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Silverpelt and the First Cat
"But," Firepaw scrunched up his brow, "what is Silverpelt anyhow?" Beside him, Greypaw sighed, the deep, tired sigh of someone who didn't know where to start explaining.
But it was Halftail who answered. "No, young apprentice, you ask the wrong question. You mean; who is Silverpelt?"
Firepaw's eyes blinked in confusion at this twist, and Greypaw burst in before he could ask what he meant: "But, Halftail, didn't grandpa ban that story?"
"Thistlestar did?" the ruddy apprentice looked between the elders and his friend, clinging desperately to the topic lest he lose what little understanding of it he had.
Greypaw only nodded, but Halftail snorted, none too elegantly either. On his flank, One-eye murmured something, but only snuggled closer to her mate.
"Bah, mayhap he did," the scarred old tom muttered, "but I'm not afraid of our honourable leader's reprimand."
"You're not?" Greypaw meowed, yellow eyes wide, like the very idea that his grandfather did not incite fear in everyone was somehow beyond comprehension.
"You forget my age, Greypaw," Halftail said amusedly, "I slayed foxes before your grandsire even left his den. To me he will only ever be a kit. How could that ever inspire fear in me?" Now this comment made One-eye chuckle at his side.
"I suppose so," Greypaw nodded, the apprehension in his eyes exchanged for awe. Firepaw inclined his head in agreement. Although the thought of Thistlestar as anything but the towering, unforgiving tom that he was was nearly too difficult to imagine, the apprentice figured he understood Halftail's sentiment.
"Now then, are you still interested in hearing my story, Firepaw?" the elder turned his head, amused amber eyes gliding over him. Firepaw nodded again.
"I'll warn you now," he began, sounding much more serious, "that if you want to be diplomatic, don't bring this tale up at Gatherings - that is, especially if you sit with WindClan."
"Why's that?" Firepaw shot in, unable to restrain himself; he threw his eyes to the ground in shame for a moment, but looked back up upon hearing One-eye chuckle again. "Tell him, Sparrowpelt, no need for your dramatics," the pale she-cat purred, sounding as drowsy as she looked. She didn't even raise her head, only nudged her mate in the side.
Halftail's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Sensibilities," he declared with a snort. "WindClan accepts no lore that touches on Silverpelt or StarClan without a fight, raising their hackles like our old tales are insults flung in their faces. Mousebrains, the lot of them."
"Oh." Firepaw couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice, but turning his face to glance at his friend, found that Greypaw was nodding along with a sagely expression; while he didn't truly buy into his expression - Greypaw was too much of a jester to adopt such a look as if he meant it - his agreement in and of itself told Firepaw all he needed to know. This was something he too needed to learn, if he was to get along with the other Clans.
"Ahem, now for the story itself," Halftail started anew, drawing his paws close to his chest. "Long before the Clans existed, and Silverpelt was yet young and lonely, she fell in love. As a spirit whose duty it was to raise the moon high every night, she could not descend to the ground to be with the one she loved, but, upon hearing of her feelings, the tom who had captured her heart journeyed far and wide, until he found a mountain tall enough to take him into the skies. Once there, this tomcat declared he wished to know Silverpelt, wished to see her, speak with her. He too, had found his heart drawn to this faraway spirit. And Silverpelt answered his plea, landing onto the mountain peak, and the two were happy."
Halftail stalled, coughed once, and resumed again, his tone now less dreamy. "However, not all were happy at their union. Silverpelt had a brother, who raised the sun every day, and he looked upon their love with disdain. 'Intolerable', her brother said, 'that she should so neglect her duties for the sake of a mortal cat. I cannot agree with this.' And true to his word, Silverpelt's brother decided to express his disdain, and pulled the sun away from the mountain on which the two mates resided. It grew cold and terribly dark, and Silverpelt wondered what had happened, and left to ask her brother. Summoned by her, her brother told her to stop descending to the ground, and to resume her duty to the moon. Silverpelt wished to say no, but she knew as well as he that her happiness could not last, and so finally agreed - on the premise that she was allowed to spend two more moons with her love, and then leave him for ever. Her brother agreed, because while he was harsh, he was not cruel."
"I know what happens next!" Greypaw puffed in exitement, but was swiftly shut up by the look Halftail graced him with.
"Then do you wish to continue the story?"
"Uh... no. Sorry, Halftail."
"Very good." Now, Silverpelt was very wise in asking. While she had surrendered herself to the fact their love could not last the same way her existence did, she was not resigned to the thought of a lonesome eternity anymore, now she had had a taste of companionship. Unbeknownst to her brother, she secured the ties between herself and her mate forever; she bore him kits."
Firepaw's eyes widened. Kits? With a spirit? How did that even work?
"Their union produced four kits, all of which had spiritual ties to Silverpelt. After they were born, she gave them to her mate, asking him to hide them in his home, and then left for the skies again, never to return. Her brother again shone the sun upon the ground, believing he had properly chastised his troublesome little sister, unaware that the ties she had secured with the mortals would be one so strong, not even death could sever. Moons later, the first of her children died a mortal death; however, from the cat's body now rose a spirit, and it was beckoned to the skies. The night skies of Silverpelt, previously dark save the glow of her moon, suddenly held a new, smaller light. A star. The first star. Silverpelt had fooled her brother; on agreeing never to grace the ground again, she ensured she never truly had to, by beckoning her children back to her upon death. She would never be lonely again. And the essence she had granted her children were passed down from one generation to the next, filling the sky with stars. And even now, ages later, Silverpelt still beckons, asking us to come home when our mortal time is up. This is why a true warrior does not fear death, Firepaw, for death is not the end; it is home."
"Wow," Firepaw breathed in response, awed by the remark.
"Indeed," the elder declared. "Although the tale is, as I said before, not universally accepted. It's only us, and RiverClan, who swear by this tale. WindClan calls it blasphemy, and a story where no drop of blood is spilt doesn't interest any ShadowClan cat I have ever met, simpletons that they are."
"So why do RiverClan like it so much?"
"Well duh!" Greypaw declared with a loud meow. "The stories say Silverpelt was the most beautiful silver she-cat ever to exist. RiverClan's stroking their own egos!"
At least that was how Greypaw saw it. Firepaw figured it couldn't be too far from the mark.
Okay now we're done, and if I have to look at this goddamn picture one more time in my life it'll be too soon. //weeps

Key notes: Greypaw refers to Thistleclaw/star as his grandfather because this verse has him a son of Whitestorm and Willowpelt. Other than that, the myth about Silverpelt and stuff, well I kinda made that up on the spot yesterday. x3

!! Also I wasn't able to share the tidbit about Silverpelt's brother not being named cuz I wasn't able to just weave it in, but the idea is that no descendant of Silverpelt ought to name their sun-bearing kin by name unless they wish to know his divine punishment, and since the initial stories began to withhold his name, now there aren't any cats around who even remember what it was LOL

(c) Dearly disliked Erin Hunter
Art and Story: Me

Description
Silverpelt and the First Cat
"But," Firepaw scrunched up his brow, "what is Silverpelt anyhow?" Beside him, Greypaw sighed, the deep, tired sigh of someone who didn't know where to start explaining.
But it was Halftail who answered. "No, young apprentice, you ask the wrong question. You mean; who is Silverpelt?"
Firepaw's eyes blinked in confusion at this twist, and Greypaw burst in before he could ask what he meant: "But, Halftail, didn't grandpa ban that story?"
"Thistlestar did?" the ruddy apprentice looked between the elders and his friend, clinging desperately to the topic lest he lose what little understanding of it he had.
Greypaw only nodded, but Halftail snorted, none too elegantly either. On his flank, One-eye murmured something, but only snuggled closer to her mate.
"Bah, mayhap he did," the scarred old tom muttered, "but I'm not afraid of our honourable leader's reprimand."
"You're not?" Greypaw meowed, yellow eyes wide, like the very idea that his grandfather did not incite fear in everyone was somehow beyond comprehension.
"You forget my age, Greypaw," Halftail said amusedly, "I slayed foxes before your grandsire even left his den. To me he will only ever be a kit. How could that ever inspire fear in me?" Now this comment made One-eye chuckle at his side.
"I suppose so," Greypaw nodded, the apprehension in his eyes exchanged for awe. Firepaw inclined his head in agreement. Although the thought of Thistlestar as anything but the towering, unforgiving tom that he was was nearly too difficult to imagine, the apprentice figured he understood Halftail's sentiment.
"Now then, are you still interested in hearing my story, Firepaw?" the elder turned his head, amused amber eyes gliding over him. Firepaw nodded again.
"I'll warn you now," he began, sounding much more serious, "that if you want to be diplomatic, don't bring this tale up at Gatherings - that is, especially if you sit with WindClan."
"Why's that?" Firepaw shot in, unable to restrain himself; he threw his eyes to the ground in shame for a moment, but looked back up upon hearing One-eye chuckle again. "Tell him, Sparrowpelt, no need for your dramatics," the pale she-cat purred, sounding as drowsy as she looked. She didn't even raise her head, only nudged her mate in the side.
Halftail's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Sensibilities," he declared with a snort. "WindClan accepts no lore that touches on Silverpelt or StarClan without a fight, raising their hackles like our old tales are insults flung in their faces. Mousebrains, the lot of them."
"Oh." Firepaw couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice, but turning his face to glance at his friend, found that Greypaw was nodding along with a sagely expression; while he didn't truly buy into his expression - Greypaw was too much of a jester to adopt such a look as if he meant it - his agreement in and of itself told Firepaw all he needed to know. This was something he too needed to learn, if he was to get along with the other Clans.
"Ahem, now for the story itself," Halftail started anew, drawing his paws close to his chest. "Long before the Clans existed, and Silverpelt was yet young and lonely, she fell in love. As a spirit whose duty it was to raise the moon high every night, she could not descend to the ground to be with the one she loved, but, upon hearing of her feelings, the tom who had captured her heart journeyed far and wide, until he found a mountain tall enough to take him into the skies. Once there, this tomcat declared he wished to know Silverpelt, wished to see her, speak with her. He too, had found his heart drawn to this faraway spirit. And Silverpelt answered his plea, landing onto the mountain peak, and the two were happy."
Halftail stalled, coughed once, and resumed again, his tone now less dreamy. "However, not all were happy at their union. Silverpelt had a brother, who raised the sun every day, and he looked upon their love with disdain. 'Intolerable', her brother said, 'that she should so neglect her duties for the sake of a mortal cat. I cannot agree with this.' And true to his word, Silverpelt's brother decided to express his disdain, and pulled the sun away from the mountain on which the two mates resided. It grew cold and terribly dark, and Silverpelt wondered what had happened, and left to ask her brother. Summoned by her, her brother told her to stop descending to the ground, and to resume her duty to the moon. Silverpelt wished to say no, but she knew as well as he that her happiness could not last, and so finally agreed - on the premise that she was allowed to spend two more moons with her love, and then leave him for ever. Her brother agreed, because while he was harsh, he was not cruel."
"I know what happens next!" Greypaw puffed in exitement, but was swiftly shut up by the look Halftail graced him with.
"Then do you wish to continue the story?"
"Uh... no. Sorry, Halftail."
"Very good." Now, Silverpelt was very wise in asking. While she had surrendered herself to the fact their love could not last the same way her existence did, she was not resigned to the thought of a lonesome eternity anymore, now she had had a taste of companionship. Unbeknownst to her brother, she secured the ties between herself and her mate forever; she bore him kits."
Firepaw's eyes widened. Kits? With a spirit? How did that even work?
"Their union produced four kits, all of which had spiritual ties to Silverpelt. After they were born, she gave them to her mate, asking him to hide them in his home, and then left for the skies again, never to return. Her brother again shone the sun upon the ground, believing he had properly chastised his troublesome little sister, unaware that the ties she had secured with the mortals would be one so strong, not even death could sever. Moons later, the first of her children died a mortal death; however, from the cat's body now rose a spirit, and it was beckoned to the skies. The night skies of Silverpelt, previously dark save the glow of her moon, suddenly held a new, smaller light. A star. The first star. Silverpelt had fooled her brother; on agreeing never to grace the ground again, she ensured she never truly had to, by beckoning her children back to her upon death. She would never be lonely again. And the essence she had granted her children were passed down from one generation to the next, filling the sky with stars. And even now, ages later, Silverpelt still beckons, asking us to come home when our mortal time is up. This is why a true warrior does not fear death, Firepaw, for death is not the end; it is home."
"Wow," Firepaw breathed in response, awed by the remark.
"Indeed," the elder declared. "Although the tale is, as I said before, not universally accepted. It's only us, and RiverClan, who swear by this tale. WindClan calls it blasphemy, and a story where no drop of blood is spilt doesn't interest any ShadowClan cat I have ever met, simpletons that they are."
"So why do RiverClan like it so much?"
"Well duh!" Greypaw declared with a loud meow. "The stories say Silverpelt was the most beautiful silver she-cat ever to exist. RiverClan's stroking their own egos!"
At least that was how Greypaw saw it. Firepaw figured it couldn't be too far from the mark.
Okay now we're done, and if I have to look at this goddamn picture one more time in my life it'll be too soon. //weeps

Key notes: Greypaw refers to Thistleclaw/star as his grandfather because this verse has him a son of Whitestorm and Willowpelt. Other than that, the myth about Silverpelt and stuff, well I kinda made that up on the spot yesterday. x3

!! Also I wasn't able to share the tidbit about Silverpelt's brother not being named cuz I wasn't able to just weave it in, but the idea is that no descendant of Silverpelt ought to name their sun-bearing kin by name unless they wish to know his divine punishment, and since the initial stories began to withhold his name, now there aren't any cats around who even remember what it was LOL

(c) Dearly disliked Erin Hunter
Art and Story: Me