Post by mercedes on Oct 17, 2016 15:36:37 GMT
T H E P O S I T I V E
But there is always a streak of him that runs deep from his kithood; and many find it amusing that a 68 moon old tom will still behave mischievously at time. He will act like the most serious feline in the world; but in those rare moments those around him will see the way he crouches before the kits of the clan and falls to his doom as they all tag team on him. He will leave feathers in places that other cats thought were featherless; and at one time he tricked an apprentice into smell mouse bile. | "Are you sure?" The tale starts with three simple words; spoken in the dead of the night under the whispers of the crickets. Three words that are torn from the breath of a young feline; whose hopes and dreams are dashed away by the on-slate of emotion. These three words caught in the feline's mind as they push forth from the den into the starlit sky. The feline is slim; white of color and above all petite in stature; for this case we'll call her Lilystep. "They can't be mine, stop pestering me." Her heart breaks at the way he rejects her. He was all she had ever wanted, all tall, dark and handsome; always leaving her thirsty as if it was a hot greenleaf day. But he had only turned his bright amber eyes on her once in that time and had rejected her; leaving her like he had left so many before. But she knew it was only herself to blame; 'barren, I swear it Blackclaw.' she had said; 'I swear it by moon and stars'. He left her standing there alone as dawn broke it's way across the sky; and in that moment she had wished she had never left the comforts of her sheltered life; had never fallen for a warrior twice her age, and had never took the risk that would end her desire to be leader. She bore no ill towards the tom who walked away; but with each day she lay in the nursery, high risk that she was, was another day she grew to loath the bundles in her belly. Until the day they were born and soft purrs of three kittens touched her once frozen heart. Sootkit was born first; a tiny little sickly thing. His breath was short and wheezy and while he was the first born, he was the weakest. Next came Rook-kit, the largest of the three, he caused his mother the most grief upon his birth. It was the third kitten, sweet little Swiftkit, while tiny, never made much of a fuse. She named them after her mother's brothers; each having passed moons before. "They are simply beautiful, Lilystep. Who might their father be?" He was a gentle tom, the medicine cat; but the question had stirred a fear in her. She was quick to snap out a response; but with her sudden aggression, she finally heard them. The soft whimpering of three kittens pawing forward to a mother whose heart was only half into the idea of... well them. But as the day wore on, and as their whimpers turned to purrs Lilystep was seen warming to them; until finally, as night drew she whispered to them softly. "I am sure." Rook-kit had been born the middle-tom, but he had always been the largest of his siblings, more outgoing and reckless. Mother was always on him telling him he needed to behave, saying that he was just like his father. But it was Rook-kit who was the ring leader of the kittens; even at the tender age of three moons; he almost reached the size of a six moon old kitten. He had the power behind the size; and while his sister Swiftkit was never far behind him, it was always encouraging their brother Sootkit to come play. "He's just lame, Lilystep always says he's her precious little one. Why can't he just get better already!" Rook-kit, while not easily jealous, always felt a pang of hurt when his sister brought up the worries of their brother. Where their mother loved them all equally; Rook-kit found the lack of warmth at nights; when he awoke to the shaking and coughing of his brother. He would never admit to it; but some nights he would raise his paw and swat his brother's muzzle away from him in fear of catching the illness that plagued his brother since birth. While his kithood was uneventful; the rare times the three siblings would emerge together; their golden eyes all matching, they would search the camp for a tom who would share with them this trait. "Maybe ... huh... Lilyst-step keeps i-i-it a secret for a-a-a reason, R-Rook-kit." Sootkit was always the smartest of the three; always the wisest and bravest. Rook-kit however; while brave was also stubborn and had always wanted to find out who their father was. So that fateful night; he snuck from their nest, Swiftkit following as she always did - but more surprisingly Sootkit as well - as they slipped into the warriors den. All kittens; the three of them; were black and white of color. Amber eyes of a golden shade and while they varied in height; they knew that Rook-kit had to get it from somewhere. It was on such a night that as they left the den in defeat they saw him... or so they assumed. He was large; squared, fur as black as sin. His golden amber eyes reflected brilliantly in the night. He was gone as fast as they saw him, but in their minds they knew their father was with them. Rook-kit became Rookpaw shortly after this adventure; along side Sootpaw and Swiftpaw. While the tom was certainly excited to be moving into the apprentice den with the apprentices who were at least three moons their senior; he was more excited about being placed under the recently appointed Snowfeather as well. She was a beautiful white she-cat who he had tried to woo himself as a kitten. "She'll love me one day! Just wait Lilystep!" He never quite understood why his mother gave him that worried look. But he kept his mischievous nature up as she would always respond to him. She was never harsh to him; allowing him to grow into his own feline. It was probably why he grew a possessive streak; scarring - or attempting to - scare away any males who would dare step near his fiery love interest. He was nine moons old when he faced his first real taste of the battle field. An understatement, where the only danger was that a mated loner couple had aggressively tried to lay claim to a small portion of the tall pines. But with the patrol; a couple moon old warriors, Cloudfire and Crowflight and his own mentor Snowfeather; one wasn't shocked to find that the tom had performed perfectly in the heat. He showed an amazing ability in his observation skills; having picked up on the movement before his clanmates had noticed. He had aggressively charged in when he noticed the male of the mated pair ready himself to pounce on Cloudfire. While the small battle was easily won by the clan cats; they had quickly sent him to elder chores. "Well, at least I can say I saved a life today!" Though he knew that was not the case; as he watched his sister and brother get praise after praise for their hard working, hunting and feeding the clan. It was a pang of sadness that overtook him when he stood one morning; watching the late leaf-bare chill creep back into the clan. He remembered his breath hitching as he watched his brother and his mentor head into the storm. The breath of a warning on his maw but dying as he lowered his head in defeat. It would be late into the evening, as the moon rose high that the cry was shouted out. "Please! Someone help! Sootpaw's not breathing!" Sootpaw returned that night; but by morning's light, he lost the battle. Rookpaw had stood there the whole time, following the medicine cat's orders to press down onto his brother's chest to get the heart kick-started. The night had been long and tiresome, and by morning; with his head hung low; he appeared before his mother and sister and broke the news. His sister yowled; pain filling her face and heart; where his mother stood frozen. She had turned then, facing a once black tom whose fur was turning silver with age. She hissed at him, blaming him for her son's death; for their son's death. It was there that Rookpaw watched his mother's descend into sorrow; his sister's rise into isolation and the awakening of his father; who Rookpaw felt a inking of disappointment of. No longer was he this grand shadowy figure in the night, but a fragile newly made elder whose lungs were causing him grief. Rookpaw became Rookfeather, four days later, under the moon and stars. His sister Swiftpaw, joined him in the warrior rank as Swiftfang. They did not stand tall and proud as newly appointed warriors would; they stood with their tails bracing each other; and their heads low in mourning. Sootpaw; forever an apprentice, should have been with them in this celebration; but the last winter storm had stolen him from them. Rookfeather could remember the way he grew more blunt with his answers; not at first showing his love or caring nature. But it took time; moons before finally he felt something akin to life flow through his veins. He was twenty-four moons when that day came; a bright blue eyed female, with a fluffy grey pelt strolled up to him and proudly pronounced him her friend. "I'm Fernkit by the way! Mom says I shouldn't bother you warriors; but you look like you need a friend!" She was never more right. At five moons old; this little bundle brought a smile to his stilled face; and he welcomed her for his daily meals; and even began to teach her the basic crouches. It was a shock that he was given her as an apprentice by Whitestar the following moon. He could remember the way Fernkit - Fernpaw - had jumped up and practically pounced on him; excitement in her little face. But the real challenge came when they began their training. Rookfeather; despite his compassionate and loyal nature; displayed traits of narrow-mindedness when it came to his training. He reflected back to his mentor's ways; believing they were the way of the law. It wasn't until Fernpaw requested something harder that he realized his apprentice was bored. He began to work ways around this; engaging her in fake fights at random times of her training. Honing in her senses as she balanced on longs and ran lengths of the forest. They were a duo of great imagination; and as time may have it; it was on the night before her warrior ceremony that she approached him. Spoke of her interest in maybe being more then friends, more then mentor and apprentice. But he was not ready; nor could he as Snowfeather had been his love before everything had happened. He had watched her walk away defeated; and yet as he watched his dear apprentice become Fernheart he had no doubt he was making a big mistake. But he stood there; watching as the recently appointed deputy Stonetalon nod approvingly at the she-cat who was his niece. A few moons would fly by an another apprentice ceremony would be made; one that at the time Rookfeather took no notice of; as it was deemed unimportant at the time; but before the 36 moon old warrior stood the future leader of Thunderclan; and the tom he had saved all those moons before. He had just hit the age of forty moons when he noticed a young tom flirting with his apprentice - former apprentice - and it would seem he had gotten a bit possessive over the situation. He had taken the tom later that evening on a hunting patrol; and had cornered him, snarling that he had no right to speak to Fernheart as he had. The young tom's words however; struck him hard and to the core. "What would Fernheart want; with a grumpy old tom like you anyways?" He never expected it to hurt so much; and when they returned to camp; he couldn't meet his former apprentice's eyes. But sure enough two nights later he found Fernheart curled gently into his side. It was at that moment, that Rookfeather decided he would give her this one; as the two silently made the deal. A moon would pass of pure bliss between the two; no words spoken, but an unwritten agreement. She was his... but he was hers as well. "Are you sure?" When Fernheart brought him the news; those three little words had slipped from his mouth so suddenly. He had felt his mother flinch beside him; had watched his sister look on in wonder at the idea. When he saw his former apprentice bow her head in defeat he had rose to his paws and pressed a firm nose to her cheek; before comforting her the way he knew she liked; his body wrapped around hers. When he lifted his head to his mother; he swore he saw her eyes become misty as she congratulated them and moved on. He didn't expect much when Fernheart had the complications; when she cried threw the night as the pain tore up her very frame. But when the night dawned into the daylight; a heavenly little she-cat lay at her belly; smokey-black with white splashes; and in the way the light pooled; Fernheart named her Dusk-kit. The recovery was long; and with Rookfeather constantly watching her and their daughter; there came a point where he was banned from the nursery. Moons would fly by; and on his fifty-sixth moon Fernheart became heavy with kits. This time tho... the result were not as they had hoped. When he had entered the nursery; the scent of blood was heavy; his mate lay gasping for air as she bled out. The only kitten to have survived the birth lay wheezing, struggling to breath. In a moment of weakness he ignored his kitten in favour of his love. She died with his eyes fixated on him; a final plea for him to watch their kits. He kept Duskpaw by his side as they stared down at her brother. As a foster queen nursed his son; he struggled to find a name for the boy who had ripped his mother away from him. On the second night of Fernheart's death, Rookfeather awoke from a nightmare, taking to sitting in the clearing he noticed his own father stepping from the elders den; breath swallow and eyes heavy. They locked eyes that night and as the old tom stepped closer; he spoke to his son for the first time as a father should. "Do not make the same mistake I did boy, do not leave him to grow up without a father too." He awoke the next morning, his own golden eyes staring at where his father had once stood and he finally whispered a name. Starlingkit; though his troubled times of kittenhood soon grew to be able to breath better on his own. The medicine cat giving him a full bill of health. It wasn't until the next death that things began to rock the brushes. Whitestar's death meant the rise of a new leader; and as Rookfeather recalled; he had never paid much attention to the new leader in their time together. He remembered cheering her name when she became a warrior, remembers questioning Whitestar on the reasoning behind naming her deputy; and he also remembers congratulating her a few days later and apologizing for his rude behavior. What he doesn't understand is why as he stands with his kits beside him that he hears his name called beyond the others; and with a flick of his year he stands. "With this honor, I pledge my life and death to the duty and protection of Thunderclan." And so his tale begins. |
