Part 1

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The first thing that I had ever sensed was the mildly sweet smell given off by my mother's milk which had stirred the ever so young me in my sleep. I had wanted some, but they had told her it was a better idea for her to not suckle me. At the time of my birth, a horrible fever had begun to develop in her, so they weren't sure if her illness would spread into the milk. This upset those who were attending my mother greatly; they had found that her milk was being produced in just the right condition. It was heavily armed with the proteins and nutrients they knew I had needed. My father thought it played a part in how well-built the five daughters born before I turned out to be. It wasn't long before whimpers were heard from me; they had no choice but to feed me later than expected because of this. My senses were reacting briskly to the scent, and I was hungry.

I was fed in alternate ways soon after they heard my soft cries. Once they knew all of my needs were met, I didn't spend too much more time with my mother. They knew I had to leave before her disease entered my premature body systems, but I stayed long enough for my father to see me. When my eyelids fluttered open to allow me to look upon him, I had a wide smile, and the layer of tears which would keep my eyes clean and moist from then on became two lakes glimmering under the afternoon sun. Every word he spoke was incomprehensible for me, who at this time knew nothing with the exceptions of the smell of what would have been my first meal and the look of his slightly wrinkled face. But once I was old enough to know so, I figured he had disappointment in the way I came out. I never could learn what it was he really saw in me, but this was what I feared he would always feel when he looked at me- disappointment.

There was training, receiving legendary weapons and my mother's visits to the doctor, but as I got older, the last thing anyone in my family would expect to happen was my growth. I always had to look up at people when talking to them, even the kittens I met who were my age. The more known I became, the more one of the toughest beasts I had ever come up against- the beast of being ashamed- snuck up on me. It seems lately that when one thinks of a hero, they form an image of someone resilient, valiant, colossal, strong in muscle. They didn't think I would be suited for the intense physical work needed to become a legend, but I knew better. I had a mind as sharp as I kept my blade, and I worked as hard as I could no matter what they said about me.

I know that I still am doing my best to catch up, but I can't lie when I say I'm satisfied with the way I turned out. Something about this kingdom, to put it succinctly, drives me to a greater motivation; at first, I had only settled here as a way to continue down the path to my completion as not only the hero I'm meant to be, but (I'm being honest) a person as well. I noticed that my stay here has also begun to unleash sentimentalities I'd tried my best to lock up behind me in order to look to the future. Has the little blue bat who idolizes me so found the key? I think it's only right to say that she might have. Here in the present, I gaze upon the kingdom as an orange billow makes way for the sun so it can once again ascend and turn on the world's light. I can already hear the titmice chirping themselves awake in the distant trees. As for me, I'm now a fully grown tomcat who had spent his most recent years thickening his skin and hardening his muscles enough to be able to work properly. I don't look as built as the king, who sometimes takes his mantle off and flaunts his bare back in public. Studying my figure, though, I see that if you touch me, it feels like you're touching a stone with a layer of fluffy hairlike vegetation over it. Describing how well I've done in such a wordy way, despite my feelings of hopefulness and pride in myself,  seems strange even to me, but I was told that it helps to tell a story like me.

As mentioned before, I listen to the woods around the village awaken like the townsfolk as I look down at it from the edge of the outdoor dojo. Now that I reside here, every day is an unpredictable series of drama. Even on the days that are as close to peaceful as it gets, something happens. Some days have ups and others downs, but that's the way we like it. In fact, this is exactly how a hero should be living. This day in particular is no different than all the rest, because a new surprise will come our way today. 

Now, I feel it's uncustomary for a storyteller to talk too much, and there comes a time for each one where their words will wither away, leaving them with their pen just three inches above the paper with a strain on their mind, having already said so much but wanting to say more. It's really nothing to worry about as it happens to many, and in my case, I've reached the point where I've run out of introduction. I understand you're ambitious to be told about this day, reader, and I can tell you that I am just as much as you are, especially to unravel the story of us and what will be called the rainbow scale.

And it starts with a rustling and a twitch of my ear.

Rainbow Scale (Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart)Where stories live. Discover now