Post by Sigh on Jul 7, 2022 13:30:22 GMT
cyril
A crash of thunder woke Cyril from his sleep, and he blinked one eye open. Rain was pelting down. It hammered against the roof and windows of his housefolk's nest, streaking down the panes and dripping off the edges of the gutters in glittering rivulets.
Had it been storming when he'd settled in for the night? No, he didn't think so; Cyril remembered storms. The aching in his knees was hard to ignore, as was the echo of faded memories from an old, half-forgotten life. Tonight, though, the memories were stronger, and the pain was fainter. He stood gingerly, not trusting the ease with which his joints moved, but after a few more stretches it seemed that the storm really wasn't having any effect on his aches—if anything, they felt better than they had in moons.
A flash of lightning lit up the nest. Cyril started, eyes narrowing at the sudden brightness. Strange shadows swam in his vision with the renewed dimness, fuzzy, indistinct shapes that disappeared when he tried to focus on them. One seemed clearer than the rest, though, a feline form that did not so much evaporate as it seemed to slink out of the room. Cyril inhaled, but by scent alone he couldn't pick up on anyone in the nest beside himself. But I could have sworn... He jumped down off the bed, still surprised by his sudden ease of movement, and padded after the shadow. Thunder rumbled belatedly in the distance.
The next room was, as expected, empty. Cyril rested back on his haunches, equal parts disappointed and reassured. Of course he was alone, the shadows were just playing tricks on his old eyes. His resolve wavered with another lightning strike, however. This time the figure, while still smudged around the edges, was much more clear. A large tom, broad-shouldered and somehow both golden and full of starlight. Even when the lightning faded, the stranger's pelt seemed to retain the smallest sparkles of light. More thunder followed, a shorter delay than the last strike. With a flick of his tail, the stranger bounded out of the door of the nest, into the storm, leaving a confounded Cyril in his wake.
"Now hold on, you—" But it was no use, the mysterious, half-blurred tom was already gone. What kind of lunatic goes out in a storm like this? Cyril thought furiously, rushing over to the door, He's going to get absolutely drenched if not washed away entirely. He pushed his own way out of the nest, and stumbled forward inelegantly into a fog-shrouded forest.
"This is much better, isn't it?"
Cyril narrowed one eye at the stranger, whose blurry form seemed to shift with the movement of the mist. Oddly enough, it was not raining anymore—although Cyril was hard-pressed to decide if the complete change in scenery was more unusual than the complete change in weather. It was all equally distressing, especially when combined with the stranger's reaction to Cyril's glare; he seemed more amused than anything.
"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. My name is Thunderstar. The first leader of ThunderClan, and its founder." A pause. When Cyril made no response, Thunderstar chuckled. "I understand your hesitancy. But I also understand your heart, and know that you will not hesitate to help those in need." Another pause but more sobering. "I'm afraid there will be a need, soon, Cyril."
At the sound of his name, Cyril started. How did this Thunderstar know him?
"If you heed any of my words, let it be these." Thunderstar's voice seemed to broaden, taking on an echoing resonance from which Cyril could pick out many individual voices, if he chose to, even a few that he might recognize, impossible as it seemed. "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."
The words wound their way into Cyril's mind, the strange cadence ricocheting with some meaning that he couldn't quite grasp. "What—how—you want me to find a rock?" he blustered, but Thunderstar's form was already fading into the mist. Suddenly the storm returned, and a tail of lightning struck a tree immediately in front of Cyril, so close the thunder boomed deafeningly in tandem. The tree was set alight, its bare branches sparking haphazardly before flaring up into a rain-defying blaze. Cyril staggered backwards, confused by the rain and the unfamiliar forest and the fire and the prophecy, mind a muddle. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it all away, and was surprised to find his wishing worked; when he opened his eyes, he was back in the bed in his housefolk's nest, knees aching with the patter of rain outside.
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