W I S T E R I A S T A R
It was that time. Her kits had reached their sixth moon, a time that she and her mate, Hornetstar, had told them stories of for moons now. They may not be Clan cats by birth, but of course they had made the choice to raise their family by the traditions and values of the warrior code they had always lived by. Their kits had been told of warrior training, practice of herbs, the morals and values they had taught them- why these things mattered, why they were important. It was time for them to choose their path in life, to decide whether they wanted to remain loners in the outskirts, or to search out the Clans and find a home there. Regardless of their choice, Wisteriastar wanted to ensure that they had the ability to protect themselves, and such, today they would begin their warrior training.
"Kits, it's time to get up!" She called. Dawn had just broken, the sun barely hinting the sky with a soft golden hue. It was earlier than they were used to, but if they were going to mature and live the life of the Clans, they would have to get used to waking up early. The calico feline waited a couple heartbeats to listen for the sound of shuffling hay, groans of complaints, and the pitter patter of paws. Not all of her children had responded to her first call, so she pronounced again, "Up, up! Come, now. Do not make me climb up to your nests and drag you out of bed myself," the hint of the threat in her voice was not an empty one. They knew that their mother could be like an iron fist and they knew better than to tempt their luck.
Within a matter of minutes, all four of their kits had lined up in front of her. Nearby her side, Hornetstar lingered. There was a cute little tuft of fur sticking up from his head, almost as if he were getting used to sleeping in. Her eyes squinting with amusement, Wisteriastar rasped her tongue over the tuft to flatten it out, grooming him quietly. Then, her attention returned to her children.
"Today marks your sixth moon. You know what that means, don't you?" She tested them, waiting for their excited mews of confirmation before she smiled and continued. "Exactly. You will begin to learn your warrior training. Every day, starting from today, will be strenuous. Hornetstar and I will teach you everything we learned during our lives as warriors. Count yourselves lucky."
O T T E R
otter -- child of horist
life and death and love and birth
and peace and war on the planet earth
is there anything that's worth more
than peace and love on the planet earth?
Each day felt monotonous, but he embraced the comfort of routine, waking upon his mother's first call. However, his siblings' laziness called to his sluggishness, and he succumbed to the remnants of warmth from last night's sleep. It wasn't until Spring's complaining following Mama's no-nonsense tone breached his slothful bubble that the brown and cream tabby pushed himself to sit up, blinking tiredly at his sisters. Otter struggled to untangle himself from his siblings, shooting them all affectionate glances before stumbling after Spring, content to be his sister's shadow. Otter is not an energetic or bold tom, preferring to observe his sisters as they engage in their excitement and games. He found it exhausting and even taxing to entertain himself the way they might but amused himself by relaying their adventures to Mama and Papa. His more cautious manners implied shyness or suggested a lack of vibrancy, perhaps even absent of the energy attributed to all young felines. However, this was all false-- his energy was the single-minded sort rather than jumping frantically from adventure to adventure. Otter's attention could be intense and unwavering, but he approaches all his fixations with the same enthusiasm as his sisters.
One such fixation he had adopted from the stories regaled to them by their parents: of victory, family and love, and labor under Nature's unforgiving claws. These stories stirred his kitten spirit and called up a furious storm of imagination that tempered itself but remained as he matured; it was with nostalgia and overwhelming eagerness that Otter approached his mother, already bobbing his head politely to his father. "Morning, Papa! You have straw in your fur," he mewed, his vowels slow as honey and equally sweet. Despite growing up among his family, his accent had taken up a slow drawl appearing to match the tranquility of the surrounding air and sun. "Perk up, sis-- it'll be fun," Otter whispered, still loud in the quiet room. "Are we learning how to hunt?" He inquired, tail sticking straight up like a hyper kit's.
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