A Drop of Blood; A Single Silent Tear-Mint's 3/100 One-Shots
Dec 19, 2019 15:22:28 GMT -5
phantomstar57, » ѕнαdσω ⚔️, and 1 more like this
Post by mintedstar/fur🦇 on Dec 19, 2019 15:22:28 GMT -5
Go here: wcrpforums.com/thread/73801/100-shot-ch-llenge
Come perish with me.
But HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!
This is my thread for the 100 One-Shot Challenge and I will just be writing whatever One-Shots I'm inclined to. I'm going to attempt to go in order, but I will not be promising that all of these will be about the same story. I am going to try to use these to finish up the game, but also no promises. Toxic Valley subsection was almost finished last I checked, so I will be finishing that with any luck. Rattlesnake Rising is sorely lacking and so is the New Era. But we'll give it a go. Don't know what I'm talking about? Go here: wcrpforums.com/thread/11448/aranormal-orld-eadquarters-3-20
I'll also probably write a couple shorts introducing my new story that's coming up after I finish SoSS. As yet unnamed, it will be exploring a new mythology (Norse myth based) with a new, original Clan.
Change of pace for me. Thus far I pretty much just do AUs in my full length fics.
Without further to do, the prompt list:
➼ Prompts
1. Injured
Little Tallkit, with soft fur and bright eyes, was buried near the crest of the hill, where the tall grass could almost brush against the chest of any cat walking through it. Brightkit was buried by the river, his blue eyes closed to its waters and the sunlight which reflected off it.
The tabby she-cat rested her head on her pile of moss which made up her makeshift nest, on the hill near the river, looking away and toward the forest with her tail hardly moving. It was a lazy twitch this way and that; a soft shift of her shoulders all that said she was alive. There was nothing that could have been done, that was what they had said. That they had just been sick, they had said. The medicine cat had said it had been the hunger and then the sickness and that Brindletail had done all she could in the situation. But Brindletail didn't believe that was the case. How could she? She was their mother. They had been her kits to look after. When Tallkit had started to cough, she should have taken her to the medicine cat at once. When Brightkit had caught it as well, she should have been there for him more. She should have been better. A better hunter, a better mother.
She hadn't been.
The best she could give them was their resting places ...
Her heart hurt. It was a small, fractured piece of glass in her chest. She should have done better. There had to have been a way to save them.
The expanse of grass whipped in the wind around her at a speed that seemed fitting for her racing mind. It was such a wild hubbub of noises in her head. Voices from the past that she couldn't shake.
"Mama?" asked Tallkit, looking up at her, eyes wide. "Food?"
Brindletail looked down at her, licking the top of the kit's head. "I'm sorry, sweet one," she said. "But I can't feed you."
Her knowledge of hunting was nonexistent after leaving her twolegs. How could she hope to support two kits? She just had to hope that, if she could get them to a clan, they would be alright.
It should have been easy.
"Brindletail!" called a voice.
Brindletail's ear twitched. She didn't raise her head. She knew Crowheart's voice but didn't want to draw attention to herself.
The black and white tom slowly climbed the hill, glancing over Brindletail's makeshift nest. He didn't reprimand her for staying out here so long, even though it was getting colder as the sun went down. He just came and sat beside her.
"You found us as quickly as you could," he said - again. Always a reassurance. Maybe they helped on some days. Maybe it helped a little today, but for now, Brindletail was struggling to meet his eyes.
"They're just not healthy enough to make this sickness easy," the medicine cat whispered, sympathy in his voice. "Please understand ... you might want to prepare yourself ... I'm so sorry.
Crowheart's tongue rasped over her ears. Brindletail found herself leaning into the gesture. Her shoulders were shaking again, but Crowheart was being patient, trying to keep her grounded.
She wanted to stay grounded.
This was all her fault.
"It's not your fault," Crowheart whispered.
It was.
"It isn't. It hurts. I know it hurts. But it isn't your fault."
And then he returned to grooming her pelt, keeping her warm as the sun dipped again. The water to her back lapped lightly, reminding her of Brightkit's eyes. The wind brushing against the long strands of grass reminding her of Tallkit. Every breath, every whisper of noise ... there they were.
Other than in the careful words of Crowheart. He was all his own. Carefully talking to her, even when her head got so loud she couldn't hear him.
"Will you come home with me?" he asked.
Brindletail's fur prickled. Maybe from the wind.
She didn't answer him. He didn't ask again. He just stayed there with her. Patient. Waiting. Confident that she would be alright.
She leaned deeper into his fur. The night was stretching around them.
"I'm so sorry."
She pressed her nose into his side. He nuzzled her head. Knowing that this would fix anything. Nothing could fix this.
But he stayed.
"Brindletail ... I know ... Brindletail ... where would you like them buried?"
The water was the only sound she could hear as she drifted into an uneasy sleep. Then, as she shifted, the sound was replaced by Crowheart's beating heart. Under her ear, in her mind.
I am with you.
On the hill. And by the river. I want them to be close to each other."
A steady rhyme. Telling her that he would be here as long as she needed to grieve. As long as she needed to heal. He was here.
Dawn didn't come easy. She didn't wake up first, but when she did it was in an unsteady, painful whirl of colors. Crowheart was awake. Or maybe he'd never gone to sleep. She couldn't tell. All she knew was that he was looking at her with wide blue eyes, full of love. She buried her nose in his chest again and closed her eyes.
They're here.
They would always be here. Never growing up.
"I'll come back with you now," she whispered. "But just for a little."
Crowheart licked her ear again.
"Of course."
It was hard for her to stand. He waited for her though, moving at the same speed as she did. He was careful, she was clumsy. Her paws were shaking, her ears were back, and her eyes were downcast. But she made it to a standing position and turned to look at him.
The pain in her eyes still showed little reflections of light like what was reflecting from the river. But Crowheart laid his tail across her back, a silent encouragement to move at her own speed. That he wasn't going to disappear.
"I miss them," Brindletail said. "So much. Every day."
Crowheart leaned in again, his breath tickling her ear. "I know. I know, Brindletail. I'm sure they miss you too. Grieve as much as you need, but don't forget that they'd want you to continue to be strong."
The words were kind. She appreciated them, even though they couldn't really touch the sides of her pain.
"Thank you," she whispered, unable to keep her voice loud enough to mean anything.
Crowheart nodded. Nothing was solved. There was no solution. But he waited for her to slowly start padding down the hill. Back to his home - to his clan.
"I like it here," said Tallkit, looking around at the trees. Her small body was bushed up as if she was trying to make herself look more impressive for the other cats around her. "Are these the cats you named yourself after, mommy?"
Brindletail leaned down, feeling self-conscious, but nodded a bit at her daughter. "Yes. I took on a name to match theirs."
"It took a long time to get here," said Brightkit, his fur bunching up. "My paws hurt."
He was trying to keep his head up, but it was clear that after so long he really needed some sleep. And food.
"I know," Brindletail said, her gut twisting with guilt.
"Excuse me," said a voice to her left. She turned, finally looking at a tom cat that was staring at her. "Sorry," he said, looking a bit abashed. "I just wanted to say hi. I'm Crowheart. Did you need to see a medicine cat? No one seems to have asked you about it yet. You're Brindletail, right?"
Brindletail nodded, then looked down at her kits. Both of them were looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Medicine cat ..." said Brindletail hesitantly. "That's the cat who heals, right?"
Crowheart was the one to nod now. "Yeah."
"Please," she responded. "Just to check."
"Sure thing!" said Crowheart. "This way."
He turned, tail flicking, and he only looked back when Tallkit dashed passed him, her long tail high above her. She was suddenly much more energetic than she had been before. "Hello, little kit," said Crowheart. "What do you think of my clan?"
Tallkit looked up at him and chirped, "I like it. It's got a lotta cats. But they're all just looking at us."
"Yeah," said Crowheart, laughing at that. "They're used to strangers coming in, but they don't usually have kits. You're all just a bit of a novelty."
Brindletail's ears flicked. Novelty, were they?
Crowheart looked back at her and gave a bit of a grin. "But hey, I'm glad you're here."
He walked up to the entrance of a hollow stump and nodded into it. "This is the medicine cat den. Say hi for me."
Brindletail dipped her head to him, nudging Brightkit ahead of her. "Thank you," she said.
"No problem," said Crowheart brightly. "Welcome to the clan. I'm glad you found us."
2. Sinking
Water choked at the tom as he paddled toward the rocky outcropping in the middle of the lake. It was a bit of a struggle for the orange tom to pull his bulky body from the depths of the clinging, dark water, but after a second he managed it.
"You're late," hissed the slim she-cat, tail resting on the rock that the tom had pulled himself onto. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was looking out at the water. The tom shook out his fur.
"Heh," he said. "What was he going to do while I was gone? Drown?"
The she-cat took her eyes off the place on the lake she was looking at and turned to glare at the tom. Her eyes, gold and hard, made the tom uncomfortable. His ears pressed against his head.
"I'm sorry mother," he muttered.
"There will come a time when he won't drown and he won't live and you know that as well as I do, Thunderstep. Now, unless you intend to take up your position in my place, I would suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head."
Thunderstep dipped his head. "My apologies." His face still almost held a smile, but he seemed to have gotten it under his control.
He slowly climbed the outcropping until he was standing beside his mother. He looked down at the black water of the lake, breath catching in his throat.
It was dark, that was the only way to describe the water. It reflected the stars and the dark shadow of mountains around them perfectly, like a mirror and lifeless as the desert. It was decorated with small, lapping waves after Thunderstep had paddled through it, but that was already stilling. Now he could look out at the cold water and it was only marred by four things. This rock outcropping and two others, spaced at even angles near the center of the lake. Thunderstep was looking toward the center of the lake, however. On the surface, or rather just under it, there was the grey and silver blotch which was far too large to be that of a star. Thunderstep's breath caught in his throat. He'd seen this only once before. When that 'blotch' was dragged out into the middle of the lake and forced under the water.
"Has Fallingpetal not been back?" he asked softly.
His mother's gaze shifted and looked off in the direction of one of the other spires of rock. Thunderstep's eyes followed. The she-cat didn't have the sight of Farsight, but it wasn't hard to pick out the white and brown she-cat who was hurrying down the face of the stone.
Her paws hit the water a second later and she sunk almost completely under the surface of the water. Her small body glided through the water, struggling to stay afloat. Thunderstep stiffened, wishing he could assist her. But his mother's tail was braced against him, keeping him steady.
It took several seconds for Fallingpetal to reach the silver blotch under the water. It was only then that she dived under the water, her body sinking beneath the surface. Her body supported the tom who was pushed out of the water, his tabby head breaking the surface. Thunderstep couldn't completely see the details of the tom, but he remembered him well enough to know what he would do.
His body, limp with death, would revitalize. He wasn't a true god - he didn't need to live and die by the same rules of the Tree that applied to the gods and goddesses of the mountains and forest. He lived by his own rules. He regained life from ice and fire and whatever other deeply hidden facets of the Tree that Thunderstep couldn't begin to understand. He breathed for them, water choking from his lungs as the she-cat supported him enough for him to breathe. Thunderstep didn't think that the tom had ever shivered before. The cold had never harmed him before and fear wasn't something which affected him.
But this was different. Even at this distance, Thunderstep could see the silver tom's shoulders shaking. He could hardly move. Whatever enchantment that Thunderstep's father had placed on him, he could hardly move. He could only breathe and shake just a little in the minutes or so of the life he had. There was no way that Fallingpetal could ever support him above the water long enough to completely ease him from the discomfort of life and death, over and over again.
And then Thunderstep saw Fallingpetal's legs move slower and the tom slowly sunk beneath the water again. His muzzle lifted as if trying to catch the last vestige of air in his lungs. Thunderstep could imagine the terror in those ice-blue eyes as he disappeared under the water again. Small ripples drifted away from him, thrashes that weren't enough to keep him above the water. Fallingpetal's head appeared above the water, gasping for breath. Her movements were slow and weak. They hadn't been strong enough to support the tom for more than a couple breaths for years now. She needed to rest. They all knew it. Or she would be stuck in the same trap as him. She had in the past, only to be fished out by the ravens, servants of Thunderstep's father, and left out to dry on the rocks.
Thunderstep wondered if permanent limbo beneath the water wouldn't have been a more fitting punishment.
"Why are we here?" he hissed. It had been so much easier to forget this place didn't exist when he didn't have to be reminded of it. He glared with distaste down at the lake.
That had been his friend. Had been his friend. It had been so long since he could have actually called the silver tabby something kind. Fallingpetal, however, had his sympathy. He saw no reason why she should have been punished. It was a punishment that should never have been hers.
"To check that he is still here, of course," murmured his mother. "You know as well as I do that when the spell weakens, he'll come for us."
Thunderstep shivered. Even after everything that the tom had done, would it really have been a surprise to anyone?
"That will be at the end, mother," said Thunderstep. It was meant to reassure.
"Yes," she said, golden eyes narrowing. "And when will that be? The end could be at any time. I, for one, am not going to wait and see when Silverspeaker has dared cast a shadow over our dens. I would sooner wait for the hounds of Ragnroke to tear me to pieces than I would wait to be backstabbed by that creature again."
Thunderstep's fur bristled. He glanced back down at the cats below him. Fallingpetal was struggling toward another of the spires of rock again. Not theirs. He was glad. He would rather not talk to her, not after everything that had happened.
"And what would you do if the bounds weaken, mother?" he asked. "You know how this story ends. He will die in fire and ice, just like the rest of us. The world tree's branches will crumble and the magic keeping all of us alive will crumble with it."
His mother stood, her pelt bristling. It made her look like a gold halo was surrounding her. This was the queen that Thunderstep never spoke down to. She had a figure of denial and posture that made him think that it would be a bad idea to go against her.
"I don't want to risk it," she hissed. "He'll find a way. He always finds a way back to us."
Thunderstep bristled. "You can't honestly believe that, can you?"
But his mother shook her head.
"Your father knows what he's doing. But I can't help thinking that he's somehow plotting while he's under there."
"He's *dead*," Thunderstep breathed. "Speaking from my wars with the creatures of shadows and ice, the dead don't think about the living. Certainly not the ones who are stuck as he is."
His words seemed to calm his mother a little. She glanced out at the dark water.
"If you are sure, Thunderstep. But am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong. Does he not look a little stronger now than he did all those years ago?"
Thunderstep looked back at the water, holding his breath. While he and his mother had been talking, Fallingpetal had returned to Silverspeaker and he was once again supported out of the water. Thunderstep tried to pick out any of his features from this distance, but it was a struggle. It took a second of him watching before his eyes found those blue eyes.
His pelt spiked. He knew they had to be safe over here. Even if Silverspeaker could see them, there was no way that he could do anything. But the fact that he could focus at all unnerved Thunderstep. Or was he just imagining it?
He forced his fur to lie flat again and looked at his mother.
"It's fine, Mother. He is as trapped as he ever was."
He had to be ...
3. Father
In the land of those touched by Coldbreath, there was a line of frozen roots that arched over the valley, creating a ceiling of mesh, blocking out any light from the above world. Crystal icicles crawled along their gnarled bark. Each trailed down into the world of the dead, creating something almost beautiful. The ground below was dark, pitch dark, with white stone here and there to break up the dreary landscape. There were no stars.
Coldbreath looked up, head tilting, as she studied the roots and the ice forming on them. Each tilt of her head caused a very different effect from anyone watching. And someone was watching, though Coldbreath didn't pay much mind to him. The light of his soul had steadily dimmed the longer he stayed with her. What was to be expected of the soul of a god? The further he was away from the World Tree's power - the branches and the sunlight - the more he dimmed. Either way, he was hers now. One of her army of the dead, whether he desired to be or not. All souls were hers, as Farsight had punished her. Like her father. Like her brothers.
Anyway, since the god's arrival, he hadn't been very talkative. Coldbreath didn't blame him, but she thought her father might have sent her a better gift. The god of light was only useful when he illuminated.
That didn't seem possible right now, however. Right now, he just served to irritate her eyes a little.
She wondered if her face intimidated him. He had been sitting in that corner for a long time. Her muzzle twisted, casting an odd effect over her skin and fur. She was a beautiful cat if looked at from the left side, but along her right, there were only picked clean white bones. Her gaze at the ceiling wasn't hindered by the lack of a right eye. In fact, she could see far better from that "eye" than her other. With it, she was able to see the message, hanging from the ceiling along with the ice. A trail of light.
She stood, stretching her paws against the dark ground and bone-white rocks. The open valley was deserted of the dead for now. That might change if Ragnarok was so close.
"Where are you going?" asked the silent gold stone of a cat. His voice held a touch of interest. It was more than he usually gave to her.
"To visit with my father," was all she answered. Her tail twitched as she walked away, eyes focused on the trail of light from above. Light isn't native to this place of the dead. It's likely then, that it must be a message of some sort. Her father didn't usually contact her.
The trail out of the depths of the world tree's roots is a long one. Coldbreath does not usually make this trek, but she does it now.
Her father was imprisoned by the gods. If he can reach out to her, that must mean he has escaped. And if that is the case, then he will need her help.
The world of the living is bright, too bright for Coldbreath. She huddles close to the earth as soon as she emerges. The earth that the world tree rests on is hardly lighter than the night sky on Earth, but still, it burns her and she hisses. Stars tumble around her, big and small. It has been many thousands of years since she had walked the world. Not since she had been cast down here.
It takes her a bit to get used to the bright light, but then she has to turn her attention to the tree. It is impossible for even the deities who reside in it to truly understand it. Instead, she and so many before her have to do their best.
She unsheathes her claws and leaps upward, her claws aimed for the bark, to pull herself up.
...
When she comes to stand on Earth, it is with the view of the sea. It stretched ahead of her. The bark of the World tree disappears, the trunk was now gone. It's like this world floats in isolation, keeping its inhabitants away from their deities themself. Coldbreath chuckles and turns. She knows where she is. This is the land of the mortals. Her father has likely blended into them like the cunning trickster was always want to do. But always so alone.
She follows the lines of the sea until it slowly rises away from it, becoming windswept cliffs. It is only when the trees also come, hugging the edges of the crumbling rock, that she finds Silverspeaker's hiding place.
She stands outside of the hollow, the tree roots which outline the makeshift den so much smaller here than the ones which roofed her valley.
"Father?" she inquires, chin lifting.
Something shifts within the depths and after a second a ginger tabby she-cat emerges from the hollow. Her eyes are green and wide, looking at Coldbreath with surprise. She is shorter than the goddess of death. But she still tilts her head in a way a kitten might. The only differences were this kitten has a line of scars around her muzzle of old claws and her fur is a bit ragged in places. There's a haunted look in those eyes as well.
"Father," said Coldbreath again, this time in greeting rather than a question. She bows her head. "I am glad to see that you are free."
When she raises her head, it is a silver tabby in the place of the ginger kit. Her tail flicks, eyes focusing on Coldbreath.
"It was only a matter of time. My brother," she spat the word, "cannot hold his spells forever. He will pay for that. But ..." her voice softened. "... that isn't why you are here, my dear Coldbreath."
Some weight lifts from Silverspeaker's shoulders and she nuzzles her daughter's ear. In better days, pleasantries might have been exchanged, but not now. Better days were many thousands of years in the past.
"I am sorry I could not rescue you, father," Coldbreath half-whispered.
Silverspeaker's tail flicked. "It is not your fault. There is something different in your future."
Coldbreath nods and glances around. It is out to the sea she finally looks. It looks like the sea of the gods. She remembers it from when she was a kitten. Now it isn't a fond memory as it could have been."
"What did you want me to do?" she asked, looking back at her father. She didn't think she had ever see Silverspeaker look so convicted. Coldbreath had never seen her so alone. Hiding on Earth, wearing the pelt of a kitten and who knew what else to stay out of the attention of the gods who had imprisoned her. It wasn't a life.
But Silverspeaker doesn't seem to mind this. Instead, she angles her ears forward.
"We fight of course."
Coldbreath tilted her head. "Ragnarok, you mean," she asked. It was a statement. Silverspeaker nodded. The hollow look in her eyes was still there, deep and bright.
"With your kingdom of the dead and the allies I gather, we can do it. We can gain a home again, Coldbreath."
The words twisted in Coldbreath's gut. That was the hollow look she could see in Silverspeaker's eyes. It was hope. She was clinging onto it. She'd lost the only family she'd had when the gods had cast her out and imprisoned her. Separated from the few kittens that she had left, separated for years from the ones who she had poured so much attention into. She wanted that back. Coldbreath didn't blame her.
"You want the kingdom of Farsight," she said. "Even knowing what is coming?" Coldbreath couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"How else can we ever be free," Silverspeaker asked, her voice suddenly growing harsh. Coldbreath didn't flinch. She knew that Silverspeaker spoke with emotions even when she had more control over them then it appeared.
"You would risk the prophesied end of Ragnarok?"
Silverspeaker froze a little, her hollow eyes suddenly growing just a bit uncertain.
"We don't know the details of the end," she said. "Farsight doesn't see fit to share them with us."
Us. Coldbreath noted the word and she noted the pain. Even after the years that Silverspeaker had been tortured, close to death at Farsight's paws, she still counted herself among "us."
"You'd risk dying?" Coldbreath asked instead. Silverspeaker's fur was forced flat. She leaned forward, nose brushing against Coldbreath's muzzle.
"If I just die," she murmured. "Then I guess I'll finally make it to your kingdom below the World Tree. At least then I have more peace than Farsight has ever allowed me."
Coldbreath sighed, taking a step back. She dipped her head. "You have my army," she said to her father. "I hope you're right. I hope that home is somehow possible for us."
4. Exploit
5. Boredom
6. Art of Conversation
7. Take Your Best Shot
8. Creativity
9. Flash
10. Puzzling Words
11. Ill
12. Skeleton
13. Nothing
14. Servitude
15. Possibilities
16. Weightless
17. Just Say It
18. Last Words
19. Immature
20. Blazing
21. Help
22. Presence
23. Because
24. Forced
25. Reversed
26. Cast Away
27. Emotions
28. Questions
29. Wishing
30. Crackling
31. Curl Up
32. Together
33. Look Again
34. Brief
35. Space
36. Special
37. Jinx
38. Stop Fussing
39. Cozy
40. Breaking
41. Either Or
42. Tell Me a Story
43. Waiting
44. Willpower
45. Who Am I?
46. Idol
47. Unseen
48. Just Try
49. For Me?
50. Your Choice (Literally! You've made it to fifty, so write about any topic/theme you choose for this one!)
51. Useful
52. Treasure
53. Ceremony
54. Lightning
55. Protection
56. Stay With Me
57. Mint
58. Rescue
59. Dominant
60. Thief
61. Deserter
62. Stolen
63. Sarcasm
64. Darling
65. How Much is too Much?
66. Over
67. Try Again
68. Hidden
69. Forgotten
70. The First Time
71. Aging
72. Soldiers
73. Justice
74. Tread Carefully
75. One False Step
76. Connection
77. Mess
78. It Can't Be
79. In Due Time
80. Awake
81. Delicious
82. Fallen
83. Trickery
84. Around the Bend
85. Well Traveled
86. Choices
87. Surplus
88. Rough
89. If
90. Friend
91. Found Not Lost
92. Spiral
93. Deep
94. I Could Have
95. Desirable
96. Resentment
97. Build Up
98. Inch by Inch
99. Dilemma
100. Blue Sky
Expected start date: Something like Jan. 1st. I am working on holiday writing right now. If I finish that early, I'll start early.
Come perish with me.
But HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!
This is my thread for the 100 One-Shot Challenge and I will just be writing whatever One-Shots I'm inclined to. I'm going to attempt to go in order, but I will not be promising that all of these will be about the same story. I am going to try to use these to finish up the game, but also no promises. Toxic Valley subsection was almost finished last I checked, so I will be finishing that with any luck. Rattlesnake Rising is sorely lacking and so is the New Era. But we'll give it a go. Don't know what I'm talking about? Go here: wcrpforums.com/thread/11448/aranormal-orld-eadquarters-3-20
I'll also probably write a couple shorts introducing my new story that's coming up after I finish SoSS. As yet unnamed, it will be exploring a new mythology (Norse myth based) with a new, original Clan.
Change of pace for me. Thus far I pretty much just do AUs in my full length fics.
Without further to do, the prompt list:
➼ Prompts
1. Injured
Little Tallkit, with soft fur and bright eyes, was buried near the crest of the hill, where the tall grass could almost brush against the chest of any cat walking through it. Brightkit was buried by the river, his blue eyes closed to its waters and the sunlight which reflected off it.
The tabby she-cat rested her head on her pile of moss which made up her makeshift nest, on the hill near the river, looking away and toward the forest with her tail hardly moving. It was a lazy twitch this way and that; a soft shift of her shoulders all that said she was alive. There was nothing that could have been done, that was what they had said. That they had just been sick, they had said. The medicine cat had said it had been the hunger and then the sickness and that Brindletail had done all she could in the situation. But Brindletail didn't believe that was the case. How could she? She was their mother. They had been her kits to look after. When Tallkit had started to cough, she should have taken her to the medicine cat at once. When Brightkit had caught it as well, she should have been there for him more. She should have been better. A better hunter, a better mother.
She hadn't been.
The best she could give them was their resting places ...
Her heart hurt. It was a small, fractured piece of glass in her chest. She should have done better. There had to have been a way to save them.
The expanse of grass whipped in the wind around her at a speed that seemed fitting for her racing mind. It was such a wild hubbub of noises in her head. Voices from the past that she couldn't shake.
"Mama?" asked Tallkit, looking up at her, eyes wide. "Food?"
Brindletail looked down at her, licking the top of the kit's head. "I'm sorry, sweet one," she said. "But I can't feed you."
Her knowledge of hunting was nonexistent after leaving her twolegs. How could she hope to support two kits? She just had to hope that, if she could get them to a clan, they would be alright.
It should have been easy.
"Brindletail!" called a voice.
Brindletail's ear twitched. She didn't raise her head. She knew Crowheart's voice but didn't want to draw attention to herself.
The black and white tom slowly climbed the hill, glancing over Brindletail's makeshift nest. He didn't reprimand her for staying out here so long, even though it was getting colder as the sun went down. He just came and sat beside her.
"You found us as quickly as you could," he said - again. Always a reassurance. Maybe they helped on some days. Maybe it helped a little today, but for now, Brindletail was struggling to meet his eyes.
"They're just not healthy enough to make this sickness easy," the medicine cat whispered, sympathy in his voice. "Please understand ... you might want to prepare yourself ... I'm so sorry.
Crowheart's tongue rasped over her ears. Brindletail found herself leaning into the gesture. Her shoulders were shaking again, but Crowheart was being patient, trying to keep her grounded.
She wanted to stay grounded.
This was all her fault.
"It's not your fault," Crowheart whispered.
It was.
"It isn't. It hurts. I know it hurts. But it isn't your fault."
And then he returned to grooming her pelt, keeping her warm as the sun dipped again. The water to her back lapped lightly, reminding her of Brightkit's eyes. The wind brushing against the long strands of grass reminding her of Tallkit. Every breath, every whisper of noise ... there they were.
Other than in the careful words of Crowheart. He was all his own. Carefully talking to her, even when her head got so loud she couldn't hear him.
"Will you come home with me?" he asked.
Brindletail's fur prickled. Maybe from the wind.
She didn't answer him. He didn't ask again. He just stayed there with her. Patient. Waiting. Confident that she would be alright.
She leaned deeper into his fur. The night was stretching around them.
"I'm so sorry."
She pressed her nose into his side. He nuzzled her head. Knowing that this would fix anything. Nothing could fix this.
But he stayed.
"Brindletail ... I know ... Brindletail ... where would you like them buried?"
The water was the only sound she could hear as she drifted into an uneasy sleep. Then, as she shifted, the sound was replaced by Crowheart's beating heart. Under her ear, in her mind.
I am with you.
On the hill. And by the river. I want them to be close to each other."
A steady rhyme. Telling her that he would be here as long as she needed to grieve. As long as she needed to heal. He was here.
Dawn didn't come easy. She didn't wake up first, but when she did it was in an unsteady, painful whirl of colors. Crowheart was awake. Or maybe he'd never gone to sleep. She couldn't tell. All she knew was that he was looking at her with wide blue eyes, full of love. She buried her nose in his chest again and closed her eyes.
They're here.
They would always be here. Never growing up.
"I'll come back with you now," she whispered. "But just for a little."
Crowheart licked her ear again.
"Of course."
It was hard for her to stand. He waited for her though, moving at the same speed as she did. He was careful, she was clumsy. Her paws were shaking, her ears were back, and her eyes were downcast. But she made it to a standing position and turned to look at him.
The pain in her eyes still showed little reflections of light like what was reflecting from the river. But Crowheart laid his tail across her back, a silent encouragement to move at her own speed. That he wasn't going to disappear.
"I miss them," Brindletail said. "So much. Every day."
Crowheart leaned in again, his breath tickling her ear. "I know. I know, Brindletail. I'm sure they miss you too. Grieve as much as you need, but don't forget that they'd want you to continue to be strong."
The words were kind. She appreciated them, even though they couldn't really touch the sides of her pain.
"Thank you," she whispered, unable to keep her voice loud enough to mean anything.
Crowheart nodded. Nothing was solved. There was no solution. But he waited for her to slowly start padding down the hill. Back to his home - to his clan.
"I like it here," said Tallkit, looking around at the trees. Her small body was bushed up as if she was trying to make herself look more impressive for the other cats around her. "Are these the cats you named yourself after, mommy?"
Brindletail leaned down, feeling self-conscious, but nodded a bit at her daughter. "Yes. I took on a name to match theirs."
"It took a long time to get here," said Brightkit, his fur bunching up. "My paws hurt."
He was trying to keep his head up, but it was clear that after so long he really needed some sleep. And food.
"I know," Brindletail said, her gut twisting with guilt.
"Excuse me," said a voice to her left. She turned, finally looking at a tom cat that was staring at her. "Sorry," he said, looking a bit abashed. "I just wanted to say hi. I'm Crowheart. Did you need to see a medicine cat? No one seems to have asked you about it yet. You're Brindletail, right?"
Brindletail nodded, then looked down at her kits. Both of them were looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Medicine cat ..." said Brindletail hesitantly. "That's the cat who heals, right?"
Crowheart was the one to nod now. "Yeah."
"Please," she responded. "Just to check."
"Sure thing!" said Crowheart. "This way."
He turned, tail flicking, and he only looked back when Tallkit dashed passed him, her long tail high above her. She was suddenly much more energetic than she had been before. "Hello, little kit," said Crowheart. "What do you think of my clan?"
Tallkit looked up at him and chirped, "I like it. It's got a lotta cats. But they're all just looking at us."
"Yeah," said Crowheart, laughing at that. "They're used to strangers coming in, but they don't usually have kits. You're all just a bit of a novelty."
Brindletail's ears flicked. Novelty, were they?
Crowheart looked back at her and gave a bit of a grin. "But hey, I'm glad you're here."
He walked up to the entrance of a hollow stump and nodded into it. "This is the medicine cat den. Say hi for me."
Brindletail dipped her head to him, nudging Brightkit ahead of her. "Thank you," she said.
"No problem," said Crowheart brightly. "Welcome to the clan. I'm glad you found us."
2. Sinking
Water choked at the tom as he paddled toward the rocky outcropping in the middle of the lake. It was a bit of a struggle for the orange tom to pull his bulky body from the depths of the clinging, dark water, but after a second he managed it.
"You're late," hissed the slim she-cat, tail resting on the rock that the tom had pulled himself onto. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was looking out at the water. The tom shook out his fur.
"Heh," he said. "What was he going to do while I was gone? Drown?"
The she-cat took her eyes off the place on the lake she was looking at and turned to glare at the tom. Her eyes, gold and hard, made the tom uncomfortable. His ears pressed against his head.
"I'm sorry mother," he muttered.
"There will come a time when he won't drown and he won't live and you know that as well as I do, Thunderstep. Now, unless you intend to take up your position in my place, I would suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head."
Thunderstep dipped his head. "My apologies." His face still almost held a smile, but he seemed to have gotten it under his control.
He slowly climbed the outcropping until he was standing beside his mother. He looked down at the black water of the lake, breath catching in his throat.
It was dark, that was the only way to describe the water. It reflected the stars and the dark shadow of mountains around them perfectly, like a mirror and lifeless as the desert. It was decorated with small, lapping waves after Thunderstep had paddled through it, but that was already stilling. Now he could look out at the cold water and it was only marred by four things. This rock outcropping and two others, spaced at even angles near the center of the lake. Thunderstep was looking toward the center of the lake, however. On the surface, or rather just under it, there was the grey and silver blotch which was far too large to be that of a star. Thunderstep's breath caught in his throat. He'd seen this only once before. When that 'blotch' was dragged out into the middle of the lake and forced under the water.
"Has Fallingpetal not been back?" he asked softly.
His mother's gaze shifted and looked off in the direction of one of the other spires of rock. Thunderstep's eyes followed. The she-cat didn't have the sight of Farsight, but it wasn't hard to pick out the white and brown she-cat who was hurrying down the face of the stone.
Her paws hit the water a second later and she sunk almost completely under the surface of the water. Her small body glided through the water, struggling to stay afloat. Thunderstep stiffened, wishing he could assist her. But his mother's tail was braced against him, keeping him steady.
It took several seconds for Fallingpetal to reach the silver blotch under the water. It was only then that she dived under the water, her body sinking beneath the surface. Her body supported the tom who was pushed out of the water, his tabby head breaking the surface. Thunderstep couldn't completely see the details of the tom, but he remembered him well enough to know what he would do.
His body, limp with death, would revitalize. He wasn't a true god - he didn't need to live and die by the same rules of the Tree that applied to the gods and goddesses of the mountains and forest. He lived by his own rules. He regained life from ice and fire and whatever other deeply hidden facets of the Tree that Thunderstep couldn't begin to understand. He breathed for them, water choking from his lungs as the she-cat supported him enough for him to breathe. Thunderstep didn't think that the tom had ever shivered before. The cold had never harmed him before and fear wasn't something which affected him.
But this was different. Even at this distance, Thunderstep could see the silver tom's shoulders shaking. He could hardly move. Whatever enchantment that Thunderstep's father had placed on him, he could hardly move. He could only breathe and shake just a little in the minutes or so of the life he had. There was no way that Fallingpetal could ever support him above the water long enough to completely ease him from the discomfort of life and death, over and over again.
And then Thunderstep saw Fallingpetal's legs move slower and the tom slowly sunk beneath the water again. His muzzle lifted as if trying to catch the last vestige of air in his lungs. Thunderstep could imagine the terror in those ice-blue eyes as he disappeared under the water again. Small ripples drifted away from him, thrashes that weren't enough to keep him above the water. Fallingpetal's head appeared above the water, gasping for breath. Her movements were slow and weak. They hadn't been strong enough to support the tom for more than a couple breaths for years now. She needed to rest. They all knew it. Or she would be stuck in the same trap as him. She had in the past, only to be fished out by the ravens, servants of Thunderstep's father, and left out to dry on the rocks.
Thunderstep wondered if permanent limbo beneath the water wouldn't have been a more fitting punishment.
"Why are we here?" he hissed. It had been so much easier to forget this place didn't exist when he didn't have to be reminded of it. He glared with distaste down at the lake.
That had been his friend. Had been his friend. It had been so long since he could have actually called the silver tabby something kind. Fallingpetal, however, had his sympathy. He saw no reason why she should have been punished. It was a punishment that should never have been hers.
"To check that he is still here, of course," murmured his mother. "You know as well as I do that when the spell weakens, he'll come for us."
Thunderstep shivered. Even after everything that the tom had done, would it really have been a surprise to anyone?
"That will be at the end, mother," said Thunderstep. It was meant to reassure.
"Yes," she said, golden eyes narrowing. "And when will that be? The end could be at any time. I, for one, am not going to wait and see when Silverspeaker has dared cast a shadow over our dens. I would sooner wait for the hounds of Ragnroke to tear me to pieces than I would wait to be backstabbed by that creature again."
Thunderstep's fur bristled. He glanced back down at the cats below him. Fallingpetal was struggling toward another of the spires of rock again. Not theirs. He was glad. He would rather not talk to her, not after everything that had happened.
"And what would you do if the bounds weaken, mother?" he asked. "You know how this story ends. He will die in fire and ice, just like the rest of us. The world tree's branches will crumble and the magic keeping all of us alive will crumble with it."
His mother stood, her pelt bristling. It made her look like a gold halo was surrounding her. This was the queen that Thunderstep never spoke down to. She had a figure of denial and posture that made him think that it would be a bad idea to go against her.
"I don't want to risk it," she hissed. "He'll find a way. He always finds a way back to us."
Thunderstep bristled. "You can't honestly believe that, can you?"
But his mother shook her head.
"Your father knows what he's doing. But I can't help thinking that he's somehow plotting while he's under there."
"He's *dead*," Thunderstep breathed. "Speaking from my wars with the creatures of shadows and ice, the dead don't think about the living. Certainly not the ones who are stuck as he is."
His words seemed to calm his mother a little. She glanced out at the dark water.
"If you are sure, Thunderstep. But am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong. Does he not look a little stronger now than he did all those years ago?"
Thunderstep looked back at the water, holding his breath. While he and his mother had been talking, Fallingpetal had returned to Silverspeaker and he was once again supported out of the water. Thunderstep tried to pick out any of his features from this distance, but it was a struggle. It took a second of him watching before his eyes found those blue eyes.
His pelt spiked. He knew they had to be safe over here. Even if Silverspeaker could see them, there was no way that he could do anything. But the fact that he could focus at all unnerved Thunderstep. Or was he just imagining it?
He forced his fur to lie flat again and looked at his mother.
"It's fine, Mother. He is as trapped as he ever was."
He had to be ...
3. Father
In the land of those touched by Coldbreath, there was a line of frozen roots that arched over the valley, creating a ceiling of mesh, blocking out any light from the above world. Crystal icicles crawled along their gnarled bark. Each trailed down into the world of the dead, creating something almost beautiful. The ground below was dark, pitch dark, with white stone here and there to break up the dreary landscape. There were no stars.
Coldbreath looked up, head tilting, as she studied the roots and the ice forming on them. Each tilt of her head caused a very different effect from anyone watching. And someone was watching, though Coldbreath didn't pay much mind to him. The light of his soul had steadily dimmed the longer he stayed with her. What was to be expected of the soul of a god? The further he was away from the World Tree's power - the branches and the sunlight - the more he dimmed. Either way, he was hers now. One of her army of the dead, whether he desired to be or not. All souls were hers, as Farsight had punished her. Like her father. Like her brothers.
Anyway, since the god's arrival, he hadn't been very talkative. Coldbreath didn't blame him, but she thought her father might have sent her a better gift. The god of light was only useful when he illuminated.
That didn't seem possible right now, however. Right now, he just served to irritate her eyes a little.
She wondered if her face intimidated him. He had been sitting in that corner for a long time. Her muzzle twisted, casting an odd effect over her skin and fur. She was a beautiful cat if looked at from the left side, but along her right, there were only picked clean white bones. Her gaze at the ceiling wasn't hindered by the lack of a right eye. In fact, she could see far better from that "eye" than her other. With it, she was able to see the message, hanging from the ceiling along with the ice. A trail of light.
She stood, stretching her paws against the dark ground and bone-white rocks. The open valley was deserted of the dead for now. That might change if Ragnarok was so close.
"Where are you going?" asked the silent gold stone of a cat. His voice held a touch of interest. It was more than he usually gave to her.
"To visit with my father," was all she answered. Her tail twitched as she walked away, eyes focused on the trail of light from above. Light isn't native to this place of the dead. It's likely then, that it must be a message of some sort. Her father didn't usually contact her.
The trail out of the depths of the world tree's roots is a long one. Coldbreath does not usually make this trek, but she does it now.
Her father was imprisoned by the gods. If he can reach out to her, that must mean he has escaped. And if that is the case, then he will need her help.
The world of the living is bright, too bright for Coldbreath. She huddles close to the earth as soon as she emerges. The earth that the world tree rests on is hardly lighter than the night sky on Earth, but still, it burns her and she hisses. Stars tumble around her, big and small. It has been many thousands of years since she had walked the world. Not since she had been cast down here.
It takes her a bit to get used to the bright light, but then she has to turn her attention to the tree. It is impossible for even the deities who reside in it to truly understand it. Instead, she and so many before her have to do their best.
She unsheathes her claws and leaps upward, her claws aimed for the bark, to pull herself up.
...
When she comes to stand on Earth, it is with the view of the sea. It stretched ahead of her. The bark of the World tree disappears, the trunk was now gone. It's like this world floats in isolation, keeping its inhabitants away from their deities themself. Coldbreath chuckles and turns. She knows where she is. This is the land of the mortals. Her father has likely blended into them like the cunning trickster was always want to do. But always so alone.
She follows the lines of the sea until it slowly rises away from it, becoming windswept cliffs. It is only when the trees also come, hugging the edges of the crumbling rock, that she finds Silverspeaker's hiding place.
She stands outside of the hollow, the tree roots which outline the makeshift den so much smaller here than the ones which roofed her valley.
"Father?" she inquires, chin lifting.
Something shifts within the depths and after a second a ginger tabby she-cat emerges from the hollow. Her eyes are green and wide, looking at Coldbreath with surprise. She is shorter than the goddess of death. But she still tilts her head in a way a kitten might. The only differences were this kitten has a line of scars around her muzzle of old claws and her fur is a bit ragged in places. There's a haunted look in those eyes as well.
"Father," said Coldbreath again, this time in greeting rather than a question. She bows her head. "I am glad to see that you are free."
When she raises her head, it is a silver tabby in the place of the ginger kit. Her tail flicks, eyes focusing on Coldbreath.
"It was only a matter of time. My brother," she spat the word, "cannot hold his spells forever. He will pay for that. But ..." her voice softened. "... that isn't why you are here, my dear Coldbreath."
Some weight lifts from Silverspeaker's shoulders and she nuzzles her daughter's ear. In better days, pleasantries might have been exchanged, but not now. Better days were many thousands of years in the past.
"I am sorry I could not rescue you, father," Coldbreath half-whispered.
Silverspeaker's tail flicked. "It is not your fault. There is something different in your future."
Coldbreath nods and glances around. It is out to the sea she finally looks. It looks like the sea of the gods. She remembers it from when she was a kitten. Now it isn't a fond memory as it could have been."
"What did you want me to do?" she asked, looking back at her father. She didn't think she had ever see Silverspeaker look so convicted. Coldbreath had never seen her so alone. Hiding on Earth, wearing the pelt of a kitten and who knew what else to stay out of the attention of the gods who had imprisoned her. It wasn't a life.
But Silverspeaker doesn't seem to mind this. Instead, she angles her ears forward.
"We fight of course."
Coldbreath tilted her head. "Ragnarok, you mean," she asked. It was a statement. Silverspeaker nodded. The hollow look in her eyes was still there, deep and bright.
"With your kingdom of the dead and the allies I gather, we can do it. We can gain a home again, Coldbreath."
The words twisted in Coldbreath's gut. That was the hollow look she could see in Silverspeaker's eyes. It was hope. She was clinging onto it. She'd lost the only family she'd had when the gods had cast her out and imprisoned her. Separated from the few kittens that she had left, separated for years from the ones who she had poured so much attention into. She wanted that back. Coldbreath didn't blame her.
"You want the kingdom of Farsight," she said. "Even knowing what is coming?" Coldbreath couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"How else can we ever be free," Silverspeaker asked, her voice suddenly growing harsh. Coldbreath didn't flinch. She knew that Silverspeaker spoke with emotions even when she had more control over them then it appeared.
"You would risk the prophesied end of Ragnarok?"
Silverspeaker froze a little, her hollow eyes suddenly growing just a bit uncertain.
"We don't know the details of the end," she said. "Farsight doesn't see fit to share them with us."
Us. Coldbreath noted the word and she noted the pain. Even after the years that Silverspeaker had been tortured, close to death at Farsight's paws, she still counted herself among "us."
"You'd risk dying?" Coldbreath asked instead. Silverspeaker's fur was forced flat. She leaned forward, nose brushing against Coldbreath's muzzle.
"If I just die," she murmured. "Then I guess I'll finally make it to your kingdom below the World Tree. At least then I have more peace than Farsight has ever allowed me."
Coldbreath sighed, taking a step back. She dipped her head. "You have my army," she said to her father. "I hope you're right. I hope that home is somehow possible for us."
4. Exploit
5. Boredom
6. Art of Conversation
7. Take Your Best Shot
8. Creativity
9. Flash
10. Puzzling Words
11. Ill
12. Skeleton
13. Nothing
14. Servitude
15. Possibilities
16. Weightless
17. Just Say It
18. Last Words
19. Immature
20. Blazing
21. Help
22. Presence
23. Because
24. Forced
25. Reversed
26. Cast Away
27. Emotions
28. Questions
29. Wishing
30. Crackling
31. Curl Up
32. Together
33. Look Again
34. Brief
35. Space
36. Special
37. Jinx
38. Stop Fussing
39. Cozy
40. Breaking
41. Either Or
42. Tell Me a Story
43. Waiting
44. Willpower
45. Who Am I?
46. Idol
47. Unseen
48. Just Try
49. For Me?
50. Your Choice (Literally! You've made it to fifty, so write about any topic/theme you choose for this one!)
51. Useful
52. Treasure
53. Ceremony
54. Lightning
55. Protection
56. Stay With Me
57. Mint
58. Rescue
59. Dominant
60. Thief
61. Deserter
62. Stolen
63. Sarcasm
64. Darling
65. How Much is too Much?
66. Over
67. Try Again
68. Hidden
69. Forgotten
70. The First Time
71. Aging
72. Soldiers
73. Justice
74. Tread Carefully
75. One False Step
76. Connection
77. Mess
78. It Can't Be
79. In Due Time
80. Awake
81. Delicious
82. Fallen
83. Trickery
84. Around the Bend
85. Well Traveled
86. Choices
87. Surplus
88. Rough
89. If
90. Friend
91. Found Not Lost
92. Spiral
93. Deep
94. I Could Have
95. Desirable
96. Resentment
97. Build Up
98. Inch by Inch
99. Dilemma
100. Blue Sky
Expected start date: Something like Jan. 1st. I am working on holiday writing right now. If I finish that early, I'll start early.