To all the burnt-out gifted kids, who deserved so much more.
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Content warnings: Major character death, graphic depictions of violence, heresy, cults, abuse, murder, dysfunctional dynamics, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation
“Help me gain control. Power. Traction. I can make myself seem like I’m more than just a cat. I can look like a savior, a messiah. I just need you to do whatever you can to make it look like I’m more powerful than I really am, and I’ll handle the rest.”
One of these days, I’ll make it out.
“I guess sometimes cats just… outgrow each other, in a way.”
“Beware the one who will bring down the stars, and trust what grows in the dark.”
“You can’t see past the worst-case scenario, and that’s only going to do you harm. You have wonderful potential, if only you could learn to put your worries to rest.”
Ravenpaw was weighed down by rocks of guilt. Her sister’s bird swooped above her head, wheeling above the thick ferns as they guided her back to Redwoodclan’s camp, but she could hardly find it in herself to look. She hadn’t meant to cause any trouble for the calico, she swore, but this was what she got for being a fool. She’d let the person who was quite possibly the coolest cat ever down. It’d been ages since she stood next…
Teaching Ravenpaw to hunt turned out to be far more difficult than Chirpbreeze ever could’ve imagined. The black blur through the trees did not appear to understand “slow down” or “stop.” It was like chasing shadows blown about in the wind. She envied how easily Mew cruised along just a tail length or so above her, feathers brushing lightly against the ferns that covered the ground. “Ravenpaw! Ravenpaw!” Stars above, if that kid had a hunting accident like she’d had…
Chirpbreeze was probably the youngest warrior in the clan to have an apprentice. No, not probably. She was.