ight had fallen. The calls of thousands of insects filled the air, making quick work of the silence that had briefly fallen over the island. From the docks of the Two-Leg Place to the tip of the Jagged Tooth, the daylight-dwellers settled into their nooks, letting the exhaustion of the previous day drag them into slumber. The sun had long ago lowered below the cascading horizon, letting the ends of the ocean swallow it whole as it dipped into the Deep. From the other end of the Deep, the moon began its ascent, beaming its dull, blue rays down upon the sleeping souls of the islands.But not all were asleep. Far to the east, along the banks of the Adder, feline figures prowled about in anger and anticipation. The cries of hatred and vengeance filled the dense pines in resonance, and atop the small perch that gazed out upon the ravine, three figures sat in patient silence, pondering solutions and appeasements. The one to the left, black as night, opened its jaw, revealing an array of pristine, piercing teeth.
"All shall fall silent; your chief speaks!" the call was short and direct, and the many cats that had busily paced about and noisily riled each other up suddenly fell into line, the wave of insect-buzzes filling the silence once again. For a moment, everything was still, and the soft lapping of the Adder river against the ravine's edge pulsed through the camp. Eager warrior and elder alike sat in complete concentration and respect for their chieftain, though many took silent note of his inexperience.
Finally, the central cat upon the mound of dirt shifted his weight, adjusting stoically to address those he cared so much for. The tom was Dustsky, chieftain of AshTribe, the Koa who was abandoned by his chief in AshTribe's time of need, and had watched out for his Tribe as best as he could throughout these recent moons. Softly, calmly, his words rolled from his mouth with a tinge of anxiety.
"The cats you had grown so fond of have betrayed us," the great tom began, brown eyes narrowing upon the warriors he addressed. "For far too long, they have swept their shadowed paws beneath our noses, and leave us baffled in their trickery. I ask that you hear my plea, however, to not act without thought. What will occur next may very well change the course of life on Big Paw,"
As the chieftain continued, a figure in the distance scoffed under its breath in disgust. For far too long, AshTribe was clawing away at the path of weakness. Still the Tribe struggled, in the hardest season of Leaf-Bare in near ten moons, no less, yet Dustsky still called for calm and patience. The black figure turned silently and trotted its way south, into the pines. A moment later, a small she-cat scuffled after the figure, filled with the ignorance of a kit and the arrogance of her mentor.
The morning sun cascaded brilliant rays of reds and yellows upon the great, naked eucalyptus trees that sat in slumber on the perched hill, awaiting warmer days to sprout leaves and cover the canopy with a thick, dense green. But on this particular morning, a shrill wind blew through the branches, carrying with it the tales of an early frost. A few muffled groans called from down below, amidst the roots of the mighty trees, where the cats of WaveTribe made camp.
While most were still sleeping, a few had stayed awake throughout the night in council with one another, on the other end of the hill to speak in quiet. Most namely, Swiftsky sat among them, his jaw tightened throughout the previous eve, occasionally piping up here and there, but mostly lost in thought. Few cats could figure what the old one was thinking, but most knew that he was pondering wisely. Beside him sat his Koa, Frostbite, who some of the older cats looked upon with feigned acceptance, though their love for the cat was genuine. To Swiftsky's left sat Wolfmask, Shaman of the tribe, who had brought the subject in question to the attention of the chieftain.
The night previous, Wolfmask had fallen into a dream unlike any SkyTribe had bestowed upon him. The scene was faded and dim, but the cries of cats amidst crag and rock was prominent throughout, while blood rained down from the clouds. It was Swiftsky who had awoken the thrashing feline, and had learned of the omen right then. So the old tom pondered in silence all of this time, until the next night, when Frostbite, Wolfmask, Swiftsky, and Cavetooth sat with each other and pondered the dream's meaning.
But the call of an early bird brought a stirring from the camp, and the meeting was ended, and the day began. The cats of WaveTribe began to wander about, grooming one another lovingly in the early hours of the day, kits and young apprentices bolting about in their games. Frostbite began piecing together a list of tasks to perform for the day, thinking of the cats that would be a good pick for each job. Wolfmask took note of the lack of blue ginger and tasselflower that would have normally been stocked thrice-fold this time of year, and would have to go out and find something to counter greencough soon, lest the kits become ill. All in all, life had seemingly returned to the camp, and the cats went on their way to begin the new day.
But Swiftsky still pondered the omen, and would do very little that day beyond meditate. Eventually, he figured, would be the half-moon, and Wolfmask would bring the young Rosepaw with him to the Tree of the Moon; hopefully there the Shaman would discover what the images meant.
From beneath the soil, they lept, one by one, into the sunlight. Over fifteen in all, they bade each other safe journey as they split into fragments, and trotted off in their assigned direction to fulfill today's tasks. Some felt their stomachs grumble angrily, but refused to think of it, and would make small talk with one another to hide their discomfort. But some were overcome by it, their insatiable hunger surfacing. No more split rations, they thought, as they trudged further south than they were supposed to; today, they feast!
