Written in the Stars

cedarsong

"Where are you?"

"This isn't funny."

"Pinepaw, seriously - we're going to get in trouble."

"Pinepaw!"

---

It's the same every time. The dream is gone, slipping out of their mind like it always does and leaving only an impression - one whose weight never failed to suffocate. By the time Cedarsong is well and truly awake, they've already gotten to their paws and stumbled out of the den. Only once did they manage to bump into someone, and immediately they offered a hushed apology to the groggy expression that looked back at them. 

The sun was well into its climb upwards, and Cedarsong was one of a few that had yet to wake. Unusual for the warrior, who usually didn't dawdle in waking and rising from their nest. Now the camp was alive and buzzing, a stark contrast to the feeling of white noise in Cedarsong's head. The thought of shouldering through their sluggishness to get to food was unappealing at best. Instead, with a tumult of stress and isolation drowning out the rest of their feelings, the dilute warrior decided it was time to get moving. If they stood still, they'd want to curl up and go back to sleep and that - no, that wasn't a good idea.

Before Cedarsong coul direct themselves to anything, their eyes caught sight of - "Moosepaw?"

Too tired to keep on their brain-to-mouth filter, the warrior forced themselves to keep up the social momentum they'd accidentally given themselves. They looked around as if trying to spot what - or who - Moosepaw was there for. Did their apprentice have friends? Stars, Cedarsong hoped so. Their voice was raspy with the sleepy vestiges of a restless night. 

"What are you doing?" It was the Cedarsong version of what's up, delivered in the same stiff tone as any other snippet of conversation. Hopefully Moosepaw was growing accustomed to the stoicism by now, because even sleep-deprived, with tousled fur and squinting eyes, Cedarsong was about as easy to read as tracks in gravel.

scottie