Chapter 71: Nestbound

There is a strange haze that comes from waiting. This isn't the traditional type of haze which impies fog. This is more of a blurring of memory and time. Despite all I've done for the Darkforest, there isn't all that much to do. When given an infinite amount of time, what do you do with it? I've tried to give others purpose. I've taught others. I've even become a mother figure, but I worry that my motivations are selfish. Am I doing this for them, or am I just passing time?

As I lay in the medicine den waiting for my wound to heal, I have nothing but my thoughts to pass the time. I can watch the day become night and the night become day, but with barely a hint of effort, I could batt our sun right out of the sky. Can time have meaning when even the means of telling it can be so fickle? Is there a point in measuring it at all?

The pain of thought, to think, is both a unique one and one I believe afflicts too many. Sometimes I wish I could just not for a period of time, but that isn't who I am. Just like breathing, I need to think. A leaf falls from part of the bush containing the medicine den. It lived and existed for a while, but now it has fallen. I could put it back, undo the fall, make it as lively and immortal as I, but it was wrong. What would be the point? No one would even notice as its brethren fell and were replaced. The one would stand alone, unchanging but unnoticed. Is that what I am?

Am I cursed or blessed with this unending afterlife? Am I meant to be here? I won't deny that I've changed lives and made many cats happy, but am I happy? I have kits, and I adore them. I have family I love fiercely, but is that all I want? Why haven't they come to see me? If I am not their purpose, can I truly call them mine? I'm powered through love and maternal bonds, but why is it that only my family seems to be interested in the idea?

I know I am both confusing and lying to myself. Others see my kits as an inspiration. I know there are some other couples in the camp. Quietstep and Leafear could easily make a batch of kits. Is it the social obligations or their past adherence to the warrior code that holds them back? Am I misreading them? Do both cats find themselves unworthy for their past transgressions? Should I even bother to ask?

I do not know if I am insane or just lack something to do. Here I am questioning my and all other cats' existence because I can't handle doing nothing. I'd bug Crookedstar if it weren't for Starclan's watchful eyes. Brokenpaw, I'm still unready to address. I've too recently watched Bone and Scourge. What is there to do?

My tail drummed against the soil of the medicine den, a simple rhythm if only to break the silence. Boragepelt and Leafear are off doing their own things. I am in this den alone. I've never been a patient cat. I always get antsy, wanting to move and do. I was the cat the medicine cats would have to drag to the medicine den to get treated because I didn't want to be told to rest. The slash on my neck still stings fiercely. I can still feel the killing intent trying to eat at me, keeping the wound from sealing naturally. Then there's the paste covering the wound, almost opposite in nature. It tries to destroy the lethal intent, but it's a battle of attrition.

I must be bored or on the edge of psychosis. Time seems to be crawling. I swear the sun is moving more slowly, or is it just me? I can still see cats milling about their day, but I cannot make out the words. I still see familiar cats. Splitpelt, Frecklewish, Sunpaw, Moonpaw, Dawnstar, Snowtuft. It is like I am watching from beyond a wall of ice. I can see them, but something urges me not to speak. Is it my own somber mood? Is it my ongoing existential crisis?

Without anything to do, I feel fuzzy, not in the kitteny sort of way. I feel like I'm fading into the background. I do not know if it is a real feeling or just my unconscious thoughts manifesting themselves. Is this what those cats so lost that they forgot who they are feel like? Is this what Ravenwing feels like, or am I just making assumptions? I'm playing word games with myself, and I feel like I'm losing.

Finally, something broke my melancholy. Some cats entered the medicine den. It was my dear little Sunpaw and Moonpaw. The questions faded into the background as the still young pair played around me.

"You won't believe what Snowtuft taught me today. We went into the hunting grounds and I caught the biggest rabbit!" Moonpaw bragged.

"So big, you had to call me in to haul it." Sunpaw amended.

It was by listening to these two that I came to a small revelation. Maybe the big questions aren't actually worth asking. Why call out to the void if you'll only get an echo in response? It is these small things that make life worth continuing. If there is infinity, then why bother planning for all of it? It is much more meaningful to live for the moments. It is fine to plan for tomorrow, but the end of time is too far to worry about.

"So, who ended up getting the rabbit when you got back?" I asked the rambunctious duo.

"Buzzardhead, obviously. That glutton is always looking for prey that is slightly unusual. He told me that was the biggest rabbit he'd ever seen, so he wanted to do something special with it." Moonpaw yammered.

"Like what?" I pushed.

"Well, he said something about how he remembers meat burned after a forest fire. There's this sweet spot where some of the charred prey is still edible. In fact, the flavor seems to condense, sometimes overwhelmingly. He wants to make something special for his mate, and he said he'd make us some if it works out." Sunpaw mewed.

"I hope he doesn't forget his dear old mother when he masters his new meal. Would you two be dears and let him know I'll want a taste when he's done?"

With that, the two bound off to let their brother know. The silence was back, but this time it didn't feel so stifling. It felt warm. Maybe I could take a break, maybe a nap. Whatever was out there could wait.