AN
Damn, sorry for forgetting to post on Saturday (if anyone is reading). I was just kind of busy with uni and stressed out over what now seems as almost nothing.
"Who are you?"
Bright figures of cats stood before him, shining eyes staring at him. There was no pupil or iris, just bright light; however, he still felt their gazes rested on him as he stared at each one of them. There were four of the bright, glittering cats with stars in their fur, sitting in a semi-circle in front of him. It smelled of all the four seasons, as far as Wanderer could tell. No one said a word.
"Who are you?" Wanderer tried again, sheathing and unsheathing his claws, which pierced the soft soil easily. He looked at his paws. The soft ground was covered in short grass and crawling with ants and the like, everything rushing around, doing its duties.
His eyes then darted around the place, taking in the view of the large meadow with a river running across it and into the forest surrounding it from most sides. On one side was an upward-sloping area turning into hills and a mountain. There seemed to be burrows in the hills, tunnels, half on one side of the river, half on the other. The shining cats continued to observe him. So he then observed them after conluding he had no idea where he was.
The four of them were all rather different cats. The leftmost was a small tortoiseshell shorthair she-cat with bright yellow eyes, looking exactly like the one he had encountered just less than three years earlier. He sensed some recognition in her eyes, but not exactly friendliness. The eyes were sharp, yet soft, just like the ones of the large tom by her side, an obviously proud, muscly silver tabby warrior with some sort of yellow-green eyes, which in colour matched the rightmost calico she-cat's eyes. The calico cat, he noticed, had long fur similar to his own, but was not as large as he was. If his sisters were any measure, she would not grow past the average she-cat size much; or at all. The last cat left was yet another tom, this one a small dark brown tabby with strikingly bright amber eyes. His gaze was soft, but the coldest out of the four.
The calico she-cat seemed the friendliest out of them.
When he was done observing his audience, they were still sitting there in utter silence. No one let out a single sound; almost not even breathing. "Who are you?" Wanderer attempted once more, little hope left with him. He sat down, waiting in silence. Thinking some more. How did one wake up from a dream? It was clearly a dream. An irritating one. If he could not wake up, mainly because he knew of no techniques to exit a dream, then at least how did he get those cats to talk?
It was slowly becoming uncomfortable.
He stood up and circled the spot where he had been sitting and standing, then began walking away from the cats sitting on the edge of the river, flicking his tail once in agitation. When he stopped in front of the forest to look over his shoulder, his instincts and reflexes made him jump and his in surprise, fur fluffing up defensively.
The odd cats were right behind him.
He shook his head and waited for a moment for his fur to lie flat again and his heart to relax. Then he walked away again. They continued following him. "Who are you?" He asked it every few moments, meanwhile leaping over fallen trees, too low branches and protruding roots. There were many trees in that area, packed tight together. The other half, over the river, did not seem as thick, at least not from outside.
He clumsily climbed one tree once it seemed impossible to move onwards any other way. His claws tore the bark away as he attemped to hold on, barely finding proper purchase, leaf after leaf loudly falling off the trees as he caught them with his flailing claws. He was no tree-climber.
His panting increased as he continued leaping from one tree to another using the thickest branches to close the gap; several times he nearly met his demise-by-falling due to his lack of skill and training in climbing trees. He dared not fall; the dream seemed far too real to be uncautious.
As he continued deeper into the tangled trees, which seemed to be bigger and bigger with every step and leap further, he found himself atop a tree where several cats could easily and comfortably fit. And such trees continued to line up, many branches entangled firmly and serving as steady bridges between the treetops. Wanderer crossed several of them, noticing how it wound around many trees in between and made a complete circle, some of the trees in the centre also connected to the outer ones.
"TreeClan," a steady voice broke the silence. Wanderer's tail fluffed up and eyes widened as he jumped up and spun around to face the strange cats. It was the silver tabby tom who spoke.
"What?" Wanderer said.
"TreeClan," the tom repeated. "This is the camp of TreeClan, my Clan." The white tom remained silent, watching the large tom carefully. "I am their former leader. Do you know about the life of... feral cats?" When the dreaming tom said nothing, he continued: "Our life consists of care for ourselves and others and of hunting our meals. We have nothing served to us. Our ancestors had to find this place, had to make a camp out of it. Had to divide the territory with the others; the history of the Clans, though, is of little use to you now." He paused. "But what you should know is that Clan bonds are more important than anything to us. Each Clan is one large family."
Wanderer finally interrupted him. "Why are you even telling me this? No, wait," he stopped the tom before he could reply, "How can I see dead cats in my drem, cats I have never seen before?" The four let out chuckle-like sounds and snorts, whiskers twitching in amusement.
"Of course, pardon us for our rudeness," the silver tabby tom said. "We are indeed the deceased leaders of the four Clans, but what you do not know about the life of the Clans is the belief in us, cats of StarClan. We watch over those we left behind and communicate with them in our own special way. We also come in dreams." Wanderer nodded, but could not quite grasp it, though it seemed simple enough. Dead cats, the afterlife.
"But why me?" he said finally.
The cats hesitated.
"You are the Wanderer," the tortoiseshell she-cat said. "We have been observing you. You live the soft life of a kittypet, certainly, but you wander over the warmer seasons from one house to the other, and sometimes, though rarely, also paying visits to other kittypets during the harshest days of leafbare. You were often there for kittings of she-cat kittypets, helping them with their kits when they were tired." There was a heavy pause. "Hard times are coming for the Clans. I might have insulted you, in case you took it as an insult, when you were but five moons old, but I could not let a kittypet steal the food we really need." She paused again, mouth slightly open. "You are showing great compassion for other cats and a certain amount of skill when it comes to caring for others. You may lack the knowledge of healing herbs, but you have the capacity to learn it if you wish. You have the qualities any Clan would want in their medicine cat. Do you understand me, Wanderer?" Pause.
"Not really," he drawled, trying to ease the blow of the negative response by making it longer. The tortoiseshell she-cat sighed.
"In short, we want you to learn about all the herbs with our aid and help out all the Clans when need be. Once you are ready, we will inform them of you as additional help to all of them. You are called Wanderer. So, wander. Wander the Clans as a neutral cat and aid them," said the cold, dark brown tabby tom, amber eyes locked onto Wanderer's green ones. "Will you do it?" He paused, then said: "You can remain a kittypet if you stay with your first home, the one closest to the forest. But you will also be welcome to reside in the forest with any of the Clans."
"We will make sure to properly teach you everything," the calico she-cat piped in, flicking the tip of her tail excitedly. "Including where everything is inside the forest." She paused. "Of course, we won't be teaching you healing. The medicine cats will do that." Her whiskers, for some reason, twitched with amusement.
The cats and the surroundings faded, Wanderer's eyes now staring at the dark inside of the room he slept in inside the human home.
A dream alike the one with odd cats and a thing such as StarClan had not come to him in a while, only the same one repeating in parts every day. He had dreamed it first on the last day of an especially cold autumn; the autumn that had ended just before the current raging winter. Or leafbare, as the feral cats called it.
Just the sight of the terrible weather outside made his fur bristle slightly; it was some sort of fear. He did not want to be out there. He knew what it was like and that he was most likely going to end up with duties on such days again, someday, but now, he did not want it. Not one bit of the harsh cold.
He proceeded to turn his back to the window, glancing at the sleeping humans in the process. All three slept together again that winter, cuddled under many covers, keeping their warmth together. As far as Wanderer understood, the young daughter was afraid of the howling wind and other noises coming from outside, thus the parents took her into their bed. Also, the terrible weather conditions locked everyone in, allowing the humans to stay at home instead of fulfilling their usual duties.
He wished for a blanket, something to curl up underneath to keep him safe and even more warm, but fell back asleep anyway.
The smell of all the seasons mixed together washed over him again. There was something different this time, though. There was only one cat.
Wanderer flinched back, relaxing as he saw the calico she-cat twitch her tail amusedly. She was indeed the friendliest out of them as he had guessed, the tortoiseshell she-cat being too protective of her Clan, the silvery tabby tom too proud and just and the brown tabby tom too cold. She was relaxed, calm. He remembered her well; Smallstar, age 832 moons, or nearly eight years old, at the time of her death. Before receiving her nine leader lives, she went by her warrior name Smallclaw, being an exquisite fighter of WindClan, later its deputy and, finally, leader.
"Long time no see." She had rather a soft voice and gaze, though her yellow-green eyes pierced the barrier around one's soul.
"Indeed," Wanderer replied. "I have not seen any of you in almost a moon." She flicked her ear, saying nothing. There was something in her eyes, though. "Yes, the dream repeated itself to me over and over during all this time. Is it the doing of you, StarClan cats?" Her whiskers twitched.
"Just mine," she confessed. "We could not sense any answer from you. You never gave it, no matter how many times you went through the dream."
"Because I do not have an answer yet," Wanderer offered.
"It has been a moon," Smallstar mewed quietly, sitting on the soft, warm soil, wrapping her tail over her white paws. He could hardly hold her yellow-green gaze when it had fear and sadness burning in it.
"I know," Wanderer muttered under his breath, but the calico leader heard him.
"Well, you will not be of much use during leafbare then, but we would still need you; whenever you decide to help the Clans, if you choose to do so at all, your help will be appreciated. A darkness is creeping into the cats, and there is a storm coming in the future, but not a snow one." Smallstar stood up again and flicked her tail. "Enjoy the warmth of fire."
Her image faded from his mind, her final words echoing in his mind as he once more awoke in the dark room. The humans were still, the wind seemed to weaken increasingly and the snowing had stopped at some point. There was no fire upstairs, but it was nevertheless warm. There, the humans had some odd metal item he only ever saw in their and their daughter's rooms during winter; he had never managed to catch its name, but it had a long black line, called a cable or the like, if he remembered well from the times they were dealing with the TV and other strange items, connecting it to one of the walls and that was when it worked. It kept the room warm, radiating heat just like fire, but sometimes Wanderer felt better sleeping on the floor, next to it, as it did not hurt, unlike fire.
Snow did not fall the following day. The sun found its way through the thick blanket of fluffy clouds, some of the pale blue sky peeking through, as well. The humans dared leave the house, but carried long wood-and-metal items they used to lift the snow and remove it from their path. They did not leave outside of the fences.
Much unlike Wanderer, who did not take a pawstep out of the doorway of the house, Fleck seemed to be hyper, running around uncontrollably and unpredictably across the yard, snow flying up in piles wherever the black and brown pup went. Wanderer could only snort in disapproval, hissing and pawing at the pup's large ears whenever the dog attempted to push or pull the tom into the snow. Fleck was resilient.
In the end, Wanderer found himself leaping through the fluffy snow, bits of it melting and clinging onto his long fur in cold clumps. The similar was happening to Fleck, but the pup seemed unmoved by it. The daughter, much larger than usual in her thick and warm and apparently snow-proof clothing seemed to be having fun, as well, tackling down both the animals. Fleck had a blast, the opposite of how Wanderer felt about the winter outing to the yard.
The older humans called to their daughter, who left the animals alone and rushed over to her parents, the three gathering snow and creating large balls of it, one just slightly smaller than the daughter.
Wanderer felt strong paws hit his back, letting out a hiss and dropping to the ground, rolling over. He succeeded only at gathering more snow onto his fur, leaping to his paws in frustration. A tom as large as himself, perhaps even larger and more muscular, stood before him, fur dark grey, almost black. It also had snow in it, but the grey tom seemed not to care.
"Finally out of the house!" the tom commented cheerfully, whiskers twitching in amusement as he watched Wanderer shake himself in a failed attempt at removing the snow frozen onto his fur. It would melt soon enough, the white tom hoped.
"Not exactly my wish," he replied, licking his chest.
"Why not?" The other tom seemed enthusiastic about being outside. Wanderer shared none of his feelings about winter and snow.
"Snow, cold," he began, interrupted by Fleck, who barrelled into the grey tom, who jumped up and barely survived the playful collision, fur bristled in fear and shock. Fleck ran around them in circles, barking here and there, his tail never stopping. The grey tom's fur slowly flattened again as he snorted.
"You have a pup. The worst kind," he commented, then sat down. Snow was piled around them, but mostly already scattered and flattened by Fleck and Wanderer's chasing and Fleck's general running about. "Anyway, I have come here for more than to shove you into snow, which will come later." He flicked his ears nervously, eyes glancing at the pup a few times. "You know Spots?" Of course Wanderer knew Spots, flicking his ears in confirmation to the grey tom.
"Hey, Ash," Wanderer interrupted him. The large tom tilted his head in question, the flick of his tail telling the white tom to continue. "Don't tell me you are having kits with her."
Wanderer could see Ash feeling hot under his green gaze, yellow eyes looking away worriedly. "I know, she is young, you told me. But only one ever died in all these years because she was young and weak. Spots is not weak and her humans take good care of her. They still do, even though they know she is with kits. She is even more cared for now, actually, she told me that once when I had to visit her. They won't let her out into the cold."
Wanderer sighed. "All right, all right. I am sure Spots will be all right," he calmed the grey tom, shaking his head. Spots was indeed an exquisitely healthy and strong she-cat, he could not argue that. And she was young, but nevertheless nearing her second year of life. She was born near the end of winter, after all. They would celebrate her birthday in a couple of months. The humans seemed to like celebrating their pets' birthdays, never missing a year.
"Yes. Yes, she will," Ash said. "I will try and go see her." With a flick of the tail, the tom disappeared over the stone wall that surrounded the house, forgetting that he was going to shove Wanderer into the snow a few more times.
Wanderer got up and, continuing to ignore Fleck's inviting barks, strolled back towards the doorway. With a few light hits of his paw, he managed to make Fleck give up and play with the humans, who threw balls of snow which he chased over and over, unable to catch them or bring them back. Stupid, stubborn. Crazy. Wanderer did not know how else to describe the pup.
As he waited for the snow to get out of his fur, the warmth radiating through the open door, he stared out towards the forest. His first home, and the only one he could call home out of the others he passed through sometimes, was a house staring out on the hard and rough grey road wide enough for only one transport item to pass abreast, a thing he once believed to be alive, a thing whose name he still did not know, but some cats perhaps did. Across the road was a large open meadow stretching down a slope towards a forest. The forest in his dream, he knew. In winter, though, those trees were bare of leaves.
For a moment, he seemed to have caught sight of several cats patrolling their border. If there were cats and he had not hallucinated, they were from LakeClan, he knew. The tortoiseshell she-cat was the former leader of LakeClan.
Wanderer shuddered as a light but cold wind blew over him, cooling his cold and damp fur. Licking his chest and shoulder a few times, he retreated into the house. It was not a good day to be outside.
AN
Well, there is the chapter. Make sure to tell me what you think of the story now! Anything constructive is welcome :3
The next chapter will definitely be this Saturday, 28.10.2016., perhaps in the laterish afternoon my time (GMT+1).