One Hundred Conversations Between Souls

This is my attempt at the 100 Themes Challenge :)

Chapter One: Introduction
No one questioned the tortoiseshell anymore.

When she'd first arrived, silent, wraith-like, and unblinking, they'd tried to drive her away. But she wouldn't respond. She'd blink once, shift slightly, and ignore their fierce snarls. Somehow, they couldn't bring themselves to harm her in any physical way.

So, overtime, the Clan cats had dismissed her as an alien presence. They left her by the holly bush that she chose to settle by, watching the cats with round eyes. They blended her in as part of their surroundings. She mixed in with the colors of their minds, until, generation by generation, they forgot about her.

But the tortoiseshell didn't forget.

She remembered every face that passed by. She remembered every apprentice who tried hard, bubbling with excitement, eager for battle, thinking nothing about how ghastly the consequences were. And then she'd see them again... hollow eyed, shocked, drained by what they'd seen.

The tortoiseshell had seen warriors fall in love. She'd seen half-clan kits born, seen them rejected by both parents. She'd see the kits grow up bitter, alone and bullied, hating the two cats whose one 'mistake' had cost the kits their lives. She'd watched these kits grow up hungry for their revenge, doing evil deeds, or good deeds for some evil purpose.

But she had also seen good deeds done, cats with good and fair hearts. Cats that needed no second-guessing, cats that tamed and pushed away their faults. Some of these cats were bullied and called 'perfect', but they never let one word under their skin. Because perfect, as the tortoiseshell had learnt, was only achieved through dedication and perseverance through hardship.

The tortoiseshell had also seen small kits snatched up and brutally killed by large birds of prey. She'd seen small kits manage to evade the darkest of predators, miracles true to their nature. She'd even seem full-grown cats with battle scars taken by the small weasel.

She'd been here for... how long? Countless moons passed before she even lifted a paw. Once, the forest fell around her. Fire blazed through it like a wild animal, but it never singed her fur. The trees toppled and crashed to the ground in showers of screaming wood and flashing lightning...

But the tortoiseshell was still there. Whole. And breathing.

Until one day, she felt it was time. Her muscles suddenly began to ache, her tail began to twitch. The wind stirred her fur and the tortoiseshell swiveled her head for the first time in years.

It was time to move.

She slowly eased herself to crackling limbs. Guided by some other instinct, the tortoiseshell took tentative but deliberate steps towards a tree. She tipped her head back and peered up into a shaft of sunlight, into the tangle of pale green foliage that swirled above. And then the tortoiseshell bounded up the slim trunk. She leapt us an nimbly as a squirrel, as though she'd spent those countless moons near the holly bush with the living rather than the dead.