Where We Belong
Dec 13, 2015 11:06:09 GMT -5
Post by avis on Dec 13, 2015 11:06:09 GMT -5
I've decided to do a bit of writing. This short story is loosely based on the song Where We Belong by Passion Pit. I would call it a drabble, but I think it's a bit long to be considered one. And it's not done yet; I'm a bit more than halfway finished, maybe. I'll update this at a later date. As a warning, I didn't really proofread this; the main things I bothered to correct were spelling errors, and I probably didn't even get all of those, so it's quite rough. Feel free to give constructive criticism if you so desire.
The Story - Part One - 2082 words
"....up. Wren, wake up. I caught us a meal."
The small brown tabby opened her eyes blearily when the familiar voice cut into her dreams, shaking her from a restless sleep. She heard the crunch of paws on snow and, looking up, saw a feline shape standing in the entrance to the makeshift den, framed by the rising sun. The yellow cat's fur glowed golden in the light, and Wren had to squint to make out the other's features. A narrow muzzle, long white whiskers, green eyes that shone with pride and self-assurance: yes, she definitely knew this cat.
Wren's sister stepped away from the hole, allowing the sunlight to pour in, unobstructed. Wren groaned and closed her eyes, curling her tail over her nose and shifting so her back was to the light. The cat outside paused for a moment, waiting, and then exhaled sharply through her nose when she realized that Wren had no plans to get up any time soon.
Wren heard pawsteps on the snow again, coming closer, and without warning her fur was suddenly crawling with a cold wetness. Hissing, she jumped to her paws, but in her haste she bashed her head against the roof of the den, sending down a shower of dirt to mix with the snow that was already beginning to melt into her pelt.
There was a loud mrrow of amusement behind her, and Wren whipped around and stalked out of the den, tail lashing. She unsheathed her claws as her paws touched the snow, and turned to glare at her sister, eyes blazing with anger. The golden she-cat was sitting nearby, tail curled neatly over her paws, looking demure and innocent. Unlike Wren's, her thin pelt was neat, with not a spot of dirt to be seen.
"Oh, dear," she purred, voice laced with concern that was clearly false. "What happened to you? You're a mess."
"Whisker, come on!" Wren exclaimed. "Why'd you throw snow on me? I'm all dirty!" To emphasize her point, she gave her pelt a shake. Several clumps of slushy dirt flew from her fur. Most of them fell harmlessly to the ground, but one smacked Whisker square in the muzzle, and she reared back with a mewl of surprise.
Wren gave a wordless cry of triumph. Whisker regained her composure quickly, shooting Wren a look of cool disdain once she had shaken the snow from her muzzle. But Wren felt only glee; her anger had dissipated. She had gotten revenge for her sister's nasty wake-up call, and all was well.
"You should've gotten up when I told you," the golden she-cat meowed, twitching the long whiskers for which she was named. "And besides, the dirt isn't my fault. I'm not the one who was thrashing about in a mucky hole."
"Fair enough," Wren admitted. Her pink nose twitched. "Is that blackbird I smell?"
In a fluid motion, Whisker stood up and stepped to the side, revealing the the scrawny corpse. The limp bird's dull black feathers contrasted sharply with the white ground upon which it rested, and a puddle of its warm red blood was pooling outward, steaming in the cold air and beginning to melt the snow that it touched.
"I told you I caught something," Whisker meowed proudly, her eyes sparkling. Wren shook her head slightly, but she couldn't hold back a small purr. Sometimes her sister's vanity was infuriating, but this time, Wren supposed, she deserved to be pleased with herself.
Whisker arched her slender back, and as she stretched her skin was pulled taut over jutting ribs. Wren felt a pang; they had survived so far, but they were only eight moons old. Leafbare had only jut arrived, and already they were beginning to starve. How would they make it through the season? Maybe if their mother was still with them.... But illness had taken her from them, two moons ago. At least she had the foresight to teach her daughters how to hunt before she died.
Whisker noticed her sister's troubled gaze, but said nothing. She pointed her muzzle at the blackbird.
"Come on and eat," she meowed. "We don't have all day."
"Speaking of day, why are we walking now instead of waiting until night? The sun hurts my eyes," Wren complained. "And why are we leaving, anyways? I like it here."
Whisker flicked her tail, and answered Wren's second question first. "Soon, it's going to be too cold to stay here. We need to find somewhere more sheltered," she explained. "And we're moving during the daytime because it's warmer now. If we went out at night, you'd probably freeze - you're too tiny!"
Wren didn't disagree with that. It was true.
The two ate side-by-side, not speaking. As she chewed, Wren looked around. The land here was flat, and nearly featureless; it seemed to stretch away into infinity on all sides, and Wren felt like she could see the whole world. Snow blanketed everything, and aside from where the two now crouched by the hole and a nearby patch of shrubbery where Whisker must have struggled with the blackbird, the white surface was pristine and untouched. The sun had risen fully now, and was slowly creeping higher in the sky; its reflection on the snow was almost blindingly bright, and Wren had to keep her eyes narrowed.
When they had finished the bird, they were both still hungry, but at least there was something in their stomachs. A couple of black feathers were strewn about, and Wren padded away from the scant remains of the blackbird to paw idly at one of these while her sister gazed thoughtfully at her surroundings.
After a while, Whisker came closer. She swatted one of the feathers towards Wren, who jumped up and hit it back before it touched the ground. Whisker pawed at it, but missed, and the feather landed on the snow next to her. Wren had always had faster reflexes.
Whisker ignored the feather now and looked at Wren. Wren was surprised by the solemnity in her gaze.
"You should groom, and then we can go," she meowed. Wren felt like arguing - she wanted to play with the feathers some more - but wisely decided to keep her mouth shut. She bent to lap at her dirty pelt, and Whisker, whose own fur was already clean, came over to help.
"How did you sleep?" Whisker asked, drawing her warm tongue over Wren's forehead. Wren pulled back - she could clean her own face, thank you very much - and simply yawned in response, her jaws giving a satisfying crack. Whisker nodded but said nothing, and returned to grooming her sister.
After a while, Wren spoke up, and her tone was unusually thoughtful. "Well.... I had a dream. I don't remember much. At first I was looking at stars, and then.... There were other cats around. But they weren't normal cats. Their fur glittered. I think they were cats from the stars, even though that doesn't make sense. They talked to me, but I can't recall what they said." She shook her head. It had been very strange, and far more vivid than any of the other dreams she had had, but already it was beginning to slip from her thoughts.
Whisker was listening intently. That was one thing Wren appreciated about her sister - she was smug sometimes, sure, but she always cared about what Wren had to say. Wren wasn't sure if the same was true of herself. She loved her sister, but she didn't really want to listen to Whisker talk about her dreams or something boring like that.
Neither Whisker nor Wren said anything more about the dream; there was nothing to say, really. They continued grooming, working the dirt out of Wren's wet and matted pelt. With the two of them working together, they finished shortly before sunhigh.
Whisker flicked her tail purposefully. "We're heading that way," she said.
Wren looked eagerly in the direction her sister had indicated, but she could see only the same flat white expanse that surrounded them on all sides.
"The ground dips down in the distance," Whisker explained. "I can't see beyond that, but it's probably a valley or something. We can find better shelter there."
Wren peered ahead with narrowed eyes, but no matter how much she squinted she couldn't make out anything different. This was disappointing, but not surprising. Whisker had stronger senses.
"I'll take your word for it," Wren meowed, and bounded forward, landing in a snowdrift with an oof. The snow was deep enough to reach her belly fur, and when she had jumped, she had sent powder flying; it clung to the fur on her face.
"Whisker, look! I'm all white - I probably look like a really old cat!"
Whisker sent her sister a sharp look. "This is no time for playing around," she meowed sternly; her voice was not angry, but it was certainly reproachful. "And besides, we just groomed your pelt. Don't get it all dirty again. And don't blame me if you get cold."
Whisker padded past Wren, stepping lightly so she stayed on top of the snow's icy crust. She looked over her shoulder at the brown tabby, who was still sitting in the snow with an expression of surprised hurt.
"Come on," Whisker meowed, and this time both her words and her gaze were warmer.
Wren struggled out of the snowdrift, shaking out her fur before trotting after her sister. She had no trouble staying on top of the snow; she was small enough that she wouldn't sink accidentally, even if her pawsteps were clumsy.
They walked in silence. The snow chilled their paws, and the sun warmed their backs. Every now and then, they would hear the cry of a far-off bird, but they could not see it, and the only other sound was the occasional rustling of the bushes in the light but steady wind that tugged at their pelts, as though it was trying to pull them towards their destination.
For some time, Wren could not see the dip that her sister was talking about. But as the sun moved on past its highest point, and as they walked ceaselessly on, she realized that the ground that stretched out in front of her was not as infinite as it seemed. Indeed, if she looked hard enough, she fancied that she could see it falling away somewhere far ahead. At this rate, she figured, they'd reach it by nightfall.
She couldn't see what was beyond the slope, though. They were still too far away. They couldn't look down past the drop from this angle. They would have to get closer.
As Wren had predicted, the two finally reached their goal as the sun began to set in front of them. It had been a hard walk with the sun in their eyes, but they had managed. And now, they were rewarded for their perseverance.
The setting sun's glow made it easy to see what lay below them as they peered over the drop. It was a valley, as Whisker had said it would be, and a wide one at that - Wren could barely make out the other side. A large river ran through the valley, disappearing around a bend on either side. Thin sheets of ice traced the riverbanks, but the middle of the stream had yet to freeze over, and the sluggish water shone brightly in the rapidly fading light.
Willow trees dotted the valley, some of them close enough to the river that their bare fronds were caught in the ice. A cold wind picked up, whistling through the valley, and the trees' drooping branches clattered together with a dry, brittle sound. In that moment, Wren understood why they were called weeping willows. They looked as if they were all deep in mourning.
Whisker nudged her sister, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. "We can stay here for the rest of leafbare. And maybe longer. Look at it.... It's beautiful, Wren."
Wren silently disagreed. She thought that the isolated valley was quite desolate. But then, her sister had always appreciated the strangest things.... And maybe there was some beauty in loneliness. A bittersweet and melancholy sort of beauty, but beauty all the same.
"You're the boss, Whisker," Wren meowed dutifully, and together the two sisters started down the slope, into the valley that would be their home for countless moons to come.
Neither could have guessed what awaited them there.
The Characters
Wren is a small brown tabby she-cat with green eyes. She can be a bit childish at times. She's very agile. Warrior name would be Wrentail.
Whisker is a golden she-cat with faint tabby markings and green eyes. She's may be vain, but she cares very much for her sister. Her senses are strong. Warrior name would be Reednose.
Lineart.
The Story - Part One - 2082 words
"....up. Wren, wake up. I caught us a meal."
The small brown tabby opened her eyes blearily when the familiar voice cut into her dreams, shaking her from a restless sleep. She heard the crunch of paws on snow and, looking up, saw a feline shape standing in the entrance to the makeshift den, framed by the rising sun. The yellow cat's fur glowed golden in the light, and Wren had to squint to make out the other's features. A narrow muzzle, long white whiskers, green eyes that shone with pride and self-assurance: yes, she definitely knew this cat.
Wren's sister stepped away from the hole, allowing the sunlight to pour in, unobstructed. Wren groaned and closed her eyes, curling her tail over her nose and shifting so her back was to the light. The cat outside paused for a moment, waiting, and then exhaled sharply through her nose when she realized that Wren had no plans to get up any time soon.
Wren heard pawsteps on the snow again, coming closer, and without warning her fur was suddenly crawling with a cold wetness. Hissing, she jumped to her paws, but in her haste she bashed her head against the roof of the den, sending down a shower of dirt to mix with the snow that was already beginning to melt into her pelt.
There was a loud mrrow of amusement behind her, and Wren whipped around and stalked out of the den, tail lashing. She unsheathed her claws as her paws touched the snow, and turned to glare at her sister, eyes blazing with anger. The golden she-cat was sitting nearby, tail curled neatly over her paws, looking demure and innocent. Unlike Wren's, her thin pelt was neat, with not a spot of dirt to be seen.
"Oh, dear," she purred, voice laced with concern that was clearly false. "What happened to you? You're a mess."
"Whisker, come on!" Wren exclaimed. "Why'd you throw snow on me? I'm all dirty!" To emphasize her point, she gave her pelt a shake. Several clumps of slushy dirt flew from her fur. Most of them fell harmlessly to the ground, but one smacked Whisker square in the muzzle, and she reared back with a mewl of surprise.
Wren gave a wordless cry of triumph. Whisker regained her composure quickly, shooting Wren a look of cool disdain once she had shaken the snow from her muzzle. But Wren felt only glee; her anger had dissipated. She had gotten revenge for her sister's nasty wake-up call, and all was well.
"You should've gotten up when I told you," the golden she-cat meowed, twitching the long whiskers for which she was named. "And besides, the dirt isn't my fault. I'm not the one who was thrashing about in a mucky hole."
"Fair enough," Wren admitted. Her pink nose twitched. "Is that blackbird I smell?"
In a fluid motion, Whisker stood up and stepped to the side, revealing the the scrawny corpse. The limp bird's dull black feathers contrasted sharply with the white ground upon which it rested, and a puddle of its warm red blood was pooling outward, steaming in the cold air and beginning to melt the snow that it touched.
"I told you I caught something," Whisker meowed proudly, her eyes sparkling. Wren shook her head slightly, but she couldn't hold back a small purr. Sometimes her sister's vanity was infuriating, but this time, Wren supposed, she deserved to be pleased with herself.
Whisker arched her slender back, and as she stretched her skin was pulled taut over jutting ribs. Wren felt a pang; they had survived so far, but they were only eight moons old. Leafbare had only jut arrived, and already they were beginning to starve. How would they make it through the season? Maybe if their mother was still with them.... But illness had taken her from them, two moons ago. At least she had the foresight to teach her daughters how to hunt before she died.
Whisker noticed her sister's troubled gaze, but said nothing. She pointed her muzzle at the blackbird.
"Come on and eat," she meowed. "We don't have all day."
"Speaking of day, why are we walking now instead of waiting until night? The sun hurts my eyes," Wren complained. "And why are we leaving, anyways? I like it here."
Whisker flicked her tail, and answered Wren's second question first. "Soon, it's going to be too cold to stay here. We need to find somewhere more sheltered," she explained. "And we're moving during the daytime because it's warmer now. If we went out at night, you'd probably freeze - you're too tiny!"
Wren didn't disagree with that. It was true.
The two ate side-by-side, not speaking. As she chewed, Wren looked around. The land here was flat, and nearly featureless; it seemed to stretch away into infinity on all sides, and Wren felt like she could see the whole world. Snow blanketed everything, and aside from where the two now crouched by the hole and a nearby patch of shrubbery where Whisker must have struggled with the blackbird, the white surface was pristine and untouched. The sun had risen fully now, and was slowly creeping higher in the sky; its reflection on the snow was almost blindingly bright, and Wren had to keep her eyes narrowed.
When they had finished the bird, they were both still hungry, but at least there was something in their stomachs. A couple of black feathers were strewn about, and Wren padded away from the scant remains of the blackbird to paw idly at one of these while her sister gazed thoughtfully at her surroundings.
After a while, Whisker came closer. She swatted one of the feathers towards Wren, who jumped up and hit it back before it touched the ground. Whisker pawed at it, but missed, and the feather landed on the snow next to her. Wren had always had faster reflexes.
Whisker ignored the feather now and looked at Wren. Wren was surprised by the solemnity in her gaze.
"You should groom, and then we can go," she meowed. Wren felt like arguing - she wanted to play with the feathers some more - but wisely decided to keep her mouth shut. She bent to lap at her dirty pelt, and Whisker, whose own fur was already clean, came over to help.
"How did you sleep?" Whisker asked, drawing her warm tongue over Wren's forehead. Wren pulled back - she could clean her own face, thank you very much - and simply yawned in response, her jaws giving a satisfying crack. Whisker nodded but said nothing, and returned to grooming her sister.
After a while, Wren spoke up, and her tone was unusually thoughtful. "Well.... I had a dream. I don't remember much. At first I was looking at stars, and then.... There were other cats around. But they weren't normal cats. Their fur glittered. I think they were cats from the stars, even though that doesn't make sense. They talked to me, but I can't recall what they said." She shook her head. It had been very strange, and far more vivid than any of the other dreams she had had, but already it was beginning to slip from her thoughts.
Whisker was listening intently. That was one thing Wren appreciated about her sister - she was smug sometimes, sure, but she always cared about what Wren had to say. Wren wasn't sure if the same was true of herself. She loved her sister, but she didn't really want to listen to Whisker talk about her dreams or something boring like that.
Neither Whisker nor Wren said anything more about the dream; there was nothing to say, really. They continued grooming, working the dirt out of Wren's wet and matted pelt. With the two of them working together, they finished shortly before sunhigh.
Whisker flicked her tail purposefully. "We're heading that way," she said.
Wren looked eagerly in the direction her sister had indicated, but she could see only the same flat white expanse that surrounded them on all sides.
"The ground dips down in the distance," Whisker explained. "I can't see beyond that, but it's probably a valley or something. We can find better shelter there."
Wren peered ahead with narrowed eyes, but no matter how much she squinted she couldn't make out anything different. This was disappointing, but not surprising. Whisker had stronger senses.
"I'll take your word for it," Wren meowed, and bounded forward, landing in a snowdrift with an oof. The snow was deep enough to reach her belly fur, and when she had jumped, she had sent powder flying; it clung to the fur on her face.
"Whisker, look! I'm all white - I probably look like a really old cat!"
Whisker sent her sister a sharp look. "This is no time for playing around," she meowed sternly; her voice was not angry, but it was certainly reproachful. "And besides, we just groomed your pelt. Don't get it all dirty again. And don't blame me if you get cold."
Whisker padded past Wren, stepping lightly so she stayed on top of the snow's icy crust. She looked over her shoulder at the brown tabby, who was still sitting in the snow with an expression of surprised hurt.
"Come on," Whisker meowed, and this time both her words and her gaze were warmer.
Wren struggled out of the snowdrift, shaking out her fur before trotting after her sister. She had no trouble staying on top of the snow; she was small enough that she wouldn't sink accidentally, even if her pawsteps were clumsy.
They walked in silence. The snow chilled their paws, and the sun warmed their backs. Every now and then, they would hear the cry of a far-off bird, but they could not see it, and the only other sound was the occasional rustling of the bushes in the light but steady wind that tugged at their pelts, as though it was trying to pull them towards their destination.
For some time, Wren could not see the dip that her sister was talking about. But as the sun moved on past its highest point, and as they walked ceaselessly on, she realized that the ground that stretched out in front of her was not as infinite as it seemed. Indeed, if she looked hard enough, she fancied that she could see it falling away somewhere far ahead. At this rate, she figured, they'd reach it by nightfall.
She couldn't see what was beyond the slope, though. They were still too far away. They couldn't look down past the drop from this angle. They would have to get closer.
As Wren had predicted, the two finally reached their goal as the sun began to set in front of them. It had been a hard walk with the sun in their eyes, but they had managed. And now, they were rewarded for their perseverance.
The setting sun's glow made it easy to see what lay below them as they peered over the drop. It was a valley, as Whisker had said it would be, and a wide one at that - Wren could barely make out the other side. A large river ran through the valley, disappearing around a bend on either side. Thin sheets of ice traced the riverbanks, but the middle of the stream had yet to freeze over, and the sluggish water shone brightly in the rapidly fading light.
Willow trees dotted the valley, some of them close enough to the river that their bare fronds were caught in the ice. A cold wind picked up, whistling through the valley, and the trees' drooping branches clattered together with a dry, brittle sound. In that moment, Wren understood why they were called weeping willows. They looked as if they were all deep in mourning.
Whisker nudged her sister, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. "We can stay here for the rest of leafbare. And maybe longer. Look at it.... It's beautiful, Wren."
Wren silently disagreed. She thought that the isolated valley was quite desolate. But then, her sister had always appreciated the strangest things.... And maybe there was some beauty in loneliness. A bittersweet and melancholy sort of beauty, but beauty all the same.
"You're the boss, Whisker," Wren meowed dutifully, and together the two sisters started down the slope, into the valley that would be their home for countless moons to come.
Neither could have guessed what awaited them there.
The Characters
Wren is a small brown tabby she-cat with green eyes. She can be a bit childish at times. She's very agile. Warrior name would be Wrentail.
Whisker is a golden she-cat with faint tabby markings and green eyes. She's may be vain, but she cares very much for her sister. Her senses are strong. Warrior name would be Reednose.
Lineart.