an egret in a fox's clothes [open vigil topic]

Amidst a day of joy and revelry for several members of the Clan, the inevitable nighttime finally crept in on its silent feline paws. Cheers that had filled the camp now lulled to quiet whispers as clanmates found their shelter for the evening, returning to their dens where they would find their comforting nests of moss and feathers to rest and prepare for the coming day ahead. Few would stay roused during the evening to go on the night patrol, or simply ponder through the thoughts that filled their mind as insomnia would choose its victims. Most of the time, they had little choice in the manner, and it seemed the reason another clanmate was awake would be very similar. The choice was out of her paws, but instead of being the sufferer of the sleep robber, she stayed awake to partake in the time-honored tradition.

The pale fox pelt hugged her frame in such a way that it cloaked her as a creature of destruction. It was a certain facade, for the molly that wore it was far from the violent criminal of whom the hide had been stolen. However, the image that came from the pelt itself seemed provide her some semblance of confidence. Acting both as a blanket of security and a cover for her true thoughts, she was more than thankful to have it around her as she took her place as a silent sentry at the entrance of camp. Part of her deemed it a rather cruel, final task for whoever had just earned their name. Why not make them sit vigil the night before their ceremony, as an exercise in their mind, to determine whether or not they were sound enough to get their name? Why press them through such a torturous night just afterwards?

They were questions that would never be answered. Not by the molly, not by her leadership, perhaps not even by the stars. It felt like one of the traditions that simply occurred because it had for so long, there was no reason to sever the ties with such a deeply-rooted ritual. Her tail curled around the doubled appendage granted by the vulpine blanket, bringing it closer to her frame. It blanketed the otherwise vibrant pelt, allowing her to better blend into the shadows of the camp entrance. She had adjusted to always being in the light to cloak herself that now stepping into the dark was an adjustment.

More of it was an adjustment than she had even anticipated. Her ears rang with a painful thrum from all of the shouting and joy that had gone on earlier in the day. Perchstar had deemed her worthy enough of her name, with Poppyshine taking the trail almost immediately afterwards to then befit her with an apprentice. She found herself undecided on whether she should be honored that her training had gone well enough that she could immediately be trusted upon with her skills, or terrified for that being an alarming shock in regards to the state of the Clan. At the same time, she mused, Rowansong had not been in much better of a position. He had just earned his name and found the newly-named warrior herself at his paws, her shaping to the point she was at now his full responsibility.

Whatever next step her mind wanted to take down that path was interrupted by the rustling of the bushes, her ears flattening at the sharp sound and surprise of it. The breeze followed not long after, kissing her whiskers and sending an appreciated cold chill between her own pelt and the one she wore. A subtle shake of her body helped to dilute the sensation, her maw clamping tighter shut so as to not allow a more potent version of the scents it carried to sting her nose. Her honey-kissed gaze found nothing of concern other than the nighttime wind, and as such, Egretswoop delved into her mind to calm the squeeze of her chest that followed.

I am Egretswoop of Riverclan.

I bear the traditions of multiple ancestors.

I bring honor to Asylum tradition through the mother who was sent to me as a blessing.

I bring honor to my Clan and mentor who dedicated his time to me.

I notice all, to better serve my Clan.

She whispered the mantra to herself, her whiskers twitching as the self-soothing poem was recited once. Twice. Three times. All in an attempt to calm all that her body felt, the tsunami and tumultuous barrage of stimuli that she struggled to sort through. It was perhaps the strongest grounding exercise that she had found to date, simply repeating the last line in order to put her curse into a better light. Whatever entity had deemed her existence necessary had also bestowed upon her the belief that she was to notice every little thing, for better or for worse. It was up to her to see the gift behind it, to use it.

Even far in the distance, she saw the pelt of a clanmate slipping through the territory. It was a blur that could have easily been missed, but the gentle shake of bush leaves nearby only served to further reveal their crossing. Her mind was quick to process the threat level and dismiss it, the muscles that had instinctively sprung to tension once more releasing. It would only be a detriment to the sentry if she held her body in a state that meant instantly springing upon the next creature to reveal itself to her.

Pinning her ears closer to her head, it didn’t stop the twitch of her whiskers as she processed each and every thing. For many, they called the night a time of peace. For Egretswoop, it was far from that. If anything, there was a certain note about the constant bustle of the daytime that ultimately drowned out the individual continuous cacophony known as life. But during the evening hours, there was no consistent drone of the living to drown it all out. Instead, every little thing was now amplified, existing across a sea of onyx-kissed waters, leaping out like a fish in jubilate delight. Unfortunately for those fish, she was the hunter, ready to swoop in and put an end to it all.

Oh, how she wished to put an end to it on multiple occasions. The constant voices in her mind, whispering to her about every single thing going on. She had succumbed on multiple occasions to the overwhelm it caused her, each time feeling as if she had failed her mentor. Failed her Clan. After all, how was she to be a warrior if simply existing paralyzed her?

It was why she had created that mantra. Perpetually attempting to frame it as some sort of gift, rather than her burden to carry for the rest of her waking days. Waking nights, even. Sandyshell’s den had almost become a second home to the new warrior as she had needed poppy seeds to be able to get through the night, to not rouse the moment a denmate’s tail simply danced in their dreams and hit the earth just a touch too harshly and disturb her. The thought had crossed her mind on more than one occasion to attempt to make herself her own den, but the idea of placing herself in isolation, alone with the disruption of her thoughts was a self-destructive behavior at best. She at least had the brains to recognize that.

Doubt was quick to settle into the new warrior, though. Was she truly capable of being a mentor? Her gaze snapped to the left at the beating of wings, her seated position instantly changing to reflect her desire to strike. If it was an owl, she was ready. But to her relief, it was not, simply a sparrow finding a cluster of worms to devour in a night-time snack. How am I to mentor if I am so disturbed by a simple bird? The dangerous thought loomed over her, seeing her for who she was through her fox pelt.

Part of her couldn’t help but feel like she was a fake for wearing it. For relying upon the pelt as a crutch to display a fiercer portrait than who she truly was. At the same time, she was thankful for it. Perhaps if she could fool the world into thinking she had capabilities she did not truly possess, it would be hard to let any of them down. Plenty of cats made mistakes, and so long as they were held in good graces, were rather easily parted from them. Would she be able to fit into that crowd? Of those highly respected by the Clan?

Her claws unsheathed themselves beyond their alabaster-furred prison, digging into the soft earth beneath her paws and upturning the earth they rested on. Upturned, then pressed back down. Upturned, pressed. The kneading action being another attempt to self-soothe, to silence the voices of not only the outside world, but her internal monologue. It was a flame that still somehow found itself burning despite being drenched in the sea, no matter how much she attempted to smother it out.

The newly-named warrior hadn’t been able to anticipate the final torrent that slammed into her body as a particularly loud breeze swept through, her entire body freezing as if it would help her to weather the storm that passed by. It was partially her own fault, with the place she chose to keep her vigil being in the perfect path for wind to reach her ears at its loudest point. A distant sound of a chittering mouse came alongside it, the scent of herbs, plants, and that very piece of prey following in soon after. Tucking her head into her chest, the molly burrowed her nose into the fox pelt, curling into it to remove the outer world from her senses.

Egretswoop inhaled deeply, allowing as much air as possible to fill her lungs, before loosing a sigh. If this was going to be her battle for the evening… it would be a long fight. One she wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to survive. Though, she had little other choice. Quickly, she shuffled back a few paces, allowing the walls of the camp to block her from view. If any tried to come through camp… they’d be met with a fox first, warrior second. She hoped the former would be enough to prevent her from having to reveal the latter.