Flight
by
Misty
1
Ice blue eyes gazed at the rising sun, and the lithe she-cat stood. Rain fell on her dark brown tabby pelt, a pelt that was only marked by a splash of white over her left ear.
She could see how many cats still stared, and how they didn't stare at her brother and sister, Softpetal and Elmfoot. Well, at least not as much.
"S-Soaringhawk?" Softpetal, always shy, asked cautiously. "How was your vigil?"
"Mistystar put me in the worst part of the camp to look after," Soaringhawk hissed under her breath, so only her sibling could hear. "And she gave me this lovely name... however, who could blame her? After all, I do look just like our father!" She emphasised these words.
"Not exactly like him," Softpetal murmured cautiously. "Your belly isn't white. And there's that kit mark on your ear..."
"Yes, but I have his eyes and the rest of his pelt. And a more feminine version of his build. Who cares?"
Softpetal was silent. She couldn't deny that there was prejudice against her sister that wasn't as directed to her or Elmfoot. Yes, she and Elmfoot occasionally received dirty looks, but rarely. Recently after her first litter had been apprenticed, Dawnflower had fallen in love fast with the evil Hawkfrost, and gave birth to his kits only a few days before his death.
Softpetal and Elmfoot had taken after their mother, with pale gray pelts and amber eyes. Yes, Elmfoot had a white belly, but other than that, there was no big sign that they were Hawkfrost's kits.
Soaringhawk was a different story.
Her warrior name was a combination of insult and bad feelings. Mistystar had been sent to the elders early because of Hawkfrost, so that he could be deputy. After the battle in which both Hawkfrost and Leopardstar had been killed, Mistystar stepped up as the rightful leader.
Of course she harbored bad feelings.
Hawkfrost's evil plot had been like his father's: take over the forest. But to everyone's surprise, they had been interrupted by none other than Brambleclaw, his own half-brother.
Soaringhawk's half-uncle.
She had good genes, that was true. But they were overlooked. Nobody seemed to notice that her own full aunt was a medicine cat.
"Did th vigil go well?"
Speaking of her aunt...
Mothwing padded towards Soaringhawk, sitting down next to her. The medicine cat's amber eyes studied her carefully.
"It was all right," Soaringhawk lied. She always thought it a sense of duty to keep the truth of her feelings from Mothwing. Her brother's death and betrayal had deeply shaken her, and nobody knew when she was going to lose it.
"The Gathering's tonight," Mothwing said weakly. "I'm sure Mistystar will invite you."
Soaringhawk held back the urge to roll her eyes. The only reason Mistystar would invite her was if she invited Softpetal and Elmfoot, to keep up appearances around the other Clans.
How Soaringhawk wished she could be in one of those different Clans... ShadowClan, the tricksters, always seeming to be assumed guilty. WindClan, the cunning, always wanting peace. ThunderClan, the brave, equally peaceful or cunning, but having no doubts about settling things in battle if needed.
RiverClan hated her.
"Soaringhawk!" She winced at the call of Blackclaw, the deputy. "Yes?" Soaringhawk sighed, turning to face him.
"I want you to go on patrol with Voletooth and Splashpelt," he said. "Listen to everything they say, they're older than you."
"Of course, Blackclaw."
"No mouth!"
"Of course, Blackclaw."
Before he could scold her for being mouthy again, Soaringhawk turned and found Voletooth and Splashpelt standing, waiting for her. Splashpelt's apprentice, Walnutpaw, stood at the black and white she-cat's side.
"Nice morning, isn't it?" Soaringhawk asked in an attempt to be cheerful. She only got shot suspicious glances. Walnutpaw, who only had been apprenticed a few suns ago, stared at her with wide eyes. He was relating her to the cat who's stories had been told of when he was a young kit.
"We'd better go," Splashpelt finally murmured, obviously still unsure. The she-cat led the way as they padded towards the lake to fish.
Large bass swam in the shallows, the dreary sky making their normally silvery scales seem dull and gray. Cautiously, carefully, Soaringhawk began to wade into the water. If she controlled her steps just right, they wouldn't notice her.
Carefully, she raised a dripping dark paw, poising it over a fish. Her long claws extended, and she could tell that the others were watching.
Flash!
Her paw whisked under the water, hooking into the bass's gills and flinging it out of the water, so that it lay flopping on the shore. And the other fish barely noticed a thing.
Nobody could deny that Soaringhawk was the best fisher in the Clan.
She went for more fish, until four, one for each of them, lay gasping for breath on the sand. Unable to suppress a glow in her blue eyes, Soaringhawk got back to shore, taking one of the fish and burying it so that they could come back for it later. The others grudgingly copied her movement.
Soaringhawk could feel their eyes on her as she padded forward. They were waiting for her to mess up, waiting for her to do something outrageous.
Like her father.
This was not supposed to happen. When she had been a kit, she had had high hopes for her life. She never noticed the strange looks shot at her, never noticed the odd preference that others felt toward her siblings.
Until she discovered that her 'high hopes' had to be her father's, and grandfather's, ambition.
xxx
Yes, short, but I wanted to just test this thing out, first. What do you think of my first story?