Looking for the Shapes In the Silence(c)

Tallkit hurdled around the corner of the nursery. He was moving so fast through the narrow gorse entrance that he scraped his shoulders as he exited, but it barely broke his stride. “Sootstorm!” He called, bounding into the camp proper, head on a swivel looking for the familiar dappled pelt. There was still moss from his nest clinging to his golden fur, having collapsed, tired but happy, into the nursery for a much deserved nap. But now he was bursting with energy and gunning to show Sootstorm everything he had learned. His ears perked as he saw the tom, and with a trill of greeting he made a bee-line across camp, tail held aloft like a golden flag. His long legs flashed beneath him, eating ground ravanishly until he crossed the camp in record time.

“Look what I learned!” He meowed, skidding to a stop and head-butting Sootstorm’s shoulder fondly, taking a minute to rub his head under the warrior’s chin before hopping away and lashing his tail playfully. He dropped into a crouch, balancing his weight in his hips just like Eaglefly had shown him. He sized the older tom up, amber eyes flashing in mischief. He pinned his ears back and snarled, exposing his needle sharp teeth with a squeaky furiosity. The tabby kit reached out and smacked Sootstorm as hard as he could with his claws sheathed. He made sure to rotate through his shoulder, as per Eaglefly’s instruction, and he felt a sharp stab of pride when he didn't stumble. His practice had paid off! "It's called Front Paw Strike! I've been practicing!"

Tallkit’s whiskers twitched in satisfaction as he beamed up at Sootstorm, every inch of him from his too-big ears to the tip of his tail, exuded a confident happiness. The weak leaf-fall sun dappled him in soft afternoon light as he bounced back and forth on nimble paws. “I’ve been practicing since Eagefly showed me. I just know the one move right now, but I’ll learn loads more when i’m an apprentice. I’ll work really hard.” The kit said seriously, his amber gaze utterly sincere. Tallkit twitched an ear as the tom licked him, pretending to be annoyed, but couldn’t squash the purr that rumbled in his narrow chest. He leapt playfully at Sootstorm’s tail, pinning it to the ground triumphantly. He flopped over onto his back and battered it with his back feet, purring the whole time.

He eventually let up on his assault and stayed lying on his side, tail still twitching up and down like he might decide to strike again. “You really thought it was good though?” He asked hopefully. “I want to make sure I get it right.”

Tallkit purred happily from under Sootstorm’s tail, full of life despite the harsh way the wind had blown. WindClan’s lack of warriors, the shroud of death that hung heavy over camp, the prey shortage that had worn away the sleekness of their pelts, but they were strong and they were star-blessed, they would survive. Tallkit stood up and rubbed his cheek against the dappled warrior’s shoulder. It was hard for everyone right now, but Tallkit would make sure that Sootstorm got through. He would make his mother and his siblings proud from where they watched between the stars, and he would make Sootstorm proud too, whatever it took.

He puffed his chest out, chin held high, looking silly and awkward with his gangly legs and painfully thin shoulders, but it was undeniable he was proud of being born on the open moors and despite everything, he was not afraid. He was WindClan's golden son, through and through. Born with the taste of the wind under his tongue and the sun in his eyes. It was just the begining. The empty spaces could not be filled, but he was getting better at stepping around them, aching less and living more. “I’ll serve WindClan well.” He promised. “Just like you!”