There are 2 books on my tbr pile right now: one I picked up on my trip to Northern California in September. One is a Very Highly Anticipatedâąïž (VHA) final to a beloved trilogy that I got with my birthday gift certificate before I left on my Midwest trip.
Hereâs how my brain works with books: not starting VHA yet because a) itâs a big assed hard back b) so not appropriate to take on my trip and c) once I start it, all bets are off â I ainât doing anything else.
The other book on the tbr I canât start until Iâm done with VHA because *obviously*. And Iâm sure Iâll gobble up VHA in a matter of days (as noted above) and Iâll need something to read afterwards to get me to Xmas.
As Iâll be working from home before Thanksgiving, Iâll probably start VHA tomorrow. Which should mean Iâll finish it by end of November. Which then clears my calendar for our catalog of holiday shows and movies.
I spent all of yesterday reading Book two of Dungeon Crawler Carl. Been trying to pace myself today, so I'm only halfway through the third book that I spent all of today reading. Once again, I didn't get very much done irl đ
I'm going to set up my clothes, and get my lunch ready for work tomorrow, maybe I will wash some dishes before I go to sleep.
This story has a choke hold on my brain.
It is SO HARD to rip myself away from this story!! Aaaaaahh!
One of my most anticipated television events in my entire life up to that point was in the Summer of 2008 - "Sozin's Comet", the four part finale for not only Book Three of Avatar: The Last Airbender, but the entire series. The three season storyline that had kept me watching the show with full investment ever since its 2005 premiere finally came to a conclusion, and to this day, this is one of the most nigh perfectly executed series finales for any show I have ever seen, animated or otherwise. All of the payoffs to three seasons' worth of build-up: Aang having never wanted to be the Avatar because he feared he'd lose himself to it, Katara's struggle to trust and forgive Zuko as well as her developing skills in waterbending for both combat and healing, Sokka's maturing as a warrior and as a dependable friend, Zuko's redemption arc and his relationships with his family members and newfound friends, the complete downfall and mental collapse of Azula, the White Lotus Society, the titular comet and Fire Lord Ozai's heinous plans concerning it, and of course, that fucking battle between Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Ozai. It's all delivered to us and in the most glorious epic manner that the scripting, scoring, and animation could possibly deliver. It all landed with me and stuck with me days after seeing its TV premiere for the first time, and I suspect I'm far from alone. This not only met all my expectations, it exceeded them. I have some nitpicks with it (the "kill or spare Ozai" moral dilemma came in too late prior to this finale to be particularly convincing and compelling, and some of the resolution with minor characters such as Mai and Ty Lee were underwhelming) and at least two big complaints (the way Aang regains the Avatar State and the beyond needless penultimate scene that set up expectations that went nowhere), but this was, on the whole, an exceptionally high quality end to an exceptionally high quality show.
Not in order. Not in peace. Not even in print, maybe.
Itâs coming like memory static in a dream you donât remember having.
Like glyphs that rearrange themselves after you blink.
Like a god whispering âoopsâ in reverse.
They thought silence was safety.
They thought Ryven was done breaking things.
They were wrong. Again. Obviously.
âYou werenât supposed to remember me.â
â A voice that smells like scorched star-metal and guilt.
Coming soon:
đ„ betrayal
đź psionic fallout
đłïž a hole where time used to be
đ rats. So many rats. Donât ask.
Preorder, or donât. The Vault already knows.
Youâre in it now.
The sky arched over the earth in an impressive display of colors. Cinderpaw was situated outside of the Mother in a way where the massive legs kept her from seeing the horizons on either side of the world, but the sunâs glow was fighting hard to retain its gold and red, while on the other end stars crawled into the sky higher and higher in the deep blues and purples of night.
Cinderpawâs eyes drifted between the stars she could see, connecting them with invisible lines and forming inexact silhouettes. She wondered if the stars ever made the shape of a cat or some other animal. Maybe that would make StarClan a little self-centered, to actually make a cat out of cats, but what else was a feline, really? At least, that was what Yellowfang had always said.
âOh!â
She looked back down. Several cats were approaching, two of them crossing the road together. The smallest of them, a pair of patched cats, were coming around the corner of the Motherâs left leg. The older one, grey-and-white, was the one who had spoken.
âI did not expect you to be here so early,â he said in his soft, slightly creaky voice. âApologies for making you wait.â
âHi, Fognose.â Cinderpaw waved her tail and stood up. âI actually got here yesterday. Firestar had his ceremony and we thought I should stay here to save myself a trip.â
âGood idea,â said WindClanâs seer, a handsome dark brown tom named Buzzardface. He looked just as impassive as the rest of his Clan, but his words were kind. âSorry about your mentor. Heard after the Gathering.â
âYeahâŠâ Cinderpaw sighed. âThanks. Iâm just glad the stars let me help name Firestar.â
âThey know youâre not a fool.â Mudcloud said, another patched tom (this time dark brown) from RiverClan. His pleasantly round face squished in a bit with amusement. âIf Yellowfang herself didnât come down to swat you, Iâm sure you did it right.â
Fognose and his apprentice, Littlepaw, both chuffed.
âShe didnât, luckily,â Cinderpaw said with a purr.
Fognose reached Cinderpaw. She saw a dim grief in his eyes. âI do hope she watches over us tonight. Her best apprentice ought to receive her name with her mentor present.â Before a heavy pause could rest between the seers, Fognose cleared his throat. âNow, I am to give you your name, and I know we have more than one option for you. You could be a -belly, and you could change your name entirely to honor your leg. I remember that you talked about that, onceâŠâ
âWell, actuallyââ Cinderpaw lifted a paw. âI have a different name Iâd like, if Iâm allowed.â
The toms all fell silent, looking at each other curiously. Fognose tilted his head.
âI know itâs a weird request, but Iâd like to be given -pelt.â At the slightly confused squint from Buzzardface, Cinderpaw hastened to add, âYellowfangâs old name was Murkpelt when she was in ShadowClan. I want something to honor her with for the rest of my life, and I think having part of her name with me is the best I can do.â
Mudcloud blinked. âYou want your name to not be your own?â
âI do,â Cinderpaw said with a firm nod. She added to Fognose, âPlease.â
Littlepaw looked up at his mentor, gauging his reaction. Hesitantly, he offered, âI think it would honor your mentor, sir.â
âIt would,â Fognose murmured. His eyes warmed as he regarded the taller Cinderpaw. âVery well, then. At your request.â
âBest get started.â Buzzardface started off for the mouth of the Mother, the other seers following him.
The walk inside those tunnels, with the absolute lack of sensory input, alarmed many apprentices and warriors. Cinderpaw herself strolled along with confidence, having a faint impression of being gently held in the belly of a queen, even if it was absolutely freezing in here.
The party reached the cave of the Moon Stone in what seemed like no time at all. Fognose turned and stood with his back to the Motherâs heart, while the other seers sat to the side and Cinderpaw stood across from him.
I know my lines, she thought. I know them. I do. I just wish they werenât so long. Warriors donât have to deal with thisâŠ
âMirra, the Three, and StarClan,â Fognose began, startling her. âI ask that you bear witness to our ceremony tonight, and bring blessings to this young seer.â He looked at Cinderpaw. âWhy have you come to our Motherâs heart?â
Cinderpaw straightened up. âI ask for my name promised to me in the light of the moon and stars.â
She got that part right; Fognose looked pleased. âWhat have you done to earn your name?â
âI have been taught to read the mysteries of leaf, feather, and light, in the stones of my soul,â Cinderpaw replied. âI have learned the law of our mothersâ mothers. With everything I see in the light of the stars, I shall earn my name.â
âHow will you use your name?â Fognose asked.
Cinderpaw felt a warm glow in her chest. âI will guide my cats in the path of starlight. I will speak what I see. With this, I shall use my name.â
Fognose leaned a little forward. âWho do you ask to honor your name?â
Here came the big one. Cinderpaw took in a deep breath. âI ask the Endless Watcher for the courage to bear my name well in the light of the sun. I ask the Pathcarver for the discretion to bear my name well in the light of the moon.â The glowing warmth intensified. âI ask the Twilight for the voice to bear my name well in the path of starlight.â
Fognose turned his head to look at the other seers, who were all watching intently. âDo we agree to bestow this apprentice with the name of a seer, and all it entails?â
âI agree,â said Buzzardface.
âAs do I,â Mudcloud said.
Littlepaw simply nodded. Apprentices didnât have a voice in the ceremony, but he had an eager look on his face when he watched Cinderpaw, like he was imagining his own naming.
Fognose turned back to Cinderpaw, his big eyes crinkled. âBlessed apprentice of the stars, that which you ask for will be given. In the heart of the Mother, under the eye of the lady Suriin, in the light of our lord Rokhar, I call you by your name.â He bowed his head. âWelcome, Cinderpelt. May StarClan light your path.â
The chant had less voices in it, but they echoed in this cavern enough to drown out a warriorâs cheer. âCinderpelt! Cinderpelt!â
The warmth flared into heat, just for a moment, before softening and fading entirely. Cinderpelt bowed her head to Fognose in turn as the other seers gathered closer.
âBlessings and congratulations,â Littlepaw said to her. âThunderClan will be proud of you when you come home.â
Cinderpelt ruffled his head-fur. âAnd Iâll be proud of you when itâs your turn.â
âWith that,â Mudcloud said, âwe ought to dream now.â
Cinderpelt went up with the others and touched her nose to the Moon Stoneâsheâd never get over the blast of ice flowing through her body as soon as she made contact. She backed up and sat down, facing the stone, while the other seers laid down around her and shut their eyes.
As Yellowfang had instructed her so long ago, she shut her own, but didnât go to sleep. Instead, she breathed in and out slowly, the world around her seeping into her body. Every hair on her pelt was touched by something different: a swallow taking flight from the Barnâs entrance, a doe raising her head from the grass and watching a distant bush suspiciously rustle, the wind carrying the scents of far-distant lands down the moor and into the forest. She followed that wind, racing without moving a whisker, and entered the forest, listening and seeing from the darkness of the Mother.
---
Itâs just not fair.
She walks aimlessly, her path indiscriminate, stepping one direction and turning in another. Pain and hunger and ennui cling to her essence, dragging her down by her long, blue fur until sheâs fighting with everything she has (and it isnât much) just to keep from sinking to the ground and lying there until she fades.
Sheâs a failure. She devastated her Clan, forced them to struggle amongst themselves without a leader. She had sworn so long ago that she would never wrong them again, that the kits were gone, that she wouldnât even look at Oakclaw. She had done so well for so long, and thenâŠ
And then thisâthis form of hers now. Skeletal, her fur greasy and matted, her eyesight agonizingly dull. She can hardly make out a bush in front of her.
How could she have let this happen? What is wrong with her?
Here is the end of her legacy: a shriveled-up bag of bones that left her charges with no one to protect them, no one to lead them.
It took her days to come to her senses; she thought she was still alive, just sleeping, when she opened her eyes and realized her body wasnât there anymore. She wandered into camp, and only the young and old remained. The warriors were gone. Were they fighting each other for the leaderâs spot? Where were they?
And then she saw them walking back into the forest, auras dark and haunted and exhausted. They said nothing to each other as she watched them. She didnât follow. She was afraid to.
The weights tighten their grip on her soul and yank her towards the earth. Sheâs forgotten what it was to feel pride and joy at this point. What is there but regret, shame, failure? She used to be someone, and she died as no one. No, worse - as a disappointment.
Maybe⊠maybe lying down wouldnât feel so bad for a bit. For forever.
Then heat rests on her shoulders. She blinks, her despair momentarily forgotten, and looks around in confusion. The heat grows, and with it the forest brightens as a form of sunlight steps past ThunderClanâs border.
She stands straight, bristling her matted fur⊠but, as she squints and strains her eyes, she realizes she neednât bother.
The form is smaller than usual, quiet and serene, ginger fur smooth and soft. She recognizes the wiry build, the verdant eyes, the gentle, loving aura radiating off of him. He walks calmly, his head high and tail higher, determination setting his face into something nearing majestic.
She knows that light.
âThey chose you,â she near-whispers. âYouâre⊠youâreâŠâ
âFirestar now.â
She looks up. On the edge of the forest, standing in the grass of the neutral grounds, is a familiar form: a handsome, tall, warm brown tabby with merriment in his starry eyes. She stares at him. Her paws move without her instruction.
âSorry to interrupt your descent into wraithhood,â he says as she steps closer. âYou were taking a while to get to us.â
âOakclaw,â she breathes. With that single word, and with every step, the weights begin dropping off of her, one by one.
âBluestar,â he says, casual and amused, but with that underlying tenderness she remembers from so long ago. âIâm glad I got to you in time.â
The former leader of ThunderClan feels her posture straighten, her knots untangle. âI was worried about my Clan. I couldnât leave without knowing that theyâd be okay.â
âTheyâll be okay.â Oakclaw brushes his muzzle against hers, purring. âThey made the right choice, and heâll take care of them just as well as you did. Maybe even better.â He pulls back to look at his beloved with fondness. âYouâd be amazed at what theyâve gotten up to since youâve been gone. I can tell you all about it, if you come with me.â
Bluestar hesitates, just for a heartbeat⊠but the pull of the material world is gone. She glances back, noticing her form filling out again and fur glowing, just to watch the firelight fade into the woods, before turning back to Oakclaw and saying, âHappily.â
Oakclaw presses his forehead on her neck, their spirit-energy flowing into each other with the simple contact, and starts walking with her, heading for a rising path of starlight coming from the Gatheringplaceâs center. Bluestarâs steps are stronger, more deliberate, more regal, like she remembers, like others remember her. She doesnât look back again as they head for StarClan, tails twined together. She doesnât need to.
