It seemed like Needlewhisker had to work to pull herself from sleep. Dazed and groggy, the she-cat found herself slow to rouse - and the memories of that which came during the night rose only reluctantly to the forefront. Once they had, however - clawing their way up from the depths like shadowy little phantoms - Needle wanted nothing more than to fall back to sleep. Not to relieve those overly-ambitious dreams, but to put a little bit more time between herself and the natural urge to wake up proper, and having to deal with them.
Yet wake she must, and wake she did. Her corner of the warriors' den, well-away from the touch of other cats, was no less warm than it had been when she had curled up to sleep. The leaves and loam laid meticulously upon the floor comforted her just as much as they had last night. But it was all changed, somehow. All a bit colder for the night's events. A sigh rattled its way out of her gullet. So much trouble. So much strife. Would that it had all been only a dream!
All around her, though, cats stirred just as surely. From her nest, Needle could see those that had not made it to their beds rising where they fell. Their murmurs proved that they, too, had "dreamed" as she had. They remembered. And as they remembered, Needle could see them pairing off. Glares being thrown at one another. Clans dividing. Lines between those who fought for Starclan and the Dark Forest being drawn in the sand. No doubt Shadowsong and Brightstar would soon rouse themselves, and make it all official here in the waking world. Needle's nose scrunched into a frown.
Drawing herself to her paws, the she-cat made her way out of the den. What a mess it all was. She wasn't sure who would still be standing in this clearing come this time tonight; the groups cats formed as they woke, talked, and planned together were not purely Lightningclan or the former Rockclan. She couldn't even tell if they were cleanly split between the scheming celestials, now that could really take in the scope of it. There was one, however, whose alignment she would make certain of. She was curious too, to see if the older tom was all that he had seemed to be in their shared dream. Weaving her way through pelts that had become suddenly, strangely foreign to her, Needle specifically sought the white-and-black brush of Ravensnatch. In the dream, he had been a calm center in a sea of madness. Would that he served that role outside of it.
Fea Line
