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What’s out there?
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Cricketkit’s little rumbling purrs deepened somewhat when her brother pressed back against her. That purr only broke off when Coldstar began to speak once more, pulling the ticked torbie’s attention back to him. A frown of disappointment lit her face, however, when her questions went utterly ignored. That wasn’t fair! The small kitten was about to voice her protest when the older tom told them that Stormeye learned a valuable lesson and if they listened, they would too. Cricketkit wasn’t sure that she wanted the story to be about learning. Couldn’t stories just be fun? Her frown deepened and the little kit looked deeply unsatisfied, her gaze now wandering as she seemed to only half listen.

The chocolate torbie sighed and patted at a pebble for a moment, her eyes flicking to the ball of moss that they had been playing with early. What was she supposed to learn from this story? And why was she supposed to learn? Cricketkit looked up at the large tom who was telling the story. “But why wespect food?” she mewled indignantly. “If can hunt, it feeds us, why show wespect?” The little kitten was growing tired from the long day and was beginning to feel irritable that she couldn’t see the point of the story nor just enjoy it. Before she could say anything more, a yawn widened her jaws, showing her tiny milk teeth.

Roly poly, topsy turvey, bumble paws

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Beetlekit listened hard, even as Cricketkit's attention began to drift. His blue eyes stayed fixed on Coldstar, wide and reflective as he tried to imagine each scene...after every triumph there seemed a silence that followed.

His paws kneaded slowly at the dirt as Cricketkit asked again about respect. He glanced at his sister, noticing the way her energy had dulled around the edges and reached lazily for the moss ball, catching it in his tiny claws where he just seemed to knead the green.

His tail stub twitched once. "Mama say...ev'thin cost sumtin..." He didn't fully understand it, the balance of it all, but if prey was left in such a mess, and that mess could be seen - No doubt she'd get in trouble.

He just hoped they woudln't get in trouble for being out so long...

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I identify as a threat. My pronouns are Try/Me.

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Rather than admonish Cricketkit for her lack of attention, Coldstar chose instead to purr and skip the story ahead a little bit - to at least get to the exciting part. 

"Stormeye padded her way towards the plains but something was off - she felt eyes on her watching the way she snaked through the tall grass. Watching the way she paused to clean her whiskers. Tracking her.

A creature lunged from the underbrush, and made to bite the back of her throat. Stormeye turned and swiped at the creature - her hiss taking up her entire chest. The beast that made to kill her was unfazed, stalking her on paws that look the same as ours, if as large as river stones. It's muscles, hidden under dense, spotted fur bunched with unused violence and it stared her down with yellow, slit eyes. Like that of an adder. Like that of a cat. 

The two stood a fox length away before the Beast straightened, and unexpectedly, spoke. 'Little prey, you are smarter than the same of your kind from the Unfurred Keepers dens. It's a pity you were born in that little form. You have the spirit of a Keen One.'

Stormeye protested. 'I am not prey! I am a warrior, a cat from the clans! We clean ourselves like you do! Our kits are protected in dark dens for their safety - we bask in the sun, and decorate our nests with soft things! Just like you!'

The Looming figure was did not flinch. "You are describing the way of the world. The actions of all beasts under the sun. Why do you think that grants you special mercy?" It straightened. "Your kills are impressive. But that doesn't change the way that you are. You are prey - to me, and to others.' It's muscles tensed as it made to leap again - the tuft's on it's ears twitching in indignation.

Now run, little cat of the clans. For you are nothing but a hunt to me.'

What’s out there?
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Cricketkit watched as her brother hooked the mossball and started kneading it rather than toss it. She sighed, waiting to get her answer and rolled her eyes at Beetlekit’s comment. She had no clue what that meant and she doubted he did either. Besides, what did that have to do with respecting prey? Food didn’t have lives to even respect. It was just there for them to catch and eat at their leisure. Right?

Once more the little torbie had her question go unacknowledged and now she was finding herself angry. As the tom continued the story, the little she-kit debated simply storming off and finding Bloomfire in order to have her admonish him for ignoring her important questions. It was more the uncertainty of whether Bloomfire would actually support her or tell her off for leaving the nursery that kept Cricketkit seated. Pouting, the chocolate torbie only half listened as she stared at the mossball, feeling wretched. She hated not knowing things. It made her feel stupid and she didn’t like feeling stupid.

For the tom’s part, the story did appear to get more interesting and as Cricketkit’s attention was drawn back in, she felt herself tensing, fearing for Stormeye’s safety. The Riverclan kit crouched down fearfully as the beast was described and couldn’t help but let out a wordless mewl of fear. Shivering, Cricketkit moved to press against her brother, staring wide-eyed at the tom-cat telling the story. Why had this story become scary? Was it because she had been too demanding? Another shiver ran through the ticked torbie and she silently decided to stop asking questions and find another way to discover the answers if it meant no more scariness.

As the tom reached another natural pause, Cricketkit hunkered further down, silent this time. She glanced over her shoulder and around the camp, her eyes wide with fright as though she expected the mighty beast to appear at any moment. It seemed to the young she-kit that the moral here was not to annoy or anger those who were in charge. The concept of cats truly being prey to other creatures too was completely beyond her young imagination and as such, she took the moral thus far, to mean to not go against your superiors’ demands or you would be hunted by a beast.

Roly poly, topsy turvey, bumble paws

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Beetlekit's kneading slowed as the story darkened. At first he'd been half lost in the rhythm of the moss beneath his paws but when Coldstar described the creature in the grass his claws forgot about the moss and the back of his ears flattened.

It was like he could see it in the grass beyond. Eyes like an adder watching and waiting for them to make the wrong move. He echoed her mewl and leaned against her, yet the force didn't match her own and he toppled onto his back. His stub tail tucked tight against his haunches.

"…S'big..." He whispered as he stared up into the sky, waggling his paws with a shiver. He didn't expect something would be hunting Stormeye as if the beast might step out from the shadows any moment. The world suddenly felt a lot wider than the nursery...

Scruffy belly exposed, Beetlekit didn't move - didn't risk it. Maybe the beast wouldn't gobble him up if he looked as pathetic as he thought he looked.