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(Story) This Territory is Broken

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Riversun

D’ialia limped back through camp, her ears pinned back to her head.  She had been out for longer than she’d intended.  She’d only been in the healer’s den for a day, and though she was steady enough to be on her paws she’d been given strict instructions not to leave camp… for various reasons.  She supposed there was wisdom in everything they’d told her—she needed time and rest to recover, if she met a threat she would be too weak to properly deal with it, her condition could suddenly take a turn for the worse and she’d be stranded somewhere in need of help.  They made sense… but none of them really appealed to her.  She didn’t like the attention she was getting—even when the Blue/Green-Shadow male had carried her back after her rather foolish encounter with the multicolored vine (or… snake, as she’d later learned it was called), they’d been crowding her.  She had simply needed a reprise, which was what she had taken, slipping away before the sun was really up and planning to return before anyone missed her.  But the stranger had wasted so much of her time—it was nearly sunhigh, and they were sure to have missed her by now.  Oh well—it wasn’t like she had planned on listening to them for the sake of listening in the first place.  They should have known that by now.  She was sore and tired by the time she padded back into the entrance, trying to hold herself with her usual composure but at the same time slinking, trying not to be noticed.  The guards would notice her, of course, but she got by them without making eye contact and continued into the camp.  Her paw was aching—between the burn that wasn’t really healed yet and the snakebite that had burned even more fiercely than the larger wound, her walk took on an odd, limping gait that she tried and failed to steady out.  It was a beautiful morning—afternoon at this point—and the sun’s rays dipped into the camp for some length, lighting the dark of the cave.  She wondered how many more days there would be like this before the cold came—the cold, the snow, and the winter’s teeth that she’d learned to endure while living on her own.  Would it be much different within the Tribe?  Summer seemed to be the right time to join, where no one expected too much of her, where food wasn’t too high in demand and tensions weren’t running as high as they sometimes were between the tribes.  Tensions, territories, battles… the concepts that she might have been able to organize better while clearheaded seemed to float aimlessly in her brain, so she shook her head slightly to dismiss them.  The action made her stumble slightly, and she regained her footing to pad into a slightly darker corner of the camp, where she hoped she could remain unnoticed for a time, perhaps sneak back into the healers’ den.  She sat, wrapping her tail over her paws as she glanced furtively around, trying to guess who might have seen her re-enter.  Hopefully not someone who cared that she had disobeyed orders.


Toadfoal

It was a small relief that the day's schedule was relatively clear. Not that making sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to was a bother. His ultimate purpose in life was to assist the Silver-Shadow in any way possible. That wasn't so bad, really. If there was anything that needed to be done, he was glad for something to take up a bit of time. But there wasn't really anything to do. He'd taken a few naps that day already, and found that he just wasn't as tired as usual. Maybe this was all a good sign. The Tribes were on their way to recovery. But now that exhaustion was lifting, the Yellow-Shadow found himself perpetually bored. Something he hadn't felt very often in the past. How to deal with boredom? He tried a variety of things. Hunting was less than successful, none of the edible animals seemed to be out that day. Walking down to the mines proved pointless, as everyone there was busy and it would have been improper to disturb them. He even tried rolling around in the dirt, which was rumored to be good at keeping fur soft. But he didn't really care that much whether his fur was soft as down or tough as a hedgehog's prickly spikes. Bored, bored, bored. Finally, he considered the obvious option of seeking interaction. That could be potentially have been tedious too. The cats of Shadow Tribe were generally not the most talkative, but they still might demand more than he could offer. Gossip was too difficult to contribute to, and in the end he was reminded of an individual with whom he didn't have to worry about not saying enough. After her episode with the snake (which was far more reasonable than the giant, colorful worm that had been described to him originally) she had been kept in the healers den until she was fit to return to normal activity. It was now clear that she would make a full recovery, and that was proving a relief to himself, and the rest of the tribe as well, he was certain. They couldn't afford to be losing cats to snakes and other wild animals, not while they were still attempting to recover in numbers as well as spirit. Perhaps she would appreciate a brief visit. Even if she didn't, it was only proper for him to pay a visit to cats who were ill or injured every now and then. He prepared to head back into the dens, when a semi-sharp movement caught his eye. He did not move his stance, but swiveled his ears around towards the sound, alert for whatever might be hiding in the shadows, and curled his lip up defensively. If it was an intruder, they were foolish to try and hide in their enemy's own element. However, as the smell of this cat, clearly Shadow Tribe, entered his scent glands, he realized that the individual was one he recognized. "D'ialia." He hissed lightly, stepping forward and turning midstride to face the direction in which she had entered. "You shouldn't be here without permission."


Riversun

D’ialia’s half-faltering steps stopped, and she glanced up at him looking a bit unsure of how to react.  His tone was challenging, maybe even slightly angry.  Of course she knew she shouldn’t leave the healer’s den until someone gave her express permission to do so.  They’d told her enough times.  But beyond that, she wasn’t sure whether or not to argue with his clear tone.  On one hand… who was HE to be telling her where she could and could not go?  She was a member of the tribe, and the territory and camp were hers to wander as she wished.  This was one of those few moments where she was tempted to snap back—speak some cool retort that she didn’t need other cats running her life.  She was recovering, so why did she have to be looked after—watched—every moment until some healer decided that she could leave?  But on the other hand… he was the Yellow-Shadow.  She’d learned quickly to avoid directly confronting a silver or a yellow, especially from her own tribe.  It was more than that though—she didn’t even know his name, but the Yellow-Shadow was the one cat that she didn’t mind being around.  In fact, she’d recently begun to wonder if she was still simply being drawn by his power, as she had been initially, and instead simply enjoyed his company?  But it was not set in stone, and after all he outranked her by a landslide.  She wasn’t one to use relations to claw to power, not the sort of power that leadership offered.  Fighting and abilities, yes, she’d approach him simply to gain whatever knowledge he would offer to her and more if it were possible.  But she could care less about authority—she had no lofty aspirations of leading the tribe, no ambition for a title and a different color for her tattoo.  She’d formed a tentative sort of trust towards the shadow deputy, but it was a trust that could just as easily be broken as strengthened.  But as she looked him over, she realized that she didn’t want to look for ways to cut him off emotionally, as she had most other cats that she’d met.  Her gaze traveled to the direction that he had been moving before he’d noticed her (because of course he had noticed her.  She couldn’t hide from him).  The healer’s den.  What was he going there for… a visit?  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.  What did he want, to see her when she was at her weakest point?  She had no idea why, but she racked her brains and she couldn’t think of another reason.  The thought gave her the energy to lift her chin, her spirit sparking back into her eyes a bit.  “Well…” she said slowly, her ear with the small nick flicking back and then forward in a rapid movement.  Cats who knew her well knew that tick—the one that indicated that she wasn’t quite sure, even if her tone was bold and proud.  “Give me permission.”  She hadn’t phrased it as a question, but it didn’t quite come out as a demand, either.  It was a request, extended to him for him to act upon it if he would, or to ignore it.  She watched him carefully, eyeing the dirt left over in his fur from when he had rolled around in it earlier.  The hints of light refracting off the minuscule bits of rock almost made him glow.  Her eyes returned to his face, trying not to look as worn-out as she felt.


Toadfoal

Well, there was that. Cenek let out a sound, mixed between a growl and a grunt of protest. Give her permission, to wander around alone so soon after a severe injury, and risk who knows what. It was too soon. Perhaps if the world were safe things would be different. But Damian's recent death had reminded them all that life even after war was fleeting. It had come as a shock, really. The young tom had been through so much, and had stood for so much within the tribes. How could he die? An image floated across the walls of the cave. There he was, Cenek saw himself walking beside the Silver-Shadow, a timid kitten flanking the leader's other side and glancing back nervously at the home he was about to leave, and the tribe he would now join. Gone was Fire Tribe, where he had been raised up to that point, and Air Tribe as well, where he had been born. Cenek glanced over Killian's shoulder at the youth, as Damian began to warm up to the Silver-Shadow. Another promising prospect. Let's train them. Put them out to fight. War. Betrayal. Survival. Death. Shadow Tribe still seemed terribly prone to death, and he couldn't help feeling the ever present pull of the shadows, whispering to engulf the living and take their life away. "This is a rule, I do not make exceptions." He replied steadily, staring D'ialia down with dull blue eyes. And hers were so vibrant, that color... bold thing, to even suggest he give her permission. Did she know? He wondered. It would be such a shame to lose her too. How would he react to seeing someone drag home her body? He wondered. "You will not leave the healer's den until you are truly well. Not without supervision." That was the only way. Don't go out alone. Not yet. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then blinked, and looked away out towards the main entrance. Rays of sunshine filtered in through it, and he imagined another outing could never do him harm. He was beginning to enjoy these interactions. Perhaps it should be an opportunity to do something useful. Presuming she did intend to go out, and he had a feeling that was indeed the case.


Riversun

The fur between D’ialia’s shoulders began to bristle slightly.  “I don’t need a kitsitter,” she said steadily, and she meant it.  She’d had enough of cats fretting over her, asking her if she felt alright, giving her herbs to choke down and prey that she hadn’t caught to eat.  She hated it—hated that attention.  She felt so bare and exposed, and so helpless without her shell of pride and solitude to keep her safe.  She didn’t like cats knowing everything about her, making her talk about what she felt and getting irritated when she told them that she was fine.  The worst of the injury had already passed—why dote on her, why draw any more attention to her weakness?  She was grateful that the healers had saved her life, she really was, but she couldn’t stand the fussing.  She didn’t like being constrained or restricted, especially when it meant that she couldn’t find those moments of solitude that kept her sane and separate.  She raised her eyes to truly focus on his, searching the blue depths for any hint of him changing his mind.  She found none—of course, he was the Yellow-Shadow.  He would keep his word and his authority, and it was tribe law that she had to defer to him.  One of the many disadvantages of living in a tribe, as opposed to living alone, she supposed.  So what would it be, she wondered as she watched him, sweeping her tail into the air.  Was he going to assign a cat to watch her, or forbid the guards from letting her through the entrance?  She supposed that she could always use that rabbit-hole-like escape tunnel that he had brought her through when they had gone to the Sea’s Needles, but that would be too easily expected.  HE knew that she knew about that place, and she figured that if she was caught leaving camp alone she’d just have another punishment in store for her—longer time in camp, or… something else that she couldn’t think of at the moment.  Her mind was still fuzzy around the edges, and it irked her even more than the order to stay within camp boundaries.  She shook her head to clear it, and tried to cover that by raising her uninjured paw and smoothing down the tuft between her ears.  It was always the Yellow-Shadow at the end of these discomforts.  It seemed like he loved pushing her limits.  But despite her almost angry tone when she had addressed him, she didn’t believe that he was relishing the thought of taking away her freedom.  When the Silver-Shadow had brought the creamy tom’s body in the day before, it had nearly sent her into a panic.  Nearly.  It had been most of the reason she’d left the camp in the first place—the death had disturbed her greatly, and she knew that it had been obvious.  Death and survival had been her only two options before she had joined the tribe.  It had been an understating rule, something born of instinct and the wild.  It was disturbing to realize that death was still an ever-present factor even in this world where cats had purpose.  Death meant even more when there were others to grieve.  Damian had been the first dead cat she had ever seen.  She realized the way her thoughts were turning, and felt the horror creeping once again over her features.  She swept it away quickly—not fast enough, she thought.  If the Yellow-Shadow was anywhere as intuitive as he had been during their past conversations, he wouldn’t have missed it.


Toadfoal

"No..." Cenek drew the word out into a drone. His eyes refocused, the pupils dilating slightly. There was no questioning whether or not she wanted someone to watch over her, the answer was clear enough as it was. Part of him admired that, but he was also very set in his ways. As much as she might believe in her freedom, he didn't. There was a purpose to freedom, but he had never been able to see it as such a grand thing. Not even when he was very young, then too he had yearned for orders, for purpose. That was the core of his ambition, to prove his worth to himself. And freedom would allow nothing more than useless gallivanting. He wondered if there was something more behind her request though. There always was. He gazed at her coolly, and saw how her features twisted for a moment. There was fear there, somewhere. He blinked slowly, and ran the rough surface of his tongue over his nose. Yes... But surely this time it wasn't just a concern of drowning. He knew now that she was plagued with nightmares of it, but her recent injury had been caused by something entirely different. Perhaps it was simply death itself. He wondered if part of her reveled in the danger, or if it was just pride that kept her from wanting company in dangerous situations. Either way, it didn't change the reality of this situation. She would not go out without an escort of some kind. Cenek turned his head slowly, and surveyed the area around them. It was nearly devoid of cats. Admittedly, none of the tribes were swarming with inhabitants, but Shadow Tribe had recently lost one of their own, and he could feel the tension in the air, crackling like electricity on water. There was no one around at the moment who could tag along with D'ialia anyway. "Of course. Why not make yourself useful then, since you seem to be so well recovered." He turned back to her, wondering how far he could push. How much he could test her. "We provide for our comrades, mainly by hunting. You can join me willingly, or I will send you back to the healer's den and have someone guard it." He didn't take even his own threat seriously. If chose the second option, he would be surprised, and perhaps even a little disappointed. "Come." Cenek flicked his tail, leaving little time for a response, and made a movement towards the exit.


Riversun

D’ialia’s ears pricked, and the annoyance vanished mostly from her expression as she listened to the order.  She still didn’t like the thought of being watched, but she didn’t mind it as much this way.  Not if it was him, and not if they were hunting.  Her nicked ear flicked back just once as she followed Cenek cautiously.  Going back to the healer’s den was not an option—not for her.  Especially not now that he had made it an almost challenge… though she wondered if she was being almost punished as well.  It was true that when she hunted she didn’t bring much back for the tribe, and she often disappeared for long lengths of time when she supposed they needed her for patrols.  It wasn’t exactly fault of hers—honing her skills was more important to her than walking along some border where nothing happened—not this soon after the war that had nearly torn Nandryx into shreds.  When she hunted and brought back little, it was more a lack of skill than anything else.  She ate some of what she caught and brought what was left back—for in truth, she could not hunt.  Before she had joined the tribes she had been merely a scavenger, eating bugs, plants, and dead or injured prey when she could find it.  Most of the time it had made her sick, but it kept her alive at least.  She had rarely had success in hunting… but after coming to the tribe she had found that she had a particular style that nearly always allowed her to catch birds.  She didn’t know what it was—but her circular, creeping motions through the darkness only worked on creatures that had little to no sense of smell.  Checking the wind was not something that had been drilled into her as stubbornly as it had been drilled into the tribe-borns—in fact she had only known to start doing it through observation.  D’ialia had a nasty habit of sitting in the darkness and watching cats, from her own tribe or from others, do whatever they were doing in the neutral lands between the territories.  If they wanted to have privacy they wouldn’t be making themselves so obvious, she realized.  They rarely saw her—she stayed only long enough to learn from their actions and slip off to try it for her own.  And that was the reason she was often absent from camp.  She was practicing, practicing.  Constantly practicing, always observing and improving.  She had mastered calling the shadows to her, she had started to work on her ability to make them flare and dance on their own, and she was still so in-tune with the darkness that she was more comfortable at night than she was when the sun was shining overhead.  She kept her eyes on Cenek as she followed him out of the entrance, trying to keep the limp out of her step.  She could already feel that he would soon learn of her hunting inadequacy, and so far she had been too proud to ask for help from anyone.  Even him.  Hunting was such a basic element of tribe survival that to suggest that she couldn’t do any more than hunt birds was… daunting, to say the least.  The flash of Damian’s sightless eyes came unbidden to her thoughts, reminding her what else in her life was truly daunting.  She banished the image and set her face in stone, lest she give herself away again.


Toadfoal

With the occasional flick of his ears, Cenek kept careful tabs on his companion.  He doubted that she would try to give him the slip, but it wouldn't have been the first time. As much as he generally delighted in the chase, it didn't seem like the consequences would be much fun to deal with, for anyone involved. D'ialia was a member of his own tribe and he had to admit to himself that for whatever reason, he liked her. But for all intensive purposes, he was determined not to show that outwardly. Luck was difficult to come by these days, it seemed. If he had friends, they soon died. Although he could say the same of enemies. Something about it was ticklishly delightful, and the feelings of sadness and regret that should have washed over him didn't rear their heads today. Perhaps it was the promise of a hunt. His eyes swiveled left and right, whiskers quivering with an enhanced alertness. Even near the cave there was generally little bits of life stirring. The vast majority was easily ignored, but occasionally something tempting would scurry by. Whenever this happened, the fur on his spine prickled and the corners of his mouth twitched, but still he passed by the temptation. D'ialia's lack of contribution to the tribe in terms of prey had not passed his notice. But since he had yet to observe her actually hunting, he didn't know for sure whether that was simply greed or a lack of care. He figured she must be a fairly good hunter though. To have survived for so long on her own, that must surely be one of her keenest natural talents. He wasn't the best hunter, himself, but he enjoyed the sport and held a decent rate of success. His real specialty was hit-and-run, which came in useful with larger prey items, but the smallest animals, like mice and voles, often escaped the prick of his claws. Perhaps D'ialia had her own hunting methods. His had been taught directly by a mentor, which inevitably had an effect on style. As they drew further from the home of Shadow Tribe, he began to adjust his steps so that they did not stir the leaves and grass but with gentle whispers. It wasn't worth using the shadows just yet though, that would come later. He figured it was generally worth saving his energy up for when it was needed most. Unfortunately, early attempts had taught him this the hard way, in both hunting and fighting. A cat with no energy is useless, and feeds no hungry mouths. A line of trees appeared in the near distance, and he slowed considerably, offering D'ialia the opportunity to pass. He turned his head sideways, so that he could see her, if not entirely. "You're up." He tried to imply, with another tilt of the head.


Riversun

D’ialia followed him out of the clearing, watching his broad white shoulders as she moved behind him.  She worked the stiffness out of her foreleg as she ran, next to him, feeling the ground fly beneath her paws at a comfortable pace, especially with her injury.  She wasn’t about to try to get away—not yet, at least.  For now, he was not her guardian but her hunting partner.  The words sounded strange to her.  Hunting partner.  She usually hunter alone—the only exception being when the Pink-Light had watched her take down the blackbird those weeks ago that she had met her.  She idly wondered where the kit was—Fire Tribe, obviously.  Odds were she’d see the Pink-Light again, but at that time they probably wouldn’t be able to converse more than as rivals.  While the kit was cute and innocent at the age she was now, D’ialia was certain that eventually she would have to be more guarded around her.  A cat from another tribe—a tribe that she wasn’t even a member of, not really—as even though she lived in the territory with the other Fire Tribers, her spirit was still Light.  D’ialia turned her thoughts back to her surroundings.  She’d been out for some time already and was tired, though she couldn’t exactly wimp out on the Yellow-Shadow now.  She’d already caused him trouble by being stubborn in her refusal to let other cats dictate her life.  But even with her forebodings, she didn’t pause when he stopped to let her cross ahead.  She did, however, open her eyes further to her surroundings and slow her pace a bit.  She checked the scents in the air, separating those of stale prey and cooling summer from the fresher, closer scents of hunting possibilities.  To her dismay, she could find no sign of any birds—the closest thing to her was a rabbit—the very prey that she’d missed when she’d hunted for something for her and the Pink-Light after her own plunge into the shallows of Moonfish Lake.  She slid into a crouch that was little more than a mockery of the one she had seen the others use.  The stance, though it kept her from giving her scent away, was so different than any pose she was used to taking.  Crouched like this, she felt exposed and separated from the shadows, less certain in the silence of her steps that was usually so natural to her.  She crept up to the long-eared creature, which was grazing in some grass below a tree root.  Her linear pose nearly gave her away, however—the rabbit snapped its head up in alarm as it heard or sensed something that was amiss.  D’ialia stilled herself patiently until the rabbit flicked an ear and went back to its grazing.  She gave up on the hunting crouch, knowing that it would only give her away for real if she got any closer to the creature.  She slid back into her normal, stalking movements, and her pelt was once again constantly changing shades of light, rippling as she moved silently and flowed across the ground like the shadows that she loved.  It was the technique that never let her catch any prey but birds, as the circular motion gave her scent away whenever she moved upwind.  She silently willed for it to work this time, if for no other reason but for the Yellow-Shadow to believe that she was at least an adequate hunter.  She was beautiful when in her element, graceful and powerful but still as silent as death.  She circled the rabbit in fluid, natural motions, her violet eyes gleaming in the darkness.  But for all her ability, her scent gave her away too soon, and the rabbit leapt aside.  D’ialia gave chase but her slightly undersized, well-built form was no match for the rabbit’s speed, especially with her foreleg stinging at the exertion.  She sat up with her paws empty, a scowl on her face as she burned with embarrassment.  Her natural form was flawed when it came to the sort of prey that cats usually caught, and that form that the others used was so unnatural to her that she couldn’t get within 20 tail-lengths of prey without it spotting her.  She walked back to the Yellow-Shadow dejectedly lest he think that she was running away or something.


Toadfoal

Observing was what he intended to do, but watching a rabbit escape was not. Rabbits were often tricky to catch, but far from impossible. He could see her mistakes, flickering on a screen behind his eyes as if to say, "that's not how rabbits are hunted". Not traditionally, at least. He could have forgiven the lack of technique if she had caught the thing, but that too was gone. His eyes followed it silently as the rabbit hopped away unscathed, then traveled back to D'ialia. She slunk back towards him, and he was silent. This was, admittedly, not what he had expected. In fact, he had, in some way, believed that she might have developed some superior hunting techniques to make up for lack of group support, when she lived on her own. This did not appear to be the case. However, it occured to him that she was perhaps not used to being observed. Perhaps that had some effect on her abilities. Nervousness, of a sort. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and chose neither to comfort nor rebuke her. Besides, she'd only had one go at it, and no cat he'd ever encountered had even so much as a 70% success rate when hunting. That would be... Unnatural. Then again, the tribes were not a natural group of animals. They could use the elements to their advantage, making them far superior to any other living creature, by a long run. It was only unfortunate that the occasional badger or fox got lucky and snagged a poor feline. These things took effort, and nothing could be 100%. So when D'ialia came near enough for him to speak without raising his voice, he spoke without much emotion. "Again." A flick of his tail signaled that this was not over, and he stood up, moving towards a fresh patch of ground where the prey had not yet been disturbed. Clearly he intended for her to catch something, to show off a little skill. This area was known for nests of mice, it was not uncommon for them to dart back and forth between nests. Personally, Cenek despised mice. They tasted good enough (though not as good as bat, the most delicious of foods), but the way they squirmed and wriggled around on the forest floor made him curl his lip in displeasure. Perhaps they reminded him of earthly parasites, he couldn't be quite certain. Either way, it wasn't important now. He wanted to know how well she could hunt, or if for some bizarre reason she couldn’t. Perhaps it was the surroundings, unfamiliar prey, new territory. Lack of skill. Unlikely, but possible. He eyed her curiously, a dare to say something now, or forever hold her tongue.


Riversun

D’ialia tried her best, she really did.  She pushed herself far harder than she normally would have, creeping up on them, trying both the circular motion and the mockery of the Tribe’s techniques.  She wanted to catch prey even more badly than she ever had before—more badly even then when she had been starving.  She wanted to impress the Yellow-Shadow, wanted him to realize that she was good at fending for herself as she always had before she’d joined the tribe.  He must be wondering now, surely, how she had possibly lived beyond the borders of Nandryx with no Tribe to provide for her.  She sometimes waited patiently to see a mouse scurried by, sometimes chased them to their holes.  Sometimes she tried that natural, circular motion which seemed to be far too perfected to fail, time and time again, as it had.  She would wait, catch sight of one, wait some more, then spring, but they always swept just out of the reach of her black claws.  The sun grew hot, her muscles grew weary.  Her face alternately twisted into a scowl and then tightened again back into her mask as she missed… and missed… and missed.  It wasn’t for a lack of skill, not even for a lack of speed.  She gave herself away too early, let her scent drift, let her eyes flash.  She was too used to giving off such subtle signs of fear and not used to having to catch prey who could easily escape into holes that she could not reach down with her paws.  She didn’t use the shadows, not once.  She probably could have hunted no problem with them, but she stayed her tattoos and let the shadows fall wherever they fell naturally.  Hunting with powers might make it easier, but D’ialia knew better than to skirt the finer points of anything by relying on unnatural abilities.  So even when she missed, she did not draw them to her in frustration, and used nothing but her natural ability.  The mice were getting scarce now that they realized that there was a hunter above their heads—they must have been marveling at the luck of never having been caught, if they could really think at all.  D’ialia sat up for a moment, regathering herself, and crept off again, nose low to the ground as she tried to scent where they might be hiding now.  She seemed determined to try until she dropped, even though she knew that at this point even successfully hunting one would not wipe her traces of failure from the large number of those that she’d missed.  


Toadfoal

Surprising. Cenek watched silently, occasionally moving along to follow at a respectful distance. He was mindful of his own presence and its ability to disturb the prey as well, so he was careful to watch his step. But it didn't seem to be that which kept her from catching anything. He narrowed his eyes curiously, each time she missed, and those horrible mice scurried away into their little pockets of soil. The other exiles seemed capable of hunting them, he'd seen them bring in prey before, even though some still remained ignorant to the ways of the tribe. It seemed as though there were still some major adjustments to be made. After a while of this, watching her try and fail time and again, he decided that he'd seen enough. Clearly this wasn't going anywhere good, and perhaps it was best to stop her now, before she drove herself to exhaustion and irritated old injuries. That would be terribly counterproductive, he could just imagine the healers scolding him for letting her out. The thought made him flinch a little. He'd had many friends who belonged to the trade of healing. They were all gone now, but they had been some of the kindest cats he'd ever known, and their judgment was something he generally respected. So, stepping out from where he had been sitting, he padded over towards D'ialia. "That's enough." He mumbled, face scrunched slightly. "You could have said something, if there's a problem." He glanced around, the forest seemed quiet, but he could bet his tail that if they waited long enough something would come scuffling around before too long. It was just a matter of waiting, always a matter of waiting. But they couldn't wait all day, and Cenek knew that something had better be brought back to feed those who hadn't had time to hunt for themselves. Besides, he was hungry too, and before long he'd have to eat as much as anyone. "I'm not going to force you to tell me what it is. But for the sake of productivity, I would strongly advise it."


Riversun

D’ialia looked up when he spoke, and realized that he was right—this was going nowhere and it would still go nowhere if she kept just throwing herself at them again and again.  She’d tried to be clever and crafty, tried to switch it up, but hunting and stalking seemed so… unnatural.  She padded back to him, shamed and humbled, but didn’t cover herself with excuses or blame some other factor—not the wind or the heat, not her injuries, and not even his own presence.  For everything else, D’ialia was incredibly honest.  What little she let show was always sincere and true.  She wondered what he thought of her now—why she couldn’t hunt as the other exiles had, why she was so lacking in this area of her skills.  So she simply sat beside him, the plumy end of her tail limp in her dust for a moment before shifting to curl around her paws, smothering them with downy soft fur.  That tail fluff was probably the softest thing about her, inside OR out.  “I never lived in a group, not like most… exiles,” she said, pausing only slightly at the word.  “I never learned from them.  I caught prey only occasionally or by chance.  Mostly, I ate things that I found dead.  Remains of corpses, insects, berries… things that made me sick but kept me alive.”  She swept her tail out again, thoughtfully, before returning it back to her paws.  She glanced at him once out of the corner of her eyes—not a nervous motion, or maybe it was.  It was so impossible to tell when she was like this, allowing her words to give a glimpse of the life she’d had before but her emotions betraying nothing of her feelings on the matter.  She had endured, she had pushed through it.  She hadn’t known the luxury of fresh kill every day.  She hadn’t known that she could hunt, that she truly had the power over lives.  Mostly she’d found animals already weak, sick, or wounded.  She’d learned to look for weakness and strike the sickly.  They were worse as food, but it was all she had known, and it was how she thought life had worked.  The strong ate those weaker and avoided those stronger.  Took every insect, every opportunity at a possible meal, even when they were few and far-between.  She didn’t know a number high enough for all the times she’d nearly starved to death, and it showed in her form.  She was slightly smaller then she should have been, even though the way she held herself and the tone of her muscles often made up for that fact.  But standing next to a big cat, or even an average-sized cat like the Yellow-Shadow, it was easy to see the results of her malnutrition.  


Toadfoal

"Mmph..." Cenek nodded. Despite how unusual this seemed, under the circumstances he could believe it. D'ialia wouldn't lie about that. Maybe he didn't know her that well, but he was convinced of this one thing. If she chose to tell him something like that, she was probably telling the truth. And the truth was... Unfortunate, to say the least. Maybe it was just the fact that he'd never known anything else, but having to scavenge for food, eat things he knew might make him ill just to survive, and then, no one to go back to. It sounded like a miserable existence. But just as he'd never known anything but the five tribes of Nandryx, she'd probably never known anything but loneliness. If it could even be called that. Was there any real sense of loneliness, when you've never known company? He wondered. Perhaps so. He'd certainly felt crowded before, even after being born surrounded by others. Maybe there were even benefits to never knowing companionship. When was there ever an opportunity to feel loss? But if he took time to think about, he knew that the loss was worth even a temporary friendship. He always felt some prickle of regret when someone died, but the memories were still there. Even Damian, who he he'd never had time to get to know. There he was now, a furry form with a striped tail, prowling through the forest, afraid of something... Because that was what Cenek remembered about him. He remembered the student's fear, he'd had reason to be fearful, so fearful he would forever be. He blinked, eyes moving over D'ialia's face before looking away into the forest. "I will teach you." He decided. Not as a favor, or because he felt sorry for her. That was never the right way to do things, except in very special cases. No, he would teach her because she needed to know, because it would help her in the long run, and because he enjoyed it. D'ialia wasn't the easiest to teach, she required some adjustments, but the results were all the more satisfying for it. She was smart, and he liked how quickly she caught on. At least, with elemental training. Perhaps hunting would be different. He'd noticed that she was smaller than normal. It made her look younger than she was. "Keep low. Stay downwind. Quiet feet." He stated this quickly, before turning his head in the direction of some scuffling. Indeed, the mice were coming back. He crouched down instantly, hunger driving him forward more quickly than usual. Mice were fast, so he couldn't give it too much time, or it might catch on to what was happening. Closer. Closer. The mouse paused in its rummaging, and he sprang up, hitting it hard with his paw. The mouse flew across the clearing and hit a tree, but before it had time to recover he was on it again, and then it was over. He padded back with the mouse in his jaw, and dropped it on the ground. "Catch one mouse, and I will show you how to get a squirrel."


Riversun

D’ialia had watched him, her eyes missing nothing.  The form, the stance, the speed of his footsteps… hmm.  It wasn’t all too different than her circular motions, after all.  Maybe she’d been a little too narrow-minded to think that hunting with the element of scent involved required a whole different form than the one that she used to catch birds.  Instead of circling in ever-closing spirals… why not simply adjust to a path that would not take her to the other side?  She didn’t know why the thought of that before.  She couldn’t tell why it had suddenly sprung to her mind while she was watching him, but it did nonetheless.  She didn’t need to learn a new form, didn’t need to learn the Tribe’s way of hunting to an exact art.  Why not simply adjust what she had been doing all along?  So when he came back and gave the command, she nodded once, the hard-set determination back in her eyes as she waited.  It was some time before she noticed the mice had braved the open again and were now foraging for food.  They needed to store up because of the oncoming winter, and that drive to collect and save before the cold and snows hit were stronger than their fear of being eaten by the present warrior and deputy also in the clearing.  D’ialia was patient this time, even more than she had been before.  She checked the direction of the wind, checked the way the scents flowed to the glands on the roof of her mouth, studied how the wind curled its invisible fingers through her fur.  She adjusted herself directly opposite it and crouched, waiting.  This already felt more natural to her.  Think less, and just do, that was the key.  It had come on to her in such a moment of clarity that she couldn’t help but wonder if it was something she’d already known, and had simply been brought to light while watching the Yellow-Shadow.  It had to be true.  Watching him, she had realized the minute differences in style than what she had observed in other cats.  She couldn’t copy exactly what anyone else was doing because she wasn’t them.  But she would add some of the elements into her stance.  She froze, her gaze zeroing in on a tiny, quivering nose poking out from behind a bush.  Whiskers followed, gray ears and beady black eyes.  The creature slowly hopped into view, looking around with an almost comical expression of paranoia, before it darted suddenly to the grass that held the thickest seeds.  It began to forage, and D’ialia began to move.  She did not move completely straight—there was still that winding movement to her stride, that same way that she played with the dappling of sunlight and shadows to break up her form.  She stayed low.  She stayed quiet.  The wind was to her face, and there was no way for the creature to detect her.  She continued winding, keeping those words that the Yellow-Shadow had said at the front of her mind, and letting all else fall back into natural rhythms of stealth.  Keep low.  Stay downwind.  Quiet feet.  It was no fault of hers that she missed this one.  Another, larger mouse sprang out of another bush, chattering angrily, and brought her target rearing upright in panic.  It turned, saw her, and gave a squeak of panic before racing back to where it had come.  D’ialia didn’t give chase—she knew to cut that loss and focus on the bigger prize.  She had halted her steps long enough to make the decision to go after the larger mouse, which had now taken over her primary prey’s harvesting ground and was going about its business in the rich area of mouse-food.  D’ialia moved forward again, her ears flattened and then swiveling forward to catch miniscule sounds.  Her pawsteps were silent, as she was back into her natural step that was almost as silent as if she had been muffling them with voids of darkness.  Closer, and closer, and closer… D’ialia knew when the moment was right.  She knew when she was just close enough to spring, and that taking any more steps or hesitating for a heartbeat could cost her this prey.  So she sprang, power flooding through her muscles in an incredibly contrast to her initial subtlety and patience.  The creature jerked upright, dropping its load of food, and tried to make its getaway.  But D’ialia was on it as fast as the snake that had bitten her only a few days before, the explosion of energy like a fish leaping from water.  She sank her teeth into its back, cracking its spine, and finished it off when it was too crippled to run away.  The slick of its wormlike tail fell limp against her jaws.  It wasn’t the cleanest kill, but she walked back nonetheless, abandoning her hunting crouch but not her dancelike grace, and set the creature at the Yellow-Shadow’s paws.  


Toadfoal

Watching her return, Cenek made a point to keep his expression neutral. Internally, he was undoubtedly very pleased by her quick progress. Again and again D’ialia was proving to him that she was worth an investment of time. She learned fast, if by pride or some other driving force, it almost didn’t matter. She did what he asked her to, and she did it well. It was something he had always strived for himself. Only, he had been more than happy to abandon his own pride in the hopes of proving himself the perfect subordinate to the previous Silver-Shadow. It was something that would never leave him, and he still found that it was in the best interest of his own mind to continue the trend. In that way, he believed that he and D’ialia were very different. She just didn’t seem the type to bow to anyone because of authority. Then why did she accept his? Because his knowledge could be considered of value? He figured that was it, though she could probably have gone to Ty, if the Silver-Shadow wasn’t as busy. She could have. But she didn’t, and he couldn’t help feeling glad for that. Now, watching her return, he was reminded to his own discomfort that her intelligence was not the only thing to be admired. She was also very beautiful. The way she moved, the silken shine of her fur, and that general oddness that came from being alone for so long. How terribly unfortunate. He would have preferred that she were not so. She was older than her tattoo suggested, but it in itself was enough. He frowned thoughtfully, and observed the catch as if it required some sort of evaluation. “That’ll do.” He sniffed the mouse, and nodded, moving on to the next task without hesitation. “For squirrels you must use a different tactic. They are keen and skittish. Get them from behind, and do not make a single sound.” He had demonstrated before with the mice, but squirrels came in fewer numbers. She would have to find one on her own, and hope that instinct was enough to fill in the gap left by a lack of imagery. But with any luck, she would find a way, and then it was on to birds.


Riversun

D’ialia was getting slightly flustered at his totally neutral expression.  Was he really that indifferent about her progress?  But why should he care about what she did, she realized as her eyes returned back to the still, bloody form of the mouse she had just killed.  His only interest was probably in molding her into a warrior—a weapon to protect the tribe, and an able-bodied cat to feed the hungry mouths that would only increase in number when the cold started biting.  It was something that she thought that she would find perfectly agreeable but, somehow, she did not.  The fact that he appeared always unimpressed and indifferent to her efforts seemed to fit her persona entirely.  She didn’t care what others thought of her, not really.  She liked to remain alone and neutral, treating the world just as he was treating her at this very moment.  To throw up a wall in front of anything she might feel was so normal for her than to see it directed back at her in that fashion was… unpleasant, in a sense.  Especially as she’d started to thaw to him herself.  It was so strange how conflicting her feelings were towards this odd deputy of hers—she respected the silence, the blunt and straightforward manner in which he “taught” her and in which they continually interacted.  She valued the fact that he asked little to no questions about her—it was what had allowed her to come this close to him in the first place, that personality that so fitter to hers as to make no conflict between them.  But this was something new that she had not anticipated—she almost wanted him to ask about her.  She wanted him to show something towards her, anything that would give her a slight glimpse of his opinion on her, if nothing else about his character.  She was good at keeping her emotions behind a mask of cool indifference and calculation… but so was he.  She didn’t even know if it was an act or if he really only noted her progress and moved on to something else.  Was this how she really wanted the only communication with him to be?  Would she even like it if they started to get less business-like and more… personal?  She wasn’t even sure the manner in which she expected that she possibly wanted to speak with him, but she knew that by now it was not just the promise of power that made her step towards him, even if she did pull back every time she allowed some of herself to slip through.  It was his indifference that had allowed her to remain interested for this amount of time… but now it almost felt like a block between them.  Ashamed and confused of her strange ideas, D’ialia listened to him describe the art of hunting squirrels, trying to focus on that alone other than her slight (or… more than slight, even though she wasn’t prepared to admit it to herself) disappointment in their continuation of holding one another a tail-length apart.  Was there anything else they could really learn simply by remaining silent?  Realizing she was coming close to slipping back into those thoughts that she hated, she checked the scent and scanned the tree branches above her head for any sign of squirrels.  There were none that she could see, which was surprising considering the change in seasons.  It was almost autumn, and the creatures should undoubtedly be foraging for food to last them through those snowy months.  But there wasn’t one to be found.  She stopped looking for squirrels after some time of detecting nothing, and seemed to be entranced by a certain pull through the territory of her tribe.  She nearly forgot about the Yellow-Shadow beside her as she walked, tasting the air occasionally and detecting only sparse scents of prey.  The thorns that churned the earth where no thornbushes should have been… the caves throughout the territory that were collapsed like broken shells… D’ialia had not been there for that great war, but she could imagine the devastating effects of such a conflict among cats who could bend the elements to their will.  For they were right there in front of her eyes—the scarcity of prey, the churned earth of the territory, the unnatural marks that elemental warfare had placed and could not be undone by those who lived in the areas in which they were scored.  The water of the streams had tasted bitter the last time she’d braved the shores for a drink—the bodies of dead prey, death-scent and blood of cats, and change in atmosphere had almost poisoned its reserves.  D’ialia seemed wrapped in an odd mood that was almost sadness—no, it truly was sadness.  A wistful sort of melancholy for the territory which she had never known in its prime or beauty, and eventually she sat down in what had once been the shade of a great oak but now was little more than the dead husk of a twisted tree.  An ear flicked backwards showed that she had remembered that she was not alone, and she lowered her head slowly as she spoke quietly—almost to herself.  “This territory is broken.”


Toadfoal

Broken. Broken. Broken. Cenek felt vaguely unnerved by how shocking the word sounded when it hung in the air for just a brief moment. Then it was swallowed up, but still he heard its echo. His gait was altered severely, as if he had suddenly found himself walking on thin ice. After a moment the white tom stopped walking entirely, his gaze focused with a certain intensity on the dark cat before him. What she said was so terribly full of truth, whether she meant for him to hear it or not. This place was dying. The shadows seemed to curl in on themselves, as if they too knew what was done. But it hadn't always been this way. Cenek could easily remember a time when the grass always seemed so dark and green, the trees were full of birds that made far too much noise, bugs scuttled constantly over the ground, and frogs and toads frequently made the mistake of venturing into the cave where Shadow Tribe found itself so at home. It was home. It had to stay home, and he felt a deep instinctive need to protect that. But this broken feeling... That wasn't something easily protected against. How could any of them fight against something so strange? It was no visible enemy. Not something with a body, a physical essence to attack and defeat. He hated the feeling, with a violent intensity. Yet, until this moment, he'd been able to ignore it fairly easily. Perhaps it was because the feeling hadn't been verbalized. Broken. How did she know? What did she know? She'd never lived with her own kind before. She was a loner. Her speech was odd. Her habits were odd. And she had said the unspeakable. He opened his mouth slightly, and ran his tongue over his teeth, so that only the pink edge flicked over the side of his maw. He wanted to say something in defense of this place. This is only temporary, he could reply. It won't last, he should say. Winter is coming, he ought to explain. It was true, in some aspect. Summer was ending, Autumn hung just around the corner and with it the earth was bound to begin its process of curling up for seasonal sleep. It had done this last season. This was a regular occurrence, completely normal. But it wasn't. Not like this. Last season Cenek remembered, he had taken out two of the new students, Leyvaten and Karrow, to teach them the basics of being Shadow Tribe cats. Poor creatures, they were gone now. And this season was not the same. Did D'ialia understand what a loss the Tribes had felt? Had she ever known loss without knowing companionship? It would have been easy to feel angry, but it wasn't that simple. He just couldn't. It wasn't D'ialia's fault. He couldn't be angry, not at her. But he felt uneasy, and the wind that tickled his fur was cold and uninviting. "We should go back." He said, in what should have been a calm voice. But his tone betrayed him a little. He was concerned. Of course. Naturally. "Maybe there will be something on the way."
Cover pic is drawn by the wonderful ~Toadfoal

:icontgb-shadowtribe: :iconthe-golden-butterfly: :icontgb-shadowtribe:

WHEW. Toad, have I ever told you how much I love RPing with you? I always feel like I've transcended to a whole new level of awareness, especially when RPing with these two wonderful characters! I bet you don't even remember this RP, do you xD We've done so much since then. Again, I'm going to be drawing pictures for all of these SOMETIME in the future, I just haven't gotten around to it yet. Seeing them all in my RP folder will help to inspire me because I want to get a lot of these uploaded!

And it didn't even let me upload the whole thing, this RP is to long XD. The rest is below! Enjoy!




Riversun

D’ialia didn’t share his optimism. She stood up, though, abandoning the solemn path that her thoughts had suddenly taken. She was more tired than she’d thought she would be. Maybe he’d been right to confine her to camp… no, that was ridiculous. That would be giving in to weakness, and that was not something that she could do. Not when there was so little that she really knew about this world she’d stumbled into. Was it a fortunate occurrence, she wondered? She’d learned so much even in this short time that she’d been there. She knew what she was, even if she was still working on who she was. She knew the meaning of power… and the Yellow had given her the shadows. As more than a friend or a parent, as she’d viewed them before. They were her ally—her weapon, her defense and her image. But she’d come upon the tribes at such a terrible time. The war had torn at the territory and the spirits of those who dwelled within it. There were so few cats—even with the exiles, the numbers still seemed low even to her, who had lived in total isolation for an incalculable amount of time. Had it been the right decision to come here? If she was going to lose it all anyway, a broken territory with the broken spirits? She didn’t know the answer to that, though the questions worked their way through her pelt like ants and burrowed into her skin, like an itch that she just couldn’t reach. She had thought that he would be angry at her for even saying such a thing… but what was that slight wavering pitch to his voice? She didn’t even have to ask that question—worry. He was worried that she was right, even if she had spoken words that she hadn’t heard come out of the mouths of her fellow tribemates. It was taboo, in a sense, to call the territory broken, but she had done it. She had cut that tension, that shallow pane of glass that was their optimism. At least… she had brought it into his reality. For a split second, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that crushed her from all sides, sapping the strength from her limbs and even overpowering the pain that shot up her foreleg. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and she was left only to wonder why it had hit her so strongly. She walked beside him, her lip a bit more pronounced than before, and might have wrapped herself in silence if not for the huge, hulking presence of her statement that hung in the air between them. As much as she understood—as much as she really saw the territory for what it had become, and not just a place that had always become—she still could not grasp why such a thing had come about. The war itself was the explanation that made the most sense, but she had gotten no sense of what the war had been about. “Yellow-Shadow,” she said as she pressed forward, subconsciously taking in the scent of the air around her to perhaps find any scant prey that the territory would offer to them. “…A few weeks ago, I encountered the Yellow-Fire.” Encountered was a bit of an understatement—the burns on her foreleg and chest had only recently healed and had only just started to grow fur again. There was no doubt that he had noticed them.


Toadfoal

"Hmph." Cenek let out a grunt, somewhere between disapproval and amusement. He did not know the Yellow-Fire personally, but he had seen the grey tom, and heard of him from time to time. In Cenek's opinion, he was too young to be deputy, being only half a season older than D'ialia. He'd seemed a little skittish, with even more scars to paint his body than Cenek himself. Besides that, he was the Yellow-Fire. The worst sort of cat. So naturally the Yellow-Shadow had labeled him a coward, just as he had labeled the Silver-Fire a... He didn't think well of them in general. Perhaps it would be worth the effort to explain to D'ialia why Fire-Tribe was so undesirable (with one or two exceptions, perhaps). But his eyes flickered down towards the injury on her foreleg, and he wondered that it might not be necessary. There had been no fires here in his lifetime, how else would she have obtained such an injury without the aid of some Fire-Tribe scum? But he had wondered who might have done this. "I see," He confirmed, "must be an interesting fellow, that Yellow-Fire." The things he'd do, next time that scoundrel showed his face... But Cenek was curious. Funny that D'ialia should bring this up now. Perhaps she was just trying to change the subject. But he was always surprised when she opened up to him, even a little. For the spirit's sake, she'd even told him her name. He just had a feeling, didn't take her for the talkative sort. But since she'd offered, he wasn't going to let the opportunity slide. He could already feel his mind growing more easy, this was a good distraction from the unpleasantness of reality and problems left unsolved. For a moment he could even imagine that the wind smelled sweeter. The birds sang louder. The sun shone brighter. The grass felt softer. Funny how the thought of physical injury was more appealing than mental. It still made him mad, but a different sort. The Yellow-Fire was a physical being, someone who could be dealt with and spoken about. Depending on his offense, Cenek didn't really plan to do anything horrible to him, but he imagined that if he really needed to, the option existed. Somehow, that was a glorious feeling. "Why did he attack you?" Cenek ventured. He didn't mind asking now, not so much as before. As a general rule, he rarely asked about things unless the information was freely given. Secondary-Shadows had too much power in that respect, and he found it a somewhat frightening ability. He walked more slowly towards Shadow-Tribe's camp. There was no real hurry.


Riversun

D’ialia’s nicked ear flicked back once, the chalk-colored plume at the end of her tail swishing through the grass. “I attacked him,” she replied without any inflictions or connotations in her voice. She raised her eyes from the world at her level up to above the treeline. It had been a tree further to the east and the south of here, in the territories where it was actually possible to meet cats of the other tribes. A grand old oak that she had lain in to bask in the shadows when he had come to serendipitously climb the same tree. “I wanted to see what he could do, and what he WOULD do. I… don’t think he realized this—I fared better in the fight than I had anticipated, however. But before that, we spoke.” She let her gaze roam back to the lay of the land in front of her. She had called the territory broken, and indeed it was. She could imagine what it might have been like in its prime—towering trees that were at the pinnacle of their health. The rivers—rivers which still would have made her uneasy but what would have held a sort of beauty as well, a fertility brimming with life that was both plant and small animals. Her mouth almost watered at the thought. Yes, she wished she had found the tribe earlier. That was perhaps the answer to the big question. This was where she had been heading all her life, even though she had not known that she was on a journey, let alone had a destination that she would reach. But she had come too late—the luster had already worn off. Even far before her lifetime, the shadow spirit had been “killed,” along with his sister of the light. She was still skeptical about that part—how then, did cats from Light and Shadow have names and tattoos? How did they have powers? How did light and darkness exist at all, without the manifestations, the metaphors of their consciousness? But these were thoughts far from her present state of mind, and instead she turned them back to the present. They had been speaking of the Yellow-Fire. “I asked him about the war,” she said thoughtfully, her head acquiring a little tilt to it as she slowed her pace to match his. “He called me naïve, that as an exile it was no business of mine what had come before. I asked him why it was fought, and he had no answer to give me.” Her dark-light eyes turned to train on him, the thoughtful tilt of her head still prominent as she continued. “Even though he didn’t know, he believed it to be justified. How can this be?”


Toadfoal

She attacked the Yellow-Fire. Cenek didn't make pause to interrupt to exclaim so himself, but his muscled visibly tensed, and his mouth drew into a tight line. Except during war, this was a highly unusual situation. Not only was it out of the ordinary for a pink-orange to attack a yellow in the first place, but she had fared well. The proper thing to do would involve implementing immediate punishment. A good scolding, cuffs to each ear, that sort of thing. But there was no need. He could have smirked with pride. Shadow-Tribe was growing strong. This was proof of their superiority, and nothing could have made him happier. It also, admittedly, decreased his respect for the Yellow-Fire. Poor creature, it would be so utterly satisfying to make him grovel. The fact that the Yellow-Fire had given her no explanation to why the war had been fought admittedly surprised Cenek a bit. He would have expected the rival tom to jump upon any opportunity he might find to enforce Fire-Tribe's greatness. How they had fought an evil force and ended an alliance led by cats drenched in hatred as well as violent madness. The previous Silver-Water had been, undoubtedly, a bit of a homocidal maniac. The Silver-Shadow had followed close behind, and in the end everyone had known of his insanity. So when they both lay silent, their hearts no longer fit to beat, there were few tears to be shed for their individual souls. The Tribes cried for themselves and everyone they knew at once. The bodies piled so high that blood had stained the trunks of trees a lunar cycle if not more. He gazed into D'ialia's foreign eyes, and saw that she was genuinely curious. He opened his mouth to give her a biased reply, and found no words to express this. It was indeed such a delicate subject. There was no honest way to paint any Tribe in a positive light, under these circumstances. Not when he himself could not think of an honest reason for the war. The tension, yes. When the Alliance had formed a resistance was soon to follow, and from there it all went downhill. That was the easy part. But what was the Alliance fighting for in the first place? Originally it was a dream. A war based almost entirely on a dream... "As vulgar as I believe the Rebellion and a majority of those previously associated with it to be, I cannot tell you that I do not understand what the Yellow-Fire has told you." He let out a little sigh of resignation, and frowned thoughtfully at the Pink-Orange Shadow before him. "I don't believe a living one of us on this day understands entirely what the purpose of our war was. It should have been about The Golden Butterfly. The Alliance wanted to stop him from returning, for if he could kill a Spirit surely he could destroy us. But The Golden Butterfly never came," He admitted this without pause. "and still we fought. I can't tell you why. That reason is lost in the past and may never be found. But you must understand the importance of yourself and the other exiles. Nothing was gained in our war, we very nearly destroyed ourselves, and were left without hope. You are our hope. Our second chance at becoming what we once were. What you have seen and experienced is not the tribes as they were. This is our rebirth. If we are naive in youth, so be it." He eyed her for a moment longer. "I wonder sometimes why you all were sent back to the tribes of your ancestors. It must seem so cruel, I haven't encountered many exiles who are happy here."


Riversun

“Happy?” D’ialia mused, almost humorously. Had she seen happy exiles? She had seen happy cats, to be sure—a pointless emotion if she had ever seen one, though it did seem relatively desirable. She wasn’t happy now—not like she’d seen the emotion in the lives of her fellow felines. Had she been happy in the shadows, in that time before the tribes? She honestly didn’t know—she’d had no word for happiness. She’d had to reason to even know it as a concept, much less experience it for herself. It had been too primitive to differentiate—she actually could translate very little of her past life into the words and higher thoughts that she could now wield. Survival had been the only concept she knew. Pleasure, perhaps—she had gotten snippets of that here and there. A kill she could savor, a brief moment of warmth, a view that pleased her watchful eyes as she lay in the ever-present darkness. “I suppose not,” she said in agreement to his statement. “But I do not think I would choose differently, if I could choose again.” Her steps hesitated for a moment as she thought about what he had said earlier. She liked his explanation of the war—it fit far better than The Yellow-Fire’s explanation, cut through as it was by bouts of him ridiculing her for her naivety. The Golden Butterfly. The words sent a slight tremor through her, as they were words she had heard before. It was the unspoken threat that hovered in the depths of every conversation she had heard, the name spoken usually only at low whispers as cats passed rumors and knowledge from mouth to ear. He was the underscore of every conflict, the very image of chaos. She couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the Golden Butterfly had become more of a metaphor than an actual historical figure, but that couldn’t be. Not if he had existed within the living memory of some cats—if the exiles returning had really been his family and followers. Had it really been that recent in this history? Had it been that recent that the spirits of Shadow and Light had faded into the void? For it was true, if the Golden Butterfly could kill a spirit, he most certainly could have wiped out the rest of the tribes. From what the Yellow-Fire had described, the power of a cat to hold all elements in his paws was one that could not be outmatched by any. A power like that was intriguing, to say the least. A stronger cat than the Golden Butterfly—a cat who controlled the power without letting it control them. Might that cat have been able to bring about something wonderful for the Tribes? An awesome union of the five elements, the five tribes, before the rest of the world? What glorious battles might befall if the tribes were to extend beyond Nandryx? But that was neither here nor there. The Golden Butterfly had ruined this chance that the spirits had given him, and sacrificed power for power. “The Yellow-Fire said the leaders of the Alliance were insane,” she said in that thoughtful tone of voice that she so precisely wielded—just the right lilting pitch to hear, obvious that she was choosing her words but not sounding forced when she wove them together. “That they allowed a dream to spur them against the Golden Butterfly. If the Rebellion formed against that statement, that makes them blind. …What if the Alliance had been right? While fighting amongst themselves, the tribes would be destroyed by the Golden Butterfly, had he shown himself. Why not prevent such a thing from happening, rather than fighting it for the sake of believing it would never happen?” It was such a naïve, disgusting idea. Allowing emotions and fear to blind oneself to a possible truth, a warning of danger? If a creature leapt into view while you were hunting, you prepared yourself to fight whether it was hostile or passive—not doing so would result in death, if one was so unprepared when it turned out the creature had teeth. She dipped her head slightly. “Better to be insane and ready than blind and wrong.”


Toadfoal

"There are many who should be quick to disagree with you." Cenek allowed the corners of his mouth to tweak up slightly in a slightly unenthusiastic smile. There was a part of him that knew it was bad to hold grudges and that he might aspire to gain more respect within the tribes if hostility was nonverbal power plays ceased to be a part of his daily behavior. But every time he thought about what it would have been like if he had become leader of Shadow-Tribe as he ought to have, he thought of all the leaders and deputies he had known. How many of them had died with a feeling of satisfaction that they had done well by their tribes? Not many, and often it was their mental health that took the deepest dive. Sacrifice, everything is sacrifice. Occasionally Silvers of the various tribes would simply go out one day and vanish from the world altogether. Not a trace to suggest what had become of them. Such a terrible shame, that it was not more uncommon. "The leaders of the Alliance were not insane for the dreams they had. The Silver-Shadow was not even gifted this. It was only the Air-Tribe and Water-Tribe leaders who received the dream. They may well have been right, but they are dead now and never spoke of a time for this arrival. For all we know, the Golden Butterfly could be among us now under the flesh of another." He paused, considering this for a moment. "But I doubt it. There is no longer a grandiose way to destroy us." There was something purely intriguing about the conversation which Cenek was pleased to discover. At one time, not so very long ago, it should have been a great challenge to have two full thoughts pass between himself and D'ialia in spoken language. There was something about the silent communication that he enjoyed immensely, but when they both spoke it seemed suddenly as though there was an endless strand of ideas and questions to discuss. Even her tone was becoming more evolved. There was still that strangeness to her voice, but it now came with fluctuations. Perhaps not quite emotion, but something akin to it, curiosity was a good trait, and he could hear it in her voice now as well as seeing it through physical motion. Every change in her behavior, everything she said and did now began to stand in his mind as a representation of what the tribes were, and what they could become. "Unfortunately, the problem with insanity is that the death of innocents soon follows. The ones who would not appreciate your views are also those with the strongest morals. There is, perhaps, a balance between morbid insanity and blind cowardice. I do not know what it is, or if it has ever occurred before. Our moral acquaintances would say that you are selfish, and perhaps you are. In this you would not be alone, myself included. But such is the price we pay for being practical, and thinking forward. It will certainly keep you alive much longer. But it's more difficult to be practical when there are individuals besides yourself that you want to protect. That is it love, and it is perhaps the most hopelessly blind form of thought we hold."


Riversun

D’ialia listened without speaking a word, and for once (at least, for once in her time conversing with him) she had nothing to say. He spoke of things that were little more than words to her—love? Morals? She supposed she possessed these traits within her somewhere, just as she probably possessed happiness, though she had no real need for them and no real use for them. He was right when he said that love was the most hopelessly blind form of thought—love was irrational. It served its purpose, successfully fooling two cats into having kits, kits who would strengthen the tribes and provide new blood to ensure future generations. It was foolish. Happiness worked almost the same way, though it didn’t seem to have even a purpose such as the continuation of life—it was simply there, something to beguile cats into letting their guard down. Pretty baubles dangling in front of kits—she could not see the value in the pure happiness that cats spoke of and sometimes allowed to slip through onto their expressions. It was such a dopey look, those smiles and fits of giggles—it distracted. D’ialia allowed herself pleasures—pride in what she did and what she could accomplish, interest in a subject. She’d even grown to be accustomed to companionship, being comfortable with another such as the Yellow-Shadow. She remembered their last conversation, before the snake bite, where she had not allowed much of her fears to show through even though she felt so bare and exposed in the wake of her nightmares. She’d kept silent when she had woken at night after that, not willing to let the Yellow Shadow believe that they were the regular occurrences that they were. When she awoke, she lay in her nest next to the dark she-cat. Soul, who called her Shadow. Soul was another interesting warrior—it was a shame that she was not a secondary. She would have made the perfect Soulbond. Thoughts of a Soulbond reminded her that she still wasn’t sure what the Secondary powers of Shadow Tribe were—she knew it had something to do with control. What awesome power they must wield, if indeed they could control another? Yes she was eager to find a suitable Soulbond, not for the companionship but for the power that she could then possess. New abilities open to her that she would not be able to receive through her normal control of the shadows… though there was plenty of that she could still learn. D’ialia shook her head to bring her mind back on track. Morals… those, she supposed, did have their purpose in life. Not morals so foolish as it seemed the Silvers of Fire and Earth had, refusing to kill the “innocent,” but in the meantime slaughtering dozens of other tribe cats and bringing the war down on Nandryx. No one was really innocent—not those who were old enough to be active in the tribes. To kill one cat and possibly save countless more seemed an easy choice to her, whether it was true the cat was guilty or not—but to start a war to save those who may or may not have committed crimes? Who may or may not kill countless more already? It didn’t seem to add up. What innocents could be harmed in preparing themselves for a possible return of the Golden Butterfly? But when she spoke again, it was not to ask any of these questions that wandered through her mind. She opened her mouth to ask an entirely different question—for until this point, though he had been truthful, the Yellow-Shadow had remained distant from their conversation. Had spoken subjectively, as if he could have been a member of any of the tribes and still said the same. “How did the Silver Shadow die?” That was her question, one that carried more weight to her than she had expected. She had heard of the deaths of the other Silvers, and had even listened to recounting of less known, more personal deaths. But she had never heard a word about Killian, only that he had died. Vanished, almost, only a body in the midst of the war, his throat cut and spirit stilled. She stopped as they came upon the place where she had hunted the ice. Their bodies still lay on the ground, somehow having escaped the reach of scavengers, and she dipped her head to pick them up.


Toadfoal

If Cenek was surprised by her question, he made no sign of it. The Yellow-Shadow was leisurely in the time he took to make a reply, and stared at the prey for a moment longer than needed, as if silently deciding whether or not to help her carry the load back to the caves. But he did not, and instead glanced towards the trees. This was just another testament to D'ialia's earlier statement. Not even the other great predators of the forest were here in their usual numbers. His eyes traveled to the canopy above. The birds were quiet, but the stillness he felt was not fear so much as a lacking. Sound was dulled. Activity was lacking. Life was not enduring in its usual state. He blinked slowly, and continued walking. "The Silver-Shadow was killed during the war." He replied smoothly. The words were rehearsed, he could tell the brief story in his sleep, if he so wished. The guilt that should come with lies was lacking here in his mind. He lied for necessity, though that was not to say he didn't care. But it was essential that Killian's death should not destroy him. He had been given his punishment, part of which was to live. The Yellow-Air, he suspected, had been handed a similar punishment for whatever sin he had committed. If he ever had the chance, Cenek would not care to ask. But he did wonder, sometimes, what he was supposed to do with his life as it was now. Become a better individual? Sacrifice himself for some noble cause? What a joke. "No one saw it happen, but I would assume one of the Rebellion got him. Probably killed soon after, or were too cowardly to claim responsibility. I assure you, the Silver-Fire was disappointed for missing the opportunity to do it herself." He continued to walk, flicking his ears back to make sure that D'ialia was still following with the mice. Cenek wasn't very hungry anymore, but he didn't regret letting her out to hunt. Perhaps it would be good for her recovery, she had kept up well enough, and learned rather quickly once pointed in any direction. But now he was beginning to feel eager to get back to the caves. His ears were ringing in the silence, and slowly but surely the sounds of screeching cats filled his mind. Cenek could have sworn he saw their shadows moving among the trees, whispers here and there. Could she hear them too? He found the temptation gripping, and glanced back briefly at his companion. The thought of food was now repulsive.


Riversun

D’ialia walked beside him like his shadow, carrying the mice in her powerful jaws. She couldn’t speak until they reached the camp due to her full mouth, but it gave her plenty of time to analyze his response. Every indication pointed to it being the truth. It was smooth and natural, easy, perfectly timed. It sounded like a load of mousedung—too polished, too natural, like something he’d rehearsed and even perhaps tried to convince himself was true. But there was always the possibility that he was genuine in this statement. Whether he was telling the truth or not (even though she doubted that he was telling her everything) she knew that he was wrong. She waited until she could drop the mice back at camp to say so, however. There were many cats in the camp, but none who would overhear their conversation, too engrossed in their own. The words and ideas flittered around the caves, traveling through broken spurs of collapsed rock that had come from the Rebellion breaking their tunnels. But she knew how to pitch her voice to keep her words from being overheard, so when she dropped her mice she stopped him with a word before he could leave and kick her back into the healer’s den. “His wound was one of someone he trusted,” she mused. “Why not guard his throat, if he sustained no further injuries? Why in such an isolated place, but with one he would trust? The deaths of the other Silvers were dramatic—Killian merely slipped into shadow.” Her tail tip flicked lightly as she rested her gaze on him. “Someone from the Alliance killed him.” And it was this which puzzled her—the evidence was there, and yet no one acted upon it. Were they all too afraid that it would start another war, throwing accusations within the fractions of alliances that the tribes had formed?


Toadfoal

"No." Cenek spoke sharply almost before she had gotten the chance to finish her sentence. As much as he admired her intelligence and quick wit, undoubtedly that was what had kept her alive before she had known of other cats, he was also beginning to find that it was something to be feared. The cries of cats had died away as soon as the caves were within sight, but now he didn't need them to make him uneasy. He had assumed that the reasoning he had given her would do the trick. So far no one else had questioned him past it. They were, to his knowledge, satisfied to believe that Killian had been killed by an enemy. Died fighting for his tribe, and that the blow that killed him must have been a lucky shot, the Spirits of course had a hand in that. The fact that every Alliance leader had died was evidence enough of this. The Silver-Water had died of a heart-attack, the Silver-Air had died soon after when he went to fetch the exiles. Assisted suicide, apparently. And then there had been the Yellow-Water, dead even before the war had escalated to its full height. Others had died too, even after the war. The Silver-Light, for example. In fact, the only remaining leader from the war was the Silver-Fire. Even the Silver-Earth was gone, retired in old age. None of their deaths were terribly suspicious, Cenek wished desperately he could alleviate all question of the Silver-Shadow's death too, once and for all. If only Killian's spirit would tell him what to do. After all, the Silver-Shadow had asked to die. He had ordered it. Cenek didn't take his life out of malice, the act was done out of loyalty, and some platonic form of love. He took a moment to relax, and shook his head. Perhaps adding an element of truth would help to throw her off the trail. Let her think that some other Alliance cat had done it. "... You might be right. A number of those from the Alliance swapped ranks. But they must be dead now too. Perhaps it's best if we never know who really killed the Silver-Shadow." He eyed D'ialia with a sort of intensity. Asking, ordering that she not question this any further. At least for the moment. He was neither ready nor willing to reveal the truth. It terrified him to think that he might not have to.


Riversun

D’ialia met his gaze with her own steady one. She hesitated for a moment, just long enough to let him know what she still wasn’t really buying it, but she accepted his answer. She in no way believed it, but she accepted it for the time being and allowed the matter to drop. He had protested too quickly, had taken no time to think about it and come up with an answer to mollify her. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed, almost offended, by his passionate decision to lie to her and prevent any further questioning. Questioning was what she did—she doubted systems, she doubted ranks and powers, challenged ways of thinking that seemed so common and proper. She did not submit to the ideas of another—it was that which made her next movement all the more surprising. She dipped her head in a rather exaggerated form of obedience which was so different from her usual questioning presence that it was almost vulgar—like she’d allowed a part of her very identity to fall away in order to meet his silent request. She understood what he wanted from her. It was back to that silent communication they had shared since day one, a type which she didn’t think she’d ever fall out of practice from. “As you wish,” she said, her tone flat, her expression and eyes closed off from him once more. She did not take food for herself, but instead turned without another word and strode back to the healer’s den, disappearing even before she could cover her limp.
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Asalei's avatar
The length / detail of this is amazing. You two are outstanding RP'ers. :shocked: