THE BEFORE TIMES

They say our forefathers paved the earth we stand upon now, that their paws once stood on the same ground as us.  Their claws carved into the canyons for centuries, moving the dirt along and leaving behind plateaus, their trails making riverbeds. 

The grottos were formed by the mother and her mewling kit, searching the vast desert soils for but a drop of water. She’d seen nothing to hunt for a week now, and with the dry weather growing worse, it seemed her babe would wither soon enough. And so she left her kit against a shaded spot, hidden to all but not to her. In her search, she began to pace to and fro, desperate for some hint of a miracle, for an oasis to be her saving grace.

It wasn't long until she had returned to her kit, and continued her search in frustration. Without water she could not provide any milk for her young. Despite their cries of hunger, she did not stop and ventured onward. 

She would reach the edge of the desert again, this time with no hope of water here, and with a heavy heart and a weakened frame, she made her journey back to find what little hope she still had in her kit. Traveling onwards with her head hung low, she found herself slipping briefly- why had the ground grown wet? Below her paws, she began to notice a stream, but grew wary of the source. Where was it coming from, and where was her kit?

The mewling grew louder as she ran forward, as did the water pressure that spit out from the earth, a spring having formed underneath her kitten who made pitiful attempts at swimming. With a leap, she scruffed her kit, lungs pounding with how easily she could’ve lost them. 

Nevertheless, she drank from the waters, and thus her kit was able to nurse, saved by the miraculous spring. When the water finished spouting from the earth, it was in the hollow that she found shelter, settling for the night; the start of GrottoClan’s way of life beneath the soil.

It was said that the first Forefather to pass was the oldest, biggest beast to have ever existed on the earth. Their body stretched the entire desert, likely having carved the canyon with their claws. When they became too old to continue on this earth, they found a wonderful spot in ArchClan territory to rest.

Their claws would make up the great claw, their whiskers depositing into an arch, and their skull making the forefathers' eyes. It was before them that we would make camp, living under their watchful gaze forever. 

Not only do they serve as a reminder of our ancestors, but the arches remind us of our future; we came from the soil and just like our forefathers, we will just as easily return to it.

Many, many moons ago, there was a litter of three kittens. Two were big and strong, while the third was small and weak. Their grandfather was a large, steady cat, and he tended to each kitten equally. He would watch them go off and play the day away, and listen to their stories when they’d return.

As the kittens returned for their evening meal one day, the grandfather quickly realized the smallest wasn’t among them. The siblings seemed confused as well, and simply thought the smaller one was taking a longer way around. It wasn’t until the kittens were speaking of a great hawk they’d heard, that the grandfather realized what must have happened.

He set out as the kittens rested, searching the sand for scuff marks. Finally, he found them alongside some feather fluff from a bird. He waited there until the sun rose and the hawks began hunting again. He spotted the large bird and followed it tirelessly as it hunted the desert sands.

As the sun began to set behind the landscape, the bird returned to its nest on a pillar. The ground around it was sunken in, making the climb longer, and, adding to the struggle, the grandfather was not experienced in climbing.

However, he would not leave his smallest at the mercy of talons and beak.

The grandfather began the climb, determined to catch the bird while it rested. When  the sky began to lighten, he made it over the edge of the nest. Before the hawk could stir, he took it by the throat, making quick work of it, and gazed around for his kitten. He spotted the kitten nestled in the dry brush that the hawk made its nest with, having hidden the best it could.

Relieved at arriving before anything could happen, the grandfather took the kitten by the scruff and began the perilous journey down. Once they returned back home and re-united the littermates, the grandfather spoke to the others.

“I must return to the perch. I can no longer rest easy here, knowing that our kittens play under dangerous skies.”

“What will you do?” spoke a tiny voice and the grandfather turned to meet the eyes of his littlest kitten.

“I will watch over you from there, my dear. There will not be a single bird in the sky brave enough to come for you or any others while I watch over you.” the grandfather said, dipping his head to be at eye level. The kitten nodded solemnly, having full faith in their grandfather.

From that day on, generations of kittens played fearlessly knowing that no bird would come for them. They knew that if one did, grandfather would not rest until he followed them to their nests and retrieved his kittens.

Two foolish youth, beyond kithood and before maturity, sought to prove themselves better than each other. Each day brought forth a new challenge, a new competition. Who had the longer tooth, or the deepest growl? Who could leap the greatest distance, or spot the brightest star?

The competition followed them into their adulthood. While the others grew wiser, the pair grew more and more convinced they were the better of the two. 

Surely, thought the first, I am better. I am older, and my great jaws can puncture even the hardest rock. I can leap across the widest canyons, and hunt the most dangerous of prey.

Ah, surely I am the best, thought the second. After all, I have learnt from your mistakes, and my great teeth can reach the deepest levels of the earth. I can outrun sandstorms, and find shade even on the hottest of days.

The formerly friendly bickering turned angry, and the anger turned into violence. Finally, the day came when neither could resist the urge anymore. They leapt at each other, grappling and rolling each other over and over. teeth met teeth, and claws met claws, as blood was shed.

Despite their insistence upon who was better than who, the great forefathers were so equally matched that they were unable to declare a victor. They stayed locked together, even as blistering days and chilling nights passed. 

Finally, when a passerby came across them, it wasn’t to a victor or a loser. Instead, their competitive nature had been immortalized in stone, forming a great arch over the land.

Even now, it serves as a reminder to all ages that sometimes skill doesn’t need to be compared in order to be valued.

It is said that if a noble cat dies, they themselves enter what is known as the lush oasis. Instead of a dry, deserted plain like they occupy now, it is full of greenery and streams. There, one can meet with the Forefathers and be amongst them. It is to this Oasis that Poet communicates with and interprets messages from.

Deep within the dark crannies of the earth, it is said the most wicked of cats emerge from these tar pools, tar clung to their fur and no escape in sight. There are salt flats, but only to provide a false sense of security before cracking and revealing more tar. There is no escaping. They will return to the earth, and leave nothing behind.