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==iv. ''the pretty two-faced fox''== |
==iv. ''the pretty two-faced fox''== |
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| + | '''need to rewrite again aHAHAHA kmn''' |
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| − | <b>if you're gonna comment, don't critique this one lmao the metaphors are overbearing because i wrote it at like 11 at night and i'll need to rewrite it</b> |
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| − | What was she? |
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| − | She was everything, and she was nothing. She was sunlight running through a canopy of leaves to dapple the forest floor. She was a ghost, flitting through my life, leaving behind wisps of stardust and dreams. She sang tales in my ears of love, of hope, of plans for the future. When we looked up at the stars together, she taught me about what they were to her. Skycats running through the night, spinning fate like a spider spun its web. We assured ourselves that the skycats had weaved our two webs together. |
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| − | She was evanescent, fleeting- the sun slipping beneath the horizon, the snow melting in the warm spring, the flower closing its petals to the night. She came to me under the cover of moonlight, when we met at the border and talked about our lives. Our hopes, our dreams, and our destiny to unite our groups as one and cease the conflicts between the rogues and SandClan once and for all. |
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| − | I was Lark, a young, naive she-cat with the title of "queen" by inheritance. |
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| − | She was Foxheart, a cunning, pretty little thing whose mastery of deception had catapulted her into the role of deputy. |
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| − | We met one last night, and she kissed me. It was everything I had imagined. The heavens aligning, the earth stopping its spin, flames of love and passion roaring in my chest. She broke away. Her muzzle strayed from mine and drifted to my ear- so close that my ear fur tickled with her breath. She told me the plan. I would send out most of my cats to hunt, so that when the diplomat party she brought came, they wouldn't feel threatened. We would negotiate peace, and the bloodshed would stop. |
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| − | Still starstruck, I agreed. But she didn't come with her diplomat party. She came with an army. |
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| − | Had I known they would have stolen our kits- had I known they would have snapped our elders- kicked our bodies- kill she-cats still carrying kits- had I known they would mercilessly, relentlessly raze our camp, I would never have followed through with this plan. |
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| − | I still lay in shock as she pinned me down under her. I had imagined this so many times before- but not this way. Not like this. She pressed her claws to my neck, and I stared into the vivid green eyes that I had drowned myself in for moons this time not with love or desire but horror. |
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| − | <i>I thought you loved me,</i> I whispered, tears sliding down my face. <i>I trusted you. I loved you.</i> |
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| − | <i>You thought wrong,</i> she responded with a laugh. <i>Thank you, Lark. You were the most fun toy I have ever played with.</i> |
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| − | And then her claws came swooping down, sending me into darkness with a final burst of pain. |
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| − | <div align="center">~</div> |
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| − | What was she? |
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| − | She was everything, and she was nothing. Her love was as beautiful as the sun dancing across the waves and just as false. She was my sun, my moon, my stars, my idiotic young love; and the cold-blooded killer who ruined my world and my life before taking it all in blood. |
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| − | She was Foxheart, the pretty two-faced fox. |
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==v. ''cold''== |
==v. ''cold''== |
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Latest revision as of 22:56, 25 November 2017
heads up the myth prompts probably won't be very myth-y because i can't think of any good mythlike stories lmao
OF TIME AND TALES
a collection of oneshots by dog for firey's challenge thingey
i. the fallen rose
Roses were delicate, gentle, and beautiful.
If so, then what was she?
She was a rose—Rosefoot—yet she was anything but. She was vibrant, electric, glaring like sun on ice.
Delicacy? She had fallen out of trees, jammed claws, and twisted paws too many times to count. He knew himself, for he was the one in the medicine den patching her up.
Gentleness? He once joked that she had the recklessness of a badger, and she returned with a tackle so hard that he went flying. Of course, she apologized afterwards, but only with a smirk of satisfaction wrapped across her face.
Beauty? She lacked that, for she was about as eye-catching as any other she-cat. Blue eyes, ginger fur. At first glance, she was nothing. Until you got to know her. Got to know the charm, the optimism, the blistering passion she carried within her. And that was the beauty that he fell for.
And so, that was Rosefoot.
It took him a while to realize he loved her. He didn't really get it until death came cruelly down on her parents. She had walked into the medicine den, this time not with a sprained ankle or a broken limb but with an aching heart. She was shaking, and as soon as she stepped through the mouth of the den she came running towards him. With a small oof, he caught her and held her tightly as she trembled. They're dead, Rosefoot sobbed, pressing her tear-streaked face into his fur. The battle at the border—they're dead—
She could tell only him, for he was the only one who knew her parents were in ShadowClan. ThunderClan did not know and could not mourn their enemies.
He was quiet as she cried. Only rubbed her back with his tail and pulled her closer, resting his head on hers. The constant drum of the rain outside muffled her weeping, only serving to further isolate them from the rest of the camp. Just the two of them.
Rosefoot was up all night crying, and he never left her side. Through the haze of sorrow, she fell asleep in the den. It was in the morning, when he awoke to see her still passed out and sniffling in her sleep, that he realized how much it hurt him to see her in pain. How much he wished he could find a way to stitch her back together—and he would do it without a moment of hesitation, even if it meant trading himself away in the process.
That was when he realized he loved her.
He couldn't say anything about it. She was a warrior and he was a medicine cat. But that didn't matter; what he needed to do now was care for her. Help her get through the pain of losing her parents. This he swore would be his duty for as long as it took.
It took three moons, to be exact, three whole moons before she had fully recovered. Along that time, he had been her shoulder to cry on, something steady for her to rely on in her turbulent world. Afterwards, she hung out in the medicine den even when not injured, and he found his paws finding their way towards her at meal times.
In turn, when he fell apart, she was there for him.
He'd been trying to deliver some kits- trying desperately to save the mother even though there was so much blood. It seemed to be the only thing his eyes landed on—the mother and the blood and the screams of pain and the blood the blood the blood it was red and wet and oh the blood. His heart was racing and his thoughts were scrambled as he rushed to find something, anything, that would stop the bleeding.
Finally, the agonious screeching ceased. But neither the mother nor her kits made it. He stood shell-shocked, staring in horror at the number of bodies. One, two, three, four five. One, two, three, four, five. Five—five—great StarClan, five—
Rosefoot consoled him the days that followed. Between soothing him in her loving voice about how he had done his best as a medicine cat and yelling at him about how she refused to let him feel bad or she swore by StarClan that she'd beat him up, she coaxed out of him both comfort and laughs in the bitterest of moods. This was Rosefoot for sure. This was Rosefoot, the love of his life.
A season cycle later, there was another battle with ShadowClan. Lightpaw came running into the camp, tripping over his paws as he skidded into the medicine den. Come quick! There was a fight—Dewstar's lost a life, might be losing another—
He came sprinting at top speed, herbs clamped soundly in his jaws. Dewstar was on her last life, and he knew it. There was no time to waste.
Except, when he came to the bloody field, Dewstar flew out of his mind. Rosefoot lay, bleeding from a gash on her neck. Stars, no. No no no no no.
He stopped at her side and dropped his herbs. Seeing this, Lightpaw ran at him. Wait, what about Dewstar, she's our leader—
He let out a roar of rage, enough to scare the idiotic young apprentice away. Turning his attention back to Rosefoot, he saw her eyes flutter open. Oh, Rosefoot, you're gonna be okay, I've got the herbs—
Blueclaw, shut up and hold on a second. Her piercing blue eyes met his, and he froze. Even bleeding out on the ground, Rosefoot was as blunt as ever. I'm gonna die. I know it. Don't waste your herbs on me.
But—
She interrupted him again. Stop wasting time. Listen to me. Blueclaw, I love you.
He sucked in a sharp breath. Stars, I love you too. I always have.
See you in StarClan, Blue.
Wait for me there.
Her only response was a smile, and then she was gone. A rose wilting and dropping to the ground, never to bloom again.
Blueclaw turned his face towards the darkening sky where stars were beginning to shine. Then he buried his face in her fur, just as she had all those moons ago, and let his love bleed onto the fallen rose.
ii. iridescent
nonexistent
iii. "i will have you without armor, or i will not have you at all"
nonexistent for now
iv. the pretty two-faced fox
need to rewrite again aHAHAHA kmn
v. cold
nonexistent
vi. "i will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine"
coming soon to a walmart near you
vii. fire-falls
coming soon to a walmart near you
viii. eloquence
found in aisle 11 of your local grocery store
ix. "when you spend so long trapped in the darkness, you find that the darkness begins to stare back"
coming soon as a new addition to the mcdonald's happy meal
x. a thousand steps
do i even need to say "coming soon" or some sarcastic advertising joke anymore
xi. messenger
xii. "you could rattle the stars. you could do anything, if only you dared"
xiii. wind-walker
My mother kept a collection of things to tell stories about. A chip of mouse bone for the cat whose cowardice shrank him to a rodent. A dead leaf for the snores of the Earth-cat that carried fall leaves on the wind. Bits of burnt, black wood for the fire kit and his temper tantrums.
One time, rooting through her stash, I found a pretty black feather. When I asked about it, Mother told me it was a crow's feather, but it didn't mean she was secretly a crow like I guessed. No, the feather was a symbol for flight.
I was interested, but also a little confused, as every kit is, so with a laugh Mother settled down and tucked me into the curve of her belly. She draped her long, fluffy tail over my shoulders and told me the tale of the Windwalker.
The Windwalker had been a part of a thing called StormClan. StormClan had lived in harmony with their neighbors, FrostClan, but as the Windwalker grew up, tensions between the two Clans rose steadily. Finally snapping when a StormClan kit went missing, StormClan accused FrostClan of taking him and declared war.
By that time, the Windwalker was a warrior. With expert planning and incredible fighting skills, the Windwalker clawed her way up to deputy. When she fought on the battlefield, it was said that she always soared down from a tree, always fought a mouselength above her opponents. She never left pawprints as she rolled and tangled with FrostClan warriors.
The Windwalker fought hard for her Clan. But she quickly grew ruthless. She and the StormClan leader wore their warriors to shreds with battle after battle. There was only one goal- kill FrostClan, be they kits, mothers, elders, or warriors alike.
One particular battle, the StormClan leader sent out the Windwalker and what remained of their Clan on an attack into the heart of the FrostClan camp, despite their hunger and exhaustion. Upon arriving, it was a bloodbath, and most of the StormClan cats were killed. Seeing her warriors all fallen, the Windwalker snatched up a kit in one last act, ran home in retreat, and-
Snapped the kit's neck in front of the FrostClan prisoners. She sent the body back with a smile on her face.
I won't describe how much detail Mother went into, but suffice to say that at this part, I gagged, and Mother told me to hush and listen to her story. I made a face. They usually weren't this gruesome.
After that, the Windwalker still leapt into battle from the trees, but you could hear her hit the ground. She still defeated enemy after enemy, but she was the same height as them now. Her paws scuffed the ground, kicking up dirt as she fought.
The Windwalker had been brought to earth by her vain, her bloodlust, and was chained by her murder of the kit. No longer did she walk wind.
FrostClan finally defeated StormClan in one last battle. Half of StormClan's remaining warriors were killed, and the rest scattered. The Windwalker, hearing the outraged cries of her leader, he still hungry for blood, turned tail and ran with tears in her eyes.
Thus, the Windwalker started anew. Began life as a rogue, realized her mistakes, and led a life of humility and peace. The usual, Mother added jokingly. The end.
I hadn't realized it, but my eyes had closed drowsily while she was telling her story. Mother stirred and got up, taking her warm blanket of a tail with her. The sharp bite of a cool wind leaked into our den, and I raised my head, blinking my eyes open. To my surprise, I noticed that as she walked, Mother's paws didn't seem to quite touch the ground.