Going Nowhere Fast

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Just along WindClan’s borders, where the sloping moors ran up to meet civilization, was nestled a small horse farm. When it came to felines, the place was pretty lacking, save for one, although she could only be considered a cat by technicality. She had whiskers and fur and could meow like a champ, but otherwise she was disappointingly dissimilar to her species. It wasn’t her fault, really. Growing up among exclusively among dogs, horses, and her Housefolk had just done very little to teach her how to act like a proper cat. Simply put: she was kinda weird.

This fact only bothered Betelgeuse on days when she was reminded of it, and these did not occur very often. Today was not one of them, and she had started the morning off with her usual routine: patrolling the outermost field of her Housefolk’s farm. It was mostly unoccupied. A few horses were grazing closer to the house, but by the time Betelgeuse had wandered to the furthest parts of the fence, they were merely brown and white silhouettes in the distance. Glad to have some space from their hooves, which always seemed a little too close to accidentally stomping on her extremities, the white she-cat leapt to the top of one of the fence posts and peered out at the uplands beyond.

She had seen cats come from there, months ago at least, and was glad they hadn’t wandered by since. They looked scruffy and wild and entirely unfriendly, not to mention pretty foreign to a gal who never had a feline friend in her life. They seemed far too dangerous to bother with, and Betelgeuse was pleased to see no movement as she surveyed the world beyond her fence.

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Meadowlark was on the pursuit. Most said that she pursued happiness, other said she was endlessly searching for an escape. Neither of these things was true. They would never and could never be true. No, Meadowlark was in the pursuit of truth. The notion was both blatantly simple and hopelessly confusing. She wasn't looking for any one truth in particular, but every truth there was to find. She devoted her life to pursuing the answers to life's questions. She distanced herself from others, had no need of them. It all stemmed from a life of abuse, but not one she was willing to dwell on nor speak of. It was her own business and so far, no one had gained her trust nor her faith. She doubted anyone ever would. She just wasn't the type.

Meadowlark's lynx-point markings made her stand out. In short, others took notice of her, and all attention was unwelcome attention in her mind. Whenever she happened to encounter others, she took time to question them deeply - though not on the common subjects. She didn’t care who they were or what they enjoyed. She wanted to know their goals, their fears, their triumphs, their opinions, their beliefs. And yet, when anything resembling a question was asked of her, she responded defensively. Immediately on her guard and aloof. She never knew truly who they were, she only wanted the truths they had to give her.

Meadowlark heard a cacophony of screeches and her ears perked. Her first instinct told her to flee. The cat, whoever it was, sounded like they were in intense pain. Meadowlark had had enough of pain, she'd suffered enough of it at the paws of the clan. Why did she need to add others' pain to her own? Her second instinct, however, told her there were truths to be found in the midst of pain and horror. With a slightly annoyed sigh, but filled with devotion to her cause and her name, Meadowlark began cautiously making her way towards the cries. She soon found herself looking at a field, eerily peaceful and serene despite the cries that had echoed in it not minutes before. Meadowlark picked her way into the long grass. It brushed against her paws and her belly and if she pressed against the ground, she found herself concealed. She laid there for a moment, but there wasn’t truly a point to such wandering. She glanced up. Soon enough, she would be required back at camp. She lifted her head, a certain regal paranoia as she picked her way back to the camp site. She entered, slinking to the side, oblivious of even the most casual of eyes.

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