IF THERE WERE ONLY WATER / all thunderclan
Jul 9, 2023 11:12:40 GMT -8
DELAWARE, [:ripples:], and 3 more like this
Post by + JAMIE on Jul 9, 2023 11:12:40 GMT -8
- - -
after the torchlight red on sweaty faces
after the frosty silence in the gardens
after the agony in stony places
the shouting and the crying
prison and palace and reverberation
of thunder of spring over distant mountains
he who was living is now dead
we who were living are now dying
with a little patience
- "the waste land," t.s. eliot
SALTSTAR.
Old.
He felt:
old.
Scorchedfrost.
Cracked skin. Bleached bones. Tumbleweed memories. Dry desert words.
Not a drop of water in sight.
"Let all cats of ThunderClan..."
Blazefeather.
"... gather beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting."
Dusty remembrance: once upon a time, paws on this stone. Nervousness in breast. Triumph in heart. Unfocused energy replaced by deliberation. Resolve. A summer that had been hot: it had been good to the Clan. Ideas shared with confidence. Ambitious dreams. Smears of purple. Not red. (That was for apprentices.) The color of royalty.
A royalty he'd been so certain was theirs.
Fadedkit.
Watched the future of ThunderClan emerge from their dens. Trickle in from outside. Wonders: does he look shattered too? Shuttered and flat? He clenches his jaw. One jump of muscle: betrayal. Begins the familiar schooling. Submission. First the relaxing of mouth. Then the separation of teeth. The exhale from nose. The forward point of ears. The blankness of eyes. Not empty: that would get him nowhere. More blank page. Give his Clan the power to inscribe their own emotions onto him. Reveal nothing of his own. Was he sad? Furious? Calm? Resigned? Powerful? Vengeful? Defeated?
Whatever they wanted him to be.
He feels old.
Everhunt.
More arrivals. Firesoul. Burningshade. Stormchaser. Faces attached to names. Names to counter the missing bodies. Missing bodies attached to names. Around and around and around. He raced the circuit daily. Tallied the winners nightly. Just a year ago the track of names took seconds to lap. Now it took minutes. Starter's gun he never heard. Couldn't anticipate. Unwelcome trophies. Cheap medals. Once? Once he'd have thrown the race.
Featherfoot.
Sunlight, warm on his back. The clouds half-burnt off already.
His Clan... alive. Fading.
Small these days.
Falcondream.
Nothing much when the disappearances first started happening. A cat here. A cat there. Saltstar ruthless: losses factored into his plans. So what if they happened earlier than he expected? So what if humans were the cause? He'd anticipated them. Accounted for them. Accepted them as necessary. Sacrifices for the greater good. Sent his best warriors after the humans in their territory. Only felt pride as they drew blood. Drew screams. Delivered their warnings. Chased the threat away. Thought that was it. Turned his mind back to purpose: reclaiming sunningrocks. Attacking RiverClan. Bringing ThunderClan to the forefront of the forest. Where they belonged. Where they had always belonged. Where they belonged still.
And then the humans had come back.
Lightningbolt.
Yes. Lightningbolt. The first that mattered. The first unplanned. The first that was a loss, not a sacrifice. Only one day after the ceremony. Pride and fondness martyred in an instant. Saltstar had led the search himself.
You know what he found.
And after that?
Lilypool, Featherfoot.
... A lot more of the same.
Most of the Clan here now. Counted because he couldn't help it: obsessive. Didn't dwell on the number he came up with: preserving. A bug stuck in sap, not petrified into amber.
Not fucking yet.
"I bring this meeting to order. Thank you for coming." Terse. Straightforward. Sincere. Impatient. "I have good news and bad news. The good: the humans have left the forest again. The bad: they will return. Patrols report colored ribbons and more black boxes left in the sites they were staying. If it's like last year, they'll be back in autumn. We were taken off guard then. This spring too." No emotions. No regret. Just facts. What did he feel about mistakes? What did he feel about powerlessness?
"That's not going to happen again."
Nothing. Accept it as fact. (Seething fury.) Move on. (Volcanic rage.) Prepare better. (Burning anger.) Plan more. (Thirst for vengeance.) And patience: patience, patience, patience. (No water in sight.)
"We have another season to prepare for the next assualt. I called you here today to ask you for ideas. What can we do to counter our enemy? To evade their reach? To disable their traps? Anything you have to say: anything to suggest. I will listen."
Patience to defeat blinding panic. Patience to hang onto control by his teeth. Patience for uncertainty. Patience to tear the throat out of insecurity. Out of thoughts of failure. Out of the story of his past, too close these days.
Well. (Grim humor.) The last wasn't patience. It was (he told himself) experience. Hard won. Hard earned. And now? Put to the hardest test of his life.
He was old.
But:
He wasn't dead yet.
--
All-Clan meeting. Takes place one week after Spring Capture 2023. Christalclear Scarlet Minteh Freshness JOS jackelyn [:ripples:] ArcticRed ✦dreamy DELAWARE
Old.
He felt:
old.
Scorchedfrost.
Cracked skin. Bleached bones. Tumbleweed memories. Dry desert words.
Not a drop of water in sight.
"Let all cats of ThunderClan..."
Blazefeather.
"... gather beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting."
Dusty remembrance: once upon a time, paws on this stone. Nervousness in breast. Triumph in heart. Unfocused energy replaced by deliberation. Resolve. A summer that had been hot: it had been good to the Clan. Ideas shared with confidence. Ambitious dreams. Smears of purple. Not red. (That was for apprentices.) The color of royalty.
A royalty he'd been so certain was theirs.
Fadedkit.
Watched the future of ThunderClan emerge from their dens. Trickle in from outside. Wonders: does he look shattered too? Shuttered and flat? He clenches his jaw. One jump of muscle: betrayal. Begins the familiar schooling. Submission. First the relaxing of mouth. Then the separation of teeth. The exhale from nose. The forward point of ears. The blankness of eyes. Not empty: that would get him nowhere. More blank page. Give his Clan the power to inscribe their own emotions onto him. Reveal nothing of his own. Was he sad? Furious? Calm? Resigned? Powerful? Vengeful? Defeated?
Whatever they wanted him to be.
He feels old.
Everhunt.
More arrivals. Firesoul. Burningshade. Stormchaser. Faces attached to names. Names to counter the missing bodies. Missing bodies attached to names. Around and around and around. He raced the circuit daily. Tallied the winners nightly. Just a year ago the track of names took seconds to lap. Now it took minutes. Starter's gun he never heard. Couldn't anticipate. Unwelcome trophies. Cheap medals. Once? Once he'd have thrown the race.
Featherfoot.
Sunlight, warm on his back. The clouds half-burnt off already.
His Clan... alive. Fading.
Small these days.
Falcondream.
Nothing much when the disappearances first started happening. A cat here. A cat there. Saltstar ruthless: losses factored into his plans. So what if they happened earlier than he expected? So what if humans were the cause? He'd anticipated them. Accounted for them. Accepted them as necessary. Sacrifices for the greater good. Sent his best warriors after the humans in their territory. Only felt pride as they drew blood. Drew screams. Delivered their warnings. Chased the threat away. Thought that was it. Turned his mind back to purpose: reclaiming sunningrocks. Attacking RiverClan. Bringing ThunderClan to the forefront of the forest. Where they belonged. Where they had always belonged. Where they belonged still.
And then the humans had come back.
Lightningbolt.
Yes. Lightningbolt. The first that mattered. The first unplanned. The first that was a loss, not a sacrifice. Only one day after the ceremony. Pride and fondness martyred in an instant. Saltstar had led the search himself.
You know what he found.
And after that?
Lilypool, Featherfoot.
... A lot more of the same.
Most of the Clan here now. Counted because he couldn't help it: obsessive. Didn't dwell on the number he came up with: preserving. A bug stuck in sap, not petrified into amber.
Not fucking yet.
"I bring this meeting to order. Thank you for coming." Terse. Straightforward. Sincere. Impatient. "I have good news and bad news. The good: the humans have left the forest again. The bad: they will return. Patrols report colored ribbons and more black boxes left in the sites they were staying. If it's like last year, they'll be back in autumn. We were taken off guard then. This spring too." No emotions. No regret. Just facts. What did he feel about mistakes? What did he feel about powerlessness?
"That's not going to happen again."
Nothing. Accept it as fact. (Seething fury.) Move on. (Volcanic rage.) Prepare better. (Burning anger.) Plan more. (Thirst for vengeance.) And patience: patience, patience, patience. (No water in sight.)
"We have another season to prepare for the next assualt. I called you here today to ask you for ideas. What can we do to counter our enemy? To evade their reach? To disable their traps? Anything you have to say: anything to suggest. I will listen."
Patience to defeat blinding panic. Patience to hang onto control by his teeth. Patience for uncertainty. Patience to tear the throat out of insecurity. Out of thoughts of failure. Out of the story of his past, too close these days.
Well. (Grim humor.) The last wasn't patience. It was (he told himself) experience. Hard won. Hard earned. And now? Put to the hardest test of his life.
He was old.
But:
He wasn't dead yet.
--
All-Clan meeting. Takes place one week after Spring Capture 2023. Christalclear Scarlet Minteh Freshness JOS jackelyn [:ripples:] ArcticRed ✦dreamy DELAWARE