[song of the caged bird] dizzy May 3, 2016 21:25:08 GMT
Post by feeling kinda blue on May 3, 2016 21:25:08 GMT
Maybe it was cliche but misty days were Mistpaw's favorite. She'd woken up early to find the sun hidden behind rolling sterling clouds and thick fog crawling through ShadowClan's camp. Everything was muffled and slightly damp, the scent of rain heavy on Mistpaw's tongue when she'd crept from the apprentice den. An unseasonable chill gripped the clearing, keeping her denmates cuddled up together and fast asleep. A glance around camp had informed Mistpaw that there wasn't really anyone else stirring either, no one in a hurry to quit their warm nests for the damp paws of ShadowClan's marshier territory. Such things had never stopped Mistpaw though and the mysterious roll of white fog and shimmer of mist on the leaves had beckoned the light she-cat from camp. Silently she prayed to StarClan her mentor wouldn't be upset but Stormfrost was seldom upset with much.
Nearly as pearl grey as the fog, Mistpaw slipped from camp and into the shadowy territory beyond. Faintly the young she-cat wondered if her aunt, Asterstripe, would be out and about. Without any real direction in mind, Mistpaw set out half looking for her tabby striped aunt. It was always nice to spend a quiet morning with her since Asterstripe was much easier to talk to than her father. After wandering for quite a ways however, Mistpaw decided to change her course and headed for a crooked little stream that cut its path in a steep ravine south of camp. All around her, dark tree trunks towered like silent guardians and fog tumbled about her paws like playing kits. Mistpaw moved with the flow of the territory, just like Stormfrost had been teaching her, winding over and around gnarled knots of roots, sliding smoothly under fallen tree trunks, taking the path of least resistance much like a raindrop rolling down a leaf. Her small white paws were speckled with mud from the damp ground but were nearly silent, everything muffled by the gloom. It was wonderful in Mistpaw's mind, this secret world full of mystery and quiet.
At last she made it to the ravine, the stream bubbling away surrounded by steep banks. A few boulders dotted the bank, some situated just right for sitting just above the water. 'Flow with the land,' Mistpaw reminded herself, cool blue eyes seeking the best route down the steep ravine. Quick, clever feet carried the petite blue-point apprentice down into the ravine with barely a rustle from the ferns and bracken that grew all around the stream. Smiling, a soft fleeting feature for Mistpaw, she made her way along to one of the boulders that jutted out over the water. Most often boulders like this were simply used to jump over the stream but when she managed to climb on top, the light colored she-cat simply sat back on her haunches. Bringing her grey tail around so the tip rested over her white front paws, Mistpaw took a deep breath of damp air and closed her eyes. Meditation was a common enough exercise when she trained with Stormfrost, an exercise in focus and self-control, honing senses and bringing about awareness. It was a personal favorite.
Taking a deep breath the young she-cat savored the scent of rain in the air, the muffled sensation that the clouds had dropped down to cover the forest. Systemically Mistpaw focused on one sensation at a time, starting with the cold stone under her paws. It was damp from the fog and cold from the temperature drop overnight, smooth and weathered from centuries of wind and rain. On the next breath in she focused on the continuous rush of water below her, the water probably much cooler than the stone but full of energy as it bubbled along its way. Small fish swam here and if she focused hard enough Mistpaw could almost imagine them, their silver scales flickering in the low light. Tension she had not been aware of crept out of Mistpaw's shoulders as she continued, listening to a magpie cry out in the distance and listening to the churn of moving water. A deep sense of calm pooled in her belly, seeming to settle the young she-cat more into the cool stone underfoot. It was a bone-deep sensation that contrasted starkly to the mentally awake sensation of letting sounds, smells and sensations simply move through her. She was surrounded by them, part of them, but choosing to not engage. Acknowledging but not reacting.
NOTES: this character is more chill than i will ever manage to be