talk in circles [closed]

Hard as it was to believe, the sky that sank low and threatening over WindClan’s camp each night was the same one hanging above Asylum now. The stars and the moon, barely a sliver now, sat in their usual places. Pyrik’s location was the only thing that had changed—and what a difference it made. The lanky tom had forgone his fox pelt to sit outside unguarded, alternatively shivering and marveling at the chill as it jabbed beneath his fur. No doubt the moments ticking by would be better spent preparing for the return trip to WindClan; his weakness and worries, no matter how numerous, were mere pebbles in a waterfall compared to his mission. (Besides, once WindClan and Asylum finished adjusting to each other, he’d have much, much less to fear.) But today had been…good, even after Raisha made herself part of it. He wasn’t ready for it to end.

A sound from behind sent Pyrik’s ears swiveling. He shot to his feet, stiff as a tree trunk, pausing only when he realized the scent blowing in his direction was a familiar one. Sure enough, he turned to find not a hostile WindClanner, but one of his factionmates. (Not Raisha, he noted with visible relief.) Pyrik plopped back down, tail curled at his side. “Griffon? What’re you doing up?”

The cool night air nicked at the tom as he made his way towards a figure a few strides away. Unlike his companion, Griffon donned his pelt, shielding his short fur from the cold. He hadn’t meant to sneak up so suddenly, but he hadn’t said a word as he approached Pyrik. He smiled at his factionmate before sitting back down next to him. "Couldn’t sleep. I was going to come out here on a walk, then I saw you. It’s nice being here, back home." Explained the bi-colored tom. "How has Windclan been? Thunderclan is okay, but it’s so different." He looked up at the night sky, the twinkling of the stars.

"Do you think they’re really out there?" He turned his head to the tom. "Their ancestors, I mean, Starclan." The final word rolled of his tongue so easily. It sounded so majestic, but could it be real? He had seen Nettlestar rise from death, that couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Then again, it seemed so far-fetched, like tales queens told for their kits. It was odd to think about dead cats looking down on you, watching you.

“You can say that again,” Pyrik mumbled, smiling in return even as another shudder rattled through him. “It feels like we’ve been gone for ages.” As the conversation shifted to their respective assignments, however, the light in his eyes dimmed somewhat. “WindClan’s…not great.” After trying to keep his mouth shut around Captain Iniko and Raisha, being able to speak his mind came as a relief. “They really don’t want us there. Plus me and Nerio are the only Standards around, so there’s no one to talk to except Thalia.” That he had Thalia at all was lucky enough, but the duties of a Standard and those of a Nightstriker didn’t overlap as often as he would have liked. The mottled tom sighed, then visibly shook himself. “Sorry, that’s…a lot, isn’t it. I’m glad ThunderClan’s all right.”

When he turned his head toward Griffon, he saw the younger tom’s nose pointed skyward. Pyrik followed his gaze to the stars. Cats from all over had found home in Asylum, some carrying old beliefs along, others gladly discarding them—yet he’d never heard so much as a whisper about the Clans’ StarClan until now. “I don’t know. Theron said something about them, I think, but…if they’re real, why doesn’t anyone here talk about them? Besides, all the stories…” The shiver that ran down his spine then was only half from the cold. ”Cats don't really come back to life, right?”

"I don’t think any of the clans want us. They said it’ll come with time, but they’re so defiant. I’m not sure if they will. And time passes extra slow when nobody talks to you." a
Added Griffon. "I’m glad you have Thalia. I don’t know many cats there. Except Casper, I guess." his smile, twisted, forming more of a neutral expression. As Pyrik’s eyes raised, he nodded. "I wouldn’t believe it, but I saw it. It was like nothing had happened, almost. Like Eris hadn’t struck the she-cat down." he paused, the scene replaying in his mind. It had certainly been engraved in his memory.

"In the Asylum, everything is so...normal. Easy to understand, I guess. Everything just is. There’s not much to explain. But in the clans, everything is so unknown, with their stars and ancestors. I heard the dead talk to the living. How is that even possible?" His voice dropped even quieter as he let out what he had really been thinking. "I don’t like that feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen next. The feeling like I’m intruding. I act like I don’t notice them, but I can feel the glares on my pelt. They all look at me with hardened eyes, whisper behind my back." After a moment, he paused, blinking a few times and lowering his head. His voice regained it’s normal bright, easy tone.

"Woah, sorry. You’re easy to talk to, Pyrik, and it’s hard keeping things in inside." He apologized quickly, his amber eyes meeting his factionmate’s.

//slides in five hours before the deadline

“You saw it?!” Pyrik twisted to goggle at Griffon. “And you’re sure that she-cat was…?” Huh. He’d never been afraid of the word “dead” before. Letting the sentence hang where it stopped, he pulled his tail closer as Griffon continued. There was some reassurance in having a friend echo his own thoughts, his own confusion. He could hardly wrap his head around the concept of ancestors in general. Plenty of Asylum cats didn’t have ancestors—at least, not the kind of ancestors who kept in touch with their descendants. Yet the Clans did have them, and if the stories were true, they were more powerful than any living cat (assuming they were cats at all) Pyrik had or would ever know. As if Clan life hadn’t been enough of a shock already!

With a firm blink, the mottled tom pulled himself back to the conversation at paw. Griffon sounded as downtrodden as Pyrik felt. Even when his friend’s voice snapped back to normal, even when his ears went a little warm at “you’re easy to talk to, Pyrik,” he couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in his gut. “You don’t have to be sorry! I don’t mind.” He hesitated, smile going tight at the corners. Griffon had been honest; it was only fair, and far too easy, to respond in kind. “Actually, I’m glad you feel like you can talk to me. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s…” His paws tightened against the cold ground, and he averted his eyes, wishing for the first time that he’d brought his fox pelt along. "I know we were trained for this, but—I really thought it'd be different."

Griffon nodded. He was still in disbelief from what he had seen, and he didn’t know if he would have believed it if it had been someone else telling him. What happened if he died? The Asylum didn’t have religion, not like the clans did. Where would he go? Would that be it, gone forever? He wasn’t sure what ancestors he would find. He didn’t have a family he was born to, he was taken in by the Asylum as a whole when he was small. He tried not to think about his parents, he barely had any memories of them. They had been loners, like he had, and he had started living here. He supposed he was too young to remember, but maybe it would have been nice.

The young tom nodding, his mouth forming a line. "So do I. I thought it would feel different. Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. They fight it so much, and the older cats say that they’ll accept it, but it seems like they never will." This whole ordeal had been so much for him to take in, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. His whole life he had been told, but now it was up to him, in part, to keep the clans at peace. It seemed like a responsibility way to important for a cat like him. He was just a little Standard, merely a piece in the vast game that the forest was playing.