After running from a life of tragedy and loss, Dunepaw seeks guidance from a forgotten clan leader while the cats of the territories solve an unseen threat has already taken hold on them all.
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Written by: Jace Hays
Lore, Organ...
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The world around Falconfoot was dark. The warrior's eyelids shielded his sight, so he let the sensations of other senses soothe his mind. His entire body, save for his head, was lying beneath the cool, flowing stream that cleared the aching from his body like mud. His lower body drifted freely in the deep water while one of his shoulders was wedged in the underwater floor, letting his loosening legs float like clouds. Falconfoot's head lay sideways on the soft grass of the stream bank that tickled his dark ears come the occasional gust of warm air. Falconfoot gave a soft smile to the whispers of the water. He was thankful for the peace.
After days of physical and mental struggles, the tribulations of his life seemed to level out. He still had to sharpen his fighting skills, embark on lengthy runs, and leap between trees; nonetheless, the pain caused would be carved away, leaving the fruits of growing strength behind their thorned shells.
Maybe once Falconfoot returned to his clan, however far in the future it would be, he could teach his fellow warriors the methods of training he was taught. Maybe even earn an apprentice of his own. His thoughts drifted to Hickory. Both of them considered their meeting fate; however, the two toms grew no closer past their mentor-apprentice dynamic. Their conversations never grew beyond mentorship besides the rare bursts of memory from the older tom, but Falconfoot preferred it so. He could never share Hickory's life as kittypet, and Hickory could never return to the clans. Yet, the warrior ached for someone to talk to.
Riverpelt said I can always talk to her about anything, Dunepaw thought with a smile, feeling nostalgic for relationships of unconditional love back in LightClan. With the memory of her last moments spent fighting for her weak son, his smile floated away in the stream. I said I didn't want to talk. I'll never get the chance again. Flashes of the ground giving away in the rain. That forsaken tom being the one to survive instead. The hairs at the top of his head that were spared from water bristled. Hickory said to be calm. Think of something else.
Falconfoot found himself growing oddly nostalgic over memories of Slatepaw and Sleepypaw. He would rehearse the memories of his youth over and over again in his times of rest, once again failing to stray from the memories of his mother.
"Alright," Falconfoot grumbled, hearing water droplets drip from his thin pelt as he stood. "Enough thinking for the day."
The warrior felt like he was given a new body on his way back to Hickory, as if every rest he took in the stream after a day of training molted away a layer of scales to make way for a bigger reptile.
Once Falconfoot rounded the corner, he saw a tall-leg standing at the front of its den, holding a long vine that sprayed water onto ornate flowers and bushes. He noticed Hickory when the glint of what he called a "name tag" caught the warrior's green eyes first. The two cats met in the middle of the small tall-leg field, exchanging mews after the tall-leg made odd noises towards Falconfoot, noises he always ignored.
"How was the stream?" Hickory asked.
"Fine," Falconfoot responded curtly.
Hickory nodded, his hazel eyes distant and unfocused.
