#'otters are predators after all' im biting

[fallenclan]

An Otter's Song

a fucking FANTASTIC poem by dice anon!!! he submitted it and asked for it to be posted, so he could stay on anon, so I will put it under the cut :) it's SO fucking good holy shit

An Otter's Song

He wasn’t known for his knowledge, ever.

A kitten, adopted by

Scorching skies and stinging nettles, 

was known.

He was perceived 

And seen. 

He existed.

  Ivy leaves curled around his chest once

Suspicion making his eyes water.

Flashes of lanky reeds drifting in the breeze

And ivy leaves snaking through his bones.

  The scorching skies and nettles protected.

The kitten, happy

Began his journey.

A crow’s feather in his paw

A grin on his face

And those eyes.

Yellow, gleaming white and blue in the sun.

The scorching skies once remarked it was akin to the light

Of the brightest fire in the sky

Glimmering across a frozen landscape

  The sky cracks momentarily

And tears fall.

Nettlestem’s eyes, wide with fear.

Dog bites, huge and deep, cover her body.

The kitten, aged enough to grieve right, weeps.

  His mama has passed

And it’s the first time he’s seen his mother cry.

  Otterpaw wasn’t known for knowledge, ever.

He was seen as a playful cat 

but one laced with a deep-cutting sadness.

He was perceived and seen.

He didn’t think he could exist like he had before

But he’d survive.

Not live, but survive.

  Maple leaves covered his pelt

And the sun freckled the ground where he trained.

Training upon the cliff sides of the peak

He almost slips.

He gazes behind him and sees it for the first time

Practically stalagmites, the stones rise upward as if

To touch the stars

  The distraction gives Maplethorn 

A chance to dodge the next strike

Otterpaw almost falls, unbalanced.

Maple leaves push him back up from the cliff sides

And save him from those unforgiving spires.

  A golden lion stands atop a stone

And gazes down upon him.

He is perceived in this moment

But not understood.

  Otterslip.

He runs quickly, and was named for that.

But all he can think of are those rocks

That spiral up and down.

That pierces his dreams

And makes them bleed.

  He runs and runs and runs and runs and–

An eagle’s call stabs into his heart.

The sun almost blinds him

And he practically falters.

  He rips and rends into its flesh and feathers

And it falls.

The sky rushes around him as 

He panics to get to his paws.

It feels horrible and the wind

Seems to be punishing him.

  The sun blinds him.

The scorching sky does nothing.

Waltzes past without real care.

  Blood stains Scorchstar’s mind.

Her scream is still echoing in her ears.

Reverberating and curling around her mind.

She cannot and will not

Forget it.

  Otterslip was a fast cat, able to scale the cliff sides, 

Quietly,

Quickly,

And efficiently.

He had to. 

It could be a life or death moment.

Something snaps as hail beats down on him

And he lets it.

The scorching skies have 

Stopped giving him warmth.

  In her final gasping moments

She confesses to her son.

She killed the sun and snuffed it’s flames

And she made sure nobody knew.

He watches her, expression blank.

There was time to get help,

But Scorchstar refused it to make things right 

With the stars.

She will remain among them in death

And he will not.

  He snakes among the grasslands, claws out.

He needs to be angry

And to let it all out.

He hunts for a cat to hurt, and finds none.

  Although, he does find three kittens

And they are hidden with plants.

Grass sways in the breeze, thick with dewdrops.

Yew berries dip low, heavy with their own weight.

Ivy, like before, winds upward. 

It is not within his bones. It never will be.

  He was perceived and seen. 

He existed.

And he will make sure he is known.

  A storm rumbles high above.

Whispers curling around his ears.

The wind rushes around him

Like before,

But now it is tainted with hostility.

Eyes blink open around him.

  He is witnessed

And he is monstrous.

  A dog’s snapping jaws, foam dripping red around it’s

Slobbering jaws.

Grasses torn up

Roots dislodged and ravaged.

Ivy leaves curling around

Weeping and crying.

Yew berries 

Dripping with dewdrops and tears.

  A dog has ruined his life.

The wounds of Nettlestem are seared into his eyes.

The gasping breaths of Scorchstar are whistling in his ears.

The scent of that crimson blood of Grassroot  in his nose.

  He lashes out, and the cliffsides rise up to greet him.

The storm rumbles, but ceases.

It’s screech echoes around the stones

It’s eyes stare as the sickening

CRACK

Echoes around the land.

He tastes iron on his tongue.

The storm has ceased.

Like his mother before him had snuffed out

The sun.

  He runs.

He was named for his speed.

He stumbles.

Slipping on his past.

His eyes, once honored for their beauty

Are bloodshot as he yowls out.

The golden lion watches, horrified.

  Like before

Otterslip is witnessed.

He is seen.

He will never be understood.

His flesh, destined to be meat and bone

And nothing else.

Otters are predators after all.

They must be dealt with.

  The lion roars

And he runs.

He feels the thick light of the sun on his back

And he cannot tell if it is the damnation of Sunwish

Or the regret of his mother.

It doesn’t last long though.

Rain begins to beat down, thick and heavy.

Bulging with regret and woven with the scent of smog.

  And those eyes.

Yellow, gleaming white and blue in the sun.

The scorching skies once remarked it was akin to the light

Of the brightest fire in the sky

Glimmering across a frozen landscape.

  The fire is gone

Smoldering.

There are dancing colors in his vision.

Bismuth in nature and reflecting off each other.

He cannot remember where he is.

Blood stains his paw.

He shifts it, and pain fires up through his leg.

  His leg aches.

The stones around him are gleaming with

That shimmering crimson.

That crimson that stains every moment of his life.

He looks back on his memories, operose.

  Viscera and gristle stain his mind

And he feels guilt.

He does not know if he should.

The sanguineous nature of the clans

Stain his judgment, clouding it.

He is blind

And he is exactly what StarClan wants in a victim.

  He stands before the stars.

Their judging gaze pierces him.

  He is witnessed.

He is truly seen.

Every aspect of his life, examined.

Every action, weighed and debated upon.

The scorching skies say nothing.

The stinging nettles accuse her son of those crimes.

  He will not get a chance to defend himself.

The stars will never understand him

And he will not try to get them to.

  He doesn't understand himself.

All he knew is that there was a storm.

And that it beat down and oppressed him

And its winds spread lies.

But it was gone.

It’s eyes and lies

Dead by his own paw.

  He is witnessed.

The trees branches wind around him

Bark snapping and curving around his pelt.

He screams.

  He thrashes.

He cannot escape.

He speaks to another cat, one last time.

  “I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, please!”

Stormsight watches, guilt clear in his eyes.

Otterslip screams.

Sinewy strength beats back at the branches.

  “Let me see my daughter! I want to say goodbye!”

Grassroot does not appear.

Otterslip, lachrymose to a pathetic extreme

Wails for his life.

“Let me try to be better!”

  The branches tug at his pelt.

“I’ll do good!”

Thorns stab into his brown pelt.

  “This is not mercy!”

He screeches and sobs.

“This is DESECRATION!”

He roars.

  The trees claim him.

His fatal wounds bleed

With a thick dark fluid.

It is practically oozing from his pelt

And from his open flesh.

There will be no storms here.

There will never be any sun

And no plants will sprout.

  The ivy leaves that once woven around his bones have died.

The stinging nettles in his fur have shriveled.

The scorching sky has ceased its warmth.

The grasses, unrooted before, are gone.

The yew berries have rotten.

The ivy around his paws has crumbled.

  He walks onward.

The red forest follows.

Its silence is oppressive.

  A crow’s call makes his ears perk.

He looks up

And a new sight is before him.

A hazy image of the sky 

And unfamiliar cats.

He turns away, lashing his tail at it.

He feels some of his feathers slip from his tail

And he turns to pick them up.

  The image is gone, and so have the feathers.

Realization slams into him.

He is dead

But he still has power among the living.

And he will have to use it

To live again.

  He was once witnessed

And he will inflict that pain upon another.

  i wrote a snippet of this as propaganda for the favorite cat poll but then realized that it was actually turning out okay, so i finished it :3