FEATHERS

Swiftpaw opened his eyes and yawned. He was comfortable and warm and sleepy. He blinked sleepily.

"Hello, Swiftpaw," Said a gentle voice above him, and Swiftpaw looked into the eyes of Mosstail. "You are now beautiful."

Swiftpaw got to his feet. There was something different about the way he did it, too. His muscles rippled smoothly under his pelt, and he stood in a smooth, fluid motion instead of a clumsy scramble like he usually did. He headed over to the pool of sweet water nearby and peered at himself.

He gasped. His blue eyes had been pulled apart and placed so they were open the exact same amount. They sparkled slightly, huge and welcoming. His ears were spaced evenly and both pointed upward at the same angle. His nose was clean and a soft, gentle black in color, going well with his white fur. It used to be sort of pink and black all mixed up, and it had always bothered him. His neck fur was rich and thick, his paws evenly spaced, and his whiskers lush, even, and healthy. He had lost the satchel that had always clung to his stomach, and each white hair on his pelt was lined up perfectly with its fellows. His legs were long, thin and muscular.

"Wow," He said to Mosstail, "I look great! Thanks!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Mosstail replied, "I do it all the time."

Swiftpaw admired himself a bit longer before heading off into the camp, moving with elegance and beauty. He could just imagine how he appeared to the other she-cats. What grace he possessed! What elegance! Surely all living cats would want to look like him.

"Is it true we can go back and visit the living world?" Swiftpaw asked Mosstail.

"Oh yes," Mosstail replied, looking up swiftly, "After five days here you may go back and visit. You can speak to any cat you wish to. But then you must come back."

"Why must we come back?" Swiftpaw asked.

Mosstail looked a little confused, as if he wasn't used to cats asking him questions like this. "Well, of course, you belong in StarClan. It is your home now. And why would anyone want to return to the horrid world of the living?

"Well, okay," Swiftpaw said, "Thank you. I'll pay a visit after five days."

"You may not want to, however," Mosstail said, and winked. "By then, you may already have several she-cats, a nice hut, and good friends."

Swiftpaw nodded, not asking what a hut was, and started off through the camp.

The StarClan camp was bigger than all of ThunderClan, ShadowClan, WindClan and RiverClan's territories put together. The beautiful feather bushes, the trees with branches that brushed the ground, the soft grasses that ever so often let loose a small flurry of feathers seemed to go on forever, an endless land of bliss. It was so beautiful.

And it was all his. Swiftpaw smashed a few boughs packed with feather and watched new feathers swiftly grow back. He could do anything he wanted here, he could romp all night, and nobody would stop him because everything would just grow back. Every feather, every grass, even the mice hanging on the mouse-bushes. Swiftpaw nibbled the foot off one of them, and felt his body twist in pleasure.

"Excuse me, can I show you to the huts?"

Swiftpaw was eating a plump yellow fruit from a fruit bush when a gently, beautiful voice softly interrupted him. He turned around with a smile and saw a young black and white cat with transfixing amber eyes looking at him with an elegant smile.

"The huts?" Swiftpaw asked.

"Oh, let me first explain a few things," The cat said, bowing low, "My name is Patchpaw and it is my duty to help newcomers find themselves a hut. A hut is a small den. Each StarClan cat gets his own. Let me show you."

He started off running silently and elegantly through the feathers, grasses and nests. Swiftpaw raced after him and he realized he could run so much faster than he could when he was alive, and so much more steadily. As the two StarClan cats ran, they left a trail of floating feathers in their wake.

Finally, Patchpaw stopped. In front of them were hundreds of groups of dens poking out of the ground. They were all identical to each other, each the same amount wide, the same amount tall. Each had a hole carved into one side, probably so light could filter through.

The dens were in little groups of five. The entrances to the dens all faced each other in each group. Swiftpaw looked into a few of them. The walls were lined with soft grass and feathers, and the nests inside were plush and soft. In a few of them, a cat was snoozing peacefully, or eating, or maybe two cats would be in one, talking in soft, beautiful voices. There was even one where Swiftpaw saw more than just cuddling going on between a tom and a she-cat.

"There is one ready for you," Patchpaw said, "We just built it. Please follow me."

Swiftpaw followed him through the hundreds of huts. This area of the camp was a pretty busy place, cats moving swiftly along the narrow paths between huts, each going their own ways. Swiftpaw kept following Patchpaw, smiling at those he passed. They smiled back. Once or twice he thought re recognized cats from when he'd been alive, cats who'd passed away when he was young. But he could never be sure, because they'd all changed when they were turned beautiful.\

"Right this way," Patchpaw said and stepped aside to reveal a freshly built hut with a gorgeously overstuffed nest inside. Swiftpaw smiled.

"Is this one mine?"

"Indeed it is," Patchpaw replied. "I will be going now. Thank you." He moved swiftly off.

Swiftpaw entered the dark hut. Light filtered in through the hole on one wall. He curled up on the nest. It was warm and soft and plush. Feathers clung to his fur, making him close his eyes in delight. The hut was roomy, it could probably hold five sleeping cats. He'd never had so much room all to himself.

He snoozed a little bit. The nest was so comfortable he could not keep himself awake. StarClan looked like it was going to be a fun place.

–

He awoke not long afterward and the sky had changed from sunhigh to near-sunset. He decided to get a couple of mice from the a mouse bush to eat.

When he returned with them to his hut, several other cats were inside the other huts in his group of five. Swiftpaw greeted them with a smile and a nod, then went into his hut to eat.

As he finished off his second mouse, somebody arrived at the door of his hut. Swiftpaw looked up to see a more-than-beautiful long-haired white she-cat with perfectly almond shaped amber eyes and short, perfect ears.

"Oh, hello," he said, drawn in by her beauty.

"Greetings," she meowed with a dip of her head, "My name is Whitewhisker. I live in the hut two over from yours. May I come in?"

"Of course," Swiftpaw said. He let her step inside, wondering what she wanted.

"What's your name?" She asked gently.

"Oh...I'm Swiftpaw." He smiled.

"You were killed young?" Whitewhisker asked openly.

"Yes."

"I had just become a warrior," she said, "I was killed in a fight with ShadowClan. I was a WindClan cat."

"I...think I've heard your name before," Swiftpaw said with a smile.

"I don't think I've ever met you," Whitewhisker told him, "But that's okay! I can meet you now. How long have you been here?"

"Oh, this is just my first day," He answered.

"I've been here for seven days," Whitewhisker meowed, "And...I only have five toms."

"Ah," Swiftpaw said, a bit confused. Five toms? What did that mean?
"So I was wondering of you would like to be my tom."

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure what that means," Swiftpaw said with elegant confusion.

"It means if you would be a mate of mine. I only have five mates, and I've chosen three of them. I'm trying to get to ten."

"We can have more than one mate?" Swiftpaw asked.

"Of course!" Whitewhisker said, "What would be the fun of only one mate? You may mate with anyone you like. Just ask a she-cat to be your she-cat. If she says yes, you may do whatever you like to her. And then you may move on to another she-cat!"

"But...what about kits?" Swiftpaw asked cautiously. This was making him queasy.

"Oh, you cannot have kits in StarClan," Whitewhisker said, "The ability to have kits is gone. But not the pleasure that comes from mating."

"I see." Swiftpaw said with a forced smile.

"So would you like to be my tom?" Whitewhisker asked.

"Oh...okay." Swiftpaw gulped nervously.

Whitewhisker gave him a deep smile. "I'm ready when you are."

"Wait...does that mean I have to mate with you?" Swiftpaw's heart was pounding nervously.

"Well, because I asked you to be my tom and you said yes, you must do anything I wish, so yes! But it is not a bad thing. Mating is more pleasurable here in StarClan than it ever could have been in life."

"But I don't want to mate with you," Swiftpaw said shakily.

"But you can't get me pregnant! It's failproof pleasure!" Whitewhisker sounded annoyed, "Come on. You have to mate with me. You're my tom."

"But--" Swiftpaw was suddenly too flustered to stay in his hut any longer. He ran out and raced deeper into the maze of huts, trying to get away from Whitewhisker.

That whole tom/she-cat thing is supposed to be a good thing? Swiftpaw wondered angrily when he came to a stop at the edge of the huts. He licked a paw and drew it over an ear, brushing a few stray feathers off. It sounds like force-mating to me! He felt awful, now he'd have to avoid Whitewhisker if he didn't want to face her again. Oh well.

He felt hungry from the whole ordeal and grabbed a couple of mice off their bushes and settled down by a small pool of sweet water to eat them. He surveyed his reflection as he munched. He was still amazed at his beauty. If only all his friends back in ThunderClan could see him now!

Soon I can go back to them, Swiftpaw thought. I just have to wait five days.

I wonder why they make us wait, he wondered, resting his head on a paw. I'm dying to see how my Clan is. And I can tell that...it's going to get boring up here.

His eyes closed and he fell asleep. He slept there all night.