Diagnosed with a developmental disorder at a young age, Duskelle Waterlee has always been special - but not necessarily in a good way. Even at the age of fourteen, she is still unable to truly grasp human ways of life.
Her only relief is River, a st...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Bursts of golden light flared against her eyelids, and her eyes sprung open, revealing a familiar meadow. Her senses returned to her in individual pinpricks, first the spongy soil beneath her paws, then the murmur of a brook wreathed in birdsong, and finally the scent of fresh grass.
Then awareness.
Duskelle turned her head, expectancy running surely through her thoughts, and there the large brown tabby was, sitting besides her. His light amber eyes were focused on the forest ringing the meadow, as intent as if he were trying to look through the trees.
"Hello," she told him, and his gaze snapped away, coming to rest on her face.
"Duskpaw." He blinked slowly and his muzzle curved into a smile. "I told you we'd meet again. You remember me, of course."
"Yes," Duskelle responded. It was cold in StarClan today, even with the brilliant sunlight beaming down. "I don't think...I don't think my experience with you was something I can ever forget."
A low chuckle rumbled through Hawkripple's chest, and he shifted his paws. "Indeed not."
"Why have you called me?" Duskelle asked, her breath coming out in misty puffs as she spoke. She knew that visits to StarClan were not common - Graysplash's reaction had confirmed as much.
Hawkripple rose, and beckoned her with his tail. "I will show you. Follow."
Duskelle copied his movement, and adhered to his command, trailing behind as he padded towards the trees, sleek fur rippling. As they ventured into the woods, the cold bit deeper; the canopies formed by wide leaves didn't allow the sun onto the forest floor. With every beat of her paws against the ground, the sound of the brook became clearer.
Until, eventually, they emerged onto its banks. There was sudden movement, and she realized that they'd startled someone who'd been sitting at edge of the creek into rising. It was a tom, with a thick coat of dusky black fur.
"Raventuft," came Hawkripple's voice. "This is Duskpaw."
Raventuft's eyes were pale yellow and kind as they lighted on her. A smile wavered on his muzzle, and strengthened when she tentatively returned it.
"Duskpaw." An incline of the tabby tom's head. "Raventuft."
She nodded, and Hawkripple continued, turning his attention to Raventuft. "She's the Twoleg." There was a pause. "Clearly."
Raventuft chuckled softly, and dipped his head to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Duskpaw."
"The same to you," she replied, attempting to replicate his gesture. She must've looked comical, because his calm smile widened.
A glimmer in the corner of her eye caught her attention and her head jerked sharply to the sight. It was the creek. Something struck her as being different, but she couldn't pinpoint it exactly. Something about the water...
