine, you can stay here. But I will watch, and make sure you do not steal my food.”
As time went by, Shrike realised that Plover could not hunt for herself. A twinge of sympathy in his heart, albeit so small he couldn’t recognise it, he caught a plump fish for himself as well as one for Plover.
Plover dug into her food with earnest, and Shrike sniffed at her stuffing herself. He took decliate bites of his fish, only eating the parts that pleased him the most. Plover, however, had been munching on every part of her fish, chewing through the bone.
Shrike looked over and nearly screeched as he saw Plover crunching the bones of her fishtail to get the meat.
“What are you doing?!” he hissed. “Fishtails are the worst, most disgusting parts of a fish!”
Plover looked up and licked her lips. “Sure they do not taste the best, but they are rich in the things that I need to grow stronger. It’s better to have a bellyache then die of starvation.”
Shrike only grumbled and went back to his fish, and upon realising that he had eaten all the most tasty parts of his fish already, he pushed it away and begun grooming himself.
“There is still plenty of your fish left!” Plover exclaimed, gesturing to the rest of the prey that was left on the ground in front of them.
“But it is not the tastiest!” Shrike argued. “Why should I have to worry about getting stronger from prey when these rivers are rich with fish?”
Plover only sighed. “Fine then. It is your choice. When leaf-bare comes, you will know.”
--
And so leaf-bare came. Plover still lived in Shrike’s territory with him and had eaten all of her fish, the same as she did since she arrived. Shrike continued to throw away the rest of what he did not like.
It was the coldest leaf-bare Shrike could remember. Snow fell heavily and steadily over the rivers. Prey had been scare ever since the first snow had fallen. His fur had lost it’s sheen, and he was thinner then ever before. Plover, however, still had her strength and her beautiful gleam on her fur.
Shrike huddled beside Plover in his nest of reeds, and they shivered together. The snow was still falling heavier then ever before.
“Shrike, my friend. I will go out and hunt for us. I am the strongest out of the both of us.” meowed Plover, her fur fluffed up as she stepped out of the den. Shrike could only nod his head, as he was so cold his whiskers had icicles on them.
It seemed like forever to Shrike before Plover came back with two fish, hanging onto them by their tails. She placed one down in front of Shrike and begun to eat, and then one at her own side.
“Eat, Shrike. It will keep you warm and strong.” Plover murmured, already tucking into her fish.
Shrike begun to eat, but he kept his habit of only eating the parts of the fish he liked the most. Plover only watched through half-lidded eyes at her companion’s waste of his precious food. She did the same as she always did with fish, crunching the fishtail to get the last of the prey and then tucked her paws underneath her.
“I am going to bed now, Shrike. I will see you in the morning.”
When Plover awoke, she nudged her companion with her nose, but he was not moving. She nudged him again and again, and finally stood up and rolled him over. Shrike was as thin as she was when she had moved into the territory, and he was frozen solid. He had died in his sleep through the lack of warmth and food.
“My poor friend.” Plover sighed. “If only he had not wasted the food that we were given.”
--
*Bis = the ancient word for Cat
*Wagos = the ancient word for fox
*Mak = the ancient word for bear
this story needs a bit of context. in my 4 Fanclans, there are different clans with different morals and stories they tell to their kittens in order to teach them lessons.
It's a part of the CliffClan's stories, a clan that lives in the mountains. It's used as a moral lesson for kits about how the scare prey is not to be wasted.
I will be posting more about these clans, and if you'd like to read more about them, i have a blog called ImpossibleFanClans.tumblr.com that has some basic information and will soon be updated!
i hope you enjoy!
Shrike and the Fishtail
Before CreekClan was CreekClan, and before Featherstar was Featherstar, there was a cat who prowled the rivers and streams in northeast. He was called Shrike, and was faster then any Bis*, clever then the Wagos* and more ferocious than any Mak*. Shrike had control of a northern river, and any Bis that came near his home was torn to pieces.
One day, a sickly she-cat by the name of Plover had wandered onto Shrike’s territory. Some say she came from the desert, others from the forest. We know she came from the northern mountains.
Shrike cornered her and hissed.
“What are you doing here!?” He demanded. Plover had fallen onto her paws, too weak to move more.
“I am very sick, please, let me rest for a while.” Plover looked up to Shrike with sadness in her eyes, and Shrike grumbled.
“Fine, you can stay here. But I will watch, and make sure you do not steal my food.”
As time went by, Shrike realised that Plover could not hunt for herself. A twinge of sympathy in his heart, albeit so small he couldn’t recognise it, he caught a plump fish for himself as well as one for Plover.
Plover dug into her food with earnest, and Shrike sniffed at her stuffing herself. He took decliate bites of his fish, only eating the parts that pleased him the most. Plover, however, had been munching on every part of her fish, chewing through the bone.
Shrike looked over and nearly screeched as he saw Plover crunching the bones of her fishtail to get the meat.
“What are you doing?!” he hissed. “Fishtails are the worst, most disgusting parts of a fish!”
Plover looked up and licked her lips. “Sure they do not taste the best, but they are rich in the things that I need to grow stronger. It’s better to have a bellyache then die of starvation.”
Shrike only grumbled and went back to his fish, and upon realising that he had eaten all the most tasty parts of his fish already, he pushed it away and begun grooming himself.
“There is still plenty of your fish left!” Plover exclaimed, gesturing to the rest of the prey that was left on the ground in front of them.
“But it is not the tastiest!” Shrike argued. “Why should I have to worry about getting stronger from prey when these rivers are rich with fish?”
Plover only sighed. “Fine then. It is your choice. When leaf-bare comes, you will know.”
--
And so leaf-bare came. Plover still lived in Shrike’s territory with him and had eaten all of her fish, the same as she did since she arrived. Shrike continued to throw away the rest of what he did not like.
It was the coldest leaf-bare Shrike could remember. Snow fell heavily and steadily over the rivers. Prey had been scare ever since the first snow had fallen. His fur had lost it’s sheen, and he was thinner then ever before. Plover, however, still had her strength and her beautiful gleam on her fur.
Shrike huddled beside Plover in his nest of reeds, and they shivered together. The snow was still falling heavier then ever before.
“Shrike, my friend. I will go out and hunt for us. I am the strongest out of the both of us.” meowed Plover, her fur fluffed up as she stepped out of the den. Shrike could only nod his head, as he was so cold his whiskers had icicles on them.
It seemed like forever to Shrike before Plover came back with two fish, hanging onto them by their tails. She placed one down in front of Shrike and begun to eat, and then one at her own side.
“Eat, Shrike. It will keep you warm and strong.” Plover murmured, already tucking into her fish.
Shrike begun to eat, but he kept his habit of only eating the parts of the fish he liked the most. Plover only watched through half-lidded eyes at her companion’s waste of his precious food. She did the same as she always did with fish, crunching the fishtail to get the last of the prey and then tucked her paws underneath her.
“I am going to bed now, Shrike. I will see you in the morning.”
When Plover awoke, she nudged her companion with her nose, but he was not moving. She nudged him again and again, and finally stood up and rolled him over. Shrike was as thin as she was when she had moved into the territory, and he was frozen solid. He had died in his sleep through the lack of warmth and food.
“My poor friend.” Plover sighed. “If only he had not wasted the food that we were given.”
--
*Bis = the ancient word for Cat
*Wagos = the ancient word for fox
*Mak = the ancient word for bear