Allegiances
You wake up from your nap with a jolt when you feel The Broken peel away from your side. Opening your sleepy eyes with a yawn, you peer curiously at her.
It's time! She tells you importantly, bouncing up and down on her paws.
She points to the shelter, and you see your father carefully and patiently beginning to ascend the shelter to its roof. The Wild is underfoot, helping to hold him up - or trying, in any case. You can't hear their talking from this distance, since they're not raising their voices to be heard across camp, but you can see from their gesturing and body language that The Pale is good-naturedly telling The Wild something, and seems to find the whole situation funny but unnecessary, while The Wild is in, as your father calls it, his "fussy mode" and worrying about him again.
Oh! Your apprenticeship! You feel a similar excitement bubbling in you, and you wriggle around in the dirt beside The Broken. You know your mother would probably try to clean you if she was outside, but you know with The Pale out here, she'll be nursing the eggs, so you feel more than safe to become all dusty.
You think again about how it's your best friend's ceremony, though, and start brushing it off yourself.
I wonder who's going to be my mentor! She says again, for the hundredth time. I didn't ask to be made any special role, so I know it won't be The Little, or the mediators.
I wonder too! You reply, also for the hundredth time. I bet my dad chose someone you'd really like to hang out with, or something!
Everyone! The Pale calls, finally settled on top of the shelter, sitting back on his haunches.
He doesn't have to call to announce the ceremony, because everyone knew that The Broken was coming to six months of age. The camp gathers attentively in front of him, already quiet and alert.
It's time for The Broken to begin her training. She's reached 6 months after all, and in her adolescence, she'll be taught everything a slugcat needs to survive; to find food, hunt, gather, dodge, and hide.
The Rain, please step forward.
The elderly blue slugcat seems pleasantly surprised. Obligingly, he walks to the front of the crowd, right at the shelter entrance. His cold has recovered, and he stands strong and tall again. The Rain even waves at your mother from where she's listening and watching from the nursery!
It is my belief that you'll be the best mentor for The Broken, Your father says with a smile. May you pass your confidence on to her, and teach her with all the experience I know you have.
The Broken steps up to him, at this point. She's also standing tall and proud, but you can see from the way her tail quivers that she's as nervous as she's ever been, just pretending not to be.
She reaches up, just as The Rain reaches down - very carefully, they touch their noses together. As you heard The Wind mention, The Rain takes this opportunity to whisper something to her, but it's so quiet you can't hear it even from your front row seat. Whatever it is, though, The Broken's tail stills, and she looks more confident than ever.
I'll teach her all I know, old friend. The Rain promises, looking up at The Pale. He nods back, pleased with this response.
And now, let's get out the grub! The Pale concludes, pointing at The Wild - who's apparently been waiting for just this queue, as he starts throwing out small pieces of food for everyone.
You don't see a dandelion peach, much to your disappointment - but you do get a chunk of centipede, so you're more than happy with that.
The Broken sits down again next to you, also gnawing on her own snack - an eggbug egg, by the looks of it - and beams at you.
Wow, The Rain, huh! I didn't expect that!
Me, neither! You agree. You don't know him very well, but from the interactions you have had with him, he's seemed pretty nice!
You hope The Broken enjoys her training... And you wonder, when it's your turn, who your mentor will be?
Maybe The Little?
It's not that this is the first time everyone's crowded into the den; after all, every time the clowder sleeps collectively, it's always in the shelter.
But it's the first time you've been outside for the warning signs of a torrent. Before, it meant nothing to little you - just a warning you didn't need to heed and noise outside, while you were warm and safe in the confines of your nursery. Now, outside in the camp, you peer anxiously around at the dark, stormy world.
Everyone around you is busy at work, bustling to make sure nothing important has been brought out and left behind, clearing things set up to take back inside, and the activity of many slugcats all surging into a dance they're well-familiar with but you are not leaves you just watching, small and helpless.
Not that you could do much to help anyway, after all - you are only a small pup, and currently the only pup. No one expects you to do anything! All you need to do is take yourself, and perhaps your ball of bundled plants, into the shelter.
But oh, what about the cups? As the world rumbles softly, like the growl of a slugcat's aggression, you check around to see if anyone has left your favourite cup outside. Yes, there it is - no one has brought it in yet! On all fours, you scuttle forwards to retrieve it, the gradient shell no longer sparkling under the black clouds.
Winged! Your mother calls from the shelter entrance, having noticed your absence.
Coming Mama, I'm coming! You look around and realise just how empty the camp is now, how many slugcats are peering at you from the entrance. The world rumbles just that much harder, and you start running to jump in through the door.
The shelter gates lock down behind you, shapes moving in harmony with loud clunks and clicks, and as it settles into shape with a groan, you hear the roar of the rain pelting outside, thundering down on the roof of the shelter.
Why'd you take so long!! The Broken demands, grabbing your tail and tugging it a little. I thought you would have already been inside, then I see you still outside in the sand grubbing around!
I was getting my cup! You protest, holding it out for her inspection. Not really mine. But it's my favourite.
She scoffs at you, sweeping her own tail dismissively. It's a pretty cup and all, but snails are gonna come out by the dozen during the rain anyway! So we could always make a new one.
That's right, Winged. The Silky places her paws on your shoulders, and you look up at her and your father as they crowd close to you. Remember, the rain is more dangerous than anything. We can replace a cup, but we cannot replace you.
Exactly. The Pale puts his paw on your head. If you were lost in the rain, then our Winged would be gone forever. Please don't cross the camp for something we can find or make again in the future, okay baby?
You didn't think about it like that... You had just wanted to get that cup before it got washed away, knowing that the rain would do it given the chance.
You look at your family, your parents and your best friend, and think about how sad they would be if you had been outside just a little bit too long and you'd been washed away in that crushing rain.
Okay, You say. I'll be careful next time.
You're sitting with your parents when The Pale sits up with a jolt.
His uncurling around the egg also knocks into you, and he steadies you back into a sitting position with a soothing coo before he turns urgently to The Silky.
Is yours moving? Mine is moving. The egg.
Mine is crying out, She reports, far calmer than him. It's time, yes.
And yes, now that you're looking, you can see the egg rocking to and fro, just a little - and when you perk your ears forwards, you can hear the faint, small squeaks of a slugpup from your mother's egg, muffled by the shell around it.
Your parents nod to each other. Together, they reach out their paws and lay them on their egg, before they start pressing them against the surface of the shell. The Silky presses her ear to the egg, listening to the peeps as she carefully raps at it. The Pale holds his egg steady, wedged between his hind paws, and begins to tap at it the same way.
You wander closer, curious, and watch in amazement as cracks begin to spiderweb across both shells. Your mother notices you, and beckons you over.
Would you like to help, Winged?
Yes! Oh, yes! You didn't know you could be of help! Immediately you step even closer - your mother shows you where to place yourself, her paw resting over yours as she lays one on her egg, and the other on your father's egg. Your father covers your paw on his egg, and with them guiding you [and very carefully making sure you don't use too much force, holding on to your paws to keep it slow], the three of you slowly help your baby siblings break through the confines of the walls.
As first one, then the other slugpup, tumbles out wet and mewling into the world, you're amazed to see how little they look. Were you really that tiny before? You seem small compared to all the adults and teens, but seeing your siblings, you suddenly feel like a giant.
They're furless. You say to your parents, confused.
That's right, Winged. Your mother says, licking over them. You looked like this too, when you just hatched!
You could see through me? You could see into me, and see the stuff inside me? You're aghast at this knowledge, and clutch at your own belly as if to hide what's already hidden by your fur.
Haha, it's kind of weird, isn't it? Your father chuckles, guiding the pups to his stomach. They latch on with their small mouths, suckling with a furious dedication and hunger. You guess you'd be hungry too, if you were in an egg for a month - and you were, so you guess you were really hungry then! Seeing the milk go inside their tummy. Don't worry, it'll grow in after a few days.
Your mother, now finished cleaning them of egg fluid, stands up with a stretch of her spine. They seem well and healthy to me, but I'll let The Little know to come over when they've a moment just to check them over.
That sounds good to me, The Pale agrees, curling his tail around to shield your siblings from the cold.
I'll be here, He adds, jokingly.
I'd certainly be surprised if you managed to be anywhere else! She snorts, flicking her tail at him.
What are their names gonna be? You ask, creeping close to peek over his curled body at them as your mother departs.
Hmmm, I suppose we'll see! Your dad replies, resting his cheek on the side of the nest as he looks at you. We usually wait until fur has grown in to decide on slugpup names, because then you have distinctive colours to base it off... Or, like you, they take the opportunity to start showing off their special little talents.
Can you tell which one hatched from which egg?
Oh, sure. He nods at the left one. This one was from your mother's egg, and hatched first. That other one is from mine.
Does that mean the first one will be green? Like the shell?
Maybe? The shell colour doesn't mean much to the slugpup fur. You came from a green egg too, after all!
You're amazed to think of that. The idea of also having been hatched from an egg is a little hard to grasp for you, because you don't remember it at all - really, you struggle to remember the time when you couldn't even toddle around the nursery without falling over. It's as if you've always been a young pup, active and aware.
But that's not true; one day in the past, you were a lot smaller. And one day in the future, you'll be a lot bigger.
As you're pondering the idea of growing, and being anchored to time, your mother comes back into the nursery section, The Little in tow.
— I suppose we'll need to look into rearranging the nests here again, to accommodate for her, The Silky is in the middle of saying. It'll be at least another month before she chooses to migrate here, I'm sure, but with the pups, it's better to shuffle around the space before Amber comes in.
The Amber is PREGNANT? You ask, loudly. The slugcats whose nests are closest to the entrance of this section of the nursery, the elders, peek their heads over.
Please, let's not spread this around. The Little says, raising their paws and holding them in front of themself in a pads-front, 'stop' gesture. I'd rather not this be gossiped about until the parent is ready to announce it herself.
Oh yes, you have our silence, Little. The Old Sun chuckles, her eyes glimmering. I'm sure I know who'd rather not have that secret slipped out. And my congratulations on the slugpups, you two - three little ones! I remember similar days. You'll have your paws full, I'm sure.
I rather expect it, The Silky agrees, twitching her ears in some amusement. I can only hope they'll be as sweet as their big sibling, as well!
You puff out your chest. That's you!
The Little sighs, though their eyes crinkle in a smile. I suppose I'll have to trust your words for that one. You aren't known to gossip quite as furiously as other elders I've known. Now then...
He bends over your father, who obligingly moves his tail aside to let The Little see the slugpups. They squeal in indignation at the top of their tiny lungs when The Little shifts them away from The Pale's fur. The firstborn squirms in what looks to you like panic when The Little picks them up, but this fear is soothed quickly by both your parents' comforting trills, and your own paw reaching out to touch their tail.
It takes a little time for the more anxious slugpups to become comfortable with strangers, The Little explains to you. Even though they are just born, so everything is new, you were all here to be the first things they ever scented this close to them. So I am instead an anomaly.
They look the pup over very carefully, murmuring softly to them, before setting them back down. The secondborn isn't as alarmed by being pulled away from your father's warm embrace, and only wiggles a little before settling to The Little's soothing rumble.
Both healthy as far as I am able to see, They confirm, once both slugpups have been nestled back and started nursing again. If there are any conditions, I don't believe they would be anything that would threaten their lives.
Your parents purr their relief. You're happy too, though you didn't quite realise that was a worry. You never thought about the idea of them being born and then never being able to meet them...
You're glad that everything is fine.
You almost don't notice as, over the days, your siblings' skin begin to change. Colours and patterns begin to show as the fur grows in.
The firstborn is a light blue, lighter than your father, but with a pelt like his. The secondborn is pink, with a pattern you've never seen - your parents tell you this one is called vulture, for the way the face mask resembles theirs, and you nod.
The Spark, eventually, is what the firstborn is called. She squirms under your paw when you touch her, spreading out her own tiny paws to knead your father's stomach.
Can she shock people? You ask your parents, curious about the title.
Your mother chuckles. No, dear. Not any more than static can create.
It's a little bit looks, a little bit hope. Your father explains. A lot of us have titles that are based on our pelts and appearance, after all. It stands out at first glance. And your siblings both have very bright eyes.
You nod. You also noticed that their eyelids, due to being a little see-through, had a slightly different colour - The Little explained that this was their eyes, so even before they opened them you could know what the colour would be.
So they're The Spark, for their bright eyes and, we hope, an energetic life. The Silky concludes.
Then, The Light, having a similar name, must have the same kind of reason. You lean close to him - the dark fur of his face makes his eyes look even lighter.
That's why he's The Light too, right?
That's right. We want him to have a bright life, just as bright as his eyes. The Pale nods.
The Light must have scented you so close, because he raises his tiny head, just a little. You're so close you can hear the sniff, sniff as he breathes in your smell, and then he reaches up. He places his small little paw on your nose, and squeaks very softly.
You feel an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. You think that maybe this is what your parents felt for you when you were born.
Another ceremony? You ask your mother, perking your ears up in curiosity.
Your father has scaled up to the top of the shelter again, and you know what that means by now - by the third time it's certainly become a pattern you can expect. Two in one month surprises you; of course everyone had known The Broken was to be apprenticed soon, so you knew that was coming, but who's going to be the central slug for this one?
You're also surprised to see both of them out of the nursery when your siblings have just newly hatched - but then, when you look around, you realise that The Amber isn't here, so you guess she's helping to babysit and nursing for the duration of this ceremony, since she already has milk anyway.
It certainly looks so! The Silky doesn't seem so surprised, but when you think about it, you didn't really expect her to be. The Pale talks with her about what he's thinking or wondering all the time, after all, so whoever this is meant to be for, she probably knows as well.
What kinda ceremonies are there? You wonder. I know graduation, and becoming an apprentice.
Quite so, Your mother agrees. There's also retirement, when a slugcat feels that they are too old and tired to continue properly scouting, collecting, and gathering. They become retirees, or elders, like The Old Sun, and spend most of their time telling stories or resting. In well-established, old clowders, they'd have spent all their youth taking care of the clowder, and now can talk about that clowder's history. We are rather newer, but just because the elders don't have any history for the clowder doesn't mean they don't have their own lives to recount. They might have never helped us personally...
Her tone turns a little darker. Or never helped anyone at all...
Why, it doesn't mean we should leave them to starve or be hurt. Even if they themselves don't agree with it! Everyone deserves to be taken care of, especially when they can't take care of themselves. This should be true for pups, elders, and everything in between.
You nod thoughtfully. Anything else you might have wanted to say dies down when The Pale lets out his series of quick chirps to quieten everyone, and start the ceremony.
Surprised, everyone? Don't worry, I think our recipient will be too! He chuckles, swishing his tail to the other side as he adjusts his footing. It's a little early, but it's my belief that this slugcat has had their training go so well that it's more than well earned.
The New Sun.
She looks startled to be named, and whips her head to look around at The Untouched and The Wind sitting beside her. They trill and chatter in delight, pressing up against her on both sides and thumping their forepaws against her.
That's you! You can hear a snatch of The Untouched's whisper.
Despite your youth, and the rockiness of adjusting to a new mentor after a month with your first, it is both The Olive and my opinion that you've become more than prepared enough to be considered a proper graduate.
Here's a prodigy for us! The Olive agrees, delighted. She's showing all her teeth, and her tail is thumping on the tail, proud. Her chest is puffed out, and she's grinning harder than you've seen her grin before - which is really saying something. Following in her mentor's footsteps, she is. It's absolutely the truth that she's learnt everything I could possibly teach her, and done it quickly!
But we don't have to move anything forwards until you're good and ready, Sun. So that is my question to you: do you believe yourself prepared to be considered a fully graduated member of the clowder? That you've been trained well enough in everything you've been taught to do it on your own, without supervision?
She raises her chin. Her voice, usually so quiet, rings out loud and clear. I do.
Then get up here! The Pale waves his tail merrily. The clowder's waiting to cheer for you!
And as The Sun carefully scales up the shelter to the roof, boosted with help from The Pale's outstretched paw, cheer they do. You even participate yourself, chanting her title to the same cadence everyone else is; you like The Sun, after all, and you're starting to get the hang of these celebrations. Her grandmother, despite her husky voice, still strains herself to cheer the loudest.
This time, there's no strange new foods catching your attention. As The Olive starts throwing out snacks for everyone, you hear your father speak to The Sun again.
I commemorate your dignity, and hope in future you continue to carry this trait with assurance in your heart.
Silhouetted against the infinite wall stretching up behind her, The Sun looks proud.
The Storm and The Old Sun seem to be having an argument about something. Their fur is bristling slightly and their tails are raised.
The New Sun, The Untouched, and The Wind are back from a patrol - they're supporting a stranger between all three of them. The new slugcat looks injured.
The Broken is gesturing towards you - she seems to want your help for something?
The Bouncy is sitting by himself, as he often is. He seems lonely.