You like? Each chapter is filled with as much emotion as possible, because I want you to feel something. Tell me what you feel in the comments, or simply tip. I am open to criticism.
When I was born, I could see nothing but black. And black, endless black like a deep void. I started to mew, a high-pitched, mournful wail. I felt the rough yet soothing tongue of who I guessed to be my mother, and quickly did I realize her warmth, her presence, her open heart yet protective outer shell.
We both did not favor boys, for my father had been a sly one. His name was Windysong, with his smooth voice which indeed earn its name, and my mother's name was Sandyfur. I had looked much like her at the time. My sandy pelt with its smooth, thick chocolate stripes were much appealing, if I did say so myself, but it felt like two moons until I could open my eyes.
Once I saw my mother, I squeaked, "Who are you?" "But I am your mother of course, dear one." She gave me a soothing lick on the head, and I purred so loudly I shook. I always had a deep, velvety purr; I had inherited it from my father.
I knew my mother and I were smitten.
We did everything together. I groomed myself when she groomed herself, I ate when she ate, I purred when she purred and so forth. My father avoided us after my birth, but he was there as she was actually birthing me, she could remember his blue eyes glazed in pain and his stillness, so still, she described, it was as if he were not living at all, except for his tail-tip twitching as fidgeting, giving the spark of life that soared only so massive through himself.
He left us, he did. He became a rogue, but as I hurtled into apprenticeship he visited me, through the thick brambles that would shroud the camp. I can admit one thing, although: there were much too many boys in my apprenticeship.