SWEET & LOW [open]

It was late and he probably should have been in camp. Now was the time for the moon and he—named for the sun—ought to have been curled up tight in his nest with his nose pressed close to Lionpaw’s paw. With his back against Shellpaw. He should have been home but the silence had been killing him ever since he’d settled into the moss of his nest. Or near-silence. It was never quite quiet in RiverClan, how the other Clans could think without the soothing babble of a river nearby was beyond him. Even with it sometimes his thoughts were far more deafening than anything else the Clan had to offer.

It seemed like a cat who so rarely spoke ought to have liked the silence, but he didn’t. It smothered him with its weight, left him choking and falling into his thoughts. So he’d slipped out of camp like a thief might steal away at night. He’d snuck away with Lionpaw and Shellpaw when they were kits once too. Stole away and watched as his sister’s head disappeared under the surface of the water—

“The moon turns everything to silver,” Sunpaw startled himself with words. His voice was soft and quiet, and he sat in the middle of the Twoleg Bridge with his tail around his paws. The silence around him was shattered. His silence was shattered. He so rarely talked anymore. Was always afraid that his words would carry themselves off in a flurry of apologies that he couldn’t ever quite make up for. Didn’t want others to worry about him when he started speaking them. So lately he’d just kept his words to himself.

Now though, he liked the taste of them on his tongue. Maybe it was because he was alone, and the river was swiftly running under his paws—it was more like ink than water, dark and swift and deadly—and it seemed like someone he could talk to. A dangerous enemy, a valued friend. So he settled down until his belly touched the planks underpaw and inched forward until his snowy-colored toes dangled over the edge of the bridge. Watching the water drift below, with the moon glimmering like dashes of silver on its black surface, he felt as though he were somehow moving while staying in place. Sunpaw inhaled, and he began to talk.

“It’s like StarClan dusted the entire forest—look, even my fur looks different in the dark. Not bright and warm anymore, I could be a stranger if I could see my own face. I guess that’s why we scent things. Speaking of scents, the night smells different than the day. I wonder why that is?” He talked about nothing in particular. “I would wear stars in my fur if I could—I wonder what it’s like to breathe the taste of starlight. Is the scent of night the closest thing we have to what is lost?”

Nothing in particular but everything all at once. It seemed beyond him and wildly profound. As ungraspable as the river coursing beneath him, and he shut his eyes, “I think things are easier at night.”