EarthClan
You are one of the chosen. PowerClans need you know.
The words kept on spiraling in Lightwhisper's twisted mind, repeating and echoing within the confines of the white warrior's skull as she made the journey to Centertree. She had not been expecting a thing last night, on the evening of the full moon. She had not expected anything else to occur at the Gathering except for the usual banal reports with the unusual but still rather trivial addition of Sunstar claiming that SunClan was recovering quickly and would be a strong, formidable rival once again soon. She wouldn't have expected the latter to be expressed vocally, but any cat older than six moons would sense the slightly concealed intention nonetheless. Lightwhisper, the unstable, weak so-called "warrior" from EarthClan who could barely tell the validity of something right in front of her most of the time, let alone battling and winning against a DarkClan minion had been selected by StarClan, every cat of PowerClans's ancestors, to save the forest from the scourge of the shadows, led by Icestar, called by the name of DarkClan. The whole encounter with Flamestar the previous night seemed to have a oneiric quality about it; Lightwhisper almost assumed that she had imagined or dreamed up what could only be a nightmare, yet there she was, padding the long, lonesome path to the epicenter of their valley. With every slight stumble induced by her enrapturing stupor, the warrior knew. The only thing she could do was wonder, Why? Why, StarClan? Why me? She was certain that every other chosen cat was mulling over the very same thoughts. How would they be of any use at all to the big picture of saving the world from darkness? What made them any different from any other cat other than the monolithic burden resting upon their shoulders? If you looked past the sculpted face of newfound responsibility, what would you find? How did StarClan, the predecessors that overlooked every small event of their descendents, that were supposedly wise beyond any forest-, ice-, mountain-, or water-cat's experience on their cramped world of wars and advancing darkness choose which cats were suitable for the task that they desperately needed to be fulfilled? The questions didn't end, nor did Lightwhisper expect them to. They never would; none of them seemed to have answers, and even if a single one had a shred of clarity about it, the green-eyed EarthClan cat would never discover it. She was defined as frail at the very best. She was not particularly clever or very wise at all. In fact, she could barely make decisions for herself. She was not remarkably strong; to be quite frank, she was one of the weakest cats in PowerClans, especially among its warriors. Lightwhisper did not have the element of speed on her side. She wasn't even that attractive, and even if she was, that would be no asset to their mission. The mission of the chosen cats. It was a joke. Surely her starry-furred superiors did not view her disorder as something that would be most desirable for a cat with such responsibility. Whatever it was. . . . Just -- what?
During her frantic, hopeless musings, Lightwhisper paid scant attention to her companion, her fellow EarthClan warrior, Dirtpath. The tabby she-cat was also one of the chosen, and was rightfully one to be so. At least she was a properly-functioning warrior, albeit a gentle, relatively timid one. She could fight decently, and her hunting skills contributed to keeping the Clan fed. Unlike Lightwhisper, or at least how the white-furred feline considered herself. The younger cat's thoughts were once again interrupted by an outside interference. It felt as though a paw were prodding her left shoulder ever so gently. She cocked her head to the side to find that nothing was there. Lightwhisper ignored the brief contact -- she often experienced sensations like this, so how was this feeling any different? -- and was earnest to return to her pondering. In fact, she was currently simultaneously ignoring the illusion of inside-out birds swooping in and out of her vision as well. Yet the prodding sensation wouldn't stop bothering her; its persistence was invoking a series of stabbing pains in her left leg. The one that she had injured the other day. The one that had broken not too long ago when an outreaching tree branch fell upon it. Oh. Right.
Lightwhisper was wrenched out of the dream into a slightly more painful reality. She didn't scowl at the cat who had awoken her; she didn't even bother to give her visitor a withering stare. The injured she-cat merely cracked her bloodshot eyes to take a peek at who it was, holding her breath in case it was Emberclaw. She wasn't so fortunate; a vaguely familiar tabby pelt blended in with the brambles of the EarthClan medicine den. It belonged to Dirtpath, who was mewing something very softly. It took a few moments for Lightwhisper to register what the words were. She groggily processed them before flattening her ears against her head and yawning slowly, feeling no rush to answer. After a few silence-filled heartbeats, she managed a low, subdued, "Yes?" Normally, the thin feline wouldn't have treated another cat in such a rude manner, but the pain pulsating from her injured shoulder -- the one that Dirtpath had been nudging just moments before -- was making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, let alone her usual quiet politeness.
[['Lo, everyone. . . It feels like I haven't posted in here for so long. . . I apologize for that, and will try to be more on top of my schedule for now on. I was feeling inspired since I watched RENT earlier [Squaaaaa-eeeee~!], so I apologize also for this boringly, fluffy long post. . .
But don't think that I haven't been paying attention. I've read every post, so perhaps that compensates for my absence just a tiny bit? No? I didn't think so.
Just as a side-note: Everyone's writing has been improving vastly of late, especially you, Tink. :3 Wanted to point that out briefly. . .]]
You are one of the chosen. PowerClans need you know.
The words kept on spiraling in Lightwhisper's twisted mind, repeating and echoing within the confines of the white warrior's skull as she made the journey to Centertree. She had not been expecting a thing last night, on the evening of the full moon. She had not expected anything else to occur at the Gathering except for the usual banal reports with the unusual but still rather trivial addition of Sunstar claiming that SunClan was recovering quickly and would be a strong, formidable rival once again soon. She wouldn't have expected the latter to be expressed vocally, but any cat older than six moons would sense the slightly concealed intention nonetheless. Lightwhisper, the unstable, weak so-called "warrior" from EarthClan who could barely tell the validity of something right in front of her most of the time, let alone battling and winning against a DarkClan minion had been selected by StarClan, every cat of PowerClans's ancestors, to save the forest from the scourge of the shadows, led by Icestar, called by the name of DarkClan. The whole encounter with Flamestar the previous night seemed to have a oneiric quality about it; Lightwhisper almost assumed that she had imagined or dreamed up what could only be a nightmare, yet there she was, padding the long, lonesome path to the epicenter of their valley. With every slight stumble induced by her enrapturing stupor, the warrior knew. The only thing she could do was wonder, Why? Why, StarClan? Why me? She was certain that every other chosen cat was mulling over the very same thoughts. How would they be of any use at all to the big picture of saving the world from darkness? What made them any different from any other cat other than the monolithic burden resting upon their shoulders? If you looked past the sculpted face of newfound responsibility, what would you find? How did StarClan, the predecessors that overlooked every small event of their descendents, that were supposedly wise beyond any forest-, ice-, mountain-, or water-cat's experience on their cramped world of wars and advancing darkness choose which cats were suitable for the task that they desperately needed to be fulfilled? The questions didn't end, nor did Lightwhisper expect them to. They never would; none of them seemed to have answers, and even if a single one had a shred of clarity about it, the green-eyed EarthClan cat would never discover it. She was defined as frail at the very best. She was not particularly clever or very wise at all. In fact, she could barely make decisions for herself. She was not remarkably strong; to be quite frank, she was one of the weakest cats in PowerClans, especially among its warriors. Lightwhisper did not have the element of speed on her side. She wasn't even that attractive, and even if she was, that would be no asset to their mission. The mission of the chosen cats. It was a joke. Surely her starry-furred superiors did not view her disorder as something that would be most desirable for a cat with such responsibility. Whatever it was. . . . Just -- what?
During her frantic, hopeless musings, Lightwhisper paid scant attention to her companion, her fellow EarthClan warrior, Dirtpath. The tabby she-cat was also one of the chosen, and was rightfully one to be so. At least she was a properly-functioning warrior, albeit a gentle, relatively timid one. She could fight decently, and her hunting skills contributed to keeping the Clan fed. Unlike Lightwhisper, or at least how the white-furred feline considered herself. The younger cat's thoughts were once again interrupted by an outside interference. It felt as though a paw were prodding her left shoulder ever so gently. She cocked her head to the side to find that nothing was there. Lightwhisper ignored the brief contact -- she often experienced sensations like this, so how was this feeling any different? -- and was earnest to return to her pondering. In fact, she was currently simultaneously ignoring the illusion of inside-out birds swooping in and out of her vision as well. Yet the prodding sensation wouldn't stop bothering her; its persistence was invoking a series of stabbing pains in her left leg. The one that she had injured the other day. The one that had broken not too long ago when an outreaching tree branch fell upon it. Oh. Right.
Lightwhisper was wrenched out of the dream into a slightly more painful reality. She didn't scowl at the cat who had awoken her; she didn't even bother to give her visitor a withering stare. The injured she-cat merely cracked her bloodshot eyes to take a peek at who it was, holding her breath in case it was Emberclaw. She wasn't so fortunate; a vaguely familiar tabby pelt blended in with the brambles of the EarthClan medicine den. It belonged to Dirtpath, who was mewing something very softly. It took a few moments for Lightwhisper to register what the words were. She groggily processed them before flattening her ears against her head and yawning slowly, feeling no rush to answer. After a few silence-filled heartbeats, she managed a low, subdued, "Yes?" Normally, the thin feline wouldn't have treated another cat in such a rude manner, but the pain pulsating from her injured shoulder -- the one that Dirtpath had been nudging just moments before -- was making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, let alone her usual quiet politeness.
[['Lo, everyone. . . It feels like I haven't posted in here for so long. . . I apologize for that, and will try to be more on top of my schedule for now on. I was feeling inspired since I watched RENT earlier [Squaaaaa-eeeee~!], so I apologize also for this boringly, fluffy long post. . .
But don't think that I haven't been paying attention. I've read every post, so perhaps that compensates for my absence just a tiny bit? No? I didn't think so.
Just as a side-note: Everyone's writing has been improving vastly of late, especially you, Tink. :3 Wanted to point that out briefly. . .]]
