Singing Grass- part one

continuation of https://warriorclancats.forumotion.com/t40159-strange-world


Two cats sat hunched in the darkness, shaken by the occasional rattle of the Twoleg monster, but otherwise completely still. The stench of machinery clung to their noses and stung their eyes, impossible to avoid or ignore. The hard wire cage left marks on their flanks and bruises on their paw pads.
They were both further from home than they'd ever been.

The monster suddenly spluttered and fell silent. One of the cats' ears twitched. "Something's changed." He spoke, not out of necessity, but in an attempt to fill the silence that had suddenly settled around them, devoid of the sounds of the monster that they'd both grown used to over the past few hours.
There was a dull thud, and one of the walls began to shift, rising into the air to reveal the strangest sight that the tom had ever seen.

The world was an unnaturally dull greenish-grey, and completely flat for as far as he could see. A Thunderpath stretched out to the tom's left and right, twice as wide as the one in the forest, and completely straight. It stunk of old prey and acid. A den– similar to a Twoleg nest, but made out of large square stones –was visible just across the Thunderpath, and beyond it the warrior could see a great field of golden grass, each stalk in constant motion, stretching out in all directions until it faded into the blurry-blue of the horizon.

The Twoleg peered into the cage, speaking in it's strange, garbled tongue. The tom issued a low-pitched hiss as it lifted the cage and set it onto the ground. "Wake up," He muttered, nudging his companion before turning back to face the Twoleg to find that the door of the cage had swung open, and the Twoleg had retreated back toward it's monster.
The younger of the two cats slowly raised her head. She didn't say a word, although her expression clearly showed her confusion. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, swaying uncertainly.

"C'mon," The tom stepped quickly out of the cage, his tail twitching as he turned to make sure that the she-cat was following. He'd learned on his first trip to Twolegplace that his chances of surviving were much higher once he was outside the cage. Casting a quick glance back at the Twoleg, the tom trotted briskly across the Thunderpath, disappearing into the grass on the other side with his companion limping after him.

By the time the Thunderpath was no longer visible, Lynxtail could tell that his companion wouldn’t be able to stay on her paws much further. He glanced back at the young apprentice. Her head was low, and she was limping heavily. Her breathing was ragged.

“Should we stop here?” The words felt sharp in his throat. She stared at him, biting her lip, and then nodded reluctantly.

Lynxtail looked around, his ears twitching. Although he hated to admit it, part of him wondered if it would be best just to leave her here, say he was going hunting and then keep walking. She would never be able to catch up. The apprentice’s leg was mangled– through a mess of flesh and blood, he could see a pale white crescent of bone, glinting devilishly. It was a death sentence. Even if she did make it back to the clans, Lynxtail doubted that she’d be able to lead a normal life. Become a warrior was certainly out of the question.

The dark-furred apprentice turned to face him. Her eyes were round and youthful, although clouded, and they searched his face for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but Lynxtail took a step backward.
He felt a rush of guilt.
“I’m going hunting.” He muttered, turning abruptly and shouldering his way through the grass. Overhead, dark clouds had begun to gather.

Frostpaw watched the tom leave. She sat down heavily, feeling her leg pulse in time with her heartbeat, and wondered briefly if she’d ever see him again. She’d seen the look in his eyes, seen the way they’d been drawn to the gash left by the Twoleg’s trap.
The apprentice swallowed the vomit that had begun to rise in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the wound on her leg, but she could still see it when she closed her eyes, gaping and gruesome. Her claws flexed unbidden, gripping the rough, dry earth beneath her, so different from the marsh that she was born in. He had left her here to starve. Of course, with her in tow, the journey home would take twice as long. She couldn’t say that she wouldn’t do the same, had she been in his place.

But she wasn’t in his place. She was here, lost in this Starclan-forsaken field with strange grass that rose above her head, blotting out whatever light had managed to fight its way through the clouds.
She stood, wincing, and began to tread in circles, flattening a wide swath of grass. What could she do? Daylight was waning quickly, and with the night would come Twolegs, rain, and predators. She couldn’t stay here, at least not permanently, but she knew it would take several hours to limp back to the Thunderpath, and possibly days before she made it to the end of the grass, and whatever was beyond it.
Frostpaw sat down, defeated. She’d stay here for the night, and then try and find her way back to the Thunderpath. Hopefully, she’d be able to find some poor animal that had fallen prey to the monsters that ran there.
And then what? You live there, forever, scavenging for food?
She sighed, glancing up at the thick curtain of clouds that hung over her. She’d have to take this one step at a time, and that meant surviving the night.

Lynxtail padded through the grass, holding a peculiar-looking squirrel with sleek, grey-flecked fur, and two plump deer mice tightly in his jaws. His tufted ears twitched. "Hello?" He called, his voice muffled, but hopefully still audible. However, to the tom's dismay, there was no answer.
He had lost his way, and although he'd had good fortune while hunting, he wished he hadn't strayed too far from his companion.

The sun was setting quickly. If he didn't find her soon, he doubted he'd be able to before sunrise. Readjusting his grip on his prey, he gathered his strength and jumped as high as he could into the air, scanning the field for any sign of the dark-furred apprentice.
Several foxlengths away he could see a large clearing of flattened grass, and sitting in the center was a dark shape, barely visible in the fading light. Purring with relief, the Thunderclanner padded quickly towards it.

Frostpaw looked up, her ears perked, as the grass began to rustle. Her mind, already fatigued, struggled to piece together what was causing the movement, and it flitted halfheartedly from one idea to the next indecisively. A fox, or perhaps a dog looking for a meal? It could even be a Twoleg, crawling towards her, about to reach out of the golden grass and grab her by the scruff...

The rustling stopped. Slowly, Frostpaw gathered herself, preparing to run if need be. Her injury and exhaustion were forgotten, and adrenaline had begun to course through her veins, numbing her paws and sharpening her senses.
She took a deep breath, focusing on the chill of the air as it filled her lungs, wondering if this would be the last time she would be able to feel it. Do cats need to breathe in Starclan? Her mind settled on this one thought like a tired dove, cooing, useless. Frostpaw shook her head, trying to focus on where she saw the grass stir last.

"Is that you?"
Her muscles, tensed and waiting for their cue, sprang impatiently into action, propelling Frostpaw almost a foxlength into the air. She landed in a heap on the ground, looking up at the tom in dismay.
"You scared me." She squeaked.
Relief spread like fire, its warmth almost scorching after the ice-cold loneliness she had felt only moments before. She took a shuddering breath, feeling hot tears spilling down her cheeks. He wasn't going to abandon her.

The dark apprentice wiped her face with her undamaged paw, trying to clear her eyes. "Thank you,"