#palefeather

Last couple years Thunderclan drawings below:

Palefeather turned her head to see a darkly-striped golden tom trotting up to her, accompanied by a brown tortoiseshell. They had just emerged from a crowd watching two young mollies duking it out in the center of the Clast camp. Palefeather had a faint idea that they had been watching her instead.

Just as she was watching her stepdaughter.

“No,” she sighed, grateful that it was too loud right now for Redpaw to hear her from this distance. “She hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. I’ve been trying to give her space, thinking maybe that would help, but…”

She trailed off. The newcomers looked at each other with concern, and at Palefeather with sympathy.

“Has she eaten, at least?” the tortoiseshell, Mothshadow, ventured to ask.

Palefeather’s tail tapped the ground anxiously. “No.”

The golden tom, Warblerstep, balked. “It’s been two days!”

“I know.” The tail-tapping sped up. “She’s just been… so closed off, so distant. I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mothshadow hurried to say. “I can see you thinking that in your head. I just wanted to cut that off before it takes another step.”

Palefeather couldn’t help feeling like she was somehow responsible. Her mate, Redpaw’s mother, had died only two weeks ago, and since then, she had tried to give Redpaw time to process her grief by hereslf. Redpaw had always thought alone, but she usually came back out of her reviere within minutes, decided and steadfast in that decision.

But something had changed.

One night, Redpaw had left without warning and then came back from the outside area, eyes hollow and bloodshot, pelt threatening to shake off her body. She had refused to explain what she had been doing, and the next day, it was like a whole different cat inhabited her body. She spoke with a subtle intensity now, too intense for someone her age. She refused random pieces of prey – often, she didn’t eat at all, no matter what she was offered. She stared at nothing when left alone, expression somewhere between terrified and furious.

The other apprentices had stopped playing with her, and even the few kits who were allowed to explore outside of their den avoided her. She could carry a conversation, but she was always so serious and businesslike that it was almost draining to even talk about the weather. She was thinking so far in advance, speaking in terms of “when”s and “in the future”s. Palefeather once saw her bat half-heartedly at a stray piece of grass and then stare at it for an unsettlingly long time, face completely unreadable. It was like she just didn’t enjoy anything anymore.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Mothshadow asked.

Palefeather blinked back out of her head and into the real world. “Oh, you don’t have to. Is there any prey left on the pile?”

“One moment.” Warblerstep trotted away in that slightly hopping-on-his-toes way he had.

“It’s a swing in the dark if she’ll take it,” Palefeather said quietly to Mothshadow, “but I’ll try again.”

Mothshadow nodded sympathetically. “I can come with you, if you like, when he comes back.”

Palefeather didn’t know whether a second cat would help or not, but she eventually admitted, “I could use the support. Thank you.”

A few moments later, Warblerstep returned, carrying a squirrel. It was fat, but not too large for one apprentice to consume. He set it down before Palefeather with a bob of the head. Good luck.

Palefeather took the squirrel and hesitantly started forward, Mothshadow close behind her. She prayed, StarClan, please let her eat this. I can’t watch her die, too.

Redpaw, half-lying, half-crouching against a wall of a house, had her eyes shut. Her ears twitched as Palefeather approached and she looked up.

It was interesting, though perhaps not in a good way: her eyes were exhausted, and yet Palefeather could swear there was something burning behind them, lighting them up even in the darkening evening.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mothshadow said. “How’re you doing?”

Redpaw blinked slowly, belatedly answering. “I’m fine.”

Palefeather took a step forward, dropping the squirrel at Redpaw’s feet. “I brought you-“

Redpaw jerked backwards, tail lashing, snarling, “Get that away from me.”

Palefeather and Mothshadow stepped back themselves, alarmed. Palefeather stared at her stepdaughter. Now – bristling, muzzle wrinkled, glaring at the squirrel – she was so much less the cat Palefeather knew.

Still, she had to try.

“Honey, what’s wrong with it?” she said, soothing and soft. “We just got it in. It’s fresh.”

Redpaw didn’t acknowledge her with, but she gradually craned her neck forward and lifted a paw. She rolled the squirrel until its back and the top of its head were facing her. She squinted, eyes now bleary.

“Everything alright?” Palefeather asked, still gentle.

Redpaw, scrutinizing the squirrel, murmured, “No star.” Abruptly, she crouched again, pulling the squirrel closer to her, and pulled away some of its hide, getting into the meat.

“Sorry,” she added, louder. “Thank you.”

Palefeather sighed in relief, but when she looked over, Mothshadow had an expression of intense confusion and worry. She glanced at Palefeather, as if asking for an explanation of some kind.

Palefeather just shook her head. She didn’t have one.