Post by andromeda on Dec 31, 2023 15:33:35 GMT -8
ASTERPAW
somewhere in the desert, there’s a forest, and an acre before us
but i don't know where to begin
At Newleaf’s peak, Asterpaw found himself daydreaming about Amberpool again. Pallid sunlight had barely begun to stream into the medicine cat’s den when he reported for the day’s tasks, allowing Wintersky her morning meal and stretch. As his paws sifted nimbly and effortlessly through the first of the season’s herbs, he let the tendrils of his mind alight again on the brilliant field of star-studded asters, a place into which he would retreat when the grief of the world became too much to bear. (Comfrey, properly dried now, ready for storage). Though he knows of this place from but a secondhand telling of a dream, he sees it as clearly as he does the ferns of the medicine cat’s den. (Nettles, soaked and de-thorned, organized into bundles). When he would open his mouth, he could taste the air, which would smell sweetly of summer grass. (Burdock root, rinse with snowmelt, then store). Glassy beads of dew would soak his paws as he traversed through the field, their chill biting into his footsteps. The sun would poke kindly out from rolling clouds, its smile always temperate.
He sought refuge here from the reality of the past leaf-bare, which saw the loss of two newborns and a warrior from the brutal sicknesses of the season. He knew that even Wintersky’s often formidable countenance betrayed the deep grief bubbling within. Death is no easy thing to contend with, for medicine cats more so. For all of Asterpaw’s intimate encounters with death, he was no less fazed by each new visit of the reaper. Much less than being incapable of carrying the weight of reality, Asterpaw knew that his spiritual sanctuaries helped him shoulder it. So while folding leaf bundles, he closes his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was buffeted by a gust of wind that told him the morning hunting party had returned with fresh-kill. He looked down at his paws to find his charge about finished. The only thing now to do is to organize the bundles into the storage bowls carved into the side of the den. He felt his belly rumble with hunger as his paws worked methodically, muttering to himself at the stuffing of each bowl. After lunch he would need to check on Rosefeather, who had been resting an ankle broken from a hunting mishap. And there were more herbs to be gathered while the sky was momentarily clear, new catmint near Twolegplace and marigolds at the border with RiverClan. If Wintersky was satisfied with her morning rest, perhaps he could squeeze in a nap. For now, he was pleased to let his day take its methodical course, his whiskers still trembling with the aster-scented breeze from his daydreams.
He sought refuge here from the reality of the past leaf-bare, which saw the loss of two newborns and a warrior from the brutal sicknesses of the season. He knew that even Wintersky’s often formidable countenance betrayed the deep grief bubbling within. Death is no easy thing to contend with, for medicine cats more so. For all of Asterpaw’s intimate encounters with death, he was no less fazed by each new visit of the reaper. Much less than being incapable of carrying the weight of reality, Asterpaw knew that his spiritual sanctuaries helped him shoulder it. So while folding leaf bundles, he closes his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was buffeted by a gust of wind that told him the morning hunting party had returned with fresh-kill. He looked down at his paws to find his charge about finished. The only thing now to do is to organize the bundles into the storage bowls carved into the side of the den. He felt his belly rumble with hunger as his paws worked methodically, muttering to himself at the stuffing of each bowl. After lunch he would need to check on Rosefeather, who had been resting an ankle broken from a hunting mishap. And there were more herbs to be gathered while the sky was momentarily clear, new catmint near Twolegplace and marigolds at the border with RiverClan. If Wintersky was satisfied with her morning rest, perhaps he could squeeze in a nap. For now, he was pleased to let his day take its methodical course, his whiskers still trembling with the aster-scented breeze from his daydreams.
| TAGS Christalclear | OOC this is the post where asterpaw makes his acquaintance with opposumleaf and they begin an apprentice/assistant relationship - set before Wintersky’s death, approximately Newleaf 2022 |
