stars 3600 tryout
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stars 3600 tryout
by Knickknacks » Wed Jun 12, 2024 7:54 am
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Knickknacks - Posts: 7510
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« part i || roots
by Knickknacks » Wed Jun 12, 2024 8:38 am
In the beginning, it was dark.
Even once her eyes had opened, it was some time before she was able to truly see. Much of her earlier days were spent bumping about in the dark, learning the curves of the dark earthen tunnels around her. She became used to dirt between her tiny claws, to walls pressing in on her whiskers, and never thought more about it.
The first time this changed was also the first time she met her father.
His presence was familiar to her- later she would be told that he had visited after her birth, that it was his paws that had taken her mother to be buried, had placed her at the belly of another willing acolyte. But she had not yet learned of death, and so had not been told that her mother was dead. She had a mother, she knew- and now here also was her father, some sort of counterpart.
“You’re grown up well,” were the first words he spoke to her. Something in his tone made the kit stretch up, trying to appear as large and impressive as her small form would allow. He let out a brief purr at her posturing- very brief. Behind her, Quartz- not the mother who birthed her, she would later learn, but the one who had raised her- shifted, and the kit turned her head to see her mother’s sleek dark head dipped in a bow. She attempted to copy the motion, albeit clumsily. Her father let out a small snort.
“She’s well-mannered,” he observed, speaking over her head- to Quartz, the kit assumed. “Have you given her a name yet?”
“No, my liege.” Quartz’s voice was muffled against the earth, and yet she did not raise her head. “I was unsure that any name I could give would be fitting- I thought you might want to-”
“You have done well,” her father spoke, cutting her off. “And are correct. I plan to show her to Mother today, and tell her of your kindness, in taking on a kit not your own. May you be rewarded for your service.”
“Thank you, Foxtrot.” Quartz looked up at this, her eyes shining. The kitten looked closely between their faces, seeing the smooth calm on her father’s face and the desperate hope on her mother’s. The fur along her spine prickled.
“Come, child.” Her father turned to go, sweeping his tail in a gesture clearly meant for her to follow. She hurried forward, trying not to stumble over her paws, glancing back at Quartz as she went. Her mother smiled at her, urging her on.
“I will return her to you with a name,” her father said. His voice, too, was muffled by the earth- and yet as they began their ascent, it lingered in the kitten’s ears. A name.
They emerged into light, crawling up out of the tunnels, and the kitten could not stop herself from gasping.
Overhead there were trees, crossing overhead and creating a thick canopy- but light broke through nonetheless, warm and dappling her fur. The faint light of her kithood den had been a pale imitation of this, and she immediately felt a spike of dread at the thought of going back into the tunnels.
“Come.” her father did not give pause to her awe, continuing to walk. In the light, she could see that his pelt was dappled, too, gold and gray and orange as though some of the sunlight was trapped in it. She glanced down at her own paws, and found them, too, to be white and golden, like a ray of sun had somehow reached into the tunnels to color her fur.
His legs, too, were much longer than hers, and she had to scramble to keep up.
“Where are we going?” She tried not to sound as though her breath was heaving, not wanting to appear weak. Her father–Foxtrot, that was his name–glanced once over his shoulder at her, his eyes sharp. His eyes were not like Quartz’s, kind and shining even in the dark. His were bright in a piercing way, one that made her feel pinned under them. When she had grown up more, and learned to hunt, she would recognize this expression- that of a hunter, sizing up a prey animal, trying to decide if it was worth the effort.
“I am taking you to meet Mother.” His words were simple, and yet the fur prickled along her spine once more.
“But- we left Quartz back in the den.”
“Not her.” A hint of a scoff crept into Foxtrot’s voice. “She is but a surrogate- a substitute. I am not referring to a mother who births or nurses. The Mother I speak of, child, is not a cat at all. I am taking you to see Mother Yew.”
He stepped nimbly over a dark shape lying across their path, and as she stretched to crawl over it, the kit realized it was a tree root, like the ones she sometimes bumped against in the tunnels.
The bark was smooth, and oddly cold under her paws. She shivered.
“Who is Mother Yew?” She had been so delighted to leave the tunnels, but suddenly felt like she would rather be at Quartz’s side. Her mother was warmth and comfort- Quartz was kind, and she was familiar. If she was going to see a ‘mother,’ why did she feel such unease?
Foxtrot was silent for a moment more. He took a few steps farther, then settled against the curve of another protruding root. She tentatively sat beside him, not quite close enough to touch, feeling the odd cold of the tree bark and the shadow they were seated underneath.
“This is Mother Yew.” Foxtrot stretched a paw out, back the way they had come, his eyes shining.
She realized, then, that the shadow stretching over her paws was that of a branch. Looking around, she saw a multitude of shadows trailing back to their source- a massive tree, gnarled and wide-spreading. The canopy of its-her-branches was wider than any trees above. It was not the tallest tree, but the thing that her father called Mother Yew sat in the clearing with an undeniable sense of gravity. It made her fur stand on end. She wanted to run- away from it, to it. She wanted to go back to the tunnels, which she now realized were nestled within Mother Yew’s roots, and rest in her mother’s embrace. She wanted to flee to a place where there was light, where the shadows would not touch her again, where she could not feel the eerily cool wood beneath her paws. The tree was majestic, in some way- she could understand, a little bit, the reverence in her father’s voice,the fervent energy with which he spoke about this ‘mother.’ But looking at the twisted form of the tree- at the dark hole in the roots they had emerged from- she did not feel awed, or comforted.
“It is to Mother Yew that we owe our very lives.” Her father was not looking at her. “In the shade of Mother Yew we are born. In the grasp of her roots, we are nurtured, growing strong beneath her boughs. We- I, Quartz- and all of the others too- you, now, as well- call ourselves the Yew Following, and live all of our days within her sight.” His claws flexed, tearing at the dark earth beneath them, tail lashing with fervor as he recited his odd liturgy. The anxious claws grasping at her heart seemed to tighten their grip.
“I-I don’t understand.” She willed her voice not to shake. She did not want her father’s scoff to be turned upon her, did not want to see disappointment in his piercing eyes.
“It is not unheard of, to be confused upon first encountering Mother Yew- especially in all of her majesty, like this.” For the first time since, her father’s voice was warm- whether the sentiment was directed toward her or Mother Yew, she could not tell. Still, his eyes were warm as he looked up at her, and she allowed herself to bask in it, even if only for a moment.
“You will learn,” he assured her. “All do, in the end. In time, you will come to know Mother Yew as all of us do- even as I have, after all this time of serving her.”
She was still beneath his gaze- not knowing what to say, not knowing what she should say. A nod- small, hesitant- seemed to do the trick. The warmth in Foxtrot’s eyes grew.
“You shine in this light,” he murmured. “Like a precious stone- a chip of mica.” A moment of silence, a slight furrow of his brow, and then-
“Yes,” he said, leaning to touch his nose to her head. “That is what we will call you- Mica. May you reflect the majesty of Mother Yew as your namesake reflects the light.”
Mica stood, rooted to the spot. Her father’s warm touch- the cold sharpness in his eyes. The warmth of the sun on her back, the eerie chill of Mother Yew beneath her paws. She stood still, muddled by these extremes- unsure of what she would reflect, in the end, and praying that she did not displease him.
[1553 words.]
Even once her eyes had opened, it was some time before she was able to truly see. Much of her earlier days were spent bumping about in the dark, learning the curves of the dark earthen tunnels around her. She became used to dirt between her tiny claws, to walls pressing in on her whiskers, and never thought more about it.
The first time this changed was also the first time she met her father.
His presence was familiar to her- later she would be told that he had visited after her birth, that it was his paws that had taken her mother to be buried, had placed her at the belly of another willing acolyte. But she had not yet learned of death, and so had not been told that her mother was dead. She had a mother, she knew- and now here also was her father, some sort of counterpart.
“You’re grown up well,” were the first words he spoke to her. Something in his tone made the kit stretch up, trying to appear as large and impressive as her small form would allow. He let out a brief purr at her posturing- very brief. Behind her, Quartz- not the mother who birthed her, she would later learn, but the one who had raised her- shifted, and the kit turned her head to see her mother’s sleek dark head dipped in a bow. She attempted to copy the motion, albeit clumsily. Her father let out a small snort.
“She’s well-mannered,” he observed, speaking over her head- to Quartz, the kit assumed. “Have you given her a name yet?”
“No, my liege.” Quartz’s voice was muffled against the earth, and yet she did not raise her head. “I was unsure that any name I could give would be fitting- I thought you might want to-”
“You have done well,” her father spoke, cutting her off. “And are correct. I plan to show her to Mother today, and tell her of your kindness, in taking on a kit not your own. May you be rewarded for your service.”
“Thank you, Foxtrot.” Quartz looked up at this, her eyes shining. The kitten looked closely between their faces, seeing the smooth calm on her father’s face and the desperate hope on her mother’s. The fur along her spine prickled.
“Come, child.” Her father turned to go, sweeping his tail in a gesture clearly meant for her to follow. She hurried forward, trying not to stumble over her paws, glancing back at Quartz as she went. Her mother smiled at her, urging her on.
“I will return her to you with a name,” her father said. His voice, too, was muffled by the earth- and yet as they began their ascent, it lingered in the kitten’s ears. A name.
- - - - -
They emerged into light, crawling up out of the tunnels, and the kitten could not stop herself from gasping.
Overhead there were trees, crossing overhead and creating a thick canopy- but light broke through nonetheless, warm and dappling her fur. The faint light of her kithood den had been a pale imitation of this, and she immediately felt a spike of dread at the thought of going back into the tunnels.
“Come.” her father did not give pause to her awe, continuing to walk. In the light, she could see that his pelt was dappled, too, gold and gray and orange as though some of the sunlight was trapped in it. She glanced down at her own paws, and found them, too, to be white and golden, like a ray of sun had somehow reached into the tunnels to color her fur.
His legs, too, were much longer than hers, and she had to scramble to keep up.
“Where are we going?” She tried not to sound as though her breath was heaving, not wanting to appear weak. Her father–Foxtrot, that was his name–glanced once over his shoulder at her, his eyes sharp. His eyes were not like Quartz’s, kind and shining even in the dark. His were bright in a piercing way, one that made her feel pinned under them. When she had grown up more, and learned to hunt, she would recognize this expression- that of a hunter, sizing up a prey animal, trying to decide if it was worth the effort.
“I am taking you to meet Mother.” His words were simple, and yet the fur prickled along her spine once more.
“But- we left Quartz back in the den.”
“Not her.” A hint of a scoff crept into Foxtrot’s voice. “She is but a surrogate- a substitute. I am not referring to a mother who births or nurses. The Mother I speak of, child, is not a cat at all. I am taking you to see Mother Yew.”
He stepped nimbly over a dark shape lying across their path, and as she stretched to crawl over it, the kit realized it was a tree root, like the ones she sometimes bumped against in the tunnels.
The bark was smooth, and oddly cold under her paws. She shivered.
“Who is Mother Yew?” She had been so delighted to leave the tunnels, but suddenly felt like she would rather be at Quartz’s side. Her mother was warmth and comfort- Quartz was kind, and she was familiar. If she was going to see a ‘mother,’ why did she feel such unease?
Foxtrot was silent for a moment more. He took a few steps farther, then settled against the curve of another protruding root. She tentatively sat beside him, not quite close enough to touch, feeling the odd cold of the tree bark and the shadow they were seated underneath.
“This is Mother Yew.” Foxtrot stretched a paw out, back the way they had come, his eyes shining.
She realized, then, that the shadow stretching over her paws was that of a branch. Looking around, she saw a multitude of shadows trailing back to their source- a massive tree, gnarled and wide-spreading. The canopy of its-her-branches was wider than any trees above. It was not the tallest tree, but the thing that her father called Mother Yew sat in the clearing with an undeniable sense of gravity. It made her fur stand on end. She wanted to run- away from it, to it. She wanted to go back to the tunnels, which she now realized were nestled within Mother Yew’s roots, and rest in her mother’s embrace. She wanted to flee to a place where there was light, where the shadows would not touch her again, where she could not feel the eerily cool wood beneath her paws. The tree was majestic, in some way- she could understand, a little bit, the reverence in her father’s voice,the fervent energy with which he spoke about this ‘mother.’ But looking at the twisted form of the tree- at the dark hole in the roots they had emerged from- she did not feel awed, or comforted.
“It is to Mother Yew that we owe our very lives.” Her father was not looking at her. “In the shade of Mother Yew we are born. In the grasp of her roots, we are nurtured, growing strong beneath her boughs. We- I, Quartz- and all of the others too- you, now, as well- call ourselves the Yew Following, and live all of our days within her sight.” His claws flexed, tearing at the dark earth beneath them, tail lashing with fervor as he recited his odd liturgy. The anxious claws grasping at her heart seemed to tighten their grip.
“I-I don’t understand.” She willed her voice not to shake. She did not want her father’s scoff to be turned upon her, did not want to see disappointment in his piercing eyes.
“It is not unheard of, to be confused upon first encountering Mother Yew- especially in all of her majesty, like this.” For the first time since, her father’s voice was warm- whether the sentiment was directed toward her or Mother Yew, she could not tell. Still, his eyes were warm as he looked up at her, and she allowed herself to bask in it, even if only for a moment.
“You will learn,” he assured her. “All do, in the end. In time, you will come to know Mother Yew as all of us do- even as I have, after all this time of serving her.”
She was still beneath his gaze- not knowing what to say, not knowing what she should say. A nod- small, hesitant- seemed to do the trick. The warmth in Foxtrot’s eyes grew.
“You shine in this light,” he murmured. “Like a precious stone- a chip of mica.” A moment of silence, a slight furrow of his brow, and then-
“Yes,” he said, leaning to touch his nose to her head. “That is what we will call you- Mica. May you reflect the majesty of Mother Yew as your namesake reflects the light.”
Mica stood, rooted to the spot. Her father’s warm touch- the cold sharpness in his eyes. The warmth of the sun on her back, the eerie chill of Mother Yew beneath her paws. She stood still, muddled by these extremes- unsure of what she would reflect, in the end, and praying that she did not displease him.
[1553 words.]
-
Knickknacks - Posts: 7510
- Joined: Sat Aug 13, 2016 12:21 am
- My pets
- My items
- My wishlist
- My gallery
- My scenes
- My dressups
- Trade with me
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