Being a hollow-guard requires incredible skill and strength. One must trust their instincts, even on the smallest of hunches. They must also be fierce and unyielding, willing to lay their life down for the Tribe of Soaring Oaks.
As of late, many ha...
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When he returned to his post, there was no one waiting to scold him. His absence was wholly unnoticed, just as he wanted, and there was still plenty of time before the sun would begin to set.
Maybe he should have spent more time with Sun. Could he have at least started to dig a grave? His father surely deserved that much; the grave the Tribe dug for him so long ago was a poor memorial now that Drift knew it had been premature. All that was inside was the bloody tuft of Sun's fur that had convinced everyone of his death far too soon.
It was too late to go back, though. By the time Drift reached the ridge, it would be time to return to his post before someone discovered his absence. If he stayed even to break the earth, soften it for later digging, he would be discovered without a doubt.
So he waited at the old ash tree until Hawk arrived to replace him. "Good to have you back," she said, stifling a yawn. "Not easy spreading three cats over four shifts."
"No, not easy," Drift agreed. Without the heart to tell Hawk that it probably wouldn't be long before they were down to three again, he only bid her goodnight before returning to camp. She barely noticed.
In camp, though, everyone noticed. All eyes were on Drift as he pushed through the camp entrance. It was like he was a ghost suddenly unleashed on the living once more. Cats looked up from their meals, their friends, their children, all to stare at him.
Then Flight came to his rescue, bounding over to invite him to share a sparrow. Print was at her heels in a flash, too, promising that it was a very good sparrow. Drift was inclined to believe her, based on the feathers sticking to the sides of her mouth.
The Tribe watched them as they crossed to the nursery at Print's behest, and only in the growing shade of the den did they finally have any privacy. The ferns which shielded the kits inside from view also furled outward and guarded against unwanted stares.
Sitting there with Flight, Print, and two hearty sparrows, Drift felt himself relax for the first time all day.
"We heard you were back on day shifts," Flight said. She nudged one of the sparrows toward him, the one without Print-sized bite marks at its throat. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Feeling up to it," Drift corrected her, staring into the sparrow's glassy eyes. He didn't feel better, not really. He just lived a different sort of sadness now, a sadness lacking in desperation, brimming with emptiness. He wasn't better. His head was just clearer.
Then again, the whole Tribe probably though him completely mad, even Flight. Any show of rationality on his part probably seemed like a vast improvement.
The sparrow was dry and it stuck in his throat, but Drift ate it anyway, he and Flight trading it back and forth between bites. This way, they didn't have to talk, one always with their mouth full. Besides, Print filled the silence with ease, sharing her latest adventures with her adoptive brother. Today, she and Pebble had been so bold as to sit atop the nursery until a hawk swooped down and chased them to Dawn's side again.
