Post by Cloudbat on Jul 16, 2011 9:34:11 GMT -10
The afterlife was not as straightforward as she’d been led to believe.
There was one - they did have that straight. It wasn’t quite as glamorous as she’d been led to believe, though.
Not that she was complaining-it was very peaceful here, in her little secluded corner of the sky.
She could tell it was the sky too – there seemed to be an invisible floor between her and empty air. Her theory – though she had no way of knowing if she was correct – was that spirits used bodies to anchor themselves to the earth, and when one could no longer function properly, the spirit no longer had mass and was no longer subject to physical forces –hence, it drifted upward without the pull of gravity on its physical container.
Yet she had seen no one else yet. True, she was fairly certain she’d gotten here recently – time was hard to tell here, though. She might have died a few minutes ago or a quarter-moon. Oh, the calico felt other presences around her – she was certain of that. But she felt strangely cut off…like she was missing something.
She glanced down at her pale, shimmering image – her once-rich colors diluted, as though washed out from her earthly separation.
She walked –if you could call it that, she seemed to glide with purpose rather than actually put and release pressure on her insubstantial limbs-to the large stump with the board pieces.
The former medicine cat wasn’t quite sure if it had always been there, or if it had appeared this instant. Either way, though, she knew it was for her.
On the gnarled lump of wood’s unnaturally flat surface was a perfectly etched diamond, with several smaller diamonds within it, and an object within each diamond.
The objects seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their organization at all or any particular similarities – a likeness of a cat’s paw made of reeds was right next to an otter’s claw (though how she knew it was an otter’s claw she could not say) and an owl’s feather with a speck like a star on it (again with that strange certainty) was almost touching a tiny frozen lump of hail with little storm clouds above it, as well as a scrap of willow bark and a diamond square containing nothing but merely filled in with the color black.
The longer she looked at the objects and their diamond-shaped lines, the more she had the oddest feeling that she’d seen them before. She tentatively reached out to touch a finch’s feather when it hit her like a storm in leaf-bare.
These were her Clanmates.
They were hers to care for and watch over, and – fix! Through her shock came a sense of triumph. This must be why the pieces had given to her, why they had let her realize what they were! Surely, she could manipulate them to heal her broken Clan! Head darting this way and that, she looked frantically for – aha!
At the very tip of the larger diamond, in its little four-sided boundary, there was a minuscule cloud of mist with a tiny star at its heart – except this star was dull, clouded, its light weak and sickly-looking. A sense of wonder overcame the glowing shade as she gazed at it, a peculiar revelation of the truth about the false leader’s ascension to power.
StarClan truly had sent the dream –but it had turned out entirely wrong. The FogClanner could not puzzle out the whole sad story yet, but she sensed a loss in Miststar’s own past, and StarClan’s own failed attempts to bring her solace and support FogClan as well. She knew, as she realized this, that StarClan could see the future – or perhaps futures were a better term.
Yet it was an incredibly complicated process - each cat could only see the possible futures of those they had been most closely connected to, and required the help of others to see the possible of futures of different cats they didn’t know. With so many differing personalities and ranges of vision, prophecies /couldn’t/ be specific. Well, they could – but there was a far slimmer chance of them being any use at all.
And even if they did get it right, there was no guarantee that it would all be replicated as seen – (future-to-dream translation, involving tiring earth travel as it did, made the senders exhausted and more likely to accidentally mess a dream up.)
Assuming a dream was sent correctly, there was no guarantee that the receiver would interpret it correctly – or even pay attention. She now fully understood why PineClan had forsaken them – there was more uncertainty in death than even they could ever imagine.
In the case of Miststar, everything that could have gone wrong did, and the result was her terrible actions in StarClan’s name.
Even as she processed all of this, the philosopher’s paw trembled in its once confident reach.
She knew she could fix everything with a flick of a claw. She could maim or even kill Miststar, do the same to Volepelt, and sicken all of the Council members with a touch. She could heal Harefang’s blindness, and cure Rowanheart’s inability to see the truth –even soothe his broken heart, for even though he was her murderer, death had made her realize he too had only acted out of love. She could ensure Frostpaw and Finchpaw’s happiness, and free Smokefur from Tawnywhisker’s grip. The rebels could slip in completely unopposed and restore order. Dovepaw would be free. She could ensure Owlstar’s safe passage home.
And yet…
Did she truly have the right? Would these things happen anyway, without her intervention? She shook her head. Foolishness. Here was a chance to secure the safety of her Clan and she doubted herself?
Still the paw hesitated, her round face anxious, excited, and slightly guilty. She almost did it. She almost rearranged the world to suit her, almost acted on her own whims. But right before the shining forepaw touched the tiny mist, she withdrew it.
No.
The aim of living was to make choices- good, bad, or neutral, but all for one’s own path. She had good intentions – but so had the cats who had decided to send Miststar that dream. Brightnose was dead – and what remained, this spirit, finally accepted that she was no longer alive, and thus did not know what she might do by tampering with the paths of the living.
She was proud of herself for making the logical choice – but a deep sadness still dwelled within the shadow of her soul. The tricolor cat knew at that moment that this was the true test of whether one deserved a place in StarClan – the last decision a cat could make, to see if they could accept their death and the terms that came with it, to resist the easy power of control.
What was left of the first FogClan medicine cat closed her eyes, and swept the pieces off the board, where they sunk through the floor, and made their own way to the forest of fate.
There was one - they did have that straight. It wasn’t quite as glamorous as she’d been led to believe, though.
Not that she was complaining-it was very peaceful here, in her little secluded corner of the sky.
She could tell it was the sky too – there seemed to be an invisible floor between her and empty air. Her theory – though she had no way of knowing if she was correct – was that spirits used bodies to anchor themselves to the earth, and when one could no longer function properly, the spirit no longer had mass and was no longer subject to physical forces –hence, it drifted upward without the pull of gravity on its physical container.
Yet she had seen no one else yet. True, she was fairly certain she’d gotten here recently – time was hard to tell here, though. She might have died a few minutes ago or a quarter-moon. Oh, the calico felt other presences around her – she was certain of that. But she felt strangely cut off…like she was missing something.
She glanced down at her pale, shimmering image – her once-rich colors diluted, as though washed out from her earthly separation.
She walked –if you could call it that, she seemed to glide with purpose rather than actually put and release pressure on her insubstantial limbs-to the large stump with the board pieces.
The former medicine cat wasn’t quite sure if it had always been there, or if it had appeared this instant. Either way, though, she knew it was for her.
On the gnarled lump of wood’s unnaturally flat surface was a perfectly etched diamond, with several smaller diamonds within it, and an object within each diamond.
The objects seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their organization at all or any particular similarities – a likeness of a cat’s paw made of reeds was right next to an otter’s claw (though how she knew it was an otter’s claw she could not say) and an owl’s feather with a speck like a star on it (again with that strange certainty) was almost touching a tiny frozen lump of hail with little storm clouds above it, as well as a scrap of willow bark and a diamond square containing nothing but merely filled in with the color black.
The longer she looked at the objects and their diamond-shaped lines, the more she had the oddest feeling that she’d seen them before. She tentatively reached out to touch a finch’s feather when it hit her like a storm in leaf-bare.
These were her Clanmates.
They were hers to care for and watch over, and – fix! Through her shock came a sense of triumph. This must be why the pieces had given to her, why they had let her realize what they were! Surely, she could manipulate them to heal her broken Clan! Head darting this way and that, she looked frantically for – aha!
At the very tip of the larger diamond, in its little four-sided boundary, there was a minuscule cloud of mist with a tiny star at its heart – except this star was dull, clouded, its light weak and sickly-looking. A sense of wonder overcame the glowing shade as she gazed at it, a peculiar revelation of the truth about the false leader’s ascension to power.
StarClan truly had sent the dream –but it had turned out entirely wrong. The FogClanner could not puzzle out the whole sad story yet, but she sensed a loss in Miststar’s own past, and StarClan’s own failed attempts to bring her solace and support FogClan as well. She knew, as she realized this, that StarClan could see the future – or perhaps futures were a better term.
Yet it was an incredibly complicated process - each cat could only see the possible futures of those they had been most closely connected to, and required the help of others to see the possible of futures of different cats they didn’t know. With so many differing personalities and ranges of vision, prophecies /couldn’t/ be specific. Well, they could – but there was a far slimmer chance of them being any use at all.
And even if they did get it right, there was no guarantee that it would all be replicated as seen – (future-to-dream translation, involving tiring earth travel as it did, made the senders exhausted and more likely to accidentally mess a dream up.)
Assuming a dream was sent correctly, there was no guarantee that the receiver would interpret it correctly – or even pay attention. She now fully understood why PineClan had forsaken them – there was more uncertainty in death than even they could ever imagine.
In the case of Miststar, everything that could have gone wrong did, and the result was her terrible actions in StarClan’s name.
Even as she processed all of this, the philosopher’s paw trembled in its once confident reach.
She knew she could fix everything with a flick of a claw. She could maim or even kill Miststar, do the same to Volepelt, and sicken all of the Council members with a touch. She could heal Harefang’s blindness, and cure Rowanheart’s inability to see the truth –even soothe his broken heart, for even though he was her murderer, death had made her realize he too had only acted out of love. She could ensure Frostpaw and Finchpaw’s happiness, and free Smokefur from Tawnywhisker’s grip. The rebels could slip in completely unopposed and restore order. Dovepaw would be free. She could ensure Owlstar’s safe passage home.
And yet…
Did she truly have the right? Would these things happen anyway, without her intervention? She shook her head. Foolishness. Here was a chance to secure the safety of her Clan and she doubted herself?
Still the paw hesitated, her round face anxious, excited, and slightly guilty. She almost did it. She almost rearranged the world to suit her, almost acted on her own whims. But right before the shining forepaw touched the tiny mist, she withdrew it.
No.
The aim of living was to make choices- good, bad, or neutral, but all for one’s own path. She had good intentions – but so had the cats who had decided to send Miststar that dream. Brightnose was dead – and what remained, this spirit, finally accepted that she was no longer alive, and thus did not know what she might do by tampering with the paths of the living.
She was proud of herself for making the logical choice – but a deep sadness still dwelled within the shadow of her soul. The tricolor cat knew at that moment that this was the true test of whether one deserved a place in StarClan – the last decision a cat could make, to see if they could accept their death and the terms that came with it, to resist the easy power of control.
What was left of the first FogClan medicine cat closed her eyes, and swept the pieces off the board, where they sunk through the floor, and made their own way to the forest of fate.