-deep breath- The long-awaited second chapter. Wow. Never thought I'd see the day, considering the fact that I didn't even have a chapter outline just three weeks ago. I guess kicking your own butt into action really does work. (And I could go there, but I really don't feel like it today. So I'll pass on it.)
And now for a few review replies.
[ ; "If Smokethorn is not the deputy, how TF does he have the authority to punish Rushwhisker? A cat that is not the deputy or leader can't do that, period."] Without giving too much away about the future of this fic, I'll tell you that there's a general exception here. You see, everycat in the Clan is aware of the fact that Rushwhisker's pretty crazy—it's not like it's that hard to figure out; all you have to do is observe—so there are some lenient lines in that area. Also, since Smokethorn is his father and therefore his next-of-kin, you sort of have to assume that the leader or deputy has given him some privileges.
[Shandril Wielder Of Spellfire ; "How old is Icepaw anyway? And I wasn't talking about Rushwhisker and Icepaw, although it was a bit graphic. Icepaw and her dad... *shudder*"] ...Oh, shit. It did sound like that, didn't it? DDD8 Okay, let me clear this up: in the original version [of chapter one] I posted, there was a part that said that Icepaw's father, Cloudstripe, came up behind her and jumped on her. That was some really stupid phrasing on my part, as I didn't mean it that way at all. What I really meant was that he was teasing her, in a friendly fashion; the line has been switched now, but what I meant to portray was just that they have a very strong parent-offspring relationship. -nod- I hope that particular section didn't confuse anybody too immensely.
In addition to the above point, I also had several people asking me what it was that Icepaw said that set Rushwhisker off, exactly. -mutter- See, I knew that I should have made it clearer. -_- So. When the two of them were at Sunningrocks while gathering moss, Icepaw basically started talking about her and her dad's close father-daughter relationship, a relationship that's kind of weak in Rushwhisker's case (…except, in his case, he wouldn't be a daughter xD). I hope that made sense, anyway.
Now, onto the show!
[Things Not Seen]
.reflection.
The endless gush of water pouring into the gorge seemed to go on for forever. As she watched it froth and bubble with her paws rooted to the ground, Duskwing wondered to herself where it all could possibly be coming from, and if there would ever be a day when the sun would rise over the horizon and the water would flow no more. Though rather on the frightening side, she thought the idea to be merely inevitable; there had to be an end to everything, right?
A soft cry calling her name startled her away from her thoughts and into reality. Turning her head, she spotted a tabby she-cat standing in the brush several fox-lengths away; only her head was poking out from the dense undergrowth, and a rather impatient expression drew furrows in her fur.
"Come on, Duskwing!" the newcomer meowed roughly. "Redfeather says to hurry up with whatever it is you're doing and get on with it, for StarClan's sake! We're the border patrol, and you know how--"
Duskwing interrupted her rambling with a quick "Coming, I'm coming!" Her tone was smooth. Without another glance back at the gorge, she hurried after Willowheart, who turned and padded back into the bushes. Both she-cats pushed their way through the leaves, which eventually opened out to a round clearing where a reddish tabby tom was pacing impatiently; a small silver she-cat stood nearby, looking nervous. When the two young warriors appeared, the ginger cat opened his jaws in a yowl, the fur along his spine bristling with indigence.
"Great StarClan, there you are! At last. Thank you, Willowheart, for fetching Duskwing here. Goodness knows what takes you so long! Dawdling, no doubt, when there's work to be done." Fixing Duskwing with a stern gaze, Redfeather continued with his scolding, his tone still portraying his irritation. "Cinderstar told us to check the WindClan border and train Mintpaw along the way, and that's just what I intend to do."
Duskwing blinked. "Of course, Redfeather; I apologize. It won't happen again." Her face had not changed once during the confrontation, her eyes staying trained on her superior's.
With a curt nod, the senior warrior whisked around. "Good. Let's go, Mintpaw!" The light grey apprentice bounded after him, the darker stripes along her back rippling in the midday sun, leaving Willowheart and Duskwing alone in the glade. Duskwing followed without another word.
After a moment's hesitation, she heard the pounding paws of pursuit coming up behind her. Willowheart appeared there, a curious look on her face as she eyed the dark brown tabby. "What's up with you today, Duskwing?'
In response, Duskwing froze in place, and then she quickly pushed the flat terror that rose in her throat away. This time around, though, her recollection was swift; when she faced her friend, Duskwing's level expression was calm and confident, her chin lifted slightly. "Pardon?" she questioned, her meow completely unlike its previous manner of a few heartbeats ago.
Only a little shocked at Duskwing's drastic change in personality, Willowheart stammered back, "Oh, I don't know . . . I suppose you seemed a little . . . off, or something. If everything alright?"
Although she didn't move, Duskwing mentally cursed herself for slipping so. She would have clawed herself, but of course her mask of instincts would never betray in allowing her to do so. Instead, she continued on coolly, "I'm fine. I apologize for making you worry."
Willowheart looked at her strangely for a moment before the corners of her mouth turned up into an easy grin. Nudging her fellow warrior playfully with her soft pink nose, she mewed, "Okay, then. You're so silly, Duskwing!" They loped away together, running side by side down the well-worn trail until they came to meet up with Redfeather, who was giving Mintpaw a few crouching pointers in the shade of a drooping willow. Duskwing was curious why the young grey apprentice was with the red tomcat instead of with her real mentor, Oakfoot. She whispered her concerns into her companion's ear, her voice showing nothing but friendliness now.
Willowheart regarded Redfeather and Mintpaw curiously for a moment. "I don't know where Oakfoot is, or what he might be doing," she admitted at last.
"Hmm," murmured Duskwing. "That's queer."
Willowheart nodded her head in agreement; and a few heartbeats of silence passed. Then, with a quick glace at Redfeather, Willowheart turned to Duskwing, and the dark tabby she-cat caught a glimmer of embarrassed excitement in her friend's eyes before she ducked her head. Barely moving her lips, she mumbled something hardly audible to Duskwing.
"I'm sorry, but what was that?"
She repeated herself, a little louder this time. "I like him."
"Like who?"
Willowheart jerked her head towards where Redfeather was just demonstrating how to wriggle your haunches while you stalked your prey. "Aw, c'mon, Duskwing! Who do you think?"
Duskwing stared in disbelief. "You like Redfeather?!"
Cringing inward a little, her friend balked and threw a glance at him to make sure he had not heard before carrying on in lowered tones. "Yes!"
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why?' Why ever not?" Willowheart gave a long sigh, and a dreamy look crept into her gaze as it stayed focused on the ginger warrior crouching in the shade several fox-lengths away. "I mean, his fur is so gorgeously coloured and sleek, and his voice flows over your ears so richly that you'd think it was honey. And those green eyes of his, I swear to StarClan . . ."
"You are such a mousebrain, Willowheart! You do realize that you're judging him entirely on his physical appearance, right? That you don't seem to have given any thought whatsoever to his actual personality? To the type of cat he might be after you look passed the good looks . . . ?" Duskwing blinked and trailed off. Had she really just said that?
It didn't seem that Willowheart had noticed the hesitation, though, as she ploughed on, "Hey, hey, now! I haven't gotten to that yet. I mean, I don't suppose that he's ever really spoken to me personally, but I've seen him around the kits in the nursery and his friends and everything, and he seems really great. Oh! And did I mention that . . ."
Duskwing wasn't paying attention to the rest. Her mind, including the thoughts that she usually kept so well guarded, were elsewhere.
Yes, she confided to herself in a rare moment of personal speculation, it was true. It was little more than a brevity, but still, it was true. She longed to flex her claws in anger at herself and guilt at the world, but her limbs were frozen, and the most she could allow herself to do was blink and incline her head skyward, as if she were watching the clouds.
Really, though, she was cursing.
Willowheart prattling on beside her eventually deposited her back into her mechanized world. She pulled a smile out of . . . somewhere and proceeded to paste it onto her face while she forced herself to look at her friend and listen to her babbling. So she was still gloating about Redfeather. Duskwing smothered the sigh and conscripted to attentiveness.
After a while, Redfeather signaled for them to come over. "My apprentice for the day is finished with her crouching lesson," he announced proudly as they approached. "Show Duskwing and Willowheart how it's coming along, Mintpaw!" Looking apprehensive, the little she-cat dropped down and crept forward, struggling to hold her body as instructed. When she had gone a few tail-lengths, she stopped and turned expectantly; Redfeather waved his tail in encouragement.
Sidling up beside the older warrior, Willowheart gave a throaty purr and flicked him with her tail. "You did great job of mentoring her, you know," she meowed softly. In response, he glanced uncertainly at her before nodding authoritatively.
"Err . . . sure. Thanks, uh, Willowheart. Now, let's finish this patrol. We'll trek along the WindClan border, and from there we'll get to . . ."
As he continued talking, Dusking had to restrain another huff of exasperation at the adoring twinkle in Willowheart's gaze. He is never going to look at you, she thought in annoyance. He's a senior warrior, for StarClan's sake! And what are you, a foolish young she-cat? You can dream all you like, Willowheart, but, really, since when have dreams come true? Remember that those dreams can just as easily turn into nightmares.
Life was a masquerade, a bloody masquerade! Oh, paper faces on parade, masquerade, masquerade. Duskwing's head was spinning like mad, and it felt oddly cloudy; she couldn't seem to shake the fog from her mind. Yes, a masquerade: that was the truth, and it crushed her, but what else could she do other than hide her face so the world could never find her? Nothing. Because it was a part of her, engraved so deeply into her skin that she doubted any amount of polishing could erase it.
She wore a mask of emotions, and the truth was that the emotions she portrayed were not her own.
Her façade . . . she wasn't even sure why she did it. Anyway, reasons really didn't matter; why ponder on the past when you had your whole future ahead to plan for instead? Even so, "plan" certainly wasn't the best-fitting word; she was rarely conscious of the fact that she never told anyone what she was feeling and instead played the part of a cat she wasn't.
Sometimes, on the various occasions that her awareness would peak and she would ponder over what she was doing and why, she pitied her "friends." No, they didn't know about her, and why should they? Her guise of deception was so total and flawless that she honestly didn't think that they had ever held doubts that the cat they knew as Duskwing wasn't, in fact, the real Duskwing at all. They treated her like they did all their other Clanmates, and she did the same back—it was as if they were equals. Together they gossiped, laughed, behaved like any friends simply having a good time enjoying each others' company. And so the pretense carried on.
Inside was where the true battle raged. While on the exterior Duskwing would appear calm and nonchalant at certain aspects, in her head she was nearly suffocated by the power of her thoughts. They longed to escape from their eternal prison, to break free of the cell-like walls that were the brown she-cat's mind, to speak their grace and opinion and question--but they never did. Sometimes they struggled against their invisible barriers, and sometimes they were close to breaking through . . . only to be halted by the shadowed cloak of convictions around her.
Everything was an act.
o0O0o
When the border patrol returned to camp, the four cats split and headed off to their respective duties. On the way back, they had found out from Redfeather why Mintpaw had been training with him that day over Oakfoot, her mentor: it turned out that Oakfoot's mate, Splashpelt, was giving birth to their kits that day, and he had wanted to stay in camp with her. Duskwing had smiled robotically at the explanation, knowing that new kits for RiverClan were always a good sign. Perhaps she would go and visit them later.
She decided to bring some food to the elders' den. From the fresh-kill pile she chose a rather plump rabbit; with leaf-fall setting in, all the animals in the forest, though already fat on greenleaf's indulgences, were making sure to eat as heartily as they could before the cold weather truly came. With the prey in her jaws, she padded across the reed-enclosed clearing and slipped inside the willow bush where the elders made their nests.
Inside, it was cool and airy, and you could just hear the whisper of the water rustling by the rushes behind. Tinglepelt, the oldest cat in the Clan, was curled in a grizzled ginger heap in one corner; while he dozed, two more elders shared tongues drowsily beside him. One of them, a light orange tabby, glanced up as Duskwing came in, sniffing, and then let out a purr. "Why, just look who's come to visit! Do you not have time for your old mum anymore?"
Duskwing merely looked at her mother, unable to speak around her mouthful of rabbit. Cherrywhisker had been a spirited warrior, but she had been obliged to retire to the elders' den because of her failing sight; her bright green eyes couldn't see much more than blurred shapes, and so she relied mostly on her sense of smell to lead her around. The third and final elder, Browntail, nodded his greetings to the newcomer.
Duskwing set her offering on the sandy ground. "Hello, Mother, Browntail," she meowed, dipping her head to each of them in turn. "I've brought you something to eat, unless you've already eaten . . . ?"
Her question was quickly answered by a jolly, "Oh, no! Not at all," from Browntail. Smiling just a little, Duskwing moved the prey closer to him; she had always liked the dark brown tom's boisterous, but good-hearted, manner. With a hearty, "Much appreciated, young'un," he plunged his cream muzzle into the rabbit and started to strip away the meat.
Cherrywhisker laughed and prodded him with her tail. "Leave some for me, won't you? Mouse-brained tomcat, always starving; it's no wonder you're so fat and lazy!" She rolled her nearly-sightless eyes and turned back to her daughter, whose expression was considerate.
"What about Tinglepelt?" Duskwing asked, glancing at the sleeping elder.
"Oh, don't you worry about him. If he's hungry when he wakes up, I'll ask an apprentice to fetch something for him," Cherrywhisker reassured her. She heaved herself to her paws and walked over to her kit, her bones creaking with age. Ignoring the loud chewing noises that rose behind her, she meowed, "I've missed you, dear one," and licked the top of Duskwing's head, who half-closed her eyes and purred at the touch. It felt nice.
Duskwing twisted her neck and rasped her tongue over her mother's shoulder before resting her head there. Strong emotions bubbled in her, and these were hard to restrain, for their weighty containments of deep love were powerful. For a moment she felt like a kitten again, nestled close to her mother's side with nothing in the world to care about, but now . . . She shook away the thoughts as if they were an irritable fly.
Stepping away, she mewed, "I love you, too, Mother. I have to go now, though."
Cherrywhisker's green eyes flickered to the side, their sight hazy and fading. "Of course you do. Well, I suppose I shouldn't keep you from your duties! Go on, now, and remember that I'm proud of you." There was a pause. "Your father would have been proud of you, too." With one last lick and a smile, the old ginger queen turned back to Browntail and the remains of the fresh-kill. Duskwing exited the den, her pawsteps thoughtful.
Her father had been Owlstorm, but he was dead now; he had died in battle with ThunderClan when Duskwing was very young. She could barely remember him. The memories she did have, though, were of a big, warm body nuzzling her gently as a tiny kit, and they brought pangs of loneliness to her heart. Her mother always said that she looked just like him, with matching dark brown tabby pelts and blue eyes. Duskwing wished she could have known him better.
"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly; she had been padding pathlessly across the middle of the camp clearing, and she hadn't been looking where she was going. With a bump and a startled cry, she walked straight into a dust-coloured tabby tom. Cowering into the earth, she stared upwards--right into a pair of blue eyes that were just like hers.
"Duskwing!" the tomcat meowed, surprise painting his voice. "What are you doing?"
Feeling very foolish, she flattened her ears and mumbled an apology. Her older brother was a kind, caring cat, and she knew he wouldn't really be angry, but she was still embarrassed at her klutziness. When she glanced up again, Aspentooth's gaze was amused.
Smirking, he chastised his little sister, "Silly she-cat! Always running into things . . . and cats. What's gotten into you these days?"
Though his tone was obviously teasing, she felt her skin grow hot under her fur and inwardly snapped at herself to hold the mask on and keep it from slipping, for StarClan's sake! She let mockery into her words, though, when she spoke. "Greatest apologies, O high and worldly warrior! I shall not cross your divine path again."
Even as she said it, her thoughts grew crestfallen. There had once been a time when she and Aspentooth had been fairly close for siblings of different litters, but that easy friendship had melted away as his status within the Clan became that of a senior warrior.
As if to state proof of this fact, Aspentooth suddenly raised his head and stared off into the distance like someone had called his name. "I have to go," he meowed abruptly. "Bye, Duskwing." With that, he brushed passed her and stalked hurriedly across the clearing to attend apparently more important matters. She stared blankly after him, blotting out mixed confusion and disappointment.
After a few heartbeats, she shook herself and gazed around the camp. Sunset was approaching, and what cats that weren't still out hunting or patrolling were sprawled lazily around, eating and laughing with their friends. She searched out Willowheart and was annoyed to see that she was parading after Redfeather again, hovering a few paces away while he shared a joke with Cinderstar and Finchflight. Aggravated with her friend's foolish fantasies, Duskwing went over to the fresh-kill pile again and took a small vole for herself.
She lay down beside the warriors' den, in the partial shade of a small shrub with orange flowers that smelled of honey. The sweet aroma filled her nostrils as she ate, clearing and soothing her thoughts. When she was done, she scraped dirt over the remains and got to her paws.
The camp seemed unusually quiet, and she wondered where everyone had gone. Snoozing in their dens, perhaps? Lazy furballs. The dark tabby shook her striped head, but rising in her heart was rather smug comprehension of where she was now headed.
Burbling river sounds echoed out across the late-greenleaf breeze as Duskwing made for the reed barrier. Just before she reached it, the stalks rustled and a lithe grey shape pushed through, its jaws gripping several pieces of prey--Rushwhisker, Duskwing quickly recognized. She stepped aside to let him through, and he strode right by her without seeming to notice her. Stopping herself from rolling her eyes, she pushed through herself once the way was clear.
She felt free once she was alone. She leapt away from the island using the stepping stones and plunged into the coppice, paws skidding on the wet ground. Her shadow kept pace with her as she ran alongside the river, looking strangely distorted and stretching longer by the heartbeat. Passed Sunningrocks she bounded, downstream away from the RiverClan camp and Fourtrees. Gradually, the undergrowth thickened, looking more like the dense ThunderClan trees that grew just across the sloshing expanse of water. Their branches swept out low above the ground, but though she had to duck every now and then she didn't stop. At least, not until she came to her destination she didn't.
When at last she reached the clearing, she slowed to a hesitant walk, her paws barely brushing the damp leaves that carpeted the forest floor. Absentmindedly, she noticed that it was suddenly very quiet--not even the birds chirped--save for the wind in the foliage. Duskwing imitated the silence.
She moved forward like a snake, letting her paws carry her soundlessly as she slithered down the gravelly ridge. The last rays of sun peeped through the enclosing trees, casting oddly-shaped shadows over the ground and causing glittering refractions to dance upon the surface of . . .
The Water.
There it was, standing smooth and undisturbed, and of course it was there, because it always was, and it always would be! No, Duskwing felt like purring as she glided up to its edge, it would never leave her, never reject her, never betray her. It would always be there for her.
She crouched beside it now, keeping her face solemn; it seemed to be appropriate, considering the surrounding atmosphere. Then, after a few moments more of silence, she let it go. Her jaws parted widely to reveal two rows of gleaming teeth, and, leaning over it, she saw the Water copy her as it grinned a huge grin, too.
Bubbling up inside Duskwing came a deep pang of satisfaction, and when it scorched her throat and announced its burning desire to be let out she didn't even bother to attempt restrictions. Before she could fully grasp what was happening, she was laughing; but it was not the friendly laughter one makes at a joke, no, it was much more. It was a cackle, a maniacal shriek of uncontrollable insanity. The sound bellowed from her lungs like it would never end (but of course all things do) and echoed dramatically around the tiny glade of a valley. Contained in the laughter was everything, absolutely everything: her daily troubles, her fears, her pain, her love, her pride, her mask--or the remnants of it, anyway, as it was shed from her like an adder sheds its skin.
Then, as quickly and suddenly as it had come, the laughter stopped.
Duskwing was still smiling as she lowered her gaze from the heavens. Her blue eyes flashed with crazed glee, as did the Water's. She looked down into those eyes, those great big other eyes that shimmered with fascination. Yet contained within them was more than that, a grim edge that was not unlike her earlier solemnness.
"You're insane," she told herself, calmly and clearly. Her voice was serious and did not contain an ounce of humour, as if she hadn't just announced her rather unstable state of mentality.
She let loose another cackle, although this bout did not last nearly as long. "Oh, Duskwing, you are so completely insane," she purred. She had been standing with her paws a shoulder-width part, but now she sat down with a thump and tucked her paws under her pale chest fur. Blinking down at the Water, she cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak.
"Why," Duskwing meowed, and genuine surprise coloured her words, "I do suppose I haven't actually said hello yet!" Another giggle followed the statement. "Goodness me, but I apologize for my ignorance. Hello, there, Water."
There was no answer, but she smiled nonetheless. Continuing conversationally, she prattled on, "How was your day today, hmm? Mine, well, I guess you could call it semi-eventful." She went on to tell the water all she had done since the sun rose, explaining in great detail how she had been chosen to attend the WindClan border patrol and what had happened along the way. She chatted about Willowheart's silly obsessions with a senior warrior that would never look twice at her as a mate, of her worries of her mother's failing sight, of her brother's ever-growing nonchalant attitude towards her, of the exact flavours of the vole she'd eaten earlier.
The discussion was engaging; Duskwing threw herself into it full-force, letting out every previously-unspoken thought on her mind and her opinions on everything. She snickered at the gossip, sighed at the tragedies, cooed over the thought of Splashpelt's newborn kits. Such constant palaver would have exhausted any other cat, but after so long without speaking her mind there was never an awkward pause to fill as she poured what would seem like her whole heart out.
In response, the Water said nothing.
At last Duskwing stopped and, keeping her gaze trained on Water, cocked her head to the side. There was a lull of sound, and then: "I notice that you haven't said anything yet, Water," she meowed with a frown. "Care to explain why that is?"
No reasoning came, and the brown tabby narrowed her eyes. "Very well," she snapped, aggravated, "be like that." Then her tone was light again. "Oooh, I've just thought of something! Do you want to play a game, Water? Yes, yes, of course you do!" Now she was bouncing up and down in her excitement, just like a kit overjoyed to be let out of the nursery. "Let's have ourselves a game, shall we? Yes, yes, a riddle game! We can ask each other clever questions and, oh, this is going to be so fun! Ahahahaha!"
More laughing. Then she calmed herself, sighing lightly in contentment before carrying on.
"Okay, I'll start and then you can guess. Hmm. First riddle!" She then asked:
What has a mouth but can't chew?
It was completely silent for a moment, and then . . . well, actually, nothing else happened, but Duskwing certainly seemed to think so. "Teehee!" she mewed, her whiskers twitching in amusement. "That was an easy one; kind of ironic, actually. Don't you just love irony?" She bared her teeth for another moment before mewing, "Now! Ready for another?"
If you break it,
It does not stop working;,
If you touch it,
It may be snared;
If you lose it,
Nothing will matter.
The Water sat thoughtful and quiet as ever, and after a while Duskwing purred. She enjoyed riddles very much, but she didn't often find somebody to share them with. And so they piled up in her head where they were cast whenever she was to think of a new one, always there and whispering to remind her of their presence. She was very glad that she had the opportunity to speak them now, and, rather on cue with her thoughts, said:
When you have me, you feel like sharing me.
But, if you do share me, you don't have me.
What am I?
Now all was quiet once more, leaving the brown warrior to duck and give herself a quick wash. When she had licked her creamy chest fur smooth and spotless, she raised her head and frowned at the Water, her mouth pulling downwards at the corners. "Come, now, Water!" she murmured, "that one wasn't all that hard! They are all around us, after all . . . ." When there was once again no answer, she let out a heavy sigh.
"Fine!" she snapped, but next time she spoke there was again good humour in her voice. "I suppose that you are just teasing, hmm? Waiting for another, and another, and another still after that. Hmmph! Very well, then, and here you are!"
Yet flying swiftly past,
For a child I last forever,
For adults I'm gone too fast.
Well, there certainly was a long lull after this, during which nobody uttered a word and not even the forest animals chattered to each other. After some time of staring down at the ground, a new riddle idea sprang into Duskwing's mind. Carefully unsheathing one paw, she stretched out one slender foreleg and drew it through the sand. The damp material held its shape well, and so as the tabby she-cat dragged her claw across the pebbly dirt twisting patterns were left behind.
When she was finished with her drawing, she pulled back slightly, pleased, and surveyed her work. Well, it wasn't exactly spectacular, but it was something! Turning back to the Water, she waved her tail at the feline-resembling image. While flicking the finishing touches of whiskers onto the picture of a cat, she began talking again.
"Hey, Water, check it out! See this picture? This picture I've drawn? This is your new riddle!" And, making the question of logic up as she went, she continued:
This she-cat's mother is my mother's daughter.
So who did I draw?
Done and rather proud of herself for such craftiness (because, though the riddle's answer was not entirely accurate in truth, she still considered it to be quite clever, indeed!), Duskwing raised her head and glanced at the Water. Yet again, her one and only condolence showed no acknowledgement that it neither heard nor cared. Crestfallen, her face fell.
The forest stood still for several heartbeats, hushed as though it was holding its breath. Then Duskwing was howling.
"Answer me! Oh, Water, why won't you answer me?" Her yowl echoed through the trees, full to the brim with mixed agony, sorrow, and sheer confusion. "Please! I'm begging you, Water, I need you! I need your help. I don't know how I can do this--this--this horrid thing of life--on my own. It's just so hard." Her caterwaul fell to a hoarse whisper. "Please."
Of course there was no answer, because since when do mere puddles of water speak? For that was all the Water was, just a shallow pool fed by a small tributary that branched off from the main riverbed. It was amazing how such a seemingly insignificant phenomenon could mean so much to one being.
Duskwing flopped to the forest floor, shaking. She made to bury her head in her paws, but before she could wallow in her self-pity she decided to give Water just one more chance. Leaning forward, she leaned over the edge of the Water and gazed down into its glassy black depths.
As she broke down, trembling like mad with gasping sobs, her reflection stared back at her.
And so ends chapter two. Woot!
Leave a review! In fact, let's make it into a bit of a competition.... ;) If you can/care to state the correct answer to all FIVE riddles mentioned in this chapter, you can have a prize. A cookie, maybe? Or perhaps a Warriors oneshot written especially for you [by myself], on the subject/characters of your choice? 8D I'm serious! But only if you get them right, of course. (PS! Send them to me via PM unless you want other people to see your guesses.)
I'm also curious to know...now that you've gotten a taste of each of them, between the two, which do you prefer more as a character? Rushwhisker or Duskwing? I was just, y'know, wondering, because I'm trivial like that. :P
(Personally, I am totally in love with both of them, but after writing this chapter I now realize that Duskwing is so totally crazy. Crazy, in a really wonky, intelligent way. xDD I never thought it would turn out that way, but it did, so oh, well~ ;D Still sexy!)
Love, love, and love,
--Annie;;/
Tuesday, February 24, 2009