A Warrior Cats roleplay based on the best-selling books by Erin Hunter.
Posts : 1810
Join date : 2011-09-12
Location : The driveway of justice
|Subject: Whisper Fri Aug 24, 2012 10:02 am|| |
Old story I'm working on. . . . Comments and crits please. Title is not permanent.
The night was black. There were no stars to light up the midnight sky, as if they all burned black specially this one night to scare away the darkness. With no light, how could there be shadow? With no shadow, how could it be dark?
They said this forest was intelligent. They said it breathed, it sang, they said the skies would bleed into sunset's red glow only when the trees' conversations had faded into quiet mutterings, the faint rustling of leaves underneath the moon's careful supervision. If forests had eyes, this one had them in the back of its head.
The strangers to this lonely place called it peaceful. Beautiful. Inspirational. The strangers to this place said the natives were lucky, that it must be absolutely splendid to fall asleep with crickets singing softly in your ear, with the trees guarding stiffly and the firefly night lights dancing back and forth whenever you needed a guide through the darkness. But these were all strangers. They knew nothing of the woods.
Sirenis peered out from between the branches of a young maple tree. He handled the sapling gently, knowing not to tug too hard on the leaves, knowing not to awaken the screeching blue jays nestled sleepily just above him.
Very few patrolled the forest at this time at night--who would venture out so deep into the woods when not even the fireflies were out? The lack of light would surely lead to a trip, a fall, a death or wound, a cry in pain, alerting the trees and the wasps and the forest's guards. Surely there was no risk in low security tonight. Surely.
But despite the silence and solitude the night provided, Sirenis treaded far beyond carefully. It was not to keep a close eye on the ground for a twig or rock or tripwire--his nocturnal vision took care of that--but to avoid alarming the one sensitive creature that stalked the same as he did. He must remain undetected. He must not be found. He must not fail.
Sirenis had prepared many months for this moment. This one night, the one in three hundred sixty-five others. The one moment that the Dream spent alone, weak and vulnerable, resting beneath the willows and leaves. When the Dream was not itself, trapped for one night as an idea.
Anyone could still an idea. No one could steal a dream.
But before it could be stolen it must be found. Sirenis could not be noticed without being attacked, he knew. He must slink through the shadows, making no sound, dissolving into the endless background of darkness, making no more noise than the breeze that tossed back and forth the willow branches.
Sirenis didn't let his excitement flare up when he spotted a soft glow in the distance. He held his breath, stifling the anxious flame. One footstep at a time, stepping carefully in between the dried leaves of last autumn. The Dream hid itself well, disguised as the yellow lanterns foreigners would use to trap the fireflies in. Its light was faint, barely enough to see by, illuminating no more than a few feet in each direction. It was a sunshiney golden sphere, uneven and softly blurred around the edges. It looked to be breathing, constantly shifting its size and shape, never resting, always cautious.
Sirenis hesitated. He gripped the maple more fiercely now, balancing himself perfectly before pushing himself forward. Loosening his grip, he crept forward, head ducked, ragged black hair covering what could be seen of his face. It was so close. So very, very close.
He reached out a hand--a peace offering, or so it would seem. The Dream had always been curious, even tonight, the one time it needed not to be. It hovered in front of the stranger's hand, revealing faintly scarred hands underneath its dim glow. Sirenis gritted his teeth, patience quickly evaporating. He'd been waiting for years, and hated having to wait a second longer.
Twitching his fingers in a beckoning motion, Sirenis watched as the Dream backed slowly away. It ignored his silent pleas, floating farther back into the woods until he could barely keep it in his field of vision. Still, it wasn't far. Sirenis must not chase after it. He must let it relax its guard, forget he was there, think it was alone and safe again.
Throughout the night Sirenis hunted. And each time he was just as close, and each time it fled just as far away. The hours passed, and dawn peeked its head over the horizon. But still the Dream eluded him.
It was nearly noon when Sirenis gave up on his approach. He pounced. He snuck up to it, fingers curled into claws ready to strike, ready to hurt the Dream if need be. Sirenis refused to offer out a hand in greeting, snatching instead at the Dream, feeling it slip through his fingers as an idea might slip out of his mind. Until he cupped his hands around it, closing his eyes and wishing it were as easy as trapping a butterfly.
And suddenly, it was.
Posts : 1810
Join date : 2011-09-12
Location : The driveway of justice
|Subject: Re: Whisper Fri Aug 24, 2012 10:03 am|| |
It was raining. A faded blue house sat at the end of Juniper Street, the peeling of its dust-smeared white trim paused for the moment. Icicles dangled from the windows, freezing the shedding action until they melted. The house was very plain, with simple solid colors and a typical squarish shape. Being a dead end, and a somewhat hidden one at that, Juniper Street and its inhabitants had never really been noticed. And the blue house nestled in the very back was often ignored even by its neighbors.
A girl sulked at the first window of the first floor of the last house on Juniper Street. Her arms and chin rested on its sill, a deep maroon hoodie draped over her forehead, crookedly covering her left eye. Sleet-blue irises could barely be made out underneath half-closed eyelids, and uncombed hair slipped out from beneath her hood. Yes, this was a girl who was bored. Deeply.
Maggie glared at the dirty snow as rainwater pelted into it, turning it to gray slush in a matter of minutes. She flicked a grain of sand at the outside, watching it hit the window and bounce back. Chuckling half-heartedly to herself, she picked up the pebble again and tossed it at her mother's parrot.
The rock hitting the bird's now-ruffled feathers must have been a signal of some sort, for at the moment the drizzle stopped and hail began its reign. The ice started off small, like old fingernail clippings or marbles, but in what seemed like seconds later they'd grown magnificently, equivalent to tennis or even baseballs. They hurled themselves furiously at cars and garages and driveways, on determined suicide missions to dent or destroy anything Juniper Street left unguarded.
The parrot's name was Blackmyst, and Blackmyst was thoroughly disgruntled. Unsettled by the tap-tap-tap's and thud-thud-thud's of the chaos outside and obviously upset by the pebble now lodged in her feathers, she cast Maggie a dirty look and turned her back, offended and disdainful of her childish behavior.
Maggie whistled softly, teasing the parrot with her favorite tune. Blackmyst cocked her head in recognition--how could she say no to baa baa black sheep? She twisted around in a smooth movement, dipping her head forward to hear it better.
Maggie repeated the cheerful tune, gradually introducing a decrescendo until the soft noise could barely be made out against the uneven rhythm of hailstones. The girl smiled at the parrot, standing up and grabbing an umbrella from its stand. She pulled her sweatshirt hood back over her head, pulling down her sleeves until her hands were completely covered.
Looking back to make sure Blackmyst stayed indoors, Maggie opened the door and stepped into the porch. As soon as she stepped outside she was ten degrees colder, which was saying something--the heat hadn't been on, leaving the house a toasty fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. Opening the porch's screen door, she snapped open the umbrella, immediately feeling the wind's gusts struggling to snatch it away. She strengthened her grip on the handle, stepping into the billowing wind raging outside.
It took a moment for Maggie to regain her balance--she had lost it the second she'd thrown herself into the chaos. The umbrella tugging her forward didn't help either. After a minute of struggling Maggie had to give up: the umbrella wasn't letting her move a foot without making her feel like she'd walked a mile barefoot over broken glass and scissors. And not having any tweezers to pull out the shards.
After a long fight, Maggie managed to close up the umbrella and toss it inside again. She grabbed her sweatshirt hood, forcing it down over her head and half of her face. Tiny glass needles were almost melting in her face, torn between succumbing to Maggie's warm-blooded heat or the near-tundra surrounding them. Ducking her head and clenching shivering hands together, Maggie half-ran, half-stumbled to her backyard.
The last house on Juniper Street was the only one with six acres of forest as a backyard. The woods were narrow, only as wide as the house, but stretched back several miles. It was made up of mostly pine trees, tall and thin and mostly spread apart. But the shelter was enough for Maggie, who collapsed gratefully against the first (and possibly only) maple tree she saw. The maples here had much wider branches, and even without winter leaves, they arguably provided more shelter than the more common but thin and sticky pines.
It was December 4th. Maggie's twelfth birthday. The only day she could Summon before she was twenty-four. And twenty-four was a very long way off.
Turning her mind from the blistering cold, Maggie forced herself to concentrate. A thin line began to take shape in front of her eyes, unaffected by the wind and snow. It blurred, barely visible against the white and blue background. Shifting and swaying, the cat shape stopped moving for just a moment, trembling but ceasing its rocking motions. Maggie heard a yowl and closed her eyes as she felt the dry air around her crackle electrically, feeling like a small explosion.
After a moment she dared open her eyes again. There appeared to be no physical danger, but Maggie's mind was certainly a bit shaken. She paused, biting her lip nervously, and scanning the immediate area for her Omnia. Something flashed by the corner of her eye, and the girl stood tense, alert. And then a voice broke the golden silence.