Post by stag on Dec 1, 2015 3:42:59 GMT
MAGPIESTAR
620 words for falconstar/hallelujah
The leaves were soft under his paws. They crunched lightly as he walked, surging up between his toes. A chill went through his spine at each step. But in a way it was refreshing. It was like continuous jolts of reality, waking him up from his ever-present exhaustion. He had needed a respite, an escape. In short moments, in seconds, minutes, hours, the camp had been plunged into chaos – a new kind of chaos unknown to Magpiestar. And in his long moons, he had known many kinds of chaos. He had seen kittens pass, mothers fall, warriors sacrifice. He had seen apprentices go to Starclan without a name to be chanted. He had seen deputies crumble. Perhaps he had been too entangled in his own thoughts, the way he had been for many long moons. He shook his head to himself, pushing these thoughts away. He had come to the very edges of the territory he called home to escape the chaotic fear, the suspicion, the hidden glances he had little patience for anymore.
He sought some form of comfort, someone to pretend that all he had finally adjusted to would not change. But who would do such a thing? Who would dare approach him? The number was few, if existent at all. A different Magpiestar may have sought comfort, but this one steeled himself in solitude. So for now, Magpie was alone. He paused at the very edges of Riverclan territory, wavering on the scent line that washed over him. The grass beyond waved, even the shadows of his swamp destination seemed to call to him. He passed the border, sinking into the earth. Its gentle caress on his skin was calming. For all that the river had taken from him, it gave so much. He moved resolutely ahead, into the swamps. He needed a sanctuary, somewhere no one could find him. He needed to vent his grief. His attempts a few nights before had led to near disaster. He could still feel the soft moss and reeds of his nest – of the nest he had shared with Willowbreeze – shredding beneath his furious claws. It pained him to remember. And so he kept moving, because movement was the only way to forget.He threaded his way through the swamp, seeking somewhere to settle himself. Upon finding such a place, he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. There was a quiet that had descended, interrupted only by the whistle of wind through the tall reeds. Occasionally his ears perked as a mouse scuttled nearby, though he made no move to hunt. Eventually his breathing evened. His chest rose and fell in time with the swaying of the grasses. The massive black and white tom’s face relaxed into the peace of oblivion. Yet he twitched slightly, shifted, restless in his sleep. Because something was missing, well, many somethings were missing.
They were little things, thoughts and sounds. They were names and relationships and those little moments one held dear. But if he were to wallow in these, to let them consumed him, he would die out there. He rose to his paws, feeling suddenly fidgety. He couldn’t stay still, the silence of it all seemed to suffocate. He shook out his pelt, his shoulders hunching slightly. His eyes were slightly narrowed, deep in thought. His characteristic bitterness sank deep in the set of his lips. Without thinking consciously of where he was going, he began to wander along the borders, one paw after another, letting the mingling scents of the swamp wash over him. He was utterly oblivious as he wandered, lost utterly in his own thoughts. After all, outside the carefully laid territories of the clans, who would dare challenge him?
this city is my church
