moni uddin

“Maybe it’s not about the happy ending, maybe it’s about the story”

What choice did Sable make the most?

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Endings:

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The Blue Mountain, Summer.

The stones remind me of Mowton Village, in an odd way. They feel alive, like a community, each one holding some ancient purpose here, doing its part in their home, the Blue Mountain. 

Home… I wonder how everyone is. I miss Felix, the villagers, and even the mayor’s endless ramblings.

There was a time I would have done anything to escape the mundane, predictable mornings. But now, there’s a certain comfort in knowing how the day will unfold, a quiet satisfaction in having a role, in being part of something bigger than myself.

I think I’ll go back. But this time, I’ll do something different…

Maybe I’ll open a shop in Mowton, filled with trinkets I collect on my way home. I could stop by and see the cattlefolk thank them for teaching me the value of community.

Whatever I choose, when I finally tuck myself into my warm bed in Mowton, I’ll think of the stones.

Grateful for the journey they took me on. And content knowing they’re out here playing their part, while I’m in Mowton, playing mine.

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The Blue Mountain, Summer. 

I have never seen anything like these stones, and I doubt many others have either. Their vibrant colours, their hum, and their uncanny ability to sense what’s around them.

But there’s something more to them—I felt it the moment I reached this place and tried to take one. It was as though I had disturbed the natural order of things. What can the other stones do? What’s their purpose? And why did one of them crash through my roof that night…?

These questions won’t be answered in a single night. Maybe I always knew it would come to this. I wanted to learn more about the world, and this feels like the beginning. 

I could set up camp around the Blue Mountains. Build a new home here. Study these stones.

Maybe, with time, I’ll start to understand them.  I don’t know how long it will take, but I feel ready—as if the journey was preparing me for this all along.

For now, I’ll sleep and tomorrow, I’ll begin this new chapter.

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I never realised how many wounds and grazes I’d gathered on this journey to the Blue Mountain.

Each mark seems to tell a story. Some were pink and raw, fresh from the climb up the mountains. Others were brown and crumbly, scabbed over and nearly forgotten. But in some places, there were scars. Places my fur would never grow back… and became a part of me. Reminders of the journey’s cost.

Once, these might have bothered me. I might have whimpered at their sight. Now, I felt proud, they were proof of a life lived.

Through the mist, I see new lands I never knew existed; meandering rivers, dense jungles, and cities whose torches flicker even from here.

I’ll go there next, I think. See what wonders await and listen to the stories folk over there might share.

And when they ask me, “What’s your tale, village cat?” I will feel proud in having a story worth telling…Of the village cat who travelled to the Blue Mountain in search of a stone, but found something better.