swarming (c)

The starry swamp again.

Frostpaw meandered through tall marsh grasses, brushing stars from the flowers in her wake. A few stuck to the very ends of her wispy fur, but the skinny molly’s frame was otherwise dull compared to her surroundings, clearly a cat still anchored to the living world, however distantly. Every time she woke her head swum. So far, she’d come to the conclusion that the possibilities were thus:

A) She was hallucinating horribly due to the sickness. The most likely, despite her odd clarity of mind.
B) Nothing ever had been real in the first place, so none of it really mattered.
C) She was lingering on the edge between life and death, and therefore actually in StarClan.

The last one could, she thought, be easily proved, but not-so-easily disproved. All she had to do was come across a StarClanner; she could hardly make that up, could she? And the mud under her paws felt so cool and so real… at the distant sound of a raven’s croaking call, Frostpaw glanced to her right, wondering what had startled the animal.

Every hunt and predator battle had started the same exact way for Batswarm: never once paying attention to his surroundings, his only goal being the marshland pools and a quick meal to bring back to the clan as proof he hadn't totally slacked off. Such was the case of the ghost of a raven that fluttered by, its call never once bothering the dilute calico. His attention was never on the star-dusted world around him. Never had to be when one was no longer considered prey by anything that walked amongst the stars.

Glimmering emerald eyes were cast downwards on the pool of swam water beneath him. Dying had been a miserable and unfair experience, but being in StarClan proved to be a boon for a cat who had no interest in anything but his own reflection. "What are you here for?" Usually StarClan knew when a visitor was coming, but there had been no warning for this one. Not a whisper or stirring of winds to announce their arrival.

A star-dusted tom greeted her, tone disinterestedly surprised, and at his words Frostpaw flicked an ear. Huh. So not even StarClan knew why she was here. Wonderful. She couldn’t find it within herself to really care, not as long as she found some relief from the fever and the pain, not as long as she had the chance to find herself safe and mostly-content. Her waking moments were more like dreams than this was, terrifying fever-delusions that clouded her mind. The chance to think clearly was more than welcome.

”I do not know,” she replied slowly, dipping her head in respect. “Who are you, may I ask?”

It made him a little sad that he was so unknown that new generations didn't know who he was. Was there no one telling the story of a beautiful hero who stopped an impending war with the sacrifice of his own fur? The fur that was as smooth as stone carved from years of laying on the rocky bottom of a river? What of his eyes that shone like glimmering emeralds, kissed by a touch of dew that sparkled from the early morning sun? He looked up from the marshland puddle, a little hurt and confused that this apprentice-sized ShadowClanner had no idea who he was. Then again, he had no idea what her name was, either. "Batswarm. Do they really not talk about me down there? I helped end a war, for StarClan's sake... Not even a whisper from Heatherberry? Leopardstar? Badgermask or Echosong...?"

Like a nightmare, Batswarm's expression turned hollow, the thought of his family forgetting about him entirely making him feel as though his heart was cracking. The scenery around them flickered subtly, though remaining mostly unchanged. Where the murky waters stood still at his paws, they began to slowly ripple and become tinged with red. Him and his sister didn't die just to be forgotten. No... He was so pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Elegant. Blood began to seep from the silky fur around his neck as he stared into the eye of the cat who shouldn't even be here. Four had died that night, two of ShadowClan, and one of great importance to the image of ShadowClan: Batswarm. He was important, right? He was still loved... Right? "Batswarm... I'm Batswarm. I'm the beautiful Batswarm, eternal. You know me." His voice gurgled as he absently spoke in her direction. He hadn't been so bothered about being dead until this moment. Until someone born of his own clan said they had no idea who he was. He had been abandoned, hadn't he?

“I have not spoken frequently to Leopardstar, and Heatherberry is frequently preoccupied with her duties,” Frostpaw began, but cut herself off as the distant scent of blood met her nose. Oh. She took a half-step back from the water’s edge, tail-tip flicking nervously, and as he turned to meet her gaze had to fight down the urge to run. Blood, thick and crimson, the gurgle in his words. Her ears pinned, Frostpaw sunk her claws into the mud, fur prickling. “A-apologies? I am willing to listen, if you wish to speak.”

She was merely dreaming. Nothing here could hurt her.