Grimm - Born of Light and Dark

As a warrior of PineClan, my duty is simple: Serve, Obey, Trust. This means that I should serve my clan until my dying breath, be it by telling stories to entertain kits while their mothers are away as an elder, or fighting in battles to protect the clan, by feeding them, or killing for them. It means that I should blindly obey my leaders. If one tells me to kill someone, they should be dead before the command is finished being given. It also means that if someone is a leader, no matter what they say, I must trust that they are right, and trust that they are doing it for the good of the clan.

But this is not always the case.

Even when your duty is something as simple as the one we are given, there are always the rebels, the avenging creatures who think that they know better than those granted the wisdom of the stars.

This is the story that they tell us about my father.

But I was told a different story. It was told to me when I was young, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was told that as a warrior of PineClan, my duties are simple. They are to die for the clan, obey the leaders like lowly dogs to their masters, and trust in the lies we are fed. I was told that this means that I have to throw myself into any situation the leaders tell me to without a second thought, and give it all that I’ve got.

I was told that there are sometimes brave warriors who dare to think differently. That there are brave cats like my father who dare to fight the system, who dare to kill and fight for what they believe in.

I was told this by my father.

You can see how hard it is for me to decide who told the truth, and who lied.

My name is Ashblaze. To the outsiders of the clan, my name is Grimm. To those in the clan even, I am called Grimm from time to time. I didn’t give myself the name, it was a rogue that I chased from the territory one too many times that nicknamed me it, and I just never refuted it.

Sometimes, names have power. And when a loner or a rogue hears that Grimm is patrolling, sometimes they don’t stick around. It makes my job a star’s distance easier.

It means that there are less bodies to send on their way to the sky in hidden bonfires, it means that I have less to hide, and less to weigh in on my soul when I finally head for the stars.

I believe that PineClan was once normal, once like the old stories say that they still are. I believe that when our warriors die, they head up to the stars, and are able to see their family again. I believe that PineClan can be what it once was again, if only our leaders change, and our warriors believe just as I do.

And yet, what I believe is against everything that our leaders have fought to build.

This is why I am dangerous to them, and this is why they never believe me when I say that I am as loyal to my clan as anyone. As a kit born to a renegade black warrior whose name we are forbidden to speak, and a striking white warrior named Finchstep that died in labor, I’m caught in the grey of our world.

And a cat stuck in the grey is a cat that’s a ticking bomb that could land on either side of the line, and blow up in their faces.

<sup>Morning has come yet again.

The faint light of dawn dapples the inside of the warrior's den in a pattern that I've grown to love and fear at the same time.

For in some ways, the pattern reminds me that another day has begun, and another day is another breath for me. But in others, it hints at the sheer agony my clan is about to cause today.

I don't know why the stupid loners and rogues keep coming near the borders. They know of the dangers; if my alias has spread that far, then certainly the dangers of my clan will have carried even further.

And yet, with each coming dawn, there are too many cats. Too many that we are given the orders to kill in cold blood, and leave past the borders for the crows.

As the dappled light in the den begins to shift before my eyes, I pull myself to my paws, and force myself from the throng of cats all beginning to wake up. I ignore the hissed insults from all around me as I bump cats out of my way, but this dawn I’m in no mood for dilly dallying.

I’m supposed to be patrolling in a moment here, and I’d rather not get chewed out by the leaders for being late to patrol duty again. Stars knows that it’d be easier to just avoid our leaders completely try to dodge their wrath.

Not like it’d work. Our King and Queen, Timberstar and Fennelstar, rely on their deputies to do their dirty work, and there’s always one in my group. They’re quite obvious about the fact that they’re watching me.

Today, it appears to be Jaystep that they’re assigning to my patrol. Only his mottled grey pelt is apparent amongst the few bodies up and moving this dawn.

And good stars, they’re assigning Ratclaw to the patrol. This is building up to a brilliant day so far. Who assigns a warrior who’s expectant mate is just days away from kitting? It was probably Timberstar’s idea. Something along the lines of ‘the quicker he returns, the sooner he can stay with his mates. That means he’ll be efficient’.

Ha.

Joke’s on him.

It means that Ratclaw will be deadly efficient, or terribly inefficient as he tries to finish quickly.

Jaystep stands then, and Ratclaw’s pitch black form rises next to him, his body tense. I stride towards them, surveying them with my hard grey eyes. Habit hardens me to the point of unfeeling when I’m on patrols, or in a place where I can’t say my true feelings.

“Are we moving?” I ask, sitting down to watch them with a tired look. Jaystep stands, his dark blue eyes pinning me with a fierce look, and tips his head at Ratclaw, who stands as well, his dark shoulders braced near his shoulders.

The deputy gives me an irritated look, and I shoot it right back. Probably not my best course of action, but it’s running basically parallel to the one I’ve taken every since my father disappeared.

Simply, keep your head high and ignore the snide comments about traitor blood. It’s not something I can change, and I’m still reserving my opinions on my father. I knew him as I grew, though he left just after I became an apprentice. Orphaned as I was then, I learned to deal with my life, and respect the pampered one that I’d had before he left.

Nowadays, a kit with both parents alive and breathing is a rare occurrence. With the amount of fighting that goes on, we lose warriors every moon. Though our numbers dwindle, the leaders refuse to listen to any advisor who suggests a change in diplomatic techniques.

Jaystep lifts his scarred muzzle, and growls in a deep, raspy voice that doesn’t fit his small frame, “We have to wait for the last one.”

“Really?” I ask, and I know that I should stop before getting myself into trouble, “Planning on sending Hawkwhisper out so that we can have two litters of fatherless kits?”

Before I finish my sentence, Jaystep has pinned me down on my back, his unforgiving, cold blue eyes locked on my face. “Learn respect, kit!” he snarls, his saliva spraying my face and flecking my muzzle. As an extra bit of warning, he digs his claws into my sides before letting go and stepping off of me.

I roll onto my side, coughing from the weight of the deputy that was squarely on my chest for a few moments. I look up, my face empty of emotion, but my chest roiling with fury, and catch sight of Ratclaw, looking stricken beside Jaystep, who’s licking his claws to clean them of my fur and blood.

I force air from my wheezing lungs, and force myself onto my paws, head lowered to allow myself to breathe better. My dark eyes catch sight of Ryefrost racing towards us, her feathery pelt rippling in the breeze she creates.

“Sorry!” she gasps, her voice as high and tinkly as normal. It irritates me, but I say nothing. I’ve caused enough damage for one dawn.

Jaystep jerks his head towards the exit to our camp, a dark tunnel made from brambles that scratch and catch on your pelt if you’re not careful. I’m the first to move, forcing myself past the tendrils that have fallen in the night, letting the pricking of the thorns against my skin focus me again. I can sense Jaystep just a pawstep behind me, and I smooth my bristling hackles.

He has no right to follow me so closely. Even if I’m a bit disobedient and insubordinate at times, I’ve done nothing to make them suspect me as a traitor.

That was all my father.

One of the many things that I have to thank him for.

As I break through the final bit of the tunnel, I squint in the bright light of the small bit of open field before the tree line. My paws touch the dry grass, and I leap forwards, moving rapidly towards our border.

Jaystep shoves himself in front of me, his longer legs letting him take longer leaps. I muffle the growl that rises up in my throat, and force my legs to move faster, trying to keep up with the bigger tom. I can hear Ratclaw’s paws thrumming on the ground steadily at my heels, and then there’s the small complanitive yelps coming from Ryefrost who’s in the very back.

It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve added her to my patrol. Timberstar know that she infuriates me more than most with her sugarcoated attitude and hour long grooming sessions.

We race along for a good while before we reach the border for real. Imminent dread sets in, and I brace my shoulders, glancing at the slowly rising sun. We haven’t been out too long, and there’s still a long stretch of border to patrol, remark, and rid of ‘pests’.

My stance is one of wary indifference as we begin to quietly walk along the stretch of border we’ve been set to patrol, from the Fallen Stump to Split Rock. Jaystep marks the first few places, Ratclaw reinforcing the stench with his own. Ryefrost looks content to just waltz along a few pawsteps behind Jaystep’s scarred hindquarters, and nearly parallel to Ratclaw. I take up the rear now, thoroughly unnerved at the border. We’ve killed enough of the rogues and loners about here for them to launch an attack back at a senseless border patrol.

My ears prick at the sound of a twig snapping, and I stop dead in my tracks, hackles rising. When nothing else enforces my jumpiness, no scents, sights, or extra sounds, I continue to walk after the rest of the patrol, picking up my pace a bit with uncertainty. I sure as stars didn’t want to be eaten by a fox or something after putting up with these fools for so long. I’d rather die in the company of someone who at least tolerates me.

Ryefrost marks the next location, and when I go to enforce it, Jaystep shoves me out of the way.

So I'm not allowed to mark anymore? Then why to all stars do they put me on border patrols?

I hiss at him, and he glares at me, dark blue eyes cold and steady. “Move along, kit,” he snarls, and I return the glare before stepping forwards.

My dark grey eyes are pinned on the next location to mark when I hear a soft, mocking voice from above.

“Why, if it isn’t Grimm!”

My claws unsheathe the second that I hear my infamous nickname, my entire form freezing within seconds. I can hear Jaystep issuing hushed orders to Ryefrost and Ratclaw behind me, and I ignore him entirely.

I know exactly how to fight these cats. I have since I was an apprentice. I was trained like a rogue, like a loner, like a warrior. I know what I can do, and how to do it. With these cats on the border, there is no code of honor.

“Come and face your death, little rogue!” I snarl up at the trees where I know that whoever it is would be concealing themselves. It wasn’t hard to tell when the voice came from above.

“Did you hear that, boys?” comes the familiar cackle, and I tense when three cats leap from the branches of the pines in front of me.

We all know the ringleader of their little gang. The black and grey feline is the only she-cat in their band, and has introduced herself as Juno. The two toms she’s with, I can only guess that they are her siblings or close family. The smallest tom is nearly her exact replica, but with amber eyes, and the bigger tom is dark grey, which is parallel to her own pelt. Behind them is yet another black tom, who’s about average in size.

“Hello there, Grimm!” Juno purrs, stepping towards me, her tail waving in the air hauntingly.

I say nothing, deeming that the safest course of action, and just tense my body in case they attack. I’ll need to be ready, because even though we’re trained to fight, they have the advantage of knowing one another closely, and working together better than we ever will.

“Oh,” Juno’s voice feigns hurt, “Not speaking to me?” She stops in her tracks, blinking blue eyes at me with mock sadness. “Why isn’t an old acquaintance speaking to her old pal?”

Within seconds of her statement, her tail drops, and her eyes shift to cold, hard slits as she leaps for me.

“I find that insulting. You must be taught a lesson,” she hisses as she rams into me, and I twist with her, arching my lithe grey body so that we twist around and two of my paws are still planted. I spin, eyes dark with anger, and she simply purrs at me.

I can see her three partners racing for Ryefrost and Ratclaw, but Jaystep has vanished. Has that coward left us to die? I spit with fury, leaping at Juno and digging my claws into her shoulders, though she ducks to avoid the majority of my wrath.

She rolls deftly, slamming me into the ground below her, and she twists out of my grasp, arching her body to pin me. I can see her droplets of blood spinning through the air as she moves, putting me into a bad situation.

My best choice at this moment is to use my hindlegs, and so I draw them up, kicking her hard in the stomach, and raking my thorn sharp claws downwards.

She snarls, and locks her own long claws into my shoulders, and through my hiss of pain, I can feel her blood dampening my stomach. I violently twist to the left then, knocking Juno’s balance, and she trips to the side, allowing me to stand.

I leap for her while she’s still off balance, and grab at her scruff, biting down hard to stop her from moving. I lock my jaws around her throat while she’s distracted, and she stops moving entirely then. She knows that she’s caught.

I’m about to end it, when the body of her black counterpart rams into my side, sending me flying into the base of a nearby tree. I snarl in pain, struggling back to my paws. Side by side, the pair watches me with haunting eyes, faces peeled into identical expressions of victory.

But one thing that they’ve forgotten about me in the time since I last battled them. They call me Grimm for a reason.

I leap at them both, using the tree to spring off of, and I catch her black counterpart in the worst position. My claws rake through his side as I sprint past, though Juno barely gets a glancing smack to the ears. I hear the tom give a wail of pain, and he whirls to face me.

I tip my head, and purr, before shutting myself up. I need to be silent, and focus. This is who Grimm is, or at least who the rumors say that Grimm is.

To the cats around here, my name is not Ashblaze, kit of a traitor, it is Grimm, silent killer, deadly force. To them, I am also something that I am not.

This is how my life has been since my father departed. I am never seen for who I am, but rather what those around me think that I am. And to survive in a land where this is what I am, I must live up to it.

The black tom lunges at me again, and I step to the side deftly, spinning to face him as he flies past. I know that this leaves me open to an attack from Juno, but I need to be more wary of the tom, given that he’s more furious than thinking straight. At least Juno is predictable.

The tom rears back, and tries to slap me with his claws unsheathed, but I duck, and ram myself into his chest while he’s still off balance. He gives a cry of shock, falling backwards, and I take that time to pin him down, my paws weighing heavy on his shoulders.

I hear Juno give a desperate cry from behind me, and as I’m bending to finish the job on the black tom, my eyes catch on the battles going on in front of me.

Ratclaw and Ryefrost are struggling badly. Where I only have a few nicks and scratches, Ratclaw has a massive cut down the front of his face, which is bleeding into his eyes and impairing his vision. Ryefrost is pinned below the larger tom, and I can barely discern her normally cream and white pelt from the rich scarlet of blood.

I have to help them, or risk facing the wrath of Jaystep and my King and Queen.

I snarl, digging my claws into the black tom’s sides, before lunging forwards to bat the larger tom off of Ryefrost. He whirls around to face me, his back arching as he hisses, and I narrow my eyes, ramming my paw into the side of his head. Ryefrost scrambles to her paws, panting hard, and I can see that she’s dark with blood.

I hear a heartbroken shriek raise up from behind me, and then Juno is wailing commands at her crew. “Rick, Troye, retreat, retreat!” she cries, her voice sounding cracked and full of grief.

The tom in front of me stops, his eyes wide with shock, before he whips around and races across the border. The smaller tom follows him without question, and I see Juno racing after them with a desperate look.

I turn around to see what has happened, and Jaystep is lifting his head from the broken and mangled body of the black tom. His dark blue eyes watch me indifferently, and I shake slightly at the sight of the body.

“Bring him across the border for the crows,” Jaystep orders, and I bow my head without question for once, leaping for the body of the dark tom.

Jaystep walks over to Ryefrost and Ratclaw, and turns to me for half a second. “Meet us back at camp,” he orders, shoving a shoulder underneath Ryefrost to support her. He places the tip of his tail on Ratclaw to help guide him, and they begin to walk away.

I shove my shoulder underneath the body of the broken tom, wiggling myself so that I’m eventually placed below him, and I can stand. My heart is heavy at the useless murder that took place today. Though I was about to kill this same tom, now that his body is limp and empty, I can see only that he wasn’t very old. He wasn’t as big as he looked, either. His body is angular and skinny on my shoulders, and I bow my head as I walk.

When I’m across the border far enough that I can’t see the border markers, or scent the warning signals nearly as much, I slide the tom from my back, letting him rest on the ground. Pity stabs my chest, and I crouch beside him, using my paws to tuck him up, like he was sleeping peacefully. He almost could have been, if not for the scratches marring his form, and the gaping hole in his throat where Jaystep finished him off.

I turn and walk a few steps away, before turning and racing back. “Juno!” I bellow, “Your loss stands here!”

I can’t leave the small tom to be eaten by scavengers. If he was loved, Juno will return with her remaining cats to move him, bury him.

I turn and race away then, closing my mouth so that I don’t breathe in the scent of the tom’s blood and fear any longer.

If I can just make it to the camp, then I can get the medical things that I need from Nutfall, and maybe his little apprentice. I let my paws carry me onwards, and my mind begins to wander. I let it, I have no strength left to reel it back in.

Maybe if I let it wander, the weight of my crimes against other cats won’t feel so heavy.</sup>

It doesn’t take long to return to camp, even with my bloodied sides. When I arrive, Nutfall is racing around, his runny green eyes hassled and tired as he calls orders to his young but experienced apprentice, Deerpaw. I can see flashes of her brown and white dappled pelt as she runs to and from the medicine den, her jaws full of herbs.


Nutfall has a full-time job as PineClan’s medicine cat. It’s almost every day that someone turns up bloodied and bruised from some border skirmish that needn’t have happened.


That is one of the biggest faults of my clan, because we are trained to fight, we can never talk. I know that if we just spoke to the strangers like they were actual cats instead of mindless beings that are out to take over our clan, then they might actually listen to us.


Ryefrost is lying on her side, panting as Nutfall works over her hurriedly, pressing moss to wounds that I cannot see, and draping cleaned injuries with cobwebs to keep them from bleeding more. Deerpaw returns with another jawful of herbs, and I can see her chestnut mentor jerk his head at Ratclaw.


I push myself all the way through the thorny barrier, this time avoiding the stabbing weapons that claw at me as I walk. It’s once I actually make it all the way in that I really feel how exhausted I am, and begin to register the stabbing pain in my sides.


I assume that it was adrenaline that was keeping the pain at bay, but I give a hiss of pain, turning my eyes to the deep, but not large wounds. Juno’s claws may be sharp, but she doesn’t rip at you like most rogues.


Deerpaw has apparently finished with Ratclaw, because she catches sight of me, and comes racing over. Her massive eyes remind me just of what she was named after, big and brown like a doe’s.


“Where are you hurt?” she asks, holding one paw up as she hops over. I catch sight of the silver cobwebs wrapped around the paw, but I don’t really register it all that much.


“Sides,” is all I can manage against the sharp pains, turning so that she can see my wounds more clearly. Her face twists with focus, and she hops over to her mentor’s side, fetching a mouthful of moss before returning at the same hobbling pace.


She pulls the cobwebs from her paw deftly, holding them out to me. “Use one paw,” she requests, though it’s less of a question, and more of a statement. I do as I’m told, holding the one paw off the ground as she begins to explain her procedures to me.


“I’ll have to clean the injury site with moss, and stop any extra bleeding before I can apply cobwebs,” she meows, before placing the moss on my side and beginning to scrub against my wounds firmly, but with enough tenderness that I don’t want to claw her nearly as much. It stings, far worse than I was expecting. I hadn’t braced for that.


It takes her longer than I expected to finish the job, removing the cobwebs from my paws, and using them to bind my injuries. She steps away from me hurriedly, and glances at Nutfall for confirmation on her work.


Her mentor is just finishing up with Ryefrost. The pretty she-cat has sunk into a sleep as he worked, which allows her to avoid the pain of her many wounds. He nods at her when he looks up to see me thoroughly dealt with.


She smiles slightly, and bounds over to him, watching him intently as he begins to explain some of the things that she could adjust in her work. It’s some random medicinal mumbo jumbo, and it loses my attention quickly.


I see Ratclaw disappear into the nursery, slipping away before anyone can tell him not to. He must be off to see his mate, Greytalon. It’s not yet sunhigh, but the camp is mostly empty. The other patrols were sent out right after ours, I assume, and will probably return soon with their own scratches and wounds to lick.


I push myself into a standing position, though my head stays lower than normal. I’m truly exhausted after such a long battle. It was deadly for us all, and when Jaystep left us like he did, it could have turned deadly for us very quickly. It looks like it almost did for Ryefrost.


I walk slowly for the warrior’s den when I hear a growl from behind me. I flatten my ears, and turn to look at Jaystep, who’s eyes are hostile.


“What were you thinking, foolish kit?” he snarls, his hackles rising, “You should have killed the tom then and there! You nearly let him escape!”


I can feel my own fur beginning to bristle in response. “You’re one to talk, leaving us to fend for ourselves! We were outnumbered, Jaystep!” I spit, voice heated and growing more angry as I speak, “Ryefrost would have been dead if I didn’t help them right then and there!”


Jaystep smacks the side of my head with his paw. It’s a heavy blow, but his claws are still sheathed. “Insolent kit!” he snarls, his paw hanging in the air, “Ratclaw and Ryefrost knew exactly what I was doing the entire time! If you’d killed the stupid tom, then I could have rescued who you wasted your time on, and the death count would be two them and none us!”


I blink in confusion. They had been testing me? Or was this just a cruel joke?


“What do you mean, they knew?” I hiss, my dark grey eyes smoldering with anger.


“I mean,” hisses Jaystep through locked jaws, “That you were too busy pretending that you were leading the patrol to hear my orders.”


I flatten my ears, glaring at him furiously. “Why would I have been listening when I was busy distracting the leader?” I growl back, my neck fur bristling.


Jaystep shakes his head angrily, and then uses one paw to knock my paws out from under me. I hit the ground hard, not having expected to move, and begin to cough and whimper from the impact on my wounds.


“Learn from this experience, kit. You’re not helping anyone to trust you any more,” he hisses at me, crouching down to get close to my ear. Once he’s said his part, he stands, and walks away from me.


I’m still lying on my side, and my fur flattens with exhaustion quite quickly. It’s often that I wonder what I’m doing here still.


No one in PineClan likes me, they don’t trust me, and they judge me on my father. It makes me think quite often that I should just leave. I can’t see anything tethering me here, and yet I don’t have the will to leave.


Maybe it’s because I’m weak.


I know that I am, for if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t be such a coward. I’d face the murders that I’ve committed solely because I was told to, and for no other reason. I’d dare to follow my father’s pawsteps, or I’d dare to forget him entirely.


And yet I can do nothing.


I don’t know why I cannot forget my father. It should be easy, I was terribly small when he left. Barely an apprentice. His name isn’t ever spoken aloud either, which makes it all the more easy for me to just let go and forget.


Yet, there’s some part of me that clings to the idea that maybe he had the right ideas, even if they weren’t executed in the right manner.


I cannot blame him for something that I don’t fully understand, I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s the traitor that my leaders have always called him. I didn’t know him long, but the father that I knew was loving, steady, and calm. He told me lots, probably more than he should have given the fact that he off and disappeared, which left me to deal with the wrath of his actions with no guidance.


That is all I can truly blame him for.


I continue to lie on the ground for a few seconds, before twisting myself into a position where I’m not lying on my injuries so much. I watch Jaystep pick up his pace as he moves for the leader’s den, and slides into the hollow rock where they make their home.


Smoldering anger rises in my chest a bit, but I force it back down. My tongue and temper will one day be the death of me. If I really get myself into trouble, it’ll be from being unable to clamp my jaws closed for once, and my temper will keep me there to fight instead of running.


Heart sinking with defeat, I stand up, shaking myself weakly to disperse the dust that clings to my grey pelt, and I keep my head low, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. I’ve done that too much already. I slide to the edges of the camp, concealing myself as best I can in the shadows of the walls.


I probably won’t be able to do much else today, my injuries are just bad enough that it would make them worse for me to do anything too strenuous. Instead, I’ll just lay about and listen to the gossip about who likes who this moon, and when Greytalon’s kits will be born. Bluekit, Briarkit, and Dovekit are only about two moons from being apprenticed, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear a bit of discussion about who everyone thinks will be their mentors.


I lay in the shadows resting until dusk, watching tiredly as the patrols come back one by one. There’s only one other patrol that fought today, a blessing given the severity of our battle. It was them jumping a cat as well, and only Frogpaw, an inexperienced apprentice, has any injuries.


The dusk creeps across camp, deepening the shadows, and I am grateful. Exhaustion has pulled at my legs since the battle today, but I cannot sleep until the darkness fully encapsulates the camp. Otherwise I will not sleep through the night.


Nothing awakens me, other than my brain telling me that I have slept all that I should, and that the day has already begun. It’s a habit that I learned when I was an apprentice with a mentor who didn’t want to wake me, and would be angry if I didn’t make it on time.


I watch the setting sun with minimal interest. The sky is fire, many shades of red and gold. It appears to dye the dark blue night with little tongues of flame.


My father told me when I was younger that my mother named me before she perished from blood loss. He said that my pelt looked like the aftermath of the fire to her, given that I was lying against her, and there was all of the red blood around at the time. Ashkit.


Even now my name means residue, left behind, eclipsed in the wake of something brighter.


That’s a weight on my shoulders that I never asked for. I lift my head to the sky, watching as the last dying flickers of flame disappear over the skyline.


It’s time for me to head in.


I stand tiredly, walking to the warriors den, and slipping through the entrance like a fish. I step carefully over each of the cats, dodging tails and paws that hang like limp fish over the edges of nests, making my way carefully to the far back corner of the den.


My nest is scrappy like normal, thrown together quickly, and always nudged out of the way when others are walking around. I curl myself down into the nest, tucking my nose below my tail with exhaustion. Cool air blows across my spine from the patchy wall of our nest, and I know that they keep me at the edges of the nesting area not because of my age, and lack of seniority, but rather because they shun me still.


It doesn’t bother me. It’s warm enough that I can sleep still.


The blackness slowly overtakes me, and I let it. Sleep is a blessing when daytime serves as only a constant ache.

^{Tuesday - Tuesday is one of the writers that I look up to, and it is amazing to have her be a fan! She saw this on Figment, where it is also available.
Topmodeflyinglark - Lark is a person that I met pretty recently working on a clan. I must say that I do enjoy talking with them, and I hope that they stay with us!
Phantomstar57 - Phant is an old friend that I met on another fanfiction. She has several brilliant stories that I suggest you read, and it means a lot to have her as a fan.}

^{Coming Soon!}