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DRAFT 1

Prologue

Most people go through life never experiencing their surroundings. They listen to the news as they get on the way to work, remain semi-existent for eight hours at a time, before finally zoning out on the way home, where they can turn into a vegetable until it all starts again the next sunrise. No matter your purpose or lifestyle, the thought is the same. Every day, I wake up and start breakfast for my family. We usually eat together, before starting work on the farm, where we remain until the sun goes down. We can't afford to take days off, not with the deadlines the council has given. We provide the food and herbs for the tri-county area, and our farmhands just keep quitting under the pressure. It isn't all bad, though.

My sister, Hannah, and I often talk about the possibility of not inheriting the farm as we age out. Perhaps when we pass exams, we will be smart enough to be given another lifestyle to follow. Imagine going from tilling soil for hours at a time to running a bookstore? I could imagine Hannah's usually stringy, golden-red hair tied up in a neat bun, her face groomed nicely to attract customers. A pleasant voice would escape her lips as she greeted you. Welcome to my store! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do~

"Sage."

Shaken from my pleasant dreaming, I pause my movements, sore muscles screaming out for a break. I guess no matter how much you practice, a young, undeveloped body will never be used to this kind of work.

"Finish up this row, lunch will be ready soon."

With an understanding nod, I return to my work. As far back as I remember, my mother and I had been close...until one day things seemed to change. Possibly the night of my accident. I remember being wheeled into the medical building, blood spilling from my brow. It was hard enough to think, let alone speak. Apparently, I had been gathering feed for the cattle when I slipped, falling from the rafters. From the moment I woke in that room, I knew something had changed. I no longer had the ability to speak. You have no idea how it feels to try calling out in confused desperation, only to be answered with silence. The tears in my eyes were my only comfort as I waited for hours. When I was finally handed off to my mother like a simple invalid, there would be no recognition in her eyes. It was as though she were being told to tend to a patient, not her own daughter.

The heat of the sun threatened to dry up any usable land we had left, and I knew I had to leap to action. What with the drought and all, more work was created for the band of us. Now, we had to dig trenches to fill with water from the well. With a wordless sigh, I tossed my shovel to the side, pacing my way to the well across the yard. The parched dirt cracked beneath my paws as I frowned, wondering if we would get yet another warning from the council about meeting deadlines, or more accurately, the failure to do so.

The pain radiating up my arms was nothing to me. I stared into the glimmering surface of the water, dreaming about the the world past these now-barren fields. What was it like in the city? Not the town we brought our crops to, but the actual city, where people outnumber their natural environment? Would there be others like myself, or perhaps maybe everywhere I could go, it would be seen the same way.

People seem to assume that just because you cannot speak your mind, means you have nothing in there to express. They think of you more as cattle than person. And, you have no choice but to let them behave that way.

I drag myself into the kitchen and take my usual seat at the table. My paws twist themselves effortlessly into shapes and patterns my sister and I have invented in order to communicate, immediately to be interrupted by the sharp clap of a full lunch plate slapping onto the wooden table before me. My fingers traced along the carvings in the wood beneath them, silently reading the history of our family as I had countless times before.

"Stop playing, and eat your meal. You have to hydrate the rest of the fields before sundown."

My sister shot me a smile of motivation. She wasn't like myself, she had actual fur patterns. The bright colors of a proud Calico called out, as though boasting for attention. I'd give anything to have the pattern the rest of my family had. Oranges, golds and blacks mixed together to perfectly highlight the yellow-green of her eyes. If only she would actually brush her hair and fur out. I, according to my mother, inherited an all white fur pattern from her great grandmother, though I remained unsure of how accurate that may be. My ice-blue eyes stared back into my sister's as she spoke with her dexterous paws, ignoring her mouth for the time being. I'll help you finish so we can go for a walk.

My lengthy tail curled around the leg of the chair as I began to shovel my food into my maw. My sister looked over my form with a transparent look on her face. She had always been jealous of how full my fur texture was, and I always ruined it. In fact, I'd probably be a lot more fluffy if I didn't spend an hour grooming myself every night, but that would make work a lot more difficult with the heat. My sister halted my movements briefly by setting her paw onto mine, a sort of, "hang in there!" gesture.

All you need is one person, your person. Everyone else can do as they wish. As long as you have your person, you can take the world on together.

CHAPTER ONE

My mother's face blankly stared over the fields, her arms folded across her chest as she allowed herself that one moment a day. That brief period of time you take as you phase out from the world and allow those thoughts and feelings bolted up to spring free. For that single moment, she was not yet my mother, she was Marin, she was herself. No label could touch her.The soil would not be perfect, but the newly dug trenches certainly rejuvenated the area. The white of her muzzle crinkled as she broke free from her imagination and settled into the label of mother, turning to the table, paws resuming their placement on her hips.

"Girls, today we need to get as much planted as possible, we're already late with our seeding."

One last greasy slab of breakfast meat bounced as it hung from my fork, the pink of my tongue stretching out to greet my last moment of pleasure for the foreseeable future. Hannah gave a knowing smirk as she gathered the dishes together to wash, her eyes pointedly avoiding our mother.

"You're never going to attract a man if you eat that way every morning, Sage"

Hannah didn't even need a response. She could sense me gagging on my food as it slid down my throat.

"If anyone could run this farm all on their own, it's you. I'll meet you out there, I'm going to check the supplies"

My eyes traced along the delicate curve of her golden tail. Ever since we hired on some locals, she had attempted to balance her farmland style with a more enchanted look She even had begun to sacrifice an hour of sleep to attempt to recondition the life back into her hair and fur. Add the right touches of color, and any outfit can draw attention. It's all about the details.

She retreated out into the morning sun as I took my time, the short claws that adorned my paws clacking against the untreated wood of our floor. My room had always been mostly plain compared to my sister's, but I preferred it that way. While she brought back souvenirs from each trip to town to drape over her dresser, bed, or even the walls, I saved my time for special items to call out to me.

The sleeping gaze of a kitten woken too early greeted me as I stared into the mirror. Despite turning sixteen this year, I seemed to have kept that youthful, innocent charm of a young, unknowing feline. I allowed a silent breath to escape my lips as I tugged my yellow nightgown above my head, knowing next would come the famous self-judgment of an insecure teenage girl. It isn't like my body was completely square. I had curves in the right places, I could wear clothes and fill them out if I really intended to, but compared to the full-figured calico out waiting for me in the yard, I was more a girl than a woman.

The digits of my paws fumbled with the tiny buttons on my lilac-reminiscent shirt, struggling for just a moment to close it tightly around my slowly growing chest.

Oh, the joys of being a female. My body decides to be more of a lady, and I lose another shirt.

Boys had it made. You didn't have to buy new clothes every time your body decided to let you become more of a man. I remember, before my father passed, he sat me down to give me a talk. The strong musk of hard work filled the air as he shot me a smile.

"Kid, everyone is different. Some people were made to use their looks, others were made to use their brains. A rare few got both. You don't need a voice to use that brain of yours."

Whoever I ended up with, I wanted them to be attracted to my mind before my body. Not that I wanted to allow myself to gain fifty pounds or anything, I still had what little vanity I was given, but That should be more of a perk than a reason.

if I end up with anyone, that is. I could inherit the farm and spend my days in silence.

Finally, a blouse managed to stay closed, and I covered the thin, rose-pink fabric with my leather vest to keep it clean and out of the way. The final touch to my lovely ensemble were a simple pair of cloth pants and some wraps to keep the bottoms of my paws from getting worn. My father's face peered at me from a picture tucked into the wooden frame of my mirror and I sighed.

No shame in taking care of yourself, girl.

I rolled my eyes at him, silently cursing memory as I took an extra moment to give my fur a final brushing, before being warned by the loud squawk of a bird of prey passing by that I better get going for the day.

"Kitten, look at you! You're wearing colors!"

I rolled my eyes as Hannah took a moment to kiss the top of my head, signing to her in annoyance as my tail twitched behind me. Not like I have a choice, all you guys buy for me is colorful clothing.

"Well, anyway, you look cute. Think you can handle the animals while I help the farmhands with the seeding?"

I waved my paw in acknowledgment as I retreated to gather my tools, the animals gazing out at me from behind their pens. I always got stuck with the feeding, so they knew what was about to happen. Their little, starving worlds were about to be recognized by me, the all powerful feeder. A smirk forced itself on my face as I laughed at my own joke.

Evan already had the equipment handled, though that didn't seem to give Hannah pause. She would purposely try and carry just a bit too much so that she needed a more masculine touch, as she would call it. Immediately upon letting out a sigh of effort, Evan approached, thick body bracing up behind my sister as his arms encircled her own. The coarse, dirt colored fur that covered his form seemed to suit him rather well, the odd speckling of white adorning his chest and stomach. A chiseled canine snout stretched from his face as he let out a grunt.

"Never worry, little girl, I got you."

My eyes practically spun out of my skull as I grabbed a bag of feed for the chickens. If, in order to attract a partner, I had to pretend to be weak? Well, let's just say I'd be alone for a long time. My claws dug into the ground as I spread the dried corn around the barn, the white cloth which had been wrapped protectively around them quickly smudging with the evidence of hard work. Hens gathered around eagerly, pecking at the life source they had been gifted. As my back greeted the warped wood behind me, my eyes closed, a silent breath of mental effort escaping me. I let my mind go blank, locking away all my thoughts. All my concerns. Hannah and Evan, My mother and her endless lectures, the approaching deadlines. The only thing that mattered was the musty smell of hay combined with the electric twang in the air, a tantalizing comment on the possibility of a storm.

Don't go riding in a storm, Sage. If you get lost, we won't be able to smell you.

Mother's voice filled my mind suddenly as a memory flashed past my eyes. The sound of Cyrus' hooves against the trail as we blazed along the mountainside. Greenery filling our eyes, drowning out the world around us. Before the weather went to hell, things got quite lush around these parts. The only time I ran off without mention was during a storm like that. Rain matting down my soft fur, the fresh snap of thunder echoing past my ears and through the valley. And, best of all, that scent that can only be paired with the particular wetness of a thunderstorm. Everything looks sharper in that moment, as though a Deity were messing with the contrast of our world in order to give us our one moment of freedom.

To no surprise, I opened my eyes and found myself heading into the stables. With the hiring of two farmhands, I found it unlikely I would be missed, so I may as well take advantage of the moment. With a gentle motion, my paw placed itself on Cyrus' snout, pleasantly feeling along his speckled fur. I could practically see the energy radiating off his body. If a color had to be placed to it, a vibrant, primal mixture of oranges and reds. Per agreement that, perhaps, solely myself had made, Cyrus was to be ridden without gear. I wanted him to feel as free as possible, yearned for him to have as much of a release as I did from the process.

Cyrus burst forth from the stables, sending a bag of feed flying. He didn't care, he knew where he was headed. Twists and turns boggle the mind after a while, especially when trails are not kept properly, but once you realize an animal knows its way around and learn to trust, it can be quite freeing. Leaning my body forward, I took in the scent of the steed below me, allowing my chest to press flush against his form. My paw rubbed along the side of his neck while simultaneously holding myself in place as he slowed to a trot.

This must be the spot of the day.

I slid off his back, my bare paws digging up a cloud of dirt, staining the pristine white of my fur with further evidence of my common upbringing. Good thing I wasn't heading into town today. As anywhere you go, townspeople have a certain air of disgust they reserve especially for the common farming folk. Every time we went into town as a child, my mother would sigh as the clerk apologetically spoke.

"It really is a shame....she has such pretty fur."

Personally, besides the rarity of a solid colored white feline, I feel as though the different markings one can develop tells much more of a story. Imagine being able to give off a feeling just by existing! Maybe the mottled markings of mystery and experience, or the fierce, determined look of striped sides.

Though, perhaps I am meant to be a blank slate. A blank slate for an empty mind.

Cyrus nudged me with his snout then, giving me a scolding glance as I walked him to a nearby creek. It was a commentary on how I'm viewed, not how I exist.

He forced a sigh of acknowledgment, forcing me to smile as I rubbed his snout. My mother had gotten Cyrus for me years ago in hopes to drag me out of myself. Growing up mute would be one thing, but remembering suddenly becoming mute is another. It caused me to dive into myself, and lock that being away. I tended to my chores, then retreated to my room, it was my daily schedule.

One day, I was about ten years old, mother told me she needed my help in town. I quickly grew aware that we were traveling away from town, but I tried not to let her know I caught on. She didn't get excited by much, but when it came to that day, she was ready to have her moody little girl back.

"Sage, when we get there, I want you to stay in the buggy for a while until mama calls you."

I nodded excitedly. I knew that if we were grabbing more feed or hay, she wouldn't be this enthusiastic about it. She even called herself mama.

As we slowly wobbled down the road in our crooked cart, I gazed over at my mother. I had never noticed how tired she looked. Not that she never slept, but, she seemed so tired with experience. Her fur, once well kept and groomed for her husband, had become more of an afterthought. She wore a dusty farmer's dress, the deep magenta fabric faded over the years of sweat and dirt. The dark hair on her head had an old, shimmery clip made with quartz stone she had gotten from my father years ago. I felt a sense of pride as I watched her movements. She felt so strong, she knew who she was in that moment, and no one could take it from her.

I wanna be like you, Mama.

Of course, she didn't respond. But, that phrase had always stuck with me. When we have our moments, when she is being less than caring, I remember. She is strong, she is herself, and she is me. We are one and we are separate.

My gaze dropped to the vibrant hue of green that suddenly caught my attention. My ear flicked upwards, strange sensation tingling up my spine as I held my left paw out, catching a stray raindrop on the pale pink of my paw pads. It definitely was going to storm soon.

Cyrus was busy stomping around to care, only horse I ever met who never freaks out during storms. I watched him play in the mud for a moment as my clothes grew slowly more heavy against my form, clinging to every surface.

Cyrus, if we stay out here, I'm going to need new clothes.

He gave me a cursory glance, before returning to his fun. My paws moved to my hips, preparing for the ever famous, motherly stare-down.

Teenage girls tend to not enjoy showing off their goods to the world. At least, not to anyone who would be around here.

I could feel him smirking at me. He knew how I felt about others. But, being an animal, I highly doubted he cared whether I felt exposed or not. And...well, I guess I was probably wrong. Hannah loved flirting with the stable boys so that she could do less of the harsher work. She had always been a lot better at being a girl than I. She is the sole reason I wear any sort of flattering clothing, or pair the right color accessories to set off my eyes when we go to town. If I do not, she will force it.

When I turned thirteen, my family had scraped together enough coin to go into town and buy me a gift. While most of my wants were practical, or for Cyrus' comfort, Hannah had other ideas. Her paw firmly clasped around my own as she practically dragged me towards the tailor. My eyes traced along the small rust colored marking on her paw, trailing up her arm as I counted a couple other blacks and golds. Father was mumbling to himself as he counted through his pocketbook. I could hear him and mother debating back and forth about supplies to bring home, but Hannah jolted me back to the moment at hand.

"Sage-kitten, come on! Mama gave me enough to buy you something really nice!"

My ears laid back as I followed her into the store, clad in overalls and tattered wrappings around my back paws. Hannah, for contrast, was adorned in her sunday dress. Gold stitching danced along hem of the deep red fabric, framing a white floral print on her chest. Being the older sister, her body had begun to show its curvature, and she made sure the world could see how proud she was. Our resident tailor, or so we called him despite living an hour's ride away, was a mix of various canine breeds, all conveniently combined into the most aesthetically pleasing mix one can fathom. His markings accentuated every detail of his strong figure. I made a face as I watched him lean over the counter to inspect us, his deep, chocolate fur shining with the sunlight. I particularly admired the white streaks along his muzzle. Canines were so fascinating.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for a dress for my sister, it's her birthday!"

She let out a purr to particularly punctuate the moment the way she wanted it to be. He couldn't help but smile at that.

"Must have just gotten done working and rushed over here, ey? I think I got just the thing for her. It'll bring out those blues nicely."

He disappeared into the back to do some last minute tailoring on the outfit, his tail swaying slowly behind him. Hannah smiled, tail twitching with excitement.

"Kitten, you're going to be so beautiful, you'll forget everything else. Nothing else will matter."

I'd have scoffed if I could. What hardships were there to forget anyway? So we worked on a farm, doesn't mean we're the lowliest trash out there. My paws twisted together to convey my point to her. Her eyes changed as she read what I was saying. I never was able to tell what that emotion had been. Loss? Disappointment? Pity? Her paw rubbed between my ears, tousling the shoulder-length, silver locks I attempted to keep tied back at all times.

"People look at you differently. You have to pick and choose when to blend in, and when to stand out."

I didn't get to respond before the canine returned to the front counter. I felt myself blush as he winked at me, his form leaning on the counter. He held up a light fabric, mint green dress with white and brown stitching in intricate patterns. Simple design, but girly enough to bring attention to oneself. While others may have looked at the dress as not extravagant enough, it was the perfect dress in Hannah's eyes.

"Kitten, it looks so pretty! It's not too girly, so it's totally something you could pull off. We can get you some braided bracelets and a hair clip too!"

My face twisted into a frown as I imagined that, but the canine stared me down. I figured I should look excited. I forced a smile as Hannah set out the coins to pay for the outfit.

"Tell you what. With that fur of yours, and those piercing eyes, you deserve something special. I'll give you this tortoise shell comb if you promise me to remember how special you are."

I'm not sure quite why he gifted that to me, or if it even was legitimate material, but it was the first real act of kindness from someone outside my family that I had experienced. I wasn't much for feminine attire at the time, but for the next few months no one would be able to see me without that comb and dress.

A sudden, violent splash of brilliant light woke me from my memories, the thunder surrounding me soon after. I turned to check on Cyrus when a twig slapped against my face. He was definitely ready to leave, now. His snout heavily brushed into my side as if to hurry my movements, and after a few failed attempts thanks to my weighed-down clothing, I managed to straddle his back. My paws clutched onto his dirty mane as he started back down the trail.

Careful, Cyrus, the trail is washing out.

I could sense how uneasy he was, the wind had still been picking up, whipping dirt and rain against our bodies. The terrified whinny of my friend, followed by the jerk of him rearing up onto his hind legs sent me flying into the brush, my head slamming against a particularly rough patch of ground as Cyrus went stampeding down the trail. Searing pain radiated through my lungs, filling my body with a strange, paralyzed sensation.

Cyrus...

I couldn't do much in that moment but strain myself to breath, the panicked pain filling my chest as it slowly grew more difficult to see my surroundings.

"Sage?"

Using my paw to wipe the mud soaked hair from my face, I blinked to clear my head, looking for the voice in front of me. A shimmering white vision of femininity waltzed towards me, her paw outstretched for mine. She wore a grey robe which disguised her figure, but I could sense her power. My head reeled, buzzing filling my ears as my vision grew dark, tunneling in to focus on this mysterious white feline calling out to me.

"Sage!"

Just as I was about to grasp her paw, the familiar scent of hay filled my nose as Hannah tugged me in against her, my soaked, muddy form caking her front. She buried her nose into my hair as her claws pressed into my back gently, possessively.

"Kitten, it's okay, I'm here."

We sat there for what felt like hours, her holding me under the makeshift shelter Hannah had found for us, tending to the cut on my head. To be fair, when your fur is completely white, any small wound seems like an emergency. She took such good care of her fur, her clothes, her paws. No one likes holding a calloused paw. As I meditated on those words, I would smell the gentle hint of floral perfume and feel her delicate motions as she bandaged me up. She had a lilted voice that carried a quiet tune to my ears in an anxious attempt to keep me calm, and I fell right for it. I knew I would be safe. It was in that moment that I realized I did not have a traditional family, I had two mothers. The strong, silent farm widow who knew every trick in the book, and could teach you how to wrangle a calf in; alongside the gentle, soft spoken young woman who would keep me safe and hold me in her arms. Two halves of the same coin, and me, the child caught between the two.

"I think the storm is mostly passed by now. Mama was hollering up a storm when I left, so we should prepare ourselves for that."

I smirked as my paws formed familiar shapes, gently slapping and sliding against one another to communicate. She let out a feminine laugh as she responded in kind, spelling out to me that without mother, we'd probably be long gone.

Mother gave us the tools to thrive.

She would always tell us as little girls how we needed to learn to rely on ourselves. We'd be tucked into our beds, staring up at this beautiful, strong woman as she spoke with meaning.

"There's a difference in what we're doing and what those people, there, are doing. They're surviving. Everything they do is with worry of what the world thinks and does. What we're doing is special. We're living for ourselves, and we're becoming something. We're thriving."

The sound of Hannah stirring awakened me yet again as I glanced up at her figure. Her clumped up hair and matted fur did nothing to detract from her presence. She had become so much more than I could hope to be. She found herself, as any young woman of our ages strive to do. She became delicate, yet unbreakable. She merged femininity with farmland ideology.

She was my Hannah, and I, her Kitten