(no subject)
Who: Firestar, Jayfeather, and Heathertail [Partners, self-log]
What: A discussion over heritage and family.
When: April 30th, 2009. After this post.
Where: D'Ango Forest
Grass crunched beneath Jayfeather’s paws, almost like he didn’t care to tread softly.
Honestly, he didn’t. After everything that had happened in the last few days, he could care less about stalking about. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having - not so soon. Not ever.
The tabby WindClan she-cat never held any significance in his mind - she was only the cat his brother once loved and only another cat in WindClan.
Until he found out who his father was, that is.
Then she became something more. He couldn’t shy away from the signs - Crowfeather wasn’t ever going to be a father to him. He couldn’t. The black tom hadn’t even been a father to Breezepelt. In fact, the only younger cat he seemed to hold with some sort of paternal regard was…Heathertail.
The same cat that looked at him with a curious but nosy gaze whenever his blindness came up, the same cat that - despite Clan rivalries - wanted to be friends with him and his siblings. She hated him now. She probably hated all of them, just like it seemed Lionblaze hated her. He’d been able to gather at least that much from her tone over the D-Comms.
The D-Comm. The odd device thunked against his chest as he kept pace with Firestar. In order to keep it close to him, he’d had Vi-Piyomon slip it around his neck, almost like the collars kittypets wore, the ones the other Clan cats described to him when he asked what they looked like. It was demeaning in a way, but Firestar thought it had been a great idea - easier than carrying them in their mouths, after all.
Great ideas. I’m just full of them, Jayfeather thought, grimacing. If he was so powerful and smart, why couldn’t he have predicted Hollyleaf’s revelation? Why couldn’t he have fixed all this.
Sudden windswept smell, like the open air rushing over long billows of grass, like rabbits and moors.
Heathertail was just ahead. Swallowing his doubts like a piece of rotting thrush, he padded forward, head held high. The ginger cat at his side said nothing, of course - the truth could do that. …It may make things easier.
With one cat silent, he could focus on the one who would be yelling. Maybe he could dip into her mind and find a way to pacify her. Maybe through her he could know his father.
What: A discussion over heritage and family.
When: April 30th, 2009. After this post.
Where: D'Ango Forest
Grass crunched beneath Jayfeather’s paws, almost like he didn’t care to tread softly.
Honestly, he didn’t. After everything that had happened in the last few days, he could care less about stalking about. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having - not so soon. Not ever.
The tabby WindClan she-cat never held any significance in his mind - she was only the cat his brother once loved and only another cat in WindClan.
Until he found out who his father was, that is.
Then she became something more. He couldn’t shy away from the signs - Crowfeather wasn’t ever going to be a father to him. He couldn’t. The black tom hadn’t even been a father to Breezepelt. In fact, the only younger cat he seemed to hold with some sort of paternal regard was…Heathertail.
The same cat that looked at him with a curious but nosy gaze whenever his blindness came up, the same cat that - despite Clan rivalries - wanted to be friends with him and his siblings. She hated him now. She probably hated all of them, just like it seemed Lionblaze hated her. He’d been able to gather at least that much from her tone over the D-Comms.
The D-Comm. The odd device thunked against his chest as he kept pace with Firestar. In order to keep it close to him, he’d had Vi-Piyomon slip it around his neck, almost like the collars kittypets wore, the ones the other Clan cats described to him when he asked what they looked like. It was demeaning in a way, but Firestar thought it had been a great idea - easier than carrying them in their mouths, after all.
Great ideas. I’m just full of them, Jayfeather thought, grimacing. If he was so powerful and smart, why couldn’t he have predicted Hollyleaf’s revelation? Why couldn’t he have fixed all this.
Sudden windswept smell, like the open air rushing over long billows of grass, like rabbits and moors.
Heathertail was just ahead. Swallowing his doubts like a piece of rotting thrush, he padded forward, head held high. The ginger cat at his side said nothing, of course - the truth could do that. …It may make things easier.
With one cat silent, he could focus on the one who would be yelling. Maybe he could dip into her mind and find a way to pacify her. Maybe through her he could know his father.