He wasn’t an aged tom by any means.

But over these last several seasons, he pondered to himself as he gazed at the shivering sacred sakura in the land of his chosen home, he felt as though he was an ancient soul still lingering upon this earth, changed by the ripping winds and withering blossoms of youth and innocence, but retaining the delicate appearance of an immortal unaffected by time.

The black tom inhaled a deep breath. The waters were continuing to recede and absorb into the earth after the horrific flood they underwent at StarClan’s behest and the muddy aroma of nature’s death and tentative rebirth was a musty sweet that overwhelmed the senses. He squinted his eyes shut tighter against the onslaught.

So much had transpired in the last moon alone, the black tom wanted nothing more than to step away from it all and find the inner peace he once possessed so long ago, when he and his adopted siblings frolicked carelessly in one of the rare moments they were afforded their childhood under the cherry blossoms, smiles on their faces, ignorant of the pain and darkness that was embedded in this world.

Ears flicking at the sound of an approaching tom — not just any tom, one that he was certain had a few choice words he’d want to express on his own, away from prying eyes and ears that, despite the flowery disposition of their clan at the mouths of others, would latch on and fan the flames — Stygian turned and blinked silver eyes slowly at the presence.

He dipped his head, scarlet ribbon around his neck brushing against his chin like the soft touch of a reassuring friend, the crystal at his throat seeming to hum in anticipation of the oncoming meeting.

“Goldengriffon,” he greeted, small smile on his face, far more subdued than his often bright and uninhibited grin he graced many with, that often nowadays rarely met his eyes.

Nova