Post by Solaris on Jul 4, 2022 4:43:23 GMT
R O O T S
They/Its | 33 Moons | Rogue
“Roots…”
“Hear my words well.”
“The time has come for WindClan to return to the moor.”
Opening their eyes, they founded themself surrounded by tall stalks of grass, heather, gorse, and bramble. The scent was as familiar as the nest it slept in. The smell of home.
And yet, looking around the moor they woke up to, they could not recognize this land as their own. The sky was deep shade of purple-blue, filled with more stars than Roots had ever seen. The cognitive dissonance sent a pounding headache that made it difficult to think straight. A brown cat appeared in front of it, watching with glowing eyes. On closer inspection, the cat’s pelt was translucent, a soft faint outline around their edges.
Their eyes stretched wide when they realize that this was another ghost, akin to the WindClan cats they saw in the tunnels. Another one?
The first question it could muster was, “Who are you?”
“My name is Windstar,” she mewed, head bowing in a greeting. Filled with awe and uncertainty, Roots lowered its head in turn. “I am the founder of WindClan.”
“N-no way!” Roots blinked twice, wondering if what they were seeing was true. The ghost of WindClan’s founder coming to see it?
“Hear my words well, Roots. There isn’t much time before you wake.”
“I’m listening,” they say, pricking up their ears.
“I’m sure you’ve heard my clanmates speaking of WindClan before it fell. WindClan needs cats restore its legacy to what it once was. I’ve chosen to give this message to you, because of your faith in our stories. I trust that you will pass my words to others.”
“But how?” The excitement had subsided, replaced by a surge of anxiety in its stomach. It was quite a burden to be asked of, something Roots wasn’t sure they could handle. It was harder too, when its family didn’t believe in the ghosts it saw and refused to listen to the stories of WindClan. And who was to say that this conversation was another fantasy they’d dreamed up?
“You will find cats who will listen to you. Be certain of that,” responded Windstar calm but certainly. Seeing the firmness in her gaze, the wisdom of the stars in her pelt, Roots felt comfort and assurance at the thought of being heard by others. “Before I go, I have one last message.”
“Find the stone that gleams and shines, the one that sits beneath the mines. Stars that die and stars that fall, they gather here and sing their call. Find the cats who number four and from the ashes Clans arise once more.”
After she finished speaking, Windstar’s body faded, her pelt scattering into stars. Roots pounced at Windstar’s dissipating form in the hopes of asking one last question.
“Wait! Where can I find these ‘mines’?”
Roots jolted from their sleep, finding themself inside of a burrow instead of a starry moor. From outside, shafts of light entered the den. Critters chirped cheerfully outside, calling out in a morning call.
Was that all a dream? It couldn’t be… Windstar felt so real. And yet, here it was, lying in its nest inside of the burrow it always lived in. Climbing out of the burrow’s entrance, Roots hurried to find their best friend, Crackle.
“Crackle! Where are you?”
“Hear my words well.”
“The time has come for WindClan to return to the moor.”
Opening their eyes, they founded themself surrounded by tall stalks of grass, heather, gorse, and bramble. The scent was as familiar as the nest it slept in. The smell of home.
And yet, looking around the moor they woke up to, they could not recognize this land as their own. The sky was deep shade of purple-blue, filled with more stars than Roots had ever seen. The cognitive dissonance sent a pounding headache that made it difficult to think straight. A brown cat appeared in front of it, watching with glowing eyes. On closer inspection, the cat’s pelt was translucent, a soft faint outline around their edges.
Their eyes stretched wide when they realize that this was another ghost, akin to the WindClan cats they saw in the tunnels. Another one?
The first question it could muster was, “Who are you?”
“My name is Windstar,” she mewed, head bowing in a greeting. Filled with awe and uncertainty, Roots lowered its head in turn. “I am the founder of WindClan.”
“N-no way!” Roots blinked twice, wondering if what they were seeing was true. The ghost of WindClan’s founder coming to see it?
“Hear my words well, Roots. There isn’t much time before you wake.”
“I’m listening,” they say, pricking up their ears.
“I’m sure you’ve heard my clanmates speaking of WindClan before it fell. WindClan needs cats restore its legacy to what it once was. I’ve chosen to give this message to you, because of your faith in our stories. I trust that you will pass my words to others.”
“But how?” The excitement had subsided, replaced by a surge of anxiety in its stomach. It was quite a burden to be asked of, something Roots wasn’t sure they could handle. It was harder too, when its family didn’t believe in the ghosts it saw and refused to listen to the stories of WindClan. And who was to say that this conversation was another fantasy they’d dreamed up?
“You will find cats who will listen to you. Be certain of that,” responded Windstar calm but certainly. Seeing the firmness in her gaze, the wisdom of the stars in her pelt, Roots felt comfort and assurance at the thought of being heard by others. “Before I go, I have one last message.”
“Find the stone that gleams and shines, the one that sits beneath the mines. Stars that die and stars that fall, they gather here and sing their call. Find the cats who number four and from the ashes Clans arise once more.”
After she finished speaking, Windstar’s body faded, her pelt scattering into stars. Roots pounced at Windstar’s dissipating form in the hopes of asking one last question.
“Wait! Where can I find these ‘mines’?”
- - -
Roots jolted from their sleep, finding themself inside of a burrow instead of a starry moor. From outside, shafts of light entered the den. Critters chirped cheerfully outside, calling out in a morning call.
Was that all a dream? It couldn’t be… Windstar felt so real. And yet, here it was, lying in its nest inside of the burrow it always lived in. Climbing out of the burrow’s entrance, Roots hurried to find their best friend, Crackle.
“Crackle! Where are you?”
