This is a story by IcewrathXFeatherswirlXCraneheart for Red's contest.
Chapter 1[]
The breeze rustled my fur, blowing the stench of twoleg trash towards me. I could feel my nose wrinkle in distaste, almost on instict. Mingled in was the scent of Salazar. It isn't a good analogy, but I know that when there's trash, there's Salazar. Just as when there are she-cats, there's Salazar.
I have nothing against Salazar, but its quite true. I find him pawing through the garbage for food if he's not messing with the head of a she-cat.
There are eight of us here, and we all are friends, yet not friends. I don't know how to explain it. The bond is special between us eight, even though we all have our separate lives and ways.
There's Salazar. He messes with the heads of cats a lot and is very cunning. A big flirt, but I will admit, he is a good-looking cat for some cat like him. That is considered high praise coming from me. I never give my opinion. Lots of she-cats fall for his shiny silver pelt, the glowing amber eyes, and his cunning, flirty, slippery attitude, but I know on whom he crushes, for real.
There's Rowan. She's the one Salazar crushes on, there is no denying that fact. She looks like a fox, not in any bad way, but similar pelt colors. Her fur is dark ginger red, with tabby stripes, sharp green eyes, and a white tail tip. Salazar once referred to her as "foxy" when she wasn't around, which I suppose is supposed to be a compliment. She is sharp tongued though, but she likes to mess with the heads of other cats.
There's Flight. He's fast and strong, and many cats around the twolegplace look up to him. I don't really. I keep to myself. He has ginger tabby fur and green eyes, and has lots of cheer and is outgoing. I suppose that's why most cats like him. But, I know one of his secrets. He's afraid of water, because he almost drowned when he was younger. It boggles me how he can still be so outgoing after that ordeal.
There's Echo. Some other loners call him Echo the Mute or Mute Echo. I feel sorry for him. Echo can't communicate, obviously, using words. I know that when he was a kit, his housefolk threw him out and other cats attacked. He isn't that bad. He is always nice, even if he can't speak. He had ash-gray fur and, when you come near, you will see his pale eyes grow wide in fear. In addition, he will usually try to speak, by opening his white muzzle, but it never works. I pity Echo, and I am sorry that he has had a cruel life.
There's Trish. Not to be rude, but to put it into the slang terms that younger cats use, she is quite air-headed. Golden furred with a white chest, she is nice, but her head is hollow. She loves to please, but is cautious. I don't see her often. I try to avoid her, since I don't really feel comfortable when she just chats and chats.
There's Rosie. She's a gray tabby with blue eyes, shy and intelligent. She has to be my favorite, if I had to choose, out of the seven others. Poor Rosie ran away from her housefolk in an attempt to breed her. I can't imagine what it must have felt like. I am glad she ran away. The rest of her past is a bit mysterious, like the long scar on her face. I know that I will find out how she got it. I just know things.
There's Magdalena. She is a silver cat, with blue eyes. Lena looks similar to Rosie, but with a cold exterior. I know she has a soft heart though. Why else would she take a mate who just abandoned her, then named one of her kits to remind her of him. Their names are Patch and Dusty.
And then, there's me... I am Walnut. I am not too fond of my name, but its my name. It's the last recollection I have of my family. What can I say about myself? I am no narcissist. My name is Walnut, and I am about 14 moons old. My fur is a medium shade of brown... the color twolegs call "chocolate" with one white paw. My eyes are green, like jade. I am closed off, uncomfortable in a social group, hopeless at communicating... an outcast. Sure, there are the other seven, who kind of like me for me, but that's not important. I almost like how I live. I grew up like that. I am the smartest loner, not to brag. I don't brag, but it is true. I know things that other cats don't. I am mysterious. No cat, even the other seven, knows about my past. They don't know how I feel or what I like, or even much about who I am.
The seven, mostly Salazar tell me to "get out there". He thinks I need to meet a she-cat and live a life. But Salazar doesn't know what I need. I feel like I just need to know....
Yet, somehow, I feel that he is right, maybe there is a life that I need to live, but I risk losing my comfortable way of life.
Looks like I have to find out, don't I?
"Walnut!" a voice breaks me from my thoughts. I turn to see Rosie, atop a branch of an oak.
"Hello, Rosie," I greeted the she-cat, dipping my head.
(TBC)