oh, responsibility || open

[feverstar !]

ooc: not a great post, but not too bad. open to all. c:


In wintertime, the meadow appeared to be a completely different land entirely. Once beautiful flowers bled pastels into the deep snow, drained of life. Their stalks were brown and slender, sucking up any nutrition they could get from the dry, dry soil. Most of them snapped into the frigid wind, as if made of tissue paper. The snow that buried them was thick and fat, not the small, dusty snowflakes. Soon, the whole meadow would be buried. In the surrounding area, trees dripped with hazardous icicles that could easily impale a cat, plunging through his body in a blink of an eye. A cold wind blew, sharp and nippy. It was silent; the sort of wintersilence that one always hears around this time of year. Snow acted like a blanket, muting out the harsh edges of this cruel, dark world.

Feverstar sat in the midst of this silence, his patched pel freckled heavily with snow. He had his head pointed to the sky, a low hanging slab of stone. Fear lurched around his insides; uncertainty. Sometimes, he felt like he was being eaten from the inside out. Like one day, it wouldn't be long before he spit up a hairball and found barbed wire tangled within it, and then he would fall apart completely - like a balloon. The truth is, being a Leader was getting to him. He could feel his morals being strangled and torn apart into thin fibers, his mind being exhausted to a thin pulp. In all honesty, he didn't quite agree with Yarrow's philosophy of "equality". Feverstar believed that all should be equal. But, he knew that if he were to admit this, he'd be killed for sure. And what would Groveshadow think? AshClan would be burdened by a think, heavy cloud of shame. He couldn't do that to a Clan he loved...

"Oh, Yarrow," The male whispered to the sky, his tone troubled. "What am I to do? I do not wish to forsake you, but what if I believe that this is wrong?" He stared down at his paws now, afraid to look at Yarrow's dwellings. Afraid to see what horrible scoop of fate might be heading his way. Still, he cleared his throat and continued to speak. "I feel like I've come to a fork in my path: do a I choose what I believe is right, or what is right for my clan? Yarrow, please offer me guidance." Feverstar squeezed his eyes shut desperately, wanting nothing more than to feel the thin, light presence of his god seep into his veins like syrup. Around him, the wind blew harder, howling and crying into his ears. The male's heart was beating fast; his anxiety was worsening. Feverstar felt positively wretched!

The male shifted his position in the snow. His throat felt colder than the ice around him, a slick metallic tube of confused words. By being leader - by disregarding his own beliefs - Feverstar felt as though his soul was stained, a dark spot on his character. He didn't like the way he sometimes felt a monster creeping around his chest; the way the voice in the back of his head whispered scoldings to him. What ecer was he going to do? "Oh, Yarrow," The leader cried helplessly, his voice suffocated and small; "Show me the way!"

[ηiɢhτ .paw]

_________________________The Night can be harsh on the Paw .!

Apprentice of Ashclan .!____________________________

Leaf-bare was bitingly cold, it's shrieking winds snapping at Nightpaw's very being. It made his eyes water, and his skin protest like the sting of a rat bite. He's heard many of the elders tell him this was a mild winter compared to some in their days, that the 'youngsters' shouldn't be whining about the cold, and be thankful that it was not a blizzard. The black tom had listened to their stories, drank in their words of harsh snows so blinding that even the warrior with the best of eyes could not see a rabbit hop before them. A shiver ran tiny paws along the apprentice's spine at the very thought, and he silently thanks Yarrow that a fierce leaf-bare had not been cast upon Ashclan.

Leaf-bare was one of the only dangers Ashclan had to face. They had no other clans to watch for, mere things like illness or starvation that could pose a threat. And of course the mild awareness of other predators, such as rats, foxes, badgers and other rogues. But those were tiny things, and Ashclan was strong. Nothing could oppose them, that is, until the Suffragettes formed. Many believed the she cats, and even a few toms, would be nothing to the mighty clan. But they were quickly proven more so dangerous than intended.

Nightpaw's own sister, Whitepaw, had abandoned the clan to join with these-these she cats! The dark toms had often found himself roaming aimlessly about the territory in hopes she had given up, and would return back to him. But who was he kidding, this was Whitepaw, along with the others that had decided to rebel, often more so stubborn than most felines had seen. And to think, she cats could have such a great impact.

"I feel like I've come to a fork in my path: do I choose what I believe is right, or what is right for my clan? Yarrow, please offer me guidance."

[/i] The words came ever so softly, frozen by the biting breeze. Nightpaw almost missed the soft whispers completely, such tones barely tracing over his ears. Green orbs widened as the apprentice placed a face and name to that voice, why, it was the voice he'd heard any times. Feverstar himself. Ears drawing straight forward, head tilting, Nightpaw weighed his options. Well he could just spin around and bound away, but that wouldn't look good if he was caught. The last thing he wanted was to think he was somehow tied in with the Suffragettes, after all, he did have family in their ranks. How mouse-brained!

With a long breath, Nightpaw silently padded forward, he stuck out like a sore paw among the white snows, with an ink black pelt like his own. But he couldn't be sure the leader had noticed him yet, not while he was hidden safely behind the leader himself.

Feverstar spoke again, he voice dripped with helplessness, the need for a savior, perhaps. Nightpaw blinked, coming to a halt a few cat lengths from the tom. "Yarrow can't give us the guidance to everything, Feverstar. We must learn to solve out problems without constant help, or we'd be no better than kittypets themselves." Nightpaw meowed softly, tucking his tail around his paws in an effort to keep them warm, pelt fluffing up against the cold. The black spoke no challenge, for he only hoped to encourage the leader, if he could. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]