Mood Music:
Hold On For Your Life - Tommee ProfittWalk they did, down the beach, through the brushy dunes that marked its edge, and up a lone hill that stood some distance away. The view it commanded- and the shelter offered by the oak at its peak- had long made it a favorite lookout for cats on patrol. It also made it prime territory for... whatever it was Pyrelight had planned. Once they'd reached their apparent destination Pyrelight sat, gesturing for Silverpaw to do the same, and sank their scraggly claws into the sod.
"Tell me of Goldpaw."
Silverpaw wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it. She said as much: "I'm not sure I follow."
"Quite alright. Understanding is not required. For the moment, tell me... hm. To start with the obvious: What is your fondest memory of your brother?"
The question posed an entirely new problem:
only choosing one of her myriad fond memories. Goldpaw had been a fixed constant in her day-to-day, his life inextricably woven through hers. He'd shared the highest of her highs as well as the lowest of the lows. Still, Pyrelight only needed one. Frowning, she thumbed backwards through her mental index, pushing mundane moments aside in search of the truly remarkable ones.
"I guess it would have been our apprentice ceremonies," She began, tailtip flicking in thought. "Or- well, it really started the night before. Goldpaw always hated being stuck in our parents' den after sundown. He wanted to be out there in the middle of everything. When we were about four months old, he started trying to sneak out. The night before we became apprentices, we actually pulled it off. Snuck right past mom and dad, and they never so much as twitched a whisker! It was
hilarious-"
Silverpaw trailed off mid-sentence. Tiny cracks had begun to spiderweb out from Pyrelight's paws, shards of rock rising gently upwards in their wake.
"Pyrelight? Is... is that supposed to be happening?"
"Yes." Pyrelight didn't so much as blink, their glassy and unseeing. Apparently this flagrant violation of the laws of physics didn't much bother them. "Please, continue."
For a fleeting instant Silverpaw didn't particularly want to. The cracks were spreading faster now, digging deeper, unearthing larger stones and tossing branches skyward. None of them were coming back down. Instead they drifted
up, unlikely birds on an unnatural thermal. She watched them circle for a moment, wondering just when she'd leaped headfirst into a wondertale, and picked up the thread of her half-told story.
The moment the tale of the twins' apprentice ceremonies was told, all the
stuff hovering around Pyrelight came to an abrupt halt. Then, just as suddenly, the lot of it swarmed towards the crest of the hill. A collection of flat stones made landfall first, arranging themselves in a neat circle that faced out towards the lake. Smaller shards swooped in next, cleverly slotting themselves into nooks and crannies between their larger brethren. Branches darted in last, sinking rootlike into the earth at the base of the stone circle. They seemed poised to weave through the next circle of stones and lock the lot of them in place.
Not just a circle of stones, Silverpaw corrected herself with a pang. A monument. They were building a memorial for Goldpaw.
"Well told." Pyrelight had come back to the present. Silverpaw got the distinct impression they were pleased with their progress. "But we are far from finished. Another memory, if you please. Your earliest, perhaps?"
More stories. More cracks. More rocks whirling into the air. More sticks caught on an invisible wind. Steadier now, Silverpaw let herself marvel at the bizarre beauty of it all. Memories could not resurrect the dead, nor could a steadily-rising tower erase the pain of grief. Together, though? Together they began to unravel the miserable knot that had settled in her chest the moment she'd heard the bad news.
-⚝-
By the time dawn peeked over the horizon the nondescript hill by the lake had been transformed. An elegant stone cairn now rose from its peak, countless flat stones cleverly tiled atop one another to spiral ever skyward. Branches wove about its base in an ornate diamond pattern, protecting, reinforcing, and decorating all at once. At the tower's peak they interwove again, forming a delicate lattice of living wood. Wildflowers- brilliant gold, of course- had sprung up in cheerful profusion all across the hilltop. A few particularly cheeky blooms poked out among the rocks and branches, little pops of color amidst the stately greys and browns.
It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Silverpaw had ever seen. It also felt ever so slightly... unfinished.
"It's missing something," She commented, glancing towards Pyrelight for confirmation. The night-dark cat smiled that enigmatic smile of theirs, pleased their apparent pupil had caught on so quickly.
"It is. But what?"
Grumbling, Silverpaw gave the tower a closer inspection. The entire structure was sinuous and flowing, coiled around a single vertical stone that looked out across the lake. Every branch and stone guided the eye towards it as if to say,
this is important. Important, but conspicuously blank.
"Something should go on that upright rock, shouldn't it?" It was a guess, but apparently a good one.
"Correct. It was left blank for a reason." Pyrelight took a deep breath, releasing it as a deep sigh. "You knew your brother best. How would he want to be remembered?"
The question caught Silverpaw flat-footed all over again. The twins had talked the topic of legacy to death, but always in the theoretical. They were young and inexperienced still; they simply hadn't had the time to make much of a mark on the world. The thought had been comforting, a promise that the greatest of their deeds yet lay ahead of them. Now it left Silverpaw fumbling for an answer she felt ill-equipped to provide.
"As Goldbeam," She decided at last. "He wanted his warrior name to be Goldbeam. I know, I know, only the clan leader can choose a warrior's name, but every kit tries to guess theirs, right? Whenever we did, that was the name he kept coming back to. Other than that, I think he'd just... want to be remembered at all. He hated the 'forgetting' thing as much as I do, thought it was cruel and unnecessary. So he'd want to know someone still loved him and thought about him even after he was gone."
Pyrelight considered this, their crimson eyes slowly growing distant. The sight made Silverpaw tense. The last time Pyrelight had glazed over like that, the very ground underpaw had decided gravity was optional. This time there were no cracks or gravitational anomalies. Instead the strangest sense of pressure, of
listening descended upon them. Some force greater than either of them had turned its entire attention toward the hilltop, and Silverpaw wasn't immediately sure that was a
good thing.
"Extend your paw and touch the stone." Pyrelight's voice was not terribly pleasant under the best of circumstances. Now, rough and crackling with barely-restrained power, it made every hair on Silverpaw's body bristle to attention. She gulped, mouth suddenly dry, and and pressed a tentative paw against the blank stone.
Veins of gold spiderwebbed out from beneath her paw. They met, intersected, wove together, chased each other across the stone's surface, an impossible dance as beautiful as it was Bit by bit a recognizable figure took shape- a leggy cat depicted mid-pounce, ears pricked forward and tail held high. Every line was rendered with such exquisite detail it made Silverpaw's heart ache-
-and when words appeared, etched in the claw-sign her clan used to mark borders, the tears came hard and fast.
For Goldbeam
Loved
Missed
Remembered
-⚝-
Word of the cairn atop the hill ripped through the clan like wildfire. Some cats called it a blessing, a sign from Starclan that the lean times were at an end. Others claimed the exact opposite: such a structure could only be a sign of terror looming on the horizon. Similar disagreements erupted about who had built the strange structure and why. Throughout all the debate one theme resurfaced time and time again:
something supernatural had touched the hill beside the lake. The more pressing question was
what- and whether it was still lurking somewhere in the clan's territory.
Silverpaw watched the chaos unfold and fought to keep her smile to herself.
Curiosity soon overcame wariness. One by one cats crept down to the lakeside to see the new addition themselves. Many went expecting an ambush or worse.
Instead they found a red-eyed relic, a silver apprentice, a gilded memorial, and a field of flowers as bright as the sun.
Silverpaw hid nothing from her clanmates: not Pyrelight's arrival nor the strange ritual they'd performed, and certainly not the cherished memories that had fueled it. They deserved to know. But knowing meant confronting a truth her clan had long shied away from: that the names and stories of the dead were not so easily erased. Their long tradition of forgetting had not saved them from pain. It had merely buried it to fester unchecked.
Pyrelight had made good on their promise. There would be no forgetting Goldbeam, not with his name and image etched in gold.
But what about the others less fortunate, forgotten through no fault of their own?
When the initial chatter began to die down Silverpaw called for the clan's attention. She had a story, Silverpaw told them, a memory to share. Share she did, repeating the tale of the twins' misadventures on the eve of their apprentice ceremonies. It earned her a few laughs and a scattering of fond smiles- not quite the reaction she'd been hoping for, but enough to start with.
Rather than plunging headlong into the next story she'd told Pyrelight, Silverpaw turned to the most familiar faces in the crowd. Her parents had been among the first cats to arrive on the hilltop. Both had made a beeline for Goldbeam's cenotaph, eyes locked on the achingly familiar figure engraved there. They were still there now, unwilling or unable to tear themselves away from this last precious piece of their son. Both blanched when Silverpaw called out to them and asked for a story in return. To their credit, they didn't bolt, though both clearly wanted to. Instead the twins' mother gathered up her courage and spoke up, recounting the (rather sweet) story of the twins' first bumbling steps around the nest. When she finished, their father stepped in without prompting, offering up a beloved memory in turn: how Goldbeam had acquired his favorite bright blue feather.
(He'd stolen it. From his father, as a matter of fact. Said father had tolerated the theft with relatively good grace.)
The chain could have stopped there. It almost did. Then Mosspaw- a fellow apprentice, and one of the twins' closest friends- saved the day with a silly little ditty about Goldpaw and his absolutely insatiable appetite. He seemed to be the pebble that started the proverbial landslide. Cat after cat chimed in with their fondest memories of the gold cat who'd dashed through their lives. Some told jokes they never got to share with him. Others wondered what the little firebrand in their midst might have accomplished, had fate been kinder.
The storytelling carried on through the night, tapering off just as the sun rose. The clan trooped home sleep-deprived and hoarse from laughter, but lighter than many had been in seasons.
Somewhere amidst the laughter and the tears, the old ways breathed their last, replaced by something wholly new.
-⚝-
Some moons later, an elder passed away in their sleep. For the first time in living memory, there was no rush to dispose of the body. The old cat was ferried to the hilltop- 'the Golden Gaze', they called it now- with all due ceremony. The whole clan followed, already trading bits and bobs about their fallen friend. Many paws made light work of an unhappy task: digging a shallow grave, lining it with soft moss, and assembling a small cairn in the image of Goldbeam's. The elder was buried with all the respect one of their age and experience deserved. Silverpaw- by then a cat grown- led the clan in what they eventually termed a vigil. Together they mourned, celebrated, and above all else,
remembered.
