time moves differently when you’re younger. doesn’t it? i’m old now, and i measure by servings of food and fleeting summers. but it was different, once, when the passage of time existed relative to the ease with which i could hoist myself onto a fence, or to how much the cat door squeaked when it opened.
when i could just start to jump atop the fence lining my yard, and when the cat door was new and silent, i caught my first hint of a scent i would come to know. pine, oak, and a hint of mint, i noticed. and since i was not always this old, and i was once curious and strong and full of daring, i gleefully (and, perhaps, impulsively--age may slow my limbs, but it did at least strip my childhood recklessness) ran out to meet the cat whose scent had so intrigued me.
i saw him first as a shadow, strikingly dark against the sun. the moment is one of my only remaining clear memories--every detail about him, about the day i met him, remains etched into my mind even as i forget everything else. i jumped down to meet him, squinting at the sun and enveloped in the pine and oak and mint of this stranger.
he turned to face me--and in doing so, i caught a glimpse of the fierce glint in his eye, the chip on his shoulder, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“hey,” he said. his voice reminded me of home, of warmth and safety and happiness.
i was smitten.
first love is an experience like no other, as i’m sure you know. starry-eyed and eager to please, i could listen to him speak of his homeland and his training and his aspirations for months on end. we would sit in the grass, his tail blanketing mine, and we would talk, and we would fall in love.
he (ambitious, wistful) would say he missed his clan. i (naive, love-blind) listened, sure nothing could ever tear us apart.
“j, do you believe in starclan?” he asked once.
he’d told me about starclan. the starry reminders of cats long-gone. “i don’t know,” i replied, truthfully.
“i think i’m supposed to believe,” he confided. his eyes scrunched with thoughtfulness. i fell in love again, deeper, with every word and movement and expression. “but i don’t know either. i want to be sure, j.”
i rubbed my head against his neck, marking my coat with his scent. “it doesn’t matter what we’re supposed to do, tall. make your own stories, or believe theirs. don’t let others dictate what you believe.”
he rested his chin between my ears, warm and soft against my skin. “you sound like my mother,” he said, and i could feel his laugh through my fur.
i should have told him i loved him. instead, i just purred, and we fell asleep tracing shapes in the stars.
“i’m going to be a leader one day,” he announced, months later.
“oh?”
“mhm. tallstar has a nice ring to it, j, don’t you think?”
i should have told him that it didn’t sound nice, that he should stay with me, that i wasn’t sure i could go on without him. i should have told him i loved him too much to let him go.
“yeah,” i said.
i knew i’d lost him only a while later, after cool mornings and lazy afternoons that seemed to blur together. we talked, that morning, as we always did. but i saw the longing in his eyes, the way his tail twitched at every mention of windclan, his unceasing restlessness.
i tried to stall him, with little licks and quips and cuddles. i tried to keep him with me, for as long as i could. it wasn’t enough.
i wasn’t enough.
“come with me,” he pleaded. he couldn’t choose me over his clan. i would never be enough.
i clenched my teeth and shook my head.
it was late afternoon. the sun shone onto his body, illuminating every stroke of fur. our eyes met. i studied him, one last time--mischievous eyes, determined brow, sad smile.
i never told him i loved him.
he turned and ran, fading into the misty sky, until all that remained was the scent of pine and oak and mint.
I like to headcanon Dovewing as smaller and chubbier like her grandma Ferncloud and Ivypool as bigger and more muscular like her grandma Brightheart ;o; i think it’s cute
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turnnoffyourmind
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