Standing Tall[C]

Tallkit stared at the gorse wall, its tangling stems burdened only with half-dried flowers. They used to be more colorful, his littermates would leap for the bright yellow petals when they floated into the nursery. He joined in sometimes, before their pelts lost their sheen and the queens started pulling them from the nest after mother left. Tallkit had stopped wandering out of the nursery. He tried before, to see where his siblings were going, but they never came back and now it was too cold anyway. Maybe it was better he didn’t know. His soft golden pelt was thin and dulled and the wind bit through it too easily, so he stayed in his nest and waited. The kit tucked his nose under his feathery tail, burying himself a little deeper into the moss. His nose was running, and the tips of his ears quivered in the cold, but at least the nursery was quiet and the whistling of the wind outside was familiar and comforting despite the chill it brought with it.

Tallkit’s ears twitched at the sound of a cat scraping through the gorse. He lifted his head, long tail twitching up, only to droop back down into the moss. He pushed down the sting of disappointment that it wasn’t one of the queens. Feeling heavy, Tallkit settled back down but to his surprise, the unfamiliar tom approached, mouse dangling from his jaws. The tabby looked at the mouse for a long moment, hunger that had been a far off ache returned in full force. He licked his lips, a slow purr throbbing in his little chest. “Really? Thank you.” Tallkit dipped his head politely, before nudging at the creature with his nose. It’s scent was heavy and sweet as it settled under his tongue. He glanced back at the tom, one too-big ear twitching. “I haven’t had fresh-kill before.” He admitted a little sheepishly, before taking a careful bite. The flavor exploded against the roof of his mouth. His teeth crunching through the fur and bone sent a ripple of satisfaction against his pelt. He could almost imagine it warm and flighty under his claws, the thrill of the hunt like a second hand high. It was a little tough, and he worked his jaw comically to dislodge fur from meat. With one paw full of small claws hooked into it to hold it still, the kit hunched over the prey, tearing happily into it like he might never get a meal again. He paused long enough to mumble “it's really good!” Through his full mouth.

He was so busy eating he almost didn’t hear the warrior’s second question. Tallkit lifted his head, ears flattening back for a moment before he caught himself. The tom-kit sat back on his haunches, curling his tail neatly around his paws. His belly was full for the first time in the long-stretching days since the queens started leaving and the bustling warmth of the nursery started to ebb into dim stillness. Tallkit sniffled and blinked back the gunk under his eyes. He shrugged non-committedly. “Dunno. Mother hasn’t come back since they took Heatherkit away.” He looked down at his paws, mouse fur snagged on his claws. The moss around him was cool to the touch, the nest looked too big without the fumbling bodies of his littermates. He used to hate when they tumbled over his long legs or stepped on his tail, but now. “Maybe… maybe you’ve seen them?” Tallkit pulled himself to his paws, shoulder blades stretching tight and sharp under his pelt. “I haven’t been out of the nursery for awhile, but no one will tell me when I ask. My litter-mates, they’ll be excited to hear I've had fresh-kill, and they keep the nest warm, it’s not fair I have to sleep by myself.” His lifted his tail, looking brave, but his paws trembled, and he lowered his voice, like he was embarrassed. “I just, I miss them a little.” He glanced up at the warrior, a hesitant sway to his tail.

Tallkit saw the shadow pass across the dappled tom’s eyes and slowly his tail lowered. “Oh.” He said, and felt the full weight of his pelt and his paws. He was often annoyed at his littermates, but that didn’t mean he wanted them gone. He felt suddenly, very cold, but it was just that all the blood was in his belly with the mouse. The mouse. Tallkit felt like his ribs had broken clean in half. His littermates didn’t know the feral, singing taste of mouse, and they never would. The memory would be his alone. “I say goodnight to StarClan sometimes.” He said, feeling like he had thistle down in his throat. “Mother-” Mother. He missed her warm fur, it felt like so long since he had snuggled into the softness of her pelt. The rasp of her tongue, chasing away the moss that got stuck in his fur. “Mother taught us to be polite, so when I saw silverpelt, sometimes i’d sneak out and sit for awhile, it seemed respectful.” How could his mother, his littermates, with their warm live bodies, the rumbles of their happiness that echoed his own when they snuggled deep into their nest as a summer storm blew past, how could all of that be shoved between the distant slow blink of the stars?

“I hope they like it there. Mistkit was afraid of the dark.” Something like dread trickled between his shoulder blades at the thought of Mistkit in the vastness of the sky. At least they had Mother, she would keep them safe, but not him. He was on his own now. Tallkit wanted to curl up under his nest and let the earth swallow him. He looked at Sootstorm, the tom squeezed into the nursery, looking as haggard and dulled as the rest of them. “Thank you, for the mouse.” Tallkit said. He looked back at his empty nest. A nest that would stay empty. The kit stumbled forward on his gangly legs, graceless with the weight of everything, and rubbed his head against Sootstorm’s foreleg. “I’m sorry about your brother. Fidgetkit likes everyone, they’ll be friends.” His mew was wet and unsteady. He leaned against the older tom, ears turned back and tail curled tightly over his paws, quivering like the earth was shaking. Everything had splintered apart above his head, and he was left staring at the pieces. The gorse petals on the floor, the nest that hadn't been straightened in days, the oppressive emptiness, the stale scents of milk and heather and sickness. Maybe the worst part was that those things too, would be gone eventually, and what would be left then? What was left now?

Tallkit flicked a hopeful ear towards the tom. Sootstorm had seen StarClan? Silverpelt always looked so cold and distant, a hard foreign glint to the stars that was both mystifying and beautiful. But at the warrior’s description, he could almost see Mistkit bounding playfully across the stars, gray pelt brushed silver in the gentle light of stars that glowed like the sun. He hoped she was happy. He hoped she wasn’t sick anymore. He hoped Goldenpetal didn't miss him. She would’ve come back if she could. He thought fiercely. He hoped she would have come back.

Sootstorm’s short pelt brushed against his cheek as the tom pulled him closer. Tallkit slumped bonelessly against the warrior. The tom’s wind-swept scent banished the tang of sickness that had been stuck up in his nose since he’d been curled in his nest. Sootstorm wasn’t soft or sweet-scented like his mother or the other queens. He didn’t fill the void that was howling in his chest like a cave-in. But he was warm, and his voice rumbled like a purr, and the press of his pelt was grounding and that was enough for Tallkit. The golden kit turned his head and buried his face in Sootstorm’s shoulder, like he could vanish into the warm dark that pressed against his eyes. "Yes please." He mumbled into the warrior’s fur.

For the first time in days, Tallkit felt secure, sheltered both by the tangle of gorse and Sootstorm’s fur, he swiveled one comically large ear so he could hear the story better. The cats in the tale seemed to be leaping across the nursery, hurtling after the shooting star with their pelts touched silver as the wind buoyed their paws. Tallkit could taste the heather on the air, could feel the springy moor-grass as if it churned beneath his own paws. He couldn’t help the purr that rattled hesitantly out of his chest. He was WindClan afterall, blessed with his gangly legs that would one day carry him just as far and just as fast as the cats in the story, protected and seen by StarClan and its many watchful eyes. He wouldn’t let them down.

With the even rumble of Sootstorm’s voice, and the dim warmth of the nursery pressing close, it was hard to keep his eyes open. His body ached with both grief and weariness, but he was warm now, and Sootstorm’s pelt was proving to be much more comfortable than the cold indifference of his empty nest. Purring softly, Tallkit snuggled closer, poking all his hunger-sharp edges into the yielding expanse of the warrior’s fur. Somewhere in the half-sleep haze, between one slow blink of his eyes and the next, he wondered if Sootstorm would be gone when he woke up. That this wasn’t just some fever dream he would wake from with Goldenpetal’s fur under his cheek and his littermates tripping over him. But some deep intrinsic part of him understood, he would live with their absence like a long-healing wound. The world was still unsteady under his paws, like every tentative thing he had would slip away like a feather between his claws. But he figured that was a problem for the morning, and didn’t let it get snagged under his pelt.
Tallkit fell asleep with a facefull of Sootstorm’s fur and the WindClan cats of old still running across his mind, their silvered pelts flashing through the far-stretching distances between the stars, voices echoing happily in the vastness of his dreams.