[beau]

silt | 10 moons at death | he/him | stc in death, outsider in life

Silt hated this afterlife. Hated, hated, hated it. In all his moons up in the stars, it was silent. Cats spoke, sure, but they didn't talk. He could count on one paw the number of times he had eavesdropped on a substantial conversation, or witnessed a cat actually care. He himself had not had a conversation since he was first guided to StarClan by Snailkit. Honestly it was surprising how hard these pretentious rat-tails were gate-keeping the place. 'Oh welcome to StarClan! We don't want anyone else in our crappy club so back to your silly little life you go!' It was ridiculous. What ever happened to resting in peace? Or those cats who burned through their life like a pile of brush? Those who lived terrible lives? Who gave them the right to send the most obnoxious cats back down to torment all the other cats smart enough to still be alive.

One day, though, the silence broke. Someone was talking. Not speaking, not prattling, but talking. Lecturing, even. Showing at least a smidge of emotion that wasn't vacant complacency. He did as the cat requested and stepped forward, half-surprised as other spoke their own grievances. "I don't want a single unworthy cat dancing the border of life and death again. Life, especially life after death, is no longer valued as a gift or miracle, but as an expectation. I stand with you all." Did he know any of these other cats? Heck no, but they were talking and the words they were saying made more sense than anything he had ever heard since his last conversation with Tidepaw.

[ @Poprock, @perseus., @BEAR., @marshall, @Jester, @Lillian, @Starfall, @dino. ]