library-of-vulpecula

[library-of-vulpecula]

Turtlepaw's Talent

Turtlepaw is struggling.

She tries her best- really, she does- but every minute of her warrior training feels wrong. She’s so close to her assessment, but she knows she won’t pass it. How is she meant to be a warrior when she can barely land a blow? Every moon, the gap between her and her sister grows wider, and she can barely stand it.

Creekgaze is an amazing mentor, too, always explaining things in ways she can understand, but it’s like her brain and her paws are at war. She wants to disappear every time she scares off another piece of prey, or takes another hit during her spars. She knows she’s letting him down. She knows she can do better. And yet, every day she comes back to camp with nothing to show for it.

”At least I’m good at this,” she sighs to Siltwhisker as she delicately harvests herbs. Siltwhisker insists she helps him, always claiming she’s the most careful. He’s probably just being nice, but Turtlepaw appreciates it anyway. “Maybe I’ll just never become a warrior, and do apprentice tasks forever. I’ll be Turtlepaw the elder,” she jokes, but she can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Siltwhisker gives her an odd look, and Turtlepaw withers. Of course Siltwhisker wouldn’t let her bother him forever, even as a joke. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Siltwhisker speaks first.

“Is being a warrior what you actually want?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. He looks straight at Turtlepaw, but his eyes seem unfocused, like he's staring past her instead.

“O-of course! It’s what I’ve been training for, isn’t it?” Turtlepaw sounds unconvinced, even to herself. She waits for Siltwhisker to respond, but he just stares at her, his expression unreadable. 

“...Well, it’s not like I have other options now. I can’t just keep being a burden to the Clan forever,” she mumbles defensively.

“First of all, you wouldn’t be a burden even if you just sat around and ate freshkill all day,” Siltwhisker mews, placing his tail across her shoulders. “And second… You do have options. It’s not too late to train as a medicine cat, if you’re interested.”

It’s Turtlepaw’s turn to go silent. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, searching for words that don't come. Honestly, it’s an… appealing offer. She’s always in the medicine den anyway, so much that Coralpaw complains about the scent stuck in her fur. And she’s about a thousand times better at finding herbs than she is at finding prey. Still, she’s already been training for four moons… “Is that really okay?” she wonders out loud.

“It’s actually not uncommon,” Siltwhisker shrugs. “I was lucky. I knew when I was a kit that I wanted to be a medicine cat… or rather, I wanted to be like Marshleap,” He admits, a flash of fondness lighting up his eyes. “But the medicine cat before him, Pearlheart, only started training at twelve moons.”

Turtlepaw swallows, her heart fluttering in her chest. “... I don’t know. Wouldn’t I just get in the way…?” she asks hoarsely.

Siltwhisker’s golden eyes shine. “If you did, it’d be the very first time,” He purrs warmly. “Even as a kit, you never made a mess. That’s more than I can say for myself.”

Turtlepaw smooths the fur on her chest, overcome with a mix of pride and embarrassment. She finishes collecting the bundle of sage at her paws, not quite looking at Siltwhisker. “...If it’s really allowed… I think I’d like that,” She meows shyly.

“Then pick those up, and let’s go speak to Foamstar.”

[library-of-vulpecula]

“Yes, they are very close. Thank the Tidelord they found each other. Here is how it went...”

____

Goliath stared blankly into the lake, not making true eye contact with her reflection. She watched the water ebb and surge. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours; to Goliath, time had stopped. It was just her, the water, and her memories.

Images floated behind her eyes. Her first nest. Her childhood friends. Stumbling across her familiar. She stayed in her head, letting her mind roam.

Soon, she became distantly aware of someone approaching. She readied herself to move, bringing her mind back to her body, blinking rapidly to clear the haze. Goliath turned slowly, and met eyes with Lara.

Goliath's gaze instantly softened. Lara's graceful form was weighed down by the signs of grief. It seemed like she wasn't present, like her soul was held far away from her body, the way Goliath had been moments before. Her steps seemed unsure, as if the ground would fall out from underneath her. Her wings were drawn tightly in, and her head was low. This was a stark contrast from her usual appearance; Lara was a proud young dragon, and a stubbornly optimistic one at that. To see her so defeated genuinely shook Goliath.

Lara seemed to awaken once she sat by the older female. She made a soft noise of surprise, like she didn't know that she'd walked here.

Goliath acknowledged her, then turned her head back toward the water.

Lara stared, too. The tight ball of emotions in her chest suddenly began to uncoil, and she started to tremble, unsure how to handle them. Her breath turned shallow. She wondered if she had made a mistake, if seeking out Goliath was a stupid decision. An apology slipped out of her throat and she stood.

Goliath's eyes told her everything she needed.

I understand. I care. You are not intruding. It's okay. I'm listening. I'm here.

Lara instantly broke, making herself small next to Goliath. She shivered. Incoherent words spilled out of her mouth, barely forming real sentences. Explanations, grief, apologies, questions, they all poured out of her body as if she was possessed by them. And Goliath listened.

Goliath, too, knew that feeling. Loss. Fear. Insecurity. The two stayed like that for hours, long after the surge had run through Lara, simply in silence as she collected her mind.

The next morning, Lara was nowhere to be seen. Not the next, or the morning after that. Six weeks passed without a sign. The clan was worried, but there was nothing they could do. She hadn't left behind a trail.

Goliath was sitting by the lake when Lara returned. The skydancer looked at her warmly and sat, too. Goliath gave her an inquisitive look, but remained silent, waiting for Lara to be ready.

And finally, the graceful dragon took a breath. "Thank you."

__

“Goliath is a great listener. When I was a hatchling, I told her all my stories. If she wasn’t so quiet, maybe she’d be the storyteller! You should pay her a visit.”

[library-of-vulpecula]

“Iro, huh?” Vulpecula gives you a curious look. “Yes, he has an interesting story. Sit down. You may be surprised about how he was born...”

__

  Illusion was curled protectively over her son. The mother, normally shy, was uncharacteristically fierce, snapping at anybody who approached. She was absolutely beside herself with worry. Of course she was... It had been a week and he hadn’t opened his eyes.

 Nobody in the lair could get close enough to console her. She had sealed herself away in a tiny den only a Fae dragon could reach, soothing her wailing son. They say that some nights, Illusion cried so loudly that Goliath could hear her from the larger nursery. Night after night passed with no change. That’s when they sent in Sharkwing.

Sharkwing found her whimpering next to Iro. I’ve heard that Illusion had completely lost her composure, abandoning her trademark air of grace for a sickly, terrified expression. Every bit of her was trembling with anticipation, like she hadn’t relaxed her muscles since her son had hatched. She muttered line after line of prayers and lullabies to soothe Iro.

"What?" Illusion mumbled, finally noticing the older Fae. "Who is it? Go away." Sharkwing was soft-spoken and kind. "My friend," she started, unsure of how to break the news. "We've been speaking... We... Well, Illusion, we think it's time to accept it." "Accept what?" the mother asked, defensive. "Iro is...  tiny. I wish I didn’t have to say it, Illusion, but... he won’t make it. Illusion, you can't sacrifice your other hatchlings for him." Illusion let out a terrible noise and curled tighter around Iro. She'd already known that. She knew what the tribe thought. She felt like all of Sornieth was begging her to give him up.

 But she could feel the life pulsing just underneath his skin, rushing like ocean currents, seething with energy. Her other hatchlings were in good care. This one, Iro... he was special. She knew that if they could all just wait a little longer... She wanted to tell Sharkwing, but she was already continuing. "He is sick, Illusion, and weak. You can give everything to him, but he still will not grow. I have seen it happen too many times to let you go through with this." Illusion shook her head. "Listen to me- can you feel it? He will make it, just-" "Illusion, you're hysterical. Please-” "You don't understand!" Illusion's eyes were alight. She couldn't string together the right words. She fumbled, drawing herself into a defensive pose. "I do! I do understand! Do you not remember my son, Arthe? It would be kinder to leave him!" Sharkwing bellowed. "NO!" Illusion wailed. Even for her incredibly tiny size, her shout shook her nest. Frustration rolled off of her in sweltering waves. Tremors ran like fault lines through her body. She knew he would make it. As she shielded her son from view, Sharkwing started to speak again. 

But she was silenced. Iro was shuddering. He started to cry, wail, shriek, louder than an earthquake, louder than any hatchling could ever sound. Sharkwing thought she might pass out from shock. Illusion couldn’t even breathe. He opened his eyes, swirling whirlpools, a defiant storm. And he was strong.

__

“Iro is a good dragon. I’m proud to be his kin.” Vulpecula murmured, almost to herself. She seemed to remember your presence. “Aah, can I help you with anything else?”