(forever???) [closed, solo]

(this was meant to take place the night of the half moon aha)


Despite the frost creeping across the den floor, there was a certain stuffiness to Smallstar's den. Most nights he'd find the stillness suffocating, wrapping it's claws around his throat until he was gasping for air, but tonight he found comfort within its embrace. The way the hot, thick air surrounded and cradled him was reminiscent of the way a queen would wrap around her kits. It was comforting, a kind of comfort he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

The leader lay in his too-big nest, sprawled out so his paws just grazed the nest's edge. To anyone who entered the den, he would appear asleep - if it weren't for his eyes. They remained wide open, locked onto a dark corner in his den, they were the only visual cue of his racing mind. The leader was worried, although it was not a new feeling. It was about prey, about twolegs, about the clan. And the part that kept him pondering was that there was very little that could be done about it. It was the nature of him to try finding a solution, but there was nothing that he could do.

Many nights in a row had followed this ritual. Retiring to his den, laying down, and thinking. And he would think for hours into the night, only because he was not able to sleep. Never would he wake up the next morning with a solution.

It was only when his eyes would begin to grow heavy that Smallstar tossed in his nest, burying his nose into moss beneath him. The previous fast pace of his breathing had soothed to a shallow rise and fall. Still, Smallstar thought, but as sleep tightened it's grip on him, the thoughts became more scattered. The leader felt peace as he eased into unconsciousness. He hoped that peace would remain.

Alas, within a heartbeat he was conscious again, but when he woke he wasn't in his nest. A rush of adrenaline pumped through him, a result of his initial panic, leaving him jittery and uncomfortable once he realized he was dreaming. The cat that appeared to him did not help matters.

The cat was indistinguishable with colorless eyes, every single one of its bones showing beneath its fur and skin, sharp and protruding like the craggy peaks of highstones itself. It stared at him silently, pinning him down with its gaze. Smallstar knew it was a dream, but that didn't stop a nauseous feeling from creeping up his throat. He wanted to call out, to speak, but the tension in the air was suffocating - not as if there was no more air left to breathe, but as if something not allowing him to breathe. His lungs began to ache, but he did nothing.

"The red sun calls for you, and for your children. Choose your path, trust the suns warmth. Your rivers will run dry, and your trees will die, and any meat you eat will turn to ash should you stray from your forsaken path." Blood and snot oozes and coats the small, grey cat's muzzle, its grey eyes becoming crusty as the secretions force its eyes closed. Bile rose in Smallstar's throat.

Slowly, it turned away from him and padded off into the red sun as it was swallowed by the earth.

And just like that, Smallstar woke again.

Sweating beneath his fur, he sat upright, chest heaving. The den was still stuffy, but it no longer held the same comforting characteristic it once had. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, like the tension from his dream was still suffocating him. Feverishly, he stumbled from his nest, desperate for the fresh air outside, no matter how cold it was. He exited the den and gasped, partially for air and partially at its bitterness, wincing as it numbed his lungs and stung his raw throat. The tom hung his head as he caught his breath. Even now, he felt weak. Raising his gaze, he saw his sleeping clanmates, envious of their nests out in the open air. He raised his gaze higher, lifting his nose skywards to gaze at Silverpelt. They looked faint tonight.

When he no longer felt a burning in his lungs, he returned to his den, albeit hesitant. He eyes his nest suspiciously, as if it were the one who had cursed him with such a disturbing dream. Even now, it was burned into his memory. The cat, their ominous words. The sickening feeling remained as he lived through the dream again, although now it was less vivid.

It had been some time since Smallstar had been a medicine cat, but he knew a dream from Starclan when he saw one. It was despair, then anger, then despair again when he came to the conclusion, but he supposed it was because they were currently without a medicine cat. He was acting medicine cat. Apparently Starclan had picked up on that.

Never did he remember a dream so vivid, though. And so disturbing. His stomach twisted again. Now, he sat in the center of his den, brows furrowed as he analyzed what he remembered. "The red sun calls for you and your children." His eyes shifted. "Your rivers will run dry, and your trees will die, and any meat you eat will turn to ash should you stray from your forsaken path." It didn't make sense. But when did they ever?

Tail flicking with annoyance, Smallstar remained in the center of his den, even as the first rays of the sun peaked over the horizon and his limbs became heavy with the weight of fatigue. It was foolish, he knew, but he felt as if he couldn't sleep until he came to some kind of conclusion, even if it were only temporary. Slowly, his gaze passed over to his nest. The moss called to him, it beckoned him to return and find comfort within it's warmth. And Smallstar so badly wanted to give into it's temptation. It was only after peeking out of his den and seeing Tigerdance begin to organize patrols that he felt enough comfort to allow the thought of returning to his nest. And, after clearing his foggy thoughts and realizing that there wasn't many other ways to get energy right now, he gave in.

Smallstar returned to his nest, not-so-wide eyes focused on a dark corner in his den. This time, little organized thoughs ran through his head. As he faded off to sleep once more, all he could see was the face of the cat that had appeared, hopeless and desperate.