Vulturepaw's Starclan Dream

Beechface couldn't sleep. It was nothing new, really, but what she was doing would be even more dangerous if she was found out. Now Dawnhawk had true authority in the clan, and Wolfstar simply couldn't be trusted to stop him if he found out about her efforts with the apprentices.

Tonight it would be Vulturepaw sleeping in her den. Her shy, sweet little sister. One of the last cats Beechface would want anything to happen to should they be found out. She'd been instructed that she'd have a headache, and as the moon slowly rose in the sky Beechface picked up on the movement outside of the den.

When Vulturepaw entered the den, Beechface made a show of checking her over, before quietly pulling the slender apprentice to her and resting her chin on top of her head.

"Go, lay down." She mewed quietly, indicating the nest with a flick of her tail. Starclan had shown that they were listening, at the very least.

Nervous energy coiled sharply in the center of Vulturepaw's being, the perpetual thrum of a nagging chill constricting the veins until it felt as though they were going to burst at any given moment; restless twitches crawling down the neatly coiled length of the spine every few heartbeats or so, a genuine belaying of how utterly anxious she truly was. Why did it have to involve lying? The one thing that she was utterly foul at? It was difficult to find herself sitting still through the careful, entirely fabricated, check-up done on behalf of Beechface, the urge to shift and wriggle brewing low and hot under the watchful, yet unsuspecting, eyes of the personal guard that her sister had somehow managed to acquire in recent moons. Even though the Asylum cats likely saw nothing wrong - seeing as though there was no way to disprove something as invisible as a simple headache - it was difficult to swallow down the irrational urge that they somehow knew this entire interaction was a farce, the flighty side of her conscious somehow convinced that they could smell the lie currently transpiring before their very eyes.

The gentle clinch between Vulturepaw's brows remained stiff throughout the duration of the little exam, occasionally offering short little answers in regards to her 'headache' as she attempted to remain outwardly unaffected by terse circumstances. Soft features perking up at Beechface's quiet dismissal, the young molly was quick to take her departure, readily scuttling forward into the safety of the den and away from the casual conversation of their guards. It felt a little strange to know that she was being deprived of seeing the infamous moonstone, awash in the wan light of the moon and standing in its full glory, but there was a certain sense of security in knowing that she was only at home- safe despite the many strangers waltzing about, resting among familiar faces. Movements quick and jerky as she made haste in following the young Medicine Cat's quiet instructions, she attempted a carefully constructed vail of normalcy as she curled up in the heavy shade of the familiar den.

Inhaling a mouthful of stagnant herb and comforting traces of Beechface, Vulturepaw's eyes gradually drifted shut.

When the young she-cat awoke, she lay amidst a brilliant, beautiful forest.  Each leaf and blade of grass was edged in silver starlight, and the playful breeze dancing around her ears seemed to whisper untold mysteries.  It was quiet for a while, almost eerily so, until the soft crunch of foliage signaled the approach of something nearby.  However, it was nothing to fear; out of the bushes stepped a pretty gray-and-white she-cat, her slender body moving gracefully through the territory.  Billions of tiny stars dotted her somewhat-transparent pelt as she emerged from the shadows, the ones in her murky-green eyes sparkling particularly bright.  Tail-tip twitching curiously, the young StarClan warrior smiled at the apprentice and purred; "Ahh, forgive my rudeness, I didn't mean to keep you waiting darling!  My daughters were trying to talk my ears off about what's going on in the living clans right now...and I'm sure you would agree, there is a lot to talk about."  

Sitting down on a soft patch of grass, the bicolor molly gently licked a forepaw and drew it over her ears, before turning back to Vulturepaw with a slight chuckle.  "Welcome to StarClan Vulturepaw, I'm Pansyface.  I was a SkyClan warrior, let's see...five generations before your parents were born?  Or was it six?  Ahh, nevermind the details.  You probably know Tinylegs, hmm?  He's my father."  The irony of her father winding up living in RiverClan was not lost on her; she remembered having a good laugh with Bouncepaw about it.  "So, tell me a little bit about yourself little 'paw...maybe starting with why your parents named you Vulture, of all things!  Such a cute, pretty little cat being named after those gross flying crow-food eaters, blech!"  Wrinkling her nose a bit, Pansyface purred as she spoke, her words clearly not meant as an insult; rather, she hoped to break this tense mood that had been plaguing both StarClan and the living clans as of late.  Just a little light teasing...plus, seeing how cats reacted to her more harsh words was always an interesting insight to their inner feelings.

A fiery tendril of alarm surged down the curved length of the spine, the singular warning that abruptly transitioned the slumbering portion of the brain directly into a semblance of awareness; bodily systems rearing up at the realization of danger. All too similar to what was experienced upon the arrival of Asylum. The sudden constriction of her muscles resulted in a violent jolting on behalf of Vulturepaw, speckled coat prickling and hackling as she pivoted around to face the shimmering stranger who had arrived just seconds ago- pale gaze gently rimmed by a gentle encircling of white, another secondary indicator of her fright. For several long heartbeats, the young molly's startled gaze remained fixed upon Pansyface, rapidly dilating pupil vacillating in frequency with the unfamiliar she-cat's idle attempts at conversation.

"My father Bloodstrike named me," Vulturepaw eventually managed to uncurl her sticky tongue, a bit too preoccupied to really take offense at the gentle barb- it wasn't as though she had evaded teasing on behalf of her siblings as far as her... unsavory name went. Gently rounded features knitting together into a thinly-veiled mimicry of a frown, the unkempt molly couldn't help but pull a face as she happened to replay a thread of their rather one-sided conversation over, "Tinylegs is your father? But he's still alive?"

"Ohh, Bloodstrike, that explains everything!"  Pansyface's eyes rolled as if someone has just given her some predictable gossip, but her smile persisted.  "Well, I supposed some fathers are better at naming than others.  I wouldn't worry though, forgive my teasing. After all, one of my best friends was named Rippedsky, Ripped of all things, and he went on to be Rippedstar.  The name doesn't define the warrior."  Laying down onto her belly and crossing her front paws in a dainty sort of way, the she-cats ears twitched in amusement as Vulturepaw pointed out her father's age, and let out a dramatic sigh.  "I know right, that lucky old man! I swear, we must've forgotten to take some of his lives away or something.  Regardless though, I died young.  Giving birth to kits is a risky endeavor, and sadly my body couldn't handle it."  A misty sort of sadness overwhelmed the she-cat's gaze but she blinked it away, instead, tilting her head curiously toward the young she-cat in front of her.  "Enough about me though, tell me about yourself!  SkyClan has been a busy place as of late, I'm sure a young cat like yourself has been having some struggles."

Blatant shock dusted Vulturepaw's softly rounded features, uncertainty and sorrow delicately interwoven with the wide-eyed gaze promptly fixed upon Pansyface's leisurely sprawling shape; the faint, muted undercurrent of bitter amusement twisting upon the starry molly's unfamiliar features a stark contrast from her conversational partner. It was strange to hear such a great tragedy, both personal and communal, brought up in such a casual manner, especially with the stinging remnants of raw grief still undoubtedly present. Hesitantly, Vulturepaw quickly dropped her weight into the gently folding expanses of her hindlimbs as she carefully seated herself within the starry grasses unfolding around the SkyClanners, rapidly storming thoughts remaining fixed upon the invisible shape of Smokefeather, countless leagues away in dreams of her own.

What if the same fate befell her mother? It was evidently risky enough.

Pale gaze gently framed by countless little pale eyelashes and softly curling tufts of fur, Vulturepaw remained silent for several heartbeats as she attempted to gathering the various, mismatched points of her thoughts- countless different thoughts and worries drifting through the expanses of her consciousness like lost, aimlessly drifting stars. An undercurrent of muted grief and anxiety seized the already constricting functions of her heart, a sudden storm of pain heralding the realization that the young she-cat had evidently come to within the private sanctity of her own thoughts. "My family shares resemblance with a snake attempting to devour its own tail," Vulturepaw eventually confessed softly, gentle voice frail with an uncharacteristic streak of hopelessness, "and the presence of Asylum has only exacerbated the issues. Every sunrise is only another bleak morning where things... have somehow managed to refrain from completely collapsing. I don't know what to do- whenever my kin aren't treating me as though I need to go out into the world swaddled in feathers, they're too busy fighting amongst themselves to listen to whatever I might have to say."