What Is This? [Open]

Flash. Claws scored on the maw of the nearest cat. Another yowl of pain rose into the air until it was almost like an eerie chorus foretelling the coming death. The clearing was a mass of writhing cats. Each one fought with the will of gods. Loyal. True. Brave. Flash. Everything seemed to get tenser, more insane. It was a toss-up for the winner. Either side could win. Either side could be the one who would survive the coming winter. One second he was watching the battle with a racing heart and the next, flash, he was in the battle. A screech involuntarily tore from his chest and joined the screams. It seemed all wrong. He wasn't a fighter. No. This was wrong. Any scars on his pelt had been unjustly given. No! Flash.

Everything immediately vanished. The world underneath him disappeared and he stood... among the stars? Stick stood across from a cat whose pelt was just barely distinguishable from the beautiful landscape around her. Her frame was slim and lean, packed with obvious muscles built underneath. In that, they were similar. He had not been given the name 'Stick' for no reason. The lithe and sturdy frame he had damned him to that name. Standing across from the she-cat, he blinked a couple times as his ears heated up. Talking to she-cats had never been his strong suit, not that talking to any cat really had been. Growing up virtually alone ones entire life did that to a cat. And he had done his best to hide away in a small cave in the old barn. With another blink, the thoughts were dispelled and words seemed to vibrate through the entire world and through him. His fur stood on edge for a moment but was flattened by the soothing sound that reverberated through everything. A mix of emotions coursed through him. Images flashing reminiscent of the battle that he had managed to escape. The open fields. The feeling of running the moorlands after a white rabbit. Never anything he had done in life.

'It's time to go back, Stick, back to the beginning, back to your roots.'

He shook away the growing feeling and felt his jaw go slack as it dropped. Was that the she-cat who spoke, "My roots? I'm not a tree, ma'am. I'm a cat." That was all he had time to say before his eyes shot open. His legs were a wild mess over the side of the makeshift, hay nest. Wet fur was the first thing he noticed. At first, the loner could only think of rain. Although, he quickly realized how hot he was. Sweat. It was that damn dream again. For the third night in a row. That had to mean something, right? Uneasily, Stick raised himself up onto all four paws. It was quiet. Not many cats had frequented this place lately. They mostly came in the winter seeking shelter. Of course, he had no power to say whether or not they could tread on his territory. Stick was not a skilled fighter. So, he simply hid in the shadows and tried not to cross the paths of any cats that entered his home. Somehow, by the miracle of whatever power watched over this place, he had managed to keep himself her. As the rising sunlight begin to brighten the world, he was reminded of a particularly bad scar one passing rogue had given him on his paw. His ears fell at the memory.

As he slipped out of a crack in the wall, Stick faced the day. Just another day in the extraordinary life of Stick, he thought wearily. Another day with the relentless dreams having kept him from the sleep he so desperately craved. At first, he blamed it on a bad mouse or two. But, this had to be something more. He had set out to do the normal, daily tasks as usual. And he stopped short. Over the horizon, he caught sight of the land that had always stood guard off to the right. It seemed different than before. His heart seemed to speed up as he looked at it. There were things to get done, and yet, he could not tear himself away. A figure stood against the sun. He blinked. Was it real? Was that really a cat? Instead of wanting to dive back into his nest, Stick was drawn to the cat. His entire life he had longed to be among other cats and yet had been unable to bring himself to lose the fear of them. Why now was he suddenly enamored with the thought of being among other cats? Perhaps... this was the destiny of his dreams. This was why the strange star cat had compared him to a tree. But what did the grassy fields have to do with roots? Did grass have roots? Stick shook his head. For the first time in his life, he was going to act instead of think.

He set off, uneasy at first as he loped over the open territory and grew closer to the place where he had seen the figure. Moons ago he remembered listening to cats speak of groups that used to live around the lake. Yet, they had been gone for years, well before he had been born. His tail flickered and he slowed down. If it weren't for the slight shuffle of his paws, it would have appeared he stopped entirely. Looking as out of place as ever, especially for a cat who had never desired to or had gone far from his nest and barely traveled outside, Stick crept forward. It wasn't until something flickered just out of his field of vision that he froze up entirely. Nerves, somehow highlighted with a strange excitement, fluttered up in his stomach and he turned to face the cat. Quickly, he dipped his head in a quirky sort of way and managed out in a flustered stumbling of words, "Sir, uh... ma'am? Sir? I'm, uh, I'm a Stick. I don't know why I'm here. I think I'm supposed to be. And, uh, who did you say you were?"

Rosefeather felt weary, her paws were dragging underneath her torso, she knew that she was lacking sleep but something caused her to stir. Made the warrior's pelt itch, with just the thought she felt her skin twitched underneath the matted fur. She shook her head as she tried to perk herself up a tad bit more just in case more attention was needed for any reason. But her focus kept drifting off to thinking about her clan mates and how they're all forming together rather well, it was a small group none the less but they kept eachother safe and didn't seem to be scheming against one another.. It was really nice to sleep next to trust warriors and apprentices, even if she didn't like the actual contact with them too much.

"Sir, uh... ma'am? Sir? I'm, uh, I'm a Stick. I don't know why I'm here. I think I'm supposed to be. And, uh, who did you say you were?"


The she-cat's ears perked up as she parted her jaw in slight shock that it was an unfamiliar voice in these territories. She swiftly turned her head to the source of the sound. A few moments of a unrecognizable cat was enough to make her heart pump and give her the energy to go into fight or flight mental. She felt her claws unsheathe as she launched herself forward to tackle the cat. This filth of a possible threat wasn't going to get any closer to her clan mates as long as she had him in her sight. The smaller feline regained herself, seeing that the stranger had lost his balance and was on his side. Acting quick, she grabbed the tom's scruff and threw him slightly. The warrior pressed her paw down on the other's throat, feeling her claws dig ever so slightly into the heated flesh below her. "This isn't a safe place to be for you! You're lucky no one else caught you closer to camp!" She added more weight to her paw, making sure that the odd cat wasn't going to move out of her grip before she was able to get anymore information out of him, "Explain yourself more!" She hissed out, hating the awkward silence between them.

He stared on, head slightly lowered and ears falling as he waited for an answer. The timid tom was not used to be near others in any sort of visible capacity. Behind a rotting pile of hay was where he lived. A shallow hole dug out just behind the base and under the remnants of the barn's external structure comprised his den. Despite the fact that cats seemed to filter in and out on the daily, Stick had learned to quiet his breath and silence his steps. In all the moons of his life so far, he had never had a pleasant interaction with another. Any hopefulness died away from the little confidence in his demeanor. She was rushing towards him. Within seconds, his paws were lifted up underneath him and Stick was flattened onto his back. Widened eyes stared up at Rosefeather. The expression went from bewildered to terrified and seemed to flicker back and forth between the two.

Immediately, he went limp underneath the paws. His throat felt like it was filled with stone. This was it. Finally, after all the lonely, long, painful days of his life, it would be over. The tom had loathed his life for so long, wishing for some sort of companionship. But now he couldn't help but find the desire to cling to what little substance there was to his life. Without him, mice would likely take over his nest and tear the bedding to shreds. No one would be the silent keeper of the barn without him there. That thought sent a bit of a shudder down his spine. Yet, he didn't notice it. Instead, Stick couldn't tear his stare away from the cat over him. She did not seem as rugged as many of the rogues that filtered through his home at any time. Matted haunches were out of sight. Just claws on his throat. Images flashed in his mind, reminiscent of the dream from the night's sleep. He struggled for a brief second as he wrestled with his memory and realization came to him.

"I, uh, I came here because I thought I needed too. Ma'am... you were one of the cats from my dream. I think. I'm sorry. I don't know. This seems crazy." Stick struggled to swallow the lump in his throat and allow the words to pass from his maw without complication. It still sounded like he had never spoken in his life. Nerves welled up within his chest. Although he managed to spit out what he needed to say, it felt insufficient. His body pressed as close to the ground as possible while he tried to relieve the pressure from his throat.