between feather & fate | p

[samuella]

he stopped screaming his grief to nobody, half because he nearly lost his voice forever (it certainly felt like it then) and half because he had to let go. still, dreaming always got him fooled into believing he'd see his son one last time.

like now, even when it was completely irrational.

he had no memory of being on an island at sea, composed of basalt pillars ashy like bones. yarrow only appeared at places he's been to before. he wished and wished for a cream-and-orange pelt to bound down from a column, but it didn't happen.

the only sound that met his ears was the crashing of waves against the cliffs. there was no mainland in sight. the gulls above were too high to hear their cries. it wasn't cold, either. the sea wasn't a gloomy grey-blue, but a tropical aquamarine. sunlight glittered on the surface. there were no clouds in the sky.

and so, as it is now whenever he slept, he wondered if he had died once again, but this time StarClan was truly tired of him and sent him to solitary on this barren island. maybe they took back their decision and struck him down in his sleep using their dumb magic powers or whatever.

"hello?" he called out crossly as he clambered up the hexagonal steps. "helloooo?" he looked around, bored. "this sucks," he muttered under his breath. "where's the mice?" pausing, he sniffed the air. there was only the scent of salt.

@Estelle

[Estelle]

Snowdrop
[ ~7 moons | She / Her | Kittypet | Dreamwalker ]

Her dreams had always been vivid. Vivid like the days where she could see, and vivid like the day it all burned down. It didn't matter whether she allowed herself a glimpse of what she had lost within the scape of her mind, or if she bared herself to the reality she with every single day for fault of her sleep being too deep. All her dreams felt real. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the stone walls and sands of the isle, the distinct smell of salt that had never before touched the thrills of her nose. This wasn't her dream.

Snowdrop's paws followed a seemingly worn path with the stealth of a cat in unknown land; the waves drowned out the sound of her steps and the sun might as well blind anyone looking to see the frozen and pale flowers seemingly resting within her wake. Her own dreams always did have a cold or floral touch, perhaps it came with the territory of her namesake, or this strange habit of intruding of within a mind that was not her own. Snowdrop shifted the angle of her ears, hearing an unfamiliar voice.

This was not an uncommon occurrence, either. The only challenge now was discovering whether this cat was a concoction of her own mind or a true feline unlucky enough to have drawn her in. He seemed lost; irritated, if anything. The pale-patterned kit paused in her steps, making herself known.
"Who are you?"
She asked, white pelt seemingly shimmering from the sunlight.
"Why, 'mice'?"
She asked the orange man; was he seeking to hunt the poor critters?


[ @sambam ]

[samuella]

the kit looked like a white rabbit in the blurry corner of his vision. he twitched, caught between a pounce and a step back. his claws caught in stone, and he laughed over the small, scraping sound. "why not mice?" he countered. "they're delicious. snacks. morsels, y'know." his tail waved dismissively.

the grin slithered away as he regarded the other cat. her fur forced him to squint against the glare burning on her light pelt. is she a star? he wondered, finding the only black holes in her blue eyes. gray markings. blue eyes. green eye. she looks like a star. he had to scowl narrowly until his pupils adjusted and rendered her definitively. i hate the stars.

"i'm not anything," he told her, cautiously standing straight. "what're you?" other than a child, that is. she was too suspicious. who didn't want to hunt mice? and what were those flowers, anyway? and how come she was here? and why was he here?

he guessed he could poke her apart with his claws and dig around for answers, but he doubted any of them would be very satisfying. if he squished this kit, she'd probably squeak like one of the hound's old bones. he was willing to bet on that.

(besides, you're not supposed to be squishing kits.)

true, that.

@Estelle

[Estelle]

Snowdrop
[ ~8 moons | She / Her | Kittypet | Dreamwalker ]

Why not mice? A rhetorical question, to be sure? She pondered, and decided that mice were indeed and agreeable snack. The plump ones were often tasty with tender meat, their funny little bellies wiggling around when she poked them. But Snowdrop also decided this orange man lacked respect. She tilted her head. It wasn’t very nice to be calling these cats morsels, they were trying their best.
“You make a point. But you ought address them with more tact. Whether dream or reality, mice can often be vicious.”
She would rather not have to bind his paws in cobwebs or the likes because they were bitten by mice; then again, perhaps she was the only one who found strife with made up mice. She shrugged it off.

A slight grin slithered up her maw the same way it slithered off his, she was amused by this cat. He was weird. Irritating with his answers. A part of her found that interesting more than anything.
“A cat.”
She answered logically, her flowered steps now carrying her closer to the orange man. Or mouse man, she couldn’t see him after all, she was only aware of his presence and her own.
“As are you, I presume. Do you have a name? Or must I call you Mouse Man, now?”
She wanted to be weird like him, a moment of amusement.
“I am named for the flowers that grow, here. Do you know them?”


[ @odessa ]

[samuella]

-

Mice? Vicious? One eyebrow shot up skeptically. He hardly believed that at all. In the forest, mice were at the bottom. They were meek, breakable, and easy snacks. He couldn't possibly imagine them as vicious. With what canines? Glistening teeth? Sharp claws? He couldn't see it.

His eyes rolled quickly. Of course she was a cat. He could see that, at least. A grimace soured his face. "Don't call me 'Mouse Man'," he objected indignantly. Of any name, she had to pick that one. Of course. He sneered at her smile. Cheeky. Whose child was this? Who raised her to talk so formal? She couldn't be from the clans (duh), nobody ever talked like that. They all skipped syllables, like there wasn't enough time on the earth to slow down. So...kittypet, then? It'd explain the whole 'mouse' thing.

He inched back away from the creeping flowers. (Afraid, are you?) No. Whatever the plants were, he didn't like them. They were unnatural. "No," he answered. "All flowers look the same." But he gave them another passing glance anyway, studying them furtively. They looked sad. Wilted. All droopy and hopeless. "Are ya named Wiltkit?" he guessed aimlessly.

@Estelle