Know which way the wind blows
From Children of StarClan
Know which way the wind blows is a story about the secret relationship between Socrates and Gingertail of ThunderClan, taking place before Gamestart.
Know which way the wind blows
Socrates looked through the paneled glass, his red tail tapping the windowsill on a steady rhythm. She had said she would come; what if she didn't?
The sorrel Abyssinian tom waited, trying to restrain his impatience. His amber eyes dashed across the garden outside, looking for some sign.
A blur of red caught his attention. Elation rising on his throat, the tom jumped from the sill. On his way to the garden door, he passed one of his housefolk, purring affectionately and rubbing himself against a tall leg.
Out in the garden, he scanned it for the visitor. There she was, hiding in the bushes furthest from the house. Padding lightly across the yard, Socrates approached her.
"Hello, Gingertail." He stopped a fox-length away from her, sitting with his tail around his body.
The amber-eyed feral she-cat had no such compunctions about showing pleasure in their meeting. She trotted up to the domestic, rubbing her muzzle on his neck. "It's good to see you too, Socrates," she purred lightly, the sarcastic undertone nothing more than a hint.
He knew she was expecting kits; Gingertail had told him so on her last visit, and her belly was starting to bear telltale signs of early pregnancy. Soon, her visits to his garden would be curtailed; Socrates wouldn't want her to wander the forest alone, risking her life and her kits'.
The tom looked her over; she bore new marks of battle, her flanks marked by recent scratches. He sighed inwardly; he would never understand the strange world of the forest cats. Gingertail had told him of a war raging across the clans, but the mere concept was beyond him. Living in the forest would prove to be enough of a hardship - fighting a war, on top of it, was little short of madness.
It was one of the things that had drawn him to Gingertail; her everlasting resilience, her stubbornness to go on, paired with a gentleness so deeply rooted not even the war could burn away. She was a force of nature, a symbol of strength and unwavering faith.
Talking about faith, hers was a strange one. She had told him about it, one evening; she took the stars as her ancestors and forebearers. Socrates had trouble believing that those many cats had ever lived, much less made their way to the skies above. Yet it was her faith, and he trusted her.
As she rested her chin on his fur, Socrates savored her scent. It carried just a whiff of dried blood, mixed with sweet pine and the scent of her kin - and so many other forest smells, unfamiliar to him.
They stood unmoving for a while, relishing the feel of each other. It had not been long since their last meeting, only a few days, but it felt much longer. Considering the constant dangers on Gingertail's life, Socrates was always afraid she wouldn't make it to their next rendezvous.
Words weren't needed; they knew how the other felt. The tom could imagine he felt the kits growing inside her; his kits, their offspring. Offspring that would roam wild in the forest, unaware of their ascendancy.
Gingertail belonged to the wild, to the forest. Hers was a world of magic, of secrets deeply hidden behind rocks and underneath cold springs. His was a world of gardens, well-pruned grass, regularly spaced meals and the comfort of a warm home.
She was pregnant, had to return home. At best, Socrates wouldn't see her for several moons. At worst, she would die meanwhile. Their fairytale was at an end, and there would be no happily ever after. The Professor was sure of it.
He could only hope. One day, perhaps his offspring would return. Perhaps her kits might know who their sire was, and accept him as such. He could only hope.