With our One Year Anniversiary looming on the horizon, we decided to kick off the last month of summer with some exciting updates and a brand new posting contest! So make sure to check out the August Announcements for more information! In addition to the contest, we have a few new rule changes, additions to the lore, OTM winners, and plot updates as well. Lastly, while the cool winds of autumn are right around the corner, the sweltering summer heat continues to persist, and with it, the tension on the island continues to rise like the tide.
Sunny skies. Winds NNE 5 to 10 MPH. High 32℃ / 90℉. Low 25℃ / 77℉.
Potential for violent storms later in the month.
THE APOSTLES
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Maple had risen before the dawn. Quietly, she had slipped from her nest, careful not to wake those she shared a den with. She sat just outside the entrance of the den with her tail curled carefully over her delicate paws and sat silently as she watched the sun rise over their island. Her mind swam with thoughts of her recent visit with Blackbird and her kits. It had awakened a maternal stirring deep in her soul that she wasn’t sure what to do with.
One thing she could do was distract herself. She turned back and slipped into the den. Her eyes fell on the mound of black fur that was her sleeping son and she paused for a moment. For a heartbeat, she could see him as a tiny kitten, asleep next to her belly. But when she blinked, she realized for the first time that he was not her young kit anymore. He was practically grown now, adult sized and looking more like his father than the downy babe she had nursed. Affection surged in the tortoiseshell as she padded forwards.
With a lifted paw, she nudged his side and leaned down to press her nose against his cheek. ”Wake up, my love,” she whispered, waiting for him to stir. Once his head was lifted, she gave her tail an inviting swish. ”Come on, hunt with me,” she mewed. It was an invitation, technically, but her tone left little room for argument.
Hemlock was about to choose his path in life. Maple knew that he wanted to be a stone guard like his father, but hunting was an important skill as well and she wanted to see how he was coming along there. ”Rise and shine, let’s go.” Her cheery mew was thrown over her shoulder as she turned and left the den once more to wait for him outside.
Lately, his dreams swirled. Heavy with fog, Hemlock ran desperately across the island, his feet carrying him through slippery mud and torrential rain as his father’s heavenly pelt glittered in the distance like a beacon he’d never reach. Each time he got close, his father’s angular face watching him from the clouds, a bristling cat, silver in color and disheveled in shape, crashed into him with a snarl, claws digging into his chest. He kicked and thrashed, his muzzle diving for her throat, but then she’d dissipate like smoke. Confused, Hemlock scrambled to his paws, frantically searching for the amber light, and then he was running, again, the muck heavy in his mouth and toes and suddenly his eyes flickered open as his mother nudged his side, her nose gently touching his cheek.
Breathing laboriously, the black tom clambered to his feet, his eyes nervously bouncing across the den, searching for the murderous clan cat, until his mother’s soft voice tenderly pulled him from his sleepy, subconscious. “Oh-h, ok,” he echoed, giving his pelt a quick shake. Gingerly, the tom trailed after his mother and into morning moorland, his eyes blinking as they adjusted to the rolling dawn. Observing the silent, waking hills, the tom let his mother walk a few tail-lengths forward until he meowed into the pinking sunrise. “Where are we going?” he asked curiously as the tiredness left his limbs.
He had only hunted with his mother a few times before, the other prey-hunters and stone-guards careful to keep them apart. Not because they had any misgivings between them, but rather, the tribe liked to integrate families as much as possible. Besides, it was embarrassing, Hemlock breathed as his stirring paws picked their way across the budding heather. His mother was an excellent hunter, so much so that she out performed him in every outing, two to one.
The teasing was merciless on Fog’s end, his brother quick with the quips and taunts. Which was easy for him, Hemlock scowled. Everything came easy to Fog. He remembered their last stone-guard training with a grimace. Even with a coyote inches away, Fog remained stoic and reserved, his body poised to attack while Hemlock trembled like a newborn leaf in the wind, his wits clouded by anxiety and fear, too terrified to think clearly, let alone heroically. His father would be so disappointed, he thought glumly as his mother led him further into the island’s moorland, his ears swiveling for signs of prey.
His father, he breathed, his stomach churning uneasily at the thought. The coyote wasn’t the only troubling thing he had encountered during his last outing in the woods. Talon had revealed to them that he and his mother were mates, a word that made Hemlock’s whiskers twitch uncomfortably, his throat clenching with what felt like a terrible sickness. Talon, really? He wanted to ask his mother with a shout. Since when? Why? What about father? Didn’t she love him? But his respect for his mother was too much, so instead the tom kept it to himself, his teeth incessantly biting the fleshy pink of his mouth as he tried to stomach the confusion and anger boiling inside.
Suddenly, the shadow of a large bird settled across the moor grass as it circled above, flickering like a dark cloud. Canting his chin, Hemlock observed through narrowed eyes. A crow, he commented silently as the black beast dove closer to the earth, landing cautiously ahead of the cats downwind. The black tom shared a knowing look with his mother as he slid into a crouch, his paws waiting impatiently for her command.
Maple walked on ahead of Hemlock, her stride purposeful and confident. ”I already told you,” she mewed lightly. ”We’re going hunting.” She glanced back over her shoulder. ”You will be specializing soon and,” she hesitated. When she tried to picture her son as either a stone guard or a prey hunter, she couldn’t decide which seemed more plausible. ”This could be the last time we get to hunt together like this.” Her mew was wistful as she turned back to face forward. Her ears remained angled slightly back to catch Hemlock’s voice if he spoke.
The pair hadn’t had much of a chance to talk one on one since Talon had spoken to the boys about their relationship. Since then Maple could tell that Hemlock was uneasy. She wanted to give him the chance to speak his mind, but she didn’t want to prompt anything. Maybe she was scared of how Hemlock would react. He seemed outwardly okay with the relationship, but Maple was nervous that her son was only pretending to be accepting so he wouldn’t offend her.
But no words came. With a small sigh, Maple realized that she might just have to resign to the fact that her close relationship with Hemlock may have changed forever. Simply because he wanted to spare her heart.
The tortoiseshell looked back again in time to see Hemlock’s head tilt upwards and she followed his line of sight. Ears pricked with interest as she spotted the crow and she halted, watching the bird land. Again, she shared a look with her son before slipping down into a crouch. She crept forward, flicking her tail to motion the to-be to circle around the other side. Sneaking forward, she closed the distance between herself and her quarry.
Suddenly, the crow’s head lifted and Maple froze. Her eyes widened as she watched the bird crouch. No! she cried internally. They hadn’t made a noise, they were not where the crow could catch their scents. Nothing was getting in the way of the hunt succeeding except bad luck. But the luck wasn’t entirely against them. The crow leapt up and with a flurry of feathers, it took flight. The direction it fled was directly over the hunting cats then and Maple saw one chance to nab the bird. Without thinking, the prey-hunter sprang straight up. Her spine flexed to track the crow and her limbs stretched as far as they would go in either direction. Claws extended and she reached with a prayer until they met flesh and feathers.
Cat and bird tumbled back to earth together, scuffling in the dirt as Maple struggled to gain control. At last she wound up on top and had the crow pinned well enough to get a bite to its neck. The black bird stilled and Maple sat up, panting lightly. She turned to Hemlock and grinned. ”Close one,” she puffed. ”Always lucky when they flee towards you instead of away.”
His mother followed, her own lean body sliding into an instinctual crouch, a move that was as inherent to the she-cat as the dawn to the morn. The crow blinked a few times, its wings flexing unsuspectingly against its dark frame as the calico flicked her tail, signaling for Hemlock to circle around from the other side. With a nod, the black tom slunk over the coarse moorland, his stomach lightly grazing the rough grass as his eyes followed the crow. The bird dug its beak into its plumage, ruffling its feathers with a violent shake when suddenly its head snapped toward him. Hemlock froze, his warm breath pooling quietly into the moor. Don’t move, he begged, watching the bird through widened eyes.
The crow leapt into the air with a shriek.
Mouse-dung! Hemlock shot forward, his feet kicking dirt from the grassland as he trailed the bird below, its wings stretching mid-flight. With a bound, Hemlock flew across the moor, his chin canted, eyeing the distance between him and the crow. Maybe if he just -- and then his mother leapt from the earth with an incredible vault, her claws catching the bird’s feathered stomach. The crow released a violent screech as his mother crashed back into the coarse terrain, killing the beast with a swift, merciless bite to the neck. Grinning, the she-cat turned from the crow, greeting Hemlock as he came to a panting halt besides her, his chest heaving from the sudden run.
Flicking his ear, Hemlock listened silently as his mother voiced her relief, her tone seemingly oblivious to the frustration that plagued him like roaring storm clouds. Rolling his eyes, the tom looked away, his tail flicking irritably. She didn’t even give him a chance, he sneered. She just leapt into the air and took it. His claws unsheathed into the loose dirt. Just like how she went and got a new mate. Biting the inside of his cheek, Hemlock exhaled a laborious breath, his legs trembling beneath him, and then he ducked his head, his gaze burning angrily into the grassy soil. “Whatever, let’s go then. I want to get this over with.”
The black tom broke into a loping stride, his steps long as he soared over the rough moorland. He didn’t even check to see if his mother was following. His gaze only flicked forward, steadily watching the burning horizon, as he ran blindly through the grass. He could care less, he thought with a grunt, his front paws hitting the ground with a thud. If she wanted to hunt with him so bad, then why didn’t she try so sooner? He wanted to shout into the sky with a snarl. She was probably too busy rubbing noses with Talon, his mind echoed back.
Clenching his teeth, the tom continued to trot, his ears pressing over his crown, not caring if his mother bothered to chastise him or not. None of it mattered. Someday she'd have a new family, new kits, he realized with a sobering start. And then he and his father would mean nothing. The black tom slowed into a confused stumble, his breath heaving in his throat. Tears lined the corners of his eyes. Would she do that? He wondered desperately. Replace him? Just like she replaced father? The sound of nearing foot-steps alerted the tom as his ears swiveled backwards. He knew it was his mother. He knew she was worried, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her; so instead, he kept his gaze forward, careful to never look back.
Hurt flashed across her face and her smile fell at Hemlock’s response to the catch. ”Hemlock…” she began, but her son blustered away without giving her a chance to speak. She hastily buried her crow and hurried to catch up with him. Maple matched the black tom’s pace, but made sure to stay staggered behind him rather than shoulder to shoulder. He was clearly upset and the mottled she-cat’s thoughts swam with reasons why he had lashed out like he had.
Her feelings were hurt and part of her wanted to turn around and go back to her nest to spend the rest of the day sulking, but she pressed on. She loved her son more than she wanted to nurse her hurt pride and she was compelled to find out what had gotten under his skin.
It felt like ages stretched on as the pair walked together in agonizing silence. Maple longed to break it, but instinct told her she needed to wait. Hemlock had made it more than clear that he didn’t want to hear from her and she was afraid she knew why. Her heart raced from nerves rather than the brisk pace at which they moved. She slowed as he did and drew forward until she could look at his face. The tears in his eyes broke the mother’s heart. An overwhelming urge to shelter him took her over. She wanted to curl around him and protect him as she had done when he was young, but he wasn’t a kit anymore and she would have to care for him in a different way.
”Hemlock,” she mewed again, softer this time. ”Talk to me,” she urged. ”Something’s been bothering you, I know it has please…” She searched his gaze pleadingly. ”Tell me what’s wrong.” As the words left her mouth, she felt sure she already knew the answer.
Hemlock ignored his mother, choosing to bite the inside of his cheek instead as his name billowed into the cool, morning wind, unanswered. He didn’t trust himself right now, the words, vile and cruel, rising in his throat like vomit. He knew if he talked, he’d regret it -- the kind of regret that would follow him in his dreams like swirling smoke. He creased his brows, his stride lengthening beneath him, as the moorland twisted, its rough land giving way to the softened shore. Only the lake’s gentle waters glistened before them, its frothing waves lapping the land in a habitual lull.
His mother neared, her round face crumbling as she watched him, noticing the tears bud beneath his eyes. Hemlock angrily looked away, his tail flicking in irritation. She didn’t have to do this, he sneered. She could just leave him alone. But the she-cat persisted, his name much softer the second time it left her lips. “Don’t,” he warned, a low growl resonating from his throat as the she-cat turned, her large, blinking eyes searching his own narrowed gaze. Tell me what’s wrong, she asked. The black tom shouldered past her, his fur bristling with electricity.
“What’s wrong?” he meowed, his voice rising as his control loosened. He turned then, his maws trembling. “Y-you’re, you’re leaving us!” he cried. “You’re, you’re, what about father?” The tears sprung from his eyes, as his voice carried, shaking as the frustration and fear churned in his gut. His favorite memories were nestled in his mother's fur, listening as she talked about his father's love for her, for him. Lake had courted his mother in a mere moment, their love for one another so strong. So, why? Why did she want someone else?“Don’t you love him anymore?” he meowed.
He searched his mother’s gaze, his ears flattening over his crown. “Why would you replace him? I thought you loved him.” The tom looked away, his teeth glistening beneath maws. “I tho-thought, I thought he, we, I thought -- " The black tom shook his head as his confusion and ire waxed and waned like the tide. "I thought I was enough. I-I thought you still wanted to be with us, with me. I don't understand."
Then it finally happened. Hemlock snapped, and it was exactly what Maple feared it was. Her expression fell, amber eyes flashing with undisguised hurt. Entering into the relationship with Talon was not something that she had taken lightly exactly because of her feelings for her late mate, Lake. Why couldn’t her son see that? He’s not psychic. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, she thought with a sigh.
”Hemlock, I…” she began, but the tortoiseshell wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She wanted to tell the young tom how much she loved him and how much she still loved his father, but she didn’t know how to express her feelings. An idea sprang into her mind. ”Come with me.” The command was gentle, yet firm. She turned and draped her tail across his shoulders lightly, afraid that he would flinch away from her touch. But she needed to be sure he was following and wasn’t sure she could keep her nerve if she looked back at him.
Her first instinct was to turn and run away, let the bad feelings fester so she wouldn’t have to confront them. But deep down she knew that it wasn’t what she needed to do right now. As she lead her son, she struggled to gather her thoughts. ”Hemlock, I haven’t replaced anyone.” Replaced. The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. She loved Lake. She missed Lake. She loved Hemlock. She loved Talon. And she could do all of those things at the same time. ”Your father…” her voice broke and so she cleared her throat and started again, charging through her hurt feelings to explain. ”Do you think that if your father were still alive I would have chosen Talon over him?” she asked. Still she didn’t dare to look back.
”I love your father. I miss him every day,” she mewed with a voice thick with emotion. ”But he is gone and he has been for a long time. I knew him well and I know that he cared about my happiness always above his own. He wouldn’t want me to spend my life miserable and alone, pining for him and missing him and raising you on my own.” She stopped and turned to face Hemlock with eyes rounded with sorrow.
”My heart is not so small that there is only room for one part of my family at a time.” she meowed. ”If Lake were still with us, we would eventually have more kits. You would have siblings. I might have kits with Talon and they will still be your siblings, I will still be your mother, you will still be my son.” Finally she moved forward to lead him to their destination; a shaded grove full of hemlock flowers just starting to bloom.
”The plants are poisonous, love,” she murmured. Her gaze was disant as she looked around at the flowers. Her words were not a warning, but a quote. The first meaningful words Lake had said to her and the phrase that had kick started their romance. ”This is where your father and I met,” she mewed. She sat next to a cluster of flowers and watched them wag in the breeze. Her mottled tail brushed the ground next to her and invited her son to sit beside her. . ”Hemlock, just because Talon and I are together doesn’t mean that I have forgotten you and and it does not mean that I have forgotten Lake. You,” she shook her head for emphasis. ”You are everything to me. When Talon asked me to be his mate, I wanted to say yes, but I told him he had to get your blessing first. A blessing that you gave him.” She paused for a moment, holding Hemlock’s eyes as she let her words sink in. Then she looked back to the blossoming hemlock. ”I named you after these flowers so that I could always remember the day Lake came to me. I still come here and talk to him. I will start a new family with Talon, but, dearest, don’t think that means I have to forget my past. What can I do to help you feel better?” Desperately, she wished her son would understand. It broke her heart to think that he had been holding his feelings from her when they had once been so close.
His mother stared for a long time as the black tom sniffled, the moorland a quiet wasteland between them, silent and unassuming. Unsteady, Hemlock ran a paw across his cheeks, drying the tears over his short fur. His stomach twisted uncomfortably beneath him as his frustration waned, and only a hollowness filled its unsatisfying departure. He wanted his mother to yell at him in return, to condemn him for his unruly outburst; but instead, she said nothing, and somehow that hurt him more, his remorse rising like the water in the lake after a heavy storm.
His name left her lips in a hesitant murmur, a sound that almost willed an apology from his throat, but his tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth. So Hemlock looked away, unsure of what she’d say next. Come with me, she meowed suddenly, laying a gentle tail over his shoulder. Instinctively, the tom flinched away, turning from her touch, but as his mother moved, he leaned into it like he had done several times as a kit. The mottled she-cat led him across the moor, her whiskers twitching, but her lips closed. She said nothing for a while, and neither did he, his throat too tight to even form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.
As the moorland gave way beneath them, the ground suddenly thick with humming foliage, his mother broke the silence between them, clearing her throat as her voice trembled into the mounting greenery. Hemlock listened, his ears flicking toward the mottled she-cat as she spoke. His mother never looked at him, not even a glance over her shoulder as they walked, but her voice, heavy with emotion, told him all he needed to know. She wasn’t abandoning them, him, his father. His mother was simply moving on, an act that scared him terribly so, but Hemlock wanted to try and understand it, to wrap his mind around the strangeness of it, at least for her sake.
His mother drew to a halt then, her breath hovering as her gaze found their destination, a small hemlock grove, dotted with white, blooming flowers. Hemlock sucked in a sudden breath. He knew this place. Of course, he knew this place. It was where his parents fell in love, his favorite story. Hemlock watched, his eyes lining with tears, as his mother padded across the moor and settled beneath a cluster of flowers, her gaze shining in the rising sunlight. She motioned toward him with her tail, and he knew that she wanted him to sit besides her, to mend the tension that electrified the air between them like cursed smoke.
With a shaky breath, the black tom shook his tears away and neared his mother on careful paws. He blinked, studying her face, lining the soft contours of her cheeks, her brilliant eyes, and then he curled into her, relishing the warmth that radiated from her coat in waves. As the young tom soaked in his mother’s scent, he listened, absorbing the words that left her maws like a tide, and when she finished, her question hanging in the air like a cloud, the tom shook his head. “No, you’ve done everything,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It was unfair of me, but I-I was so scared, mother.” “I was scared that we didn’t matter anymore, and I know that it’s not true now. I know that, but I’m,” he hesitated, his brows threading as he tried to wrestle with the fears in his throat. “Everything is different now.” He stared out into the hemlock flowers, watching as the stalks folded beneath the gentle wind. “I’m going to become a tribe member soon, and that scares me.” His voice came out as a whisper. “For the longest time, I wanted to be a stone-guard like father, but I don’t think I can.” He remembered the fear that gripped him when they encountered the coyote, his inability to act, to think. No, he would make a terrible stone-guard.
Catching his mother’s gaze, he looked at her then, really looking as he studied her lithe form, the athleticism beneath her lithe pelt. “But maybe,” he started as his mind turned, recalling the way his mother leapt through the air, killing the crow in one calculative bite. “But maybe, I was never meant to be like father,” he meowed. “Maybe? Maybe, I was meant to be like you?” His brows threaded, and he was back with Moth, training beneath the she-cat when she was well, his skills as a hunter more in tune with the earth than his instinct to fight, to battle. He was with Fox, learning to hunt on his own, his knack for tricks and snares.
And he was a kit, back at his mother's side, stalking a wavering leaf as it flitted in the air. Yes, it made sense now. His father had filled his head with heroism, with stories, but it was his mother who had been there for him all along, and she was the strongest, the bravest cat he knew. "Can you teach me?" he meowed at last. "How to catch birds like that?"
Maple surely believed that she would snap under the pressure between her and her son. Just when she could take no more, he came to her side and she sagged with relief, pushing back against him as he nestled into her side. She silently listened to his worries, nuzzling into the top of his head and relishing his scent. ”You will always matter to me, my love,” she meowed gently.
Her ears pricked with surprise when he voiced his misgivings about his future in the tribe. It was no secret to the mother that the young black cat wanted to be a stone guard so that he could live up to his father’s legacy. Privately, Maple had had her doubts as she watching him grow into a lithe and lean adult, far from the muscled build of Lake or Talon, but build didn’t always reflect position in the tribe.
A smile spread across her muzzle and her amber eyes glowed warmly. ”Of course I can teach you,” she purred. ”Of course, it comes with a certain amount of luck. And risk. If I had stretched too far or landed poorly, I could have injured myself and I wouldn’t have been able to catch it if it had flown off any other direction.” She gestured with her nose back to the bulk of the territory, inviting Hemlock to lead them back to a place where they could hunt. The hemlock flowers were lovely, but most prey animals gave the deadly flowers a lot of space.
”You clearly know that you need to approach prey from where they can’t smell you.” Stupid observation, Maple, she chided herself. He’s nearly a full member of the tribe now, of course he knows that. But she brushed along as if she hadn’t bothered herself. ”How’s your jumping?” she asked as she eyed his back legs. They looked strong. ”Birds fly, so if you want to catch birds like that, you should be able to fly too.” She slowed and angled her ears towards her son. She would follow his lead to their next prey where she could further instruct if he still needed help.
Hemlock listened to his mother in silence, his ears swiveling to catch every word of advice as she related her experiences catching birds out of the air like she had done earlier. When she had finished, the tom nodded, following her gaze as the mottled she-cat motioned toward the moorland. It was his turn, he realized, his legs unfurling as his mother nosed him to his feet and away from the venomous hemlock flowers. The she-cat stood over the moor for a moment, her amber eyes warm and hopeful, and Hemlock waited, his own feet itching to trail after his mother as she led him into another hunt; but the she-cat did not move.
The black tom stared at her, his brow twisting in confusion, and then he countered with an attentive nod as the realization dawned on him. She wanted him to lead this time. He understood that now. With one last cast toward the hemlock grove, the tom decided he would return here someday, whenever he needed his father most, or perhaps when he was older with his own mate, when he finally understood the love his mother felt for Talon, for his father, for him. Returning his gaze to his mother’s watchful face, Hemlock flicked his tail affectionately over her shoulder and then darted out from the underbrush and into the moorland, where the sun beat down on them with a scorching heat.
As the tom trekked over the coarse terrain, his mother administered more advice, a fact the tom had learned in one of his first lessons with Moth, but he didn’t chide her for it, the air between them still warm from their heart-felt talk. Instead he flashed his mother a smile, and answered with a nod as she continued, asking him about his ability to jump. This caused him to hesitate, his forearm hovering over the earth as he tried to remember his sessions with Sunrise or Fox, his brow furrowed and creased. Most of his hunts were earth-bound and mammalian in nature. He had little instruction when it came to birds. Still, how hard could it be to jump? He wondered as he threw his mother a shrug. “I don’t know,” he meowed truthfully, his maws scrunching as he continued to move. “I haven’t really tried. I don’t think anyone has ever,” the tom halted as a shadow fell over his head.
Canting his chin, the black tom watched as a smaller, red-tailed hawk circled above, it’s wings spreading to catch the wind, which vaulted it further into the clouds and out of reach. A scowl colored his features as the tom lowered his crown and shot his mother an irritated look. “Thought I could catch that,” his voice slowed as the bird suddenly careened from the skies, dipping dangerously from the earth with a screech. Without thinking, Hemlock raced across the moorland, his claws aimed for the bird as he leapt powerfully into the air. His forearm stretched toward the hovering beast, but missed, his claws barely grazing the hawk’s mottled plumage. The bird shot back into the clouds, its talons flexing toward Hemlock as he fell back to the earth with a thud.
Annoyed, the black tom angrily swatted at the earth, his claws unsheathed. Dirt sprung from his hit, noisily scattering back over the moorland as Hemlock turned to face his mother with a bared grimace. “What did I do wrong?” he murmured, his tail sinking over the grassland as he trudged back toward the mottled she-cat. As he met her observant stare, a sudden shriek resounded over the hills as the hawk materialized in the distance, its talons inches from the earth. Hemlock shared a look with his mother and then shot back into a hurried trot, his mother hot on his heels. He would catch it this time. This time he had to, for his father, for his mother, for the future that shined before him like the illustrious sun.
Maple herself halted when Hemlock did and jerked her gaze upwards to the hawk. She watched carefully as he leapt for the bird, holding her breath. Hawks were prey well known to the tribe, but that didn’t mean they weren’t also dangerous. The tortie held herself back, but was also braced to race forward to help if things turned in the hawk’s favor. She released her held breath as her son fell short and came back down to earth. As he turned, she trotted forward to meet him halfway.
What did I do wrong?
Maple shook her head firmly. ”You didn’t do anything wrong,” she meowed matter-of-factly. He had to know that her assessment of his skills was as a prey-hunter and not as his mother. ”Your form looked good, you would have had it if it had come just a mouse-length lower. It was just bad luck. Something you will learn to judge more accurately as you get more practice is how high you can reach.” In a stroke of luck, the hawk reappeared. She glanced over and met her son’s gaze with a smile. It was a rare opportunity to try again… on the same creature even.
As Hemlock hurried after the hawk, Maple was close behind him. ”You take the lead,” she mewed in a hushed voice, ears pricked with interest. ”Tell me what you need me to do.” Hunting in the tribe was almost never a solo effort. It was an important skill to know how to lead a hunt, but Hemlock would always have his tribemates at his side just as he would always have Maple backing him up.
Hemlock acknowledged his mother’s advice with the mere nod of his head, his eyes trained on the red-tailed hawk as it descended back toward the earth with another shriek. The bird’s head was turned away from them, its wings spreading to glide over the moorland, its eyes searching for food, as Hemlock and his mother hastened their strides below. Arching his neck, the black tom careened forward, his long black legs parting to create a longer gait, so he could continue to gain distance, a trick he had learned from Moth back near his seventh moon. The lesson seemed idiotic then because, at the time, all he wanted to do was battle and fight, but now he was grateful for the she-cat’s trick.
As the shadow of the hawk hovered above them like a low-bellied, storm cloud, Hemlock shot his mother a look, a stare that signaled his coming attack, and then he launched into the earth for a second time, his mother’s words ringing in his ears. Tell me what you need me to do. As his claws dug successfully into the bird’s stomach, he released a sudden shout. “Mother, now!” The black tom hit the earth with a thud, the hawk ensnared between his unsheathed claws, scrambling furiously beneath his claws in an attempt to break free. With a screech, the bird bucked and used its talons to scratch Hemlock’s chest as the black tom wrestled to bite its neck.
Then his mother dove, dispatching the hawk, her jowls enclosing expertly around its sinewy neck with a crunch. Hemlock released the bird as its body trembled over the moorland for a few seconds, blood draining from the bite marks near its head, and then it stilled, finally dead. Blinking, the black tom met his mother’s orange gaze with an infectious grin, his maws widening. “We did it!” he announced with a bounce, his tail raising into the air with a celebratory shake. “Mother, we did it!” And then he turned toward the mottled she-cat, his grin loosening the longer he stared.
“I’m sorry,” he meowed, his tail drooping. With a small smile, the tom closed the distance between them, affectionately rubbing his cheek against his mother’s, something he hadn’t done since he was a kit. For a moment, the tom remained there, breathing in her warmth, and then he broke away, his ears flicking. “I never meant to make you feel, well,” he meowed, shaking his head. “You’re the best mother I could have ever asked for, and I’m sorry for being such a childish, selfish son.” He chin his head bashfully. “I just want to make you proud, mother.” Flicking his tail across her shoulder, the tom bent down to snatch the hawk between his maws, and then he started to trot toward the tribe-kill.
"I bet Fog is gonna freak when he sees this," Hemlock meowed over the feathers in his mouth, his eyes gleaming as he glanced back toward his mother. Catching her gaze for a second, the tom raised his chin, and then he turned back toward the direction of the tribe stone. As his feet carried him over the moors, the black tom felt for the first time in his life that the land before him stretched toward his future, and this time, his father's beacon, like the sun, was in reach.
