After a week or two of not writing anything more than corrections for previous stories (And being embarrasingly stuck with FS) I woke up three days ago and thought to myself "Alright, you're going to publish something fresh and new, a short and simple story. You need a win already, Bilbz."
And well, here it is. Not too consistent, and I might go back to correct it a couple of times, but hey, it got me in the habit of writing for hours without stressing too much about it, so I'm thankful for that.
Every cat knows these rules, whether they are aware of their existence or not. The rules are set it stone. They are an instinct that flows through every single creature, be it in the form of a gentle trickle, a vigorous stream or an unstoppable bore.
They are there when the young tom lays eyes on a she-cat's slender pelt, which glimmers in the moonlight. They are there when the tired she-cat shelters herself from the noon's drizzle in a kind tom's cave. Sometimes they are there, too, when brave toms save each other from loosened dogs, fighting back as if they were one whole being. And the same goes for a pair of she-cats that happened to lap at the same lake.
All of them are strangers, but not for long…
Whenever there are two hearts that are ready for the deed, be them young or old, innocent or cynical, blissful or grieving, softened by hope or hardened in life's endless struggle; whenever two hearts meet eye to eye, they both see the rules displayed right in front of them.
Thus, they know what to do by heart, and the subtle, delicate dance that is The Courting Process shall commence.
Rule number one: Once at least one individual opens their ears to their heart, the words spoken by it will be impossible to ignore. Only by ending The Courting Process can those desires disappear, although that is never a guarantee.
Cinderpelt could barely believe it, after that look on his face…
When she told Fireheart about Sandstorm, about the she-cat who had given him her unwarranted attention for Starclan-knew how long; the tom had been utterly shocked, as if Cinderpelt had told him something as unbelievable as him being turned into a shrew.
But now, in the aftermath of the battle with BloodClan, Firestar was the one drooling over Sandstorm. He had shared his prey with her multiple times before, with just as much care as he would do with any of his other clanmates. Now he seemed to only live for that. His emerald eyes shone each time he saw Sandstorm come back from patrol, and he trotted up to her with longing haste, as if he had thought he would never see that she-cat again.
Had that passionate love always been hidden within Fireheart? Was it a spark that Cinderpelt ignited, or a feeling she herself spawned in the tom's heart? If the latter was to be assumed, the question then was; what would have happened between Sandstorm and Firestar if Cinderpelt had decided not to intervene? Would there even be an instance where the fire-pelted tom reciprocated?
What if Cinderpelt had told Fireheart what another she-cat felt for him? Would he love her just as much as he loved Sandstorm now?
Cinderpelt huffs. Once again, she catches herself reminiscing on what could have been. Her head keeps telling her that it is over, that she has matured and thus has to let go. She knows that her mind is on the right, she just hopes her heart stops being so immature anytime soon.
Rule number two: No matter what some may say or expect, neither side is inherently chosen to take the first step. Yet still, for The Process to begin, one side must eventually venture into taking said step.
Sparkpelt faced a task she could not accomplish, perhaps the first one in her life.
Compared to battle-training and hunting, being patient and collected was a skill that Sparkpelt found impossible to train herself into achieving. She had acted exactly like she had been taught to do, she had shown her affection for him in a multitude of ways, each more desperately blatant than the other, but Larksong somehow didn't get the hint.
Sparkpelt had done all she could think of. She had spent her spare time chatting with him, making attempts at teasing and flirting that just flew over his head. She had picked the juiciest pieces of prey, bested only by the ones given to elders and queens, and shared them with him whenever she had the chance. She had even gone as far as indirectly offering herself to be on the same patrols as him, regardless of whether she had already been out on duty earlier that day.
Sandstorm had told her That's the way it works: The she-cats send subtle signs and then wait for the toms to make the first move.
When Sparkpelt expressed her own frustration over her experience with Larksong, trusting that secret to her elder before her own mother, Sandstorm had shrugged. It had been the same with her and Firestar, she then said. That only made Sparkpelt feel even more anxious. If the legendary leader of Thunderclan had been utterly oblivious to the attention of a she-cat like Sandstorm, then what chance did Larksong have?
Sparkpelt didn't want anything serious just yet. No bows of long-lasting love and no thinking of making a family together, but she still wanted something more with Larksong. It felt exciting to be around him, like an adventure that only they could ever get to experience. Larksong was funny, and smart, and as flustered as she felt to admit it, Sparkpelt knew he was quite a handsome tom, perhaps the most handsome out of any other ThunderClan cat.
If the she-cat could recognize herself feeling all of that for the tom, then why in Starclan was it so hard for her to say it out loud? Why was she supposed to wait? What was she supposed to wait for? For how long? Sure, Sparkpelt was young now, but that wouldn't last forever. How much time could she spare before she grew too reserved to say what she truly felt?
That sentiment was why Sparkpelt had led Larksong far away from any other Thunderclan cat. Both cats sat before the lake, with their eyes darting from the clear waters to each other, as if neither knew which sight to enjoy the most.
In that spot, and at long last, Sparkpelt spoke her heart. She told Larksong every single thing she wanted to say and more, so much more. Words simply flew out of her mouth, and so did the butterflies that moons of waiting had accumulated in her stomach, only to finally flutter in the air and then reach Larksong's black ears.
The tom listened in diligent silence, and when the she-cat was over, he could only let out a relieved sigh.
"I… I feel the exact same way, Sparkpelt… I was just so scared of how you would've reacted if I told you."
Rule number three: Once The Process has properly begun, everything that is said or done becomes a crucial part of its development. From then on, each side's natural traits will either attract or repel the other, strengthening their bond or weakening it accordingly.
Squirrelflight knew exactly why she had chosen him.
She bickered with Bramblestar more times than she could count. She often lingered between wanting to claw the tabby tom's ears off or longing to rest by his side in the cold of leaf-bare. It had always been that way: Unstable.
Bramblestar was stubborn, but in all honesty, so was Squirrelflight. He was a leader, and thus, he needed to be sure of himself, while she was his deputy, a voice in which he could confide, but also one that would present a challenge to his views so that, together, they could both reach an agreement that would benefit Thunderclan the most.
They were a team. Not only as leader and deputy, but as mates. They both wanted what was best for each other, even when they were at their lowest point. When Bramblestar was betrayed with the news of Leafpool's kits, Squirrelflight just couldn't blame him too much. She knew it was fair to endure the consequences of her actions, however much she had been pushed into lying, and she waited with solemnity for the dust of resentment to settle.
When the tom eventually forgave her, the she-cat recognized what every argument or fight between the two of them served to accomplish. It made her relish those moments where Bramblestar and her would let their headstrong nature subside, making way for their hearts to express that unbreakable love that they undoubtedly felt for each other.
The news of a coming litter, one which would belong to them and only them, made Bramblestar and Squirrelflight grow even closer. She was thankful for every second of honest fondness that followed.
Rule number four: If one side is reluctant to engage further into The Process, it doesn't necessarily mean that they have completely withdrawn from it. However, if this happens repeatedly, it might be a sign that The Process must be brought to an unsuccessful end, for both sides' sake.
Bumblestripe had tried his best, but it just wasn't enough.
Dovewing was the love of his life, he knew for sure that she was. He had been respectful. His gestures towards her had been kind and tender. He had made every effort he could to be there for her. He had given her time to think, to reconsider, to ponder the possibilities of a life spent by his side; yet, in every case, Dovewing neither accepted nor rejected him. She just seemed indecisive, which further confused Bumblestripe. Was she playing hard to get, or did she feel too pressured with the tom's attention?
Picking the wrong option would mean ruining his chances of being with Dovewing for the rest of his life, so he sought help from his father, Graystripe. He told him that love was complicated, full of arguments and misunderstandings, but that in the end both sides came out as better, more mature cats because of it. He used Millie and him as an example, telling Bumblestripe how much they argued during their journey to find the lake, and how in the end, they grew to love each other after the many hardships they went through together.
The story left Bumblestripe feeling even more conflicted. Were Dovewing and him always meant to feel distanced, to constantly bicker over their future together, because that was how a relationship worked? Or was he getting something wrong? Was there anything that the tom could do to show the she-cat how highly he valued her? With the way that Dovewing and Tigerheart stared at each other, did Bumblestripe even stand a chance of getting her love?
His only advantage was that Dovewing and him were clanmates. She would not betray the warrior code. She was not like that. She would stay in her clan, and maybe Bumblestripe would manage to finally open her eyes to his heart once and for all.
But then, Dovewing ran away, and so did Tigerheart. When the she-cat came back to the lake, the tabby tom's kits trailing behind her, Bumblestripe knew his hopes had been crushed, just like his heart.
And so, it remained, shrunken and defeated, blind to how the eyes of another she-cat yearningly loomed over the hopeless tom.
Rule number five: However personal and intimate The Process may be, outside forces will inevitably exert their effect on it, either edging the bond to be sealed against its adversities, or by ripping it apart completely.
Foxleap had been enthralled, and he couldn't even think of denying it.
He wasn't just impressed by Hazeltail's victory over him, or astonished with how swiftly the she-cat had managed to pin him to the ground- he should have definitely been worried about that, given how he was supposed to fight for his life that night. No. In his love-struck perspective, he hadn't been knocked off his feet, he had been swept off them.
Icewing, Mousewhisker and Berrynose were half-mocking, half-congratulating the defeat, since Foxleap had claimed it to be impossible. The reddish tom usually hated to be made fun of, that was the reason why he joked around and acted self-confident all the time, so he would be the one making fun of himself. Somehow now, Foxleap was deaf to the laughs from his clanmates. All he could focus on was how mesmerizing Hazeltail's leaf-green eyes looked from up-close. They contemplated him with fondness, yet they emanated a sense of superiority at the same time, as if they knew that they had captivated Foxleap just as easily as Hazeltail had defeated him. Foxleap hadn't ever thought that it was possible to drool over something as simple as a single glance, especially when a bloody and gruesome battle was approaching, but there he was, so utterly enchanted that, when the she-cat helped him get up, his façade faded away, leaving behind a humbler self.
He purred in amusement, accepting the embarrassing defeat and letting himself enjoy how nice it felt to laugh with the other young warriors. They joked around and bantered, if only to push away the certain havoc that was soon to be brought upon them. At least at that moment of bliss, they were all careless cats enjoying the virtues of youth.
Hours later, when dusk was soon to give place to the Great Battle, Foxleap told Hazeltail that, if they both managed to make it out alive, he would like to have a rematch. The she-cat purred, eyes glinting with affection, and rubbed her cheek against the tom's shoulder.
"Oh, and if you win a fight against some Dark Forest tom, try not to steal his heart as well," Foxleap had teased, before heading off with the patrol assigned to aid the RiverClan warriors.
When fighting against the Dark Forest, Hazeltail's fighting skills were still more useful than Foxleap's confidence. He fought against too many spirits, and even though his side won, his wounds were too many for any living cat to handle. In his dying state, Foxleap couldn't even manage to say goodbye to the she-cat, although she was soon to follow. Her grief was so deep that all of her strength left her body, and she barely put up a fight against the merciless greencough.
Rule number six: There comes a moment in The Process where, if both sides have succeeded in taking enough steps forward, their feet may lead them to a point of passionate closure. This closure may last for days, moons or even both sides' entire lives, or it may only last for as briefly as a flash.
Spiderleg understood the situation, it wasn't even hard to figure out.
It all happened on a whim. He had been tempted to explore something that was different, to listen to someone who had already experienced what it was like to have a mate, and therefore knew exactly how to get under his skin before he could even realize.
In other words, the she-cat had made the tom's heart beat too fast for his head to catch up.
For a cat that had grown outside the clans, Daisy was one of the most attractive cats that Spiderleg had ever met. He had enjoyed the time he spent with her. Those warm naps they used to share on those sun-bathed rocks, where everything else seemed to disappear, the whole wide world reduced to just the two of them…
But that was it! It wasn't love. It was infatuation, nothing more. The wonder was over as quickly as it began, and he was glad for it. He didn't want to push it any further, and he was fully within his right not to do so.
Besides, Daisy had been avoiding him lately. Spiderleg had seen her sulking back-and-forth between the nursery and the medicine den, barely matching his eye. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with him either, and that was probably for the best.
Spiderleg didn't want a mate or kits just yet, he was too comfortable with the prospect of experiencing something similar to those cherished meetings he and Daisy had shared, but with an entirely different she-cat, perhaps a few of them if he was lucky.
The news that Daisy was about to deliver would definitely hit the tom as hard as a rolling boulder.
Rule number seven: The Process may only end in two conditions, when either side has grown so far apart that a bond can no longer be maintained, or when both sides have attached themselves so deeply that The Courting Process has been rendered unnecessary.
Graystripe didn't care to think straight, his heart spoke the loudest.
He loved Silverstream more than anything in the world, more than what he could be allowed to, in fact. What he was doing could mean losing the respect of his clanmates, his position as a warrior, and perhaps being kicked out of ThunderClan, but he just couldn't bring himself to be separated from the RiverClan she-cat who had stolen his heart.
Graystripe kept meeting with Silverstream, over and over. She, too, knew how dangerous their situation was, which only made the tom admire her bravery even more. The she-cat didn't show herself as being afraid to be with the tom, and neither did he let that fear show. The two loved each other, what more could they possibly ever need?
There was no controlling their passion, there was no stopping it, and what had to happen soon happened. Before Graystripe knew it, Silverstream was carrying his kits. They reached a point of no return, yet they were both ecstatic when they found out. Their litter would seal their bond forever!
And nothing would ever break it…
Rule number eight, the final rule: Once The Process is completed, its results will always be unpredictable, as the circumstances are altered by each different pair that is formed. No one can experience the exact same results as they did with a previous partner.
Crowfeather had failed more times than what he wanted to acknowledge.
He had loved with the unrestrained and unwitting passion of adolescence, he had loved with the conscience and awareness of adulthood, and he had kits during the desperate desire for self-satisfaction and redemption that followed the previous cases.
What happened with Feathertail wasn't his fault, time had taught him to accept that. Still, the memory of that courageous she-cat had often made the tom feel cowardly in comparison. When he had been at his lowest, religiously reminiscing on the moments where Feathertail had made him feel like he was someone worth caring about, Crowfeather had often wished he had been the one to die, so that his sacrifice would burn bright in Feathertail's memory for seasons to come. The only part of that sentiment that he agreed on now was that, at least that way, his memory would be unstained by all the mistakes he later committed.
What happened with Leafpool was more complicated to tell. They had both chosen to run away from the clans, and then they both came to the agreement that it was better to part ways, once they realized it would be impossible for them to be together. But it had also been him who had refused to go back at first, and as much as Crowfeather hadn't been made aware of Jaykit, Lionkit and Hollykit's true parentage, they still were his kits whom Leafpool had to care for alone.
What happened with Nightcloud and Breezepelt was his fault, and there was no excuse for it. He got himself a mate just to prove his loyalty to Windclan, and he selfishly took advantage of someone who was just as desperate as him. Out of their litter, only Breezepelt survived, and being so alone right from the start made him grow reserved and erratic, not too dissimilar from his father, who tried hard, harder than what a good parent should inherently have to try, to get along with his son.
In the end, every relationship was mended, and his mistakes were mostly forgiven, but Crowfeather couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't done enough to compensate everyone he had hurt.
Each time he had tried to love, the result would only end in misery for those around him-
"She's a bit of an unreliable narrator..."
At that comment, Seedpaw blinks. She furiously whips her head back at Honeyfern and Molepaw, whose murmurs had just snapped her out of the conclusion to what had to be the best story she had managed to build up in moons.
"You two agreed to stay quiet!" Seedpaw protests, stomping one of her golden-brown paws on the ground in frustration. "I was just about to finish. There was going to be a whole bit about how love was everywhere for every single living cat to find, and a special rule. But now it's ruined!"
Despite their younger sister's outburst, Honeyfern and Molepaw remain unfazed, both of them grooming their star-lighted pelts with calm licks.
"Oh yeah, we heard it alright," Molepaw mews, clearly not taking Seedpaw's stress seriously. "It isn't your worst story yet, it was actually a nice story to hear this one, I'll give you that."
"It's just that we both think you were being a little too far-fetched with its concept," Honeyfern adds, to which Seedpaw twitches her whiskers, confused.
"Far-fetched?" She repeats. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, you do realize that you just recited a love-wise equivalent to the warrior code, all while using other cats' relationships to justify your own made-up rules, don't you?" Molepaw asks, not in a condemning tone, but rather a playful one. "Come to think of it, how exactly did you know so much about some of these cats? You hadn't even been born yet when most of the things you talked about actually happened."
Seedpaw grunts to herself. Why did everyone always ask those questions when she told them her stories? Why couldn't anyone ever ask her what message she was trying to convey with her tales instead?
It's never why you made them, but rather how you made them…
"Well, I kind-of just asked around a bit," Seedpaw answers, flicking her tail as if being constantly questioned didn't bother her at all. "You know how it is. Everyone's experiences here in Starclan are more or less the same, so most cats like to talk about what their lives were like before getting here."
"And they told you, some apprentice that came out of nowhere, such deep and excruciating details about their love-lives?" Honeyfern presses on, and Molepaw agrees with a firm nod.
"Yeah, I'm not buying it!" He declares. "There's no way that even a single cat would open up like that to a complete stranger."
Seedpaw sighs and looks down at her paws in self-consciousness.
"Okay, you're right. They actually told me very little about their lives," She confessed, avoiding to meet her siblings' eyes as she did so. "What I said was mostly what I assumed was going on in their heads at the time, based on all the information I managed to piece together. Same for the living mates. Contemplating on them from up here, I saw glimpses of what their deal was and filled in the gaps to fit the story."
Seedpaw doesn't see how Molepaw and Honeyfern reacted, but hearing the tom let out a satisfied humph is enough for her to get a clear idea on what to expect his next words to be.
"And that's the problem with your story, Seedpaw," Molepaw remarked with his boisterous mew. "You don't really know what any of the cats you talked about really went through, which makes your Courting Process an unreliable set of rules."
At that disparaging condemnation, Seedpaw's head immediately jerks up, and her tail lashes out in all directions.
"Hey, don't take a leap like that!" She exclaims. "Sure, I took a guess on what those cats went through, but that doesn't mean the rules were something I came up with on the spot. I listed them based on what so many mates seemed to have in common when falling in love."
She turns to Honeyfern, taking a step towards her sister as she then speaks to her.
"Honeyfern, you have to admit that you at least experienced something resembling those rules when you were with Berrynose, right?"
For a moment, a soulful shade darkens Honeyfern's blue eyes. Her front paw, which had been busy cleaning her left ear, is now dropped to the ground with the heaviness that a treasured memory leaves in one's heart.
"Yes, you're right about rule number five. Circumstances that are out of our control can bring any relationship to a sudden end…" She murmurs.
But as soon as she lets her siblings see her vulnerability, Honeyfern takes a deep breath, as if reminding herself of how Berrynose was now living the happy life he deserved to live, with Poppyfrost by his side.
"But still, Seedpaw," she tells the apprentice. "If you've never had a mate, let alone fall in love with a cat, then I don't think you're in any place to tell anyone how romance should work."
Seedpaw snarls, infuriated.
"Oh, come on! That's not fair!" she then yells. "You're just throwing all of what I said away because of a single detail? How am I even meant to argue against that?!"
Molepaw quickly places himself between his sisters, attempting to calm the situation.
"I know it isn't a nice thing to say, but you have to accept that Honeyfern is being realistic. You don't know what it's like to be in love, Seedpaw. That's just the truth."
Despite her brother's best efforts, Seedpaw scowls and flinches away from his reach.
"Don't you think I would like to know?!" She howls. Her stress takes hold of her words, making them burst out of the she-cat's mouth before she can realize. "To know what it's like to feel butterflies, or that warm tingle in my fur, or whatever cats say to describe what's it like to like someone as more than just a friend? I've met many apprentices here, toms and she-cats, and they're all amazing in their own ways. There's Swiftpaw, who's brave and sure of himself all the time; and Shrewpaw, who always cares so much about his much-younger brothers and sisters; o-or Sweetpaw, who has a voice that lives to her name; there's even a Windclan tom- Gorsepaw! He's always inviting everyone to explore and probe every corner in Starclan, as he makes whimsical explanations of how our realm and the ones far beyond work…"
Seedpaw looks at her siblings. They are sharing a deep silence, a pitiful silence for their pitiful sister. Molepaw looks the most understanding, since he didn't live for long enough to experience the blissful joys of love either. Still, none of them seem to really understand Seedpaw's frustration, as hard as she tries to explain them.
"I would be thrilled to feel something more for any of those cats, but you two already know how it works. Starclan spirits can't love a soul whom they hadn't already loved in life, let alone never even met. I can't feel more than kinship to anyone here…"
Seedpaw stops when her mew feels too hoarse to speak any longer. She stops facing Molepaw and Honeyfern, instead letting her gaze travel across the endless pastures, groves and rivulets that make up Starclan's hunting grounds. In the distance, she sees other star-littered cats like her lumbering about, no worries to be had in that eternal haven.
Everything is so perfect, yet I feel accursed… It's not fair.
In her reticent reflection, Seedpaw suddenly feels a lump of fur pressing at her right flank, followed by another, sleeker pelt that brushes against her left cheek. Both masses are purring in what felt like sympathy.
"Oh, Seedpaw…" Honeyfern whispers, her muscle right beside Seedpaw's left ear. "You don't need to have a mate to feel what it's like to truly love someone."
"What… What do you mean by that?"
"You saved Lilyheart from drowning without hesitation, remember? You cared for your sister more than anything in the world, so you gave your life for her. That's what love is all about. Being willing to do everything to make someone else feel safe and happy."
"Yeah, that's right," Molepaw chips in. "And Lilyheart feels just like that now, based on the wonderful litter she had with Snowbush thanks to you."
Seedpaw feels herself being transported to the day when she died. Lilyheart- then Lilypaw- and her had spotted the Stick of the Fallen floating in the Great Flood's waters. Lilypaw swan in the stick's rescue, and she easily freed it for the ivy tendril that had clung itself to it. Unfortunately, Lilypaw was trapped by that same ivy, and she began to lose strength and sink. Despite Bramblestar ordering her to stay out of the water, Seedpaw's instincts screamed the loudest. She dived in and bit through ivy with all of her might. Lilypaw managed to escape, but Seedpaw had used up her strengths, and she wasn't able to swim, even if her life depended on it.
After what felt like a full night's sleep, she opened her eyes to find Honeyfern, Molepaw, and Sorreltail, the mother she had never met, all waiting to take her into Starclan's hunting grounds. Before leaving the living world behind, however, Seedpaw ran right back to the cave where Thunderclan had taken refuge from the flood. She found Lilypaw there, distraught by her sister's death, but alive.
With how Lilyheart grew to have a litter and a mate that deeply loved her, Seedpaw is sure that, however short her own life was, if she was given a second chance to pick between giving it up for her sister or saving herself, she wouldn't even think twice.
"I know I'd save Lilypaw all over again if I had to choose," She murmurs fondly to Honeyfern, the sister who gave up a perfect life with her mate in order to save a kit, dying the most noble of deaths a warrior could ever die. "I loved her, but not the same way Berrynose and you loved each other. I just wish I'd had enough time to know how that felt like."
Molepaw licks Seedpaw's shoulder with brotherly affection.
"We understand that, and we don't blame you at all," He coos, and then directs his mew at Honeyfern as well, "It must have been something wonderful, eh?"
Honeyfern lets out a sigh of agreement.
"It was more than wonderful… During the short time that he and I spent together, I was the most alive I ever felt."
The siblings then share a silence, a comforting silence. In that moment of stillness, Seedpaw feels drawn back to her story, remembering the special rule she hadn't managed to tell Molepaw and Honeyfern about. It feels a little disingenuous to keep that last rule to herself, but it feels much more wrong to break the quietness that has seeped into her siblings.
So, she recites the last and most important rule of The Courting Process in her head.
Rule number 9: Disregard all previous rules, and engage with the other side at thy own pace. Don't forget, however, to treasure every experience that this process brings thyself, as it is one of the most wondrous perks of being alive.
Written by someone who has no clue on how real love works. You're welcome.