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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter three-

(prologue) (chapter one) (chapter two)

Although WindClan was the closest of all the Clans to it, the road to Fourtrees had never seemed longer.

The thick-barked trees seemed to stare down at Antstar as he led WindClan towards the hollow. On one side of him was Whitetooth, always looking ahead and always alert; on the other side was Russetfoot, who Antstar had decided to make his deputy almost as soon as he had returned from the Moonstone when he had received his nine lives.

A shiver scattered down his spine as he remembered the events that had happened after the last gathering. Rainleap gone, in an instant; a Clan suddenly left midair after being thrown off the cliff. And yet in all the turmoil, he had risen triumphant.

Or at least that was the impression he had gotten. He was supposed to feel triumphant, wasn’t he?

It had been a long ladder for Antstar to climb from Clanless kit to leader of all of WindClan, but he was beginning to realize at the top that he had a fear of heights.

Eventually, Fourtrees began to come into view, and Antstar could identify the four feline figures who sat at the Great Rock. All of them- even Currantstar, although he had only been leader for about twelve moons- seemed so used to it all, not even reacting to the leagues of chatter that surrounded them. It was as if their paws had melded with the granite below them.

“And I thought ShadowClan was bad with being late…” Pigeonstar’s coarse tone rang out above the crowd. The blue-gray tom was sporting a new scar that framed his left cheekbone.

“WindClan will be here soon enough,” said Tulipstar reassuringly. She had a tangy quality to her voice- not hostile, but not exactly warm either, like a mentor about to take their apprentice to a rigorous day of battle training. “I’ve heard rumors that something’s happened to them. Surely Shalestar will tell us.”

Shalestar. That was another thing. How was Antstar going to explain all that? Rainleap and Shalestar, both dead in the span of a month.

Part of him worried the others would think he killed him.

WindClan dispersed into the clearing, blending into the crowds. Spiderpaw was, very clearly, trying her best to not brag about her mentor now being the Clan leader. Toadpool and Webwhisker were striking a pleasant conversation with a dark red tabby tom from RiverClan with tufted ears. Adderthorn, a rather reclusive WindClan cat, kept to herself, although her gaze seemed to be fixed on a small dark brown tom from ShadowClan who had a marbled coat.

“Come, Antstar.” Whitetooth, with Marblepaw by their side, led Antstar through the gathering crowd, weaving in and out of the clouds of conversation. Eventually, they reached the medicine cats, who were having a friendly debate about whether yellow or orange marigold was more effective.

“I leave you here.” They pointed their tail at the top of the rock, where an empty spot sat between Tulipstar and Currantstar. “Best of luck. May StarClan look upon your first gathering with smiling faces.”

With a bit of effort, Antstar leapt onto the rock. He was surprised at how smooth the summit was- as if generations of pawsteps had carved it.

“Greetings, Antstep.” Tulipstar bowed her head.

Currantstar, however, looked a tad more confused. “Have Shalestar and Rainleap taken ill? I wouldn’t expect Shalestar to skip a Gathering. That old workhorse would go even in downpour…”

Antstar stammered. “I…”

He looked to Whitetooth for a second, who gave him an encouraging nod. He then looked to the other leaders. Their eyes felt like hot coals launching towards him.

But he would have to say it now.

“…Shalestar and Rainleap both passed away this prior moon.”

A sudden commotion hit the Gathering. Cats of the other Clans looked to their WindClan acquaintances in shock; WindClan simply nodded their heads and sighed.

“Both of them? How?” Pigeonstar’s eyes narrowed as his face twisted itself from comprehension into a scowl.

“On the way back from the last Gathering, there was an accident involving a monster. Shalestar appointed me as deputy in his stead-“ -he shot a quick glance into the crowd, seeking approval- “-and he passed away of illness not long after. We in WindClan mourn them both greatly, and have spent the past moon grieving for them.”

Pigeonstar, however, looked unconvinced. “How do we know you didn’t kill them?”

Antstar felt ill, unsheathing his claws to keep himself from falling off the Great Rock from dizziness. But the SkyClan leader continued, fashioning himself the great detective. “For all we know, you could have killed Rainleap, made it look like an accident, have Shalestar elect you as deputy, and then kill him, too!” He drew his lips in a snarl. “And it doesn’t help that cats of your kind don’t become WindClan leader so easy.”

But then, Currantstar stepped forward. “Many of us in ShadowClan are not Clan-born, like Antstar here. One of my medicine cats, Rosettepelt, is among them, and she is one of the most gifted healers we know.” He advanced forward towards Pigeonstar, his gaze steady and stern. “So if you want to remain on positive terms with us, I suggest you watch it.”

Pigeonstar seemed as if he were about to say something, but reason got the better of him.

“Furthermore, my friends,” started Whitetooth from the medicine cat crowd, “I can assure you that Antstar speaks truth. I prepared both bodies and aided Shalestar in his final hours. As he lay dying, he was content with his choice in Antstep.”

There was a low murmur throughout the Gathering discussing the death of the old leader. Even though Antstar tried not to, he bent his ears towards the crowd to get a better listen.

“Well,” said Pigeonstar, “we have no proof he didn’t kill Shalestar, now, do we?”

Currantstar and Tulipstar looked unconvinced as they looked over the Burmese tom in front of them. “You realize Antstar was Shalestar’s own apprentice, Pigeonstar,” added Tulipstar dryly. “And Shalestar took quite the liking to him.”

Tatteredstar of ThunderClan, however, was studying him, very very deeply, like she was inspecting the double barrel of a rifle she was about to stuff with gunpowder. Finally, she stepped back. The massive molly sat down, her expression unchanged as always.

“I don’t think the boy killed Shalestar.” She spoke in a thick ThunderClan drawl. “But we shouldn’t underestimate him.” She paused, as if she was taking the moment to rehearse her thoughts to herself. “He’s got killer between his eyes.”

Killer in his eyes. Antstar felt unsettled. Killer? What does she mean? And why-

But the other leaders simply seemed to nod, as if a silent agreement had been reached that they shouldn’t further push Antstar.

Perhaps they all had killers dancing in their eyes.

Pigeonstar seemed to back off, although he didn’t look pleased.

“Is there any other news in WindClan to report?” asked Tulipstar.

“…There is nothing else to report.”

Antstar stepped back, and Tatteredstar began to prepare herself to speak. Tatteredstar’s mere presence alone made Antstar feel weaker. Tatteredstar was an almighty oak; massive, muscular, battle-scarred and a pillar of her Clan, he was a mere dandelion, who bent over and crumpled in the slightest breeze, beside her. Having a good look at her didn’t help. He saw more scars on her now than he ever had before- across her face, across her flank, even down her legs. Her claws were off-white and long, jutting out from the tufts of fur betwixt her toes, and while her fur was generally well-groomed, a mat or two seemed just under the surface in the ruff of fur around her neck. She had two bottom fangs that stuck out; they had yellowed in their years of exposure and her bottom lip seemed to have shaped itself around them. Her tail was short, compared to her body, and it would not surprise Antstar if she had lost part of it in the throes of battle. Her big, yellow eyes, which were surrounded by oily discharge that discolored her fur, seemed to both stare into the horizon and at whatever was in front of her at once.

“ThunderClan has been doing well this past moon. We extend our condolences to WindClan for their loss of Shalestar,” she began. “He was leader alongside me for many years. We had our disagreements, but I held the tom in high regard, as I am sure all of us do.”

Shalestar and Tatteredstar had been the two oldest leaders, Antstar recalled. She had been leader for about twelve seasons by the time Shalestar ascended, and while the two didn’t interact much and had their differences, there was an air of respect between the two.

Antstar recalled how hollow-looking and feeble Shalestar had appeared in death. Tatteredstar, however, had no sign of slowing down. He wondered how she managed to do it.

“We have been lucky to have had two healthy litters of kits born into our Clan. Sleetwhisker has given birth to two mollies, Vinekit and Shrikekit; and Sootspots has given birth to four toms and a molly, Mothkit, Fogkit, Stumpkit, Cedarkit, and Clawkit. In addition, Foxbriar is set to give birth to her kits within the next quarter-moon. We will have our paws very full… and it will also mean we will have more mouths to feed.” She shot a pointed glance at Tulipstar.

“Also- in addition- there was an attempted uprising by a ThunderClan cat named Rosefire.” The Gathering crowds pricked their ears- Rosefire was a cat who had been known by many for his friendly nature and how he disliked Tatteredstar and her deputy, Eelwhisker. He was a very vocal cat, and would often joke about starting genuine rebellion against them in order to pursue a dream of all five clans being united. Many thought he was a tad extreme, of course, but he was generally well-liked.

But Tatteredstar never minced words. “The so-called uprising was over as soon as it began. I dealt with Rosefire. You will not be seeing him again.”

There was a stunned silence.

It was only then that it really struck Antstar what cat he was dealing with. The matter of Rosefire, to Tatteredstar, was not a personal matter, and there was not a look of cruelty, resentment, or even annoyance in the ThunderClan leader’s yellow eyes. Rosefire had intruded on ThunderClan’s safety, and Tatteredstar had dispatched him. It began and ended there.

And then, Tatteredstar stepped back. “ThunderClan has nothing more to report.”

After what seemed like forever, Currantstar stepped up to speak. “ShadowClan has spent the moon recuperating after the fire we reported at the last Gathering. We are, again, very lucky that it did not affect us too harshly. Besides that, we have no new news to report; we are deeply sorry for WindClan’s loss of Shalestar and Rainleap.”

As soon as he had begun, he had ended. Antstar admired his charisma, his charm, the way he looked like a sculpture; Currantstar was a perfect leader.

And he had become leader so young, too. He and Antstar were about the same age, after all.

If he can do it, and be a perfect leader, I can do it, too…

“We have been experiencing difficulties with rogues on SkyClan territory,” Pigeonstar announced. “I suspect this is the same group that has been bothering RiverClan territory. However, we have fought them off successfully,” he said. He was very pointed with his words. “In addition, two of our apprentices became warriors- Bumbleshade and Silverskip.”

There was a round of cheer for the two freshly-graduated warriors. Pigeonstar then backed away, and Tulipstar, the very small white molly with ginger splotches, at long last took the stage.

“We are continuing to deal with the rogues on our territory. We have started to drive them off, but it’s a tough process. Just this moon alone we have had to deal with the untimely deaths of Yellowstripe and Sleekwater, and our resources are running dry. However, there is hope. Oatwhisker became a warrior this month, and one of our mollies gave birth to two fine young kits, Magpiekit and Frondkit.”

The little white-and-orange molly kept a steady eye on Tatteredstar- giving a clear implication about how much she wanted Sunningrocks. Their agreement would run out by the next Gathering- and, by the looks of it, Tulipstar had every intention to keep the territory.

Slowly, the gathering would down like a spring-powered toy. SkyClan was the first to leave; then ThunderClan, and then ShadowClan, until only WindClan and RiverClan were left. Antstar would have left earlier, but he still felt dizzy and his head felt sore from sheer mental pressure.

“Are you alright?”

He turned and looked down to see Tulipstar. She looked… genuinely concerned, or at least as genuinely as Antstar could convince himself another leader could be.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, as reluctance tried to keep his lips locked together.

“…You sounded nervous. I get it. Don’t fear the other leaders; they’re really not as scary as they like to make themselves out to be.” She thought on her words for a moment. “Well, except for Tatteredstar.”

“…What is it to you?” Antstar backed away slowly. Did she want something out of him? Then he doubled back in his mind- what if that sounded too rude, and now she was mad with him?

“Antstar, relax. I was especially close with your mentor and predecessor, Shalestar. We were very good friends, and under our allyship our two Clans were very close. I would like to continue that partnership with you.”

RiverClan had been friendly with WindClan for at least as long as Shalestar and Tulipstar had led them both. Slowly, Antstar let his guard down, correcting his posture so he didn’t look so hunched over.

“I would like to continue it, as well.”

“Great,” she said. She smiled, and Antstar could see how middle age had made her face look bony and her dimples more noticeable. “Besides- I was in a very similar scenario to where you are now, when I became leader.”

Antstar sat up in disbelief. Perhaps he wasn’t alone! Perhaps someone, somewhere out there… someone might just understand! “You… you became leader the same way?”

“Similarly. I mean- there weren’t as many accusations as you had to face from Pigeonstar, that joyless rat, because both my parents were RiverClan and the previous leader’s death wasn’t exactly a private occasion.” She leaned in, her jade eyes wide. “Did you hear about how I came to be leader, Antstar?”

Antstar shook his head.

“I feel you will find it very similar to your situation. The leader before me was a tom named Boarstar.”

Antstar remembered hearing of a Boarstar in nursery tales when he was a kit. Everyone knew him as a leader who had died in a battle he himself had started, but Antstar had not heard much of what he was like beyond that.

“Boarstar was very, very young when he rose to power, younger than you by a few seasons. He was a mean thing. Always picking fights with ThunderClan and WindClan, always on the attack. He was a serial womanizer and deeply narcissistic. Not many of us liked him much. He placed his brother, Oakbelly- who shared every ideal with him- as his deputy, and the two wreaked havoc on RiverClan. Boarstar lost his lives quite quickly because of all the battles he started…”

“So how did he choose you?”

“I honestly don’t think he did. We were in the midst of a battle with ThunderClan in their camp, and Oakbelly was fighting some ThunderClan cat while trying to get to the nursery. As he was taunting them, he made a miscalculation- and the ThunderClan cat shredded his belly open. And now, you know I and ThunderClan do not get along, but…” She smirked.

“And Boarstar?”

“Boarstar was filled with more rage than his namesake as he saw his brother bleed out… So he ran right to Tatteredstar herself and attacked her. She and him went one-on-one. It was a quick battle. I didn’t see much of it, but in the glimpse of his death that I got from the other side of their camp, she was clamping down on his head with her paws, crushing his skull.”

Antstar grimaced.

“The next thing I knew, the medicine cat rushed up to me and asked if I could take the mantle of leadership, telling me it was what Boarstar wanted in his last moments. In hindsight, it was probably the last thing he wanted, and the medicine cat was the one who made the decision. But it was my duty to my Clan, and so, I became leader. I cannot say the road of leadership has been an easy one, or a gentle one. But I want to be the cat for you who I wished was there for me.”

Antstar stepped towards her. “You mean, you’re going to help me?”

“I can’t lead for you, Antstar. Only you know your people. But I will be here as your mentor in leadership. Our Clans will be close. Feel free to ask me if you need help, and I will do my best to be there. It’s what Shalestar would have wanted.”

Antstar’s shoulders felt lighter. Someone out there was on his side!

“Trufflepelt, organize RiverClan so we can leave.” A tall, gaunt cinnamon tabby tom, twice the height of his leader, stood at the end of the hollow as the trademark plump bodies and shimmering pelts of RiverClan surrounded him. Pebblesky, RiverClan’s medicine cat, receded into the crowd, leaving Whitetooth and Marblepaw alone. They disappeared into the forests, southward; towards the faint smell of freshwater that beckoned from their territory.

Antstar stood alone on the rock for a moment. It was smooth, cold; almost calming now that the other Clans had left. He looked above and saw the leaves of the great oaks shiver above him; and a sky full of stars, who all blinked and winked as they stared upon him.

He heard pawsteps behind him, and turned to see the familiar face of Whitetooth, staring him in that inquisitive way they always did. “Are you alright, my leader?”

“…Yeah.” Antstar didn’t break eye contact as he stared at the stars above him.

“...You’ll get used to it,” Whitetooth added.

“I know.”

And then, after a further moment, Antstar left the Great Rock, where Russetfoot was already organizing WindClan to go home. Whitetooth followed, and then Marblepaw, and away they went, into the night.

“He did terribly,” said Sparkthistle dismissively as soon as the Gathering group got back.

“It couldn’t be that bad,” said Houndnose, a tortoiseshell tabby-and-white permaqueen, who emerged from the nursery with two of Cherrycloud’s kits clamping themselves onto her fur like a pair of bread clips.

“Oh, he made the biggest ass of himself- which is saying something because Pigeonstar was there.” The ginger molly rolled her eyes. “You really hate to see it. I’m astonished Rainleap hasn’t unearthed himself with all the spinning he must be doing in that grave!”

“Don’t talk that way about my brother!” growled Stripedwing, who was just outside the nursery. The gray tabby molly, who was visibly pregnant, had been inspecting the nursery while the gathering group was gone.

But Sparkthistle simply groaned and sauntered off, as if she was annoyed at Stripedwing for not liking the joke.

Antstar passed by the nursery, and something bit his foot. He looked down to see Brindlekit, a little tortoiseshell, gnawing at his toes. “Got you now, ThunderClan rat!” she squeaked.

“Brindlekit, that’s our leader!” said a ginger tabby tom-kit, panicked- but with a slight edge of authority. But Brindlekit, pugnacious as ever, simply pounced onto her brother, and the two began to wrestle. Eventually, Cherrycloud- her ginger coat near identical to the one of the little tom-kit- pried them apart. “Brindlekit, be nice to Antstar. Rosekit, it’s my job to parent her, not you.”

“Antstar! Antstar!” cried another ginger kit, who pushed her way out of the nursery between Houndnose and Cherrycloud. “Didja see Tatteredstar?”

“Is she really the size of a dog? That’s’ what Amberkit told me!” added a tiny solid black tom next to her. “…She’s big. Definitely one of the biggest cats I’ve seen. But not that big.”

The black tom-kit looked smugly at Amberkit, who seemed flustered that her descriptions weren’t accurate. But they had more questions to ask.

“Do the RiverClan cats really smell like fish?” “I heard ShadowClan eats frogs!” “Can Tatteredstar really kill a rat just by looking at them?” “Is the RiverClan medicine cat really secretly from ThunderClan?”

Antstar felt bombarded, but he still tried to answer each question. “They kind of do… they do eat frogs, but they seem fine with it… I don’t know, but she is scary… She is, and it’s not much of a secret, both Clans agreed to it…”

Cherrycloud gave a motion to the two kits, and they silenced themselves. “I’m sorry if they’re being a bother to you, Antstar,” she said apologetically.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Antstar said. “They’re the next generation of warriors, after all.”

“Patchkit, would you like to say hi?” Cherrycloud asked to a little tortoiseshell, similar in shape and appearance to Brindlekit, who clung next to her. Patchkit gave Antstar a small glance and then buried herself further into her mother’s fur.

“She’s very shy and anxious,” Cherrycloud said. “We hope she’ll step out of her shell a little more soon.”

Antstar recalled he had been a similar way, as a kit. He recalled the permaqueen who had nursed him- a kind, pleasant molly who had passed away a few seasons ago from a wound infection- had a conversation with him about how he was then.

“You were a shy little thing. Very quiet, very meek. But when we were alone, you’d do these little tricks- kneading the ground, cuddling up to clumps of moss and cotton. It was cute, but… it was weird. It was like you were putting on a show for approval. And maybe it was coincidence- but sometimes it felt like you knew what you were trying to do.”

Antstar had thought about that a lot, since he had became leader.

“Oh,” Cherrycloud added, “and I’m sorry for how my sister, Sparkthistle, has been acting recently. We don’t talk much anymore. I will never understand why she has such a bug up her tail about everything... She should mellow down soon, I hope.”

She picked up Patchkit and went back into the nursery, with Houndnose alongside her and her other kits soon following. Antstar soon found himself alone again outside the nursery, the pale moon giving everything a glow. He saw Sparkthistle from across the clearing. The ginger tabby, her teeth in a permanent scowl, made brief eye contact with him before turning away into the warriors’ den.

Antstar worried. What if they began to believe her? What if she’s not an outlier- but an early critic? What if she turns the Clan on him? What if-

Something white caught his eye, and he turned to see Whitetooth, watching him from the edge of the medicine cat on the far side of camp.

He couldn’t fully read their face, but they had the glint in their eye of someone with an answer.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter seven-

A couple of weeks later, the sky felt wet with heat, despite the beautiful, almost green tinge that hung above White Hart Woods.

Russetfoot was uncharacteristically panicky, Antstar had to note, but the red tom was trying his best not to look the part. How could he not be, really? Stripedwing was due with their kits for that very night- and by Whitetooth’s estimations, given the size her abdomen had swelled to and peculiar instinct only medicine cats and queens could pick up, it would be a large litter. However, when Antstar had offered Russetfoot a break from assigning patrols, Russetfoot shook his head- this was his duty, he said, and his alone.

“Nightblossom, Juniperfang, Emberheart, Webwhisker, would you all go on the night patrol?” he asked. Nightblossom and Juniperfang were once part of the misshapen band of loners that Antstar had recruited; they had received proper warrior names- along with Birchshine and Lilystone- at a ceremony a few days prior. Antstar had given them purposely fancy warrior names, both to ease them into the Clan easier and to set himself apart. Good names make for good publicity in leader-speak, he had heard.

“I was already on the patrol in the morning,” said Juniperfang flatly.

“Oh- well- that’s okay! Would anyone like to be on the patrol?...”

He looked around, almost sort of aimlessly, until his eyes met with Sandwhisker’s. “I’ll join,” said the old pale molly.

“You don’t have to-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” She laughed a bit- her voice was tangy but slightly crisp, like an orange beginning to dry in the sun. “You and Antstar act so funny about me. You know, he was trying to get me to join the elders’ den just a week ago. I don’t think he understands. I don’t know how much life I got left-“ she shot a glance at the elders’ den- “-but I don’t intend spending the rest of it rotting around in camp.”

“It’s better than whatever the hell you’re doing,” joked back Talonscar, who was in an unusually light mood. “You’re gonna dry up like leather eventually if you keep runnin’ around, thinking you’re still a spring hen!”

“I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a bat with all the sleeping and lounging in caves you do,”

she shot back to them before walking off with the other cats who had been selected.

“You mad hare of a molly!”

“Lots of talk, coming from old ragged-ears!”

Why was Talonscar so cheerful? Antstar thought. Usually, they’re just sort of bitter and quiet. …Right! The Gathering! It’s tonight!

Besides the glimpses of ShadowClan and RiverClan on the borders- and, of course, the time RiverClan had helped them, although Antstar was trying his best to forget it- Antstar had not heard much of what the other Clans had been doing. It worried him, at times. ThunderClan could take on anyone in the forest and win if they wanted to, and SkyClan was too volatile to be left to their own devices. They shared no borders with his Clan, but Antstar sensed that if something were to happen, conflict could spread to WindClan quicker than the crow flies.

When the patrol returned, he decided, he’d round up the Clan to go.

Stripedwing’s cry cut through the air like a slightly-dulled knife. Antstar could not see much beyond the yellow grasses that lined the nursery, but he heard whispers of “They’re coming!” as the permanent queens huddled around. Cherrycloud left the nursery, bringing her kits with her, just as a panicking Russetfoot rushed inward.

“Why do we have to leave?” protested Amberkit.

“I was comfortable, and I forgot my moss ball!” added Brindlekit, with crumpled frustration only a kit could muster.

“Let Stripedwing have her privacy,” she said simply. “And I don’t want any of you getting in the way.”

Whitetooth leapt out of their medicine den, practically flying over their Clanmates. Within mere seconds they had slid into the den between Sparrowpetal and Houndnose’s flanks, and Antstar could hear them take authority: “Here, madam, lie down on your side. Marblepaw-“ they flicked their head out of the nursery entrance, towards where Marblepaw stood near a camp wall. “Bring me a stick of good size.” Then, they nudged Russetfoot out of the den. “With the queens and I, it is already crowded enough. Stay out here until I give you permission.” Russetfoot began to protest, but stopped mid-word and sat down. Rockscratch joined him, and the two brothers began to share tongues in order to keep Russetfoot’s mind off of the birth unfolding behind him.

Wait, realized Antstar. If Russetfoot will be with his mate, and Whitetooth will be busy with the birth…

The commotion felt as if it would continue forever, and Antstar- trying not to look overly nosy- kept trying to shoot glances into the den from where he was sitting. Then, after what must have felt like eons, Antstar heard a kit’s cry, and saw the faintest moment of Whitetooth holding a small, dark red bundle.

He felt the patrol arrive beyond him. For a second, he inched towards Russetfoot, but the expression on Russetfoot’s face gave him all he needed to know.

For a second, his mind wandered to Marblepaw.

But he could not let her escape her mentor.

He felt lonelier than ever, walking to Fourtrees that night, despite half his Clan being behind him.

Russetfoot, his best friend and the cat he wished he was, was in camp, and Whitetooth was bringing his offspring into the world. How strange it was, Antstar thought, that the very same cat who had watched emotionless as Sparkthistle’s throat closed and her heart gave out was now prying out and beholding life. An end to one story, the beginning to another.

Then Antstar remembered. Whitetooth had no attachment to life or to death, to good or to evil. Their sole allegiance, it seemed, was their role as a medicine cat- no matter what that had entailed.

No sooner than he had arrived did he see Fourtrees open itself in front of him, like a pop-up book. The trees seemed taller than ever, looming over him; for a moment Antstar thought he saw pairs of eyes meet his gaze from the dark leafy branches. SkyClan was already here, as was ThunderClan; he could see the silhouettes of RiverClan cats on the horizon.

“I’ve heard Twolegs call this place Druid’s Hollow,” said Nightblossom to Lilystone, her yellow eyes pried wide with the new sights and sounds around her.

“What’s a Druid?”

“No clue. Some Twoleg nonsense, I bet.”

Antstar leapt up onto the Great Rock. He could see the medicine cats that had already gathered looking around with confusion.

“I hope they’re alright,” said Honeyfur, SkyClan’s medicine cat. He was large and rather oafish, but quite docile- a far cry from the other SkyClanners Antstar had interacted with, who shared Pigeonstar’s white-hot temper.

“They’re fine,” Emberblaze assured. “They’re probably busy. Russetfoot is gone too, so something must just be happening. Like how Rosettepelt wasn’t at the gathering a few moons ago because she was monitoring a sick apprentice. Things happen.”

“I do worry about Marblepaw, though,” Honeyfur added. “Poor little thing. Whitetooth treats her well, but she looks so lonely. Every time she looks at her mother it’s like she’s been abandoned all over again…”

Antstar had never pried into Adderthorn’s private life, but it was no secret her kits were unplanned. And Antstar had a working theory as to why- any time she was at a Gathering, her eyes were glued to a ShadowClan tabby who bore striking resemblance to Marblepaw and Twigpaw. He never said much about it- it was none of his business, and besides, one secret could spill another.

“Hello, Antstar.” He fell out of his thoughts to see Pigeonstar and Tatteredstar staring towards him. Antstar noted they were physically quite close to each other. Unusual- Pigeonstar almost always liked to keep a distance, as did Tatteredstar.

“Hi.”

“We heard about Sparkthistle’s passing from a RiverClan patrol,” said Tatteredstar, bowing her head. “Deepest apologies.”

“I- thank you.” He wanted to think about Sparkthistle as little as possible. Part of him worried: What if he told everyone about it on accident? What if-

Then, a calming, river-like scent flowed through the Fourtrees air, and Antstar turned to see RiverClan. From the Gathering rock, he noted, their numbers looked quite small, compared to ThunderClan and SkyClan’s. Tulipstar lead them, although she was hard to spot among them because of her size. She leapt up onto the Gathering rock and bowed her head, before turning to Antstar. “Did you-“

“- Yes, we buried her. Near the farm.”

“I’m so sorry about it.”

“Thank you.” He knew Tulipstar was trying to be nice, but the constant mentions of the cat he had in part killed made him feel dizzier.

“Now we wait for ShadowClan,” Pigeonstar huffed. “Always late...”

“Don’t complain,” said Tatteredstar, nudging him. There was a peculiar closeness to the two leaders this particular Gathering- not one of fondness, but definitely some sort of bond. Were they working together? And why?

After a few more minutes of small talk, ShadowClan finally entered the clearing. Antstar had to admit he looked forward to seeing Currantstar most of all. The tom was something of a reminder to him that there was hope for him. Currantstar was a paragon- not even Pigeonstar could find complaints with him, besides how he tended to be late at Gatherings. The ruddy-colored tom leapt up onto the Gathering rock, his eyes almost permanently in a calm, nearly half-lidded expression. He and Russetfoot were the cats Antstar wished he could be, instead of the reflection that greeted him every time he got himself a drink. Chatter continued to ripple through the clearing until Pigeonstar gave a yowl.

There was a long silence, until Tulipstar tapped Antstar’s side with her plumy orange tail. “You go first, Antstar.”

Right.

“Well- uhm- WindClan has been doing mostly well. My- uh…“ He looked around to see Pigeonstar and Tatteredstar, who were reacting to him with what was at best an expression of secondhand embarrassment. “My deputy Russetfoot and his mate Stripedwing are having their kits tonight, and that’s why my deputy and the medicine cats aren’t here. Also, we found a group of loners on the edge of territory and took them in; two elders and four warriors: Juniperfang, Nightblossom, Lilystone, and Birchshine.”

“Of course, the loner cat lets in more loners,” snickered a cat from below with a sharp SkyClan accent. Antstar pretended not to hear them.

“We have three new warriors; Spiderfoot, Coalclaw, and Sparrowpetal. Finally, you may have heard already- I know RiverClan has- but one of…” His breath was shaky. He took a moment to capture it again before continuing. “One of our warriors, Sparkthistle, tripped over the gorge and drowned in the waters below. RiverClan helped us locate her body, and we are thankful for their help.”

There was a murmur of condolences- but a rather half-hearted one. Sparkthistle was not a popular cat in other clans, either.

“It has been an eventful moon, but- but not one we can’t handle. I have nothing else to report.” He stepped back, catching his breath. Someday, he thought, he’d try to get used to this.

“RiverClan has been doing alright, but not as well as we hoped,” added Tulipstar. “There has been less fish in the water than usual, and it has been taking a toll on us. In addition, we worry about Greencough rippling through our clan. While all those infected are currently on the mend, it worries us greatly, as it is a stubborn illness to deal with. However, I have optimism that things will be on the mend. Owlpaw has become an apprentice; he is Squirrelface’s first.”

There was a cheer for the little dark brownish-gray tom, who sat next to his mentor near the front of the crowd. Antstar looked at Squirrelface, who he had recalled as the son of Redfeather, the cat who had helped WindClan find Sparkthistle’s body. He was her spitting image, albeit visibly younger, and his eyes glowed with the pride and the daunting experience of one’s first apprentice. There was something slightly haunted and hunted, however, behind that pristine red-furred expression- and given what Antstar recalled having been told about his youth, he figured there was something more to what Squirrelface saw in his apprentice.

Currantstar stepped forward. “We in ShadowClan have been doing pleasantly. The charred remains of the fire from a couple of moons ago have given way to new life, and prey is returning to normal levels. Besides that, however, we have no news to report.”

Antstar shot a glance into the ShadowClan crowd to see their reactions to their leader- something he had neglected to get a good look at before. But what he saw shocked him. Despite how flawless he had thought Currantstar to be, ShadowClan’s denizens were looking at him with scorn. A calico and a golden tabby in the first row were trading whispers of insults about their leader with each other, and a white molly with pale gray patches seemed too hurt to even look at him. Even Whitestone, Currantstar’s deputy, seemed to regard his leader like he was the aftertaste of a rotten piece of meat. But why? From what Antstar saw, everything Currantstar did was perfect…

But he had no time to ruminate on it, as ThunderClan and SkyClan stepped up to the plate.

“ThunderClan,” Tatteredstar announced, “is having an unprecedented number of kits. In addition to Sootyspots and Sleetwhisker’s litters, Foxbriar had her own litter of three just a quarter-moon ago: Spanglekit, Turtlekit, and Maplekit. We also found a stray abandoned litter on the border, which Sleetwhisker has taken in as her own to raise: Seedkit, Yarrowkit, and Ryekit.”

Antstar soon realized why she might have taken in the abandoned kit litter: Sure, it would be against Code otherwise. But she was also using them to boost population numbers for whatever point she was going to make here. Thirteen kits had more persuasion power than ten.

And then it began to hit Antstar. If Tatteredstar was using them for that… back when he had been taken in as a kit… Did Shalestar-

“Thirteen kits is a massive number- not one I myself have seen since I was young. But if we are to raise them, especially in the upcoming fall… we are going to need plenty of territory.”

Antstar began to see where this was going.

“That’s why,” Pigeonstar stepped in, “I and Tatteredstar have struck a deal. We will share more territory than usual for the upcoming six moons. SkyClan will provide more territory for ThunderClan to hunt upon, and ThunderClan will be our allies in battle in exchange.”

Tatteredstar, however, seemed unpleased that Pigeonstar had interrupted her. “However, even with our alliance we are uncertain of if we will have enough.”

Their gaze turned to Tulipstar, who suddenly looked like a flower between stones, trying her best to blossom.

“And you will recall, Tulipstar,” Tatteredstar continued, “that our deal has run out, now that we are on the brink of leaf-fall.”

“I- yes.”

“So we will be asking if we can have Sunningrocks. From you.”

Antstar watched as Tulipstar suddenly struggled in place. She stammered, looking for something to say; she struck a glance into the crowd of RiverClan cats behind her. “I am aware, Tatteredstar, our deal has run out. But is SkyClan’s grounds not enough for you?”

No reply. The clearing was so silent that one could practically hear a shrew think.

“You have asked for Sunningrocks. But with my Clan already on the brink, with illness and hunger mingling among us and with Sunningrocks being our current best hunting spot… I can’t in good conscience grant you it.”

“Well, well,” said Pigeonstar. Tatteredstar however only flicked her ears in response.

“If you will not let us have Sunningrocks, I am afraid we will have to resort to more extreme measures. I would not want this for us- your Clan is outnumbered.”

Tulipstar turned to Antstar and Currantstar, a flash of desperation peppering her jade green eyes. For a moment, Currantstar stepped forward, only for sharp cries of anger to ring out from his Clan.

“What has RiverClan ever done for us?”

“Don’t sacrifice us to them to make peace, you son of a bitch!”

“Oh, now the fickle coward’s going to tell us about how important loyalty and unity is!”

Antstar still couldn’t wrap his head around why ShadowClan seemed to detest Currantstar so much. For a second, he opened his mouth to defend him, but he realized it would only make matters worse. The damage was done, and Currantstar stepped back, bent over as if he were about to fold into himself and be gone. Antstar turned to see Pigeonstar’s teal eyes and Tatteredstar’s wearier yellow ones burn into him like comets upon the Earth.

And yet…

He had to make a decision here. Tulipstar’s guidance was invaluable to him. He couldn’t let that go.

“I’ll fight with RiverClan,” Antstar butted in. “Or rather, we will. They have been a close ally for many moons.”

He looked to WindClan, who seemed hesitant but open about the idea. He caught Molethroat hesitantly eyeing the bulky ThunderClan warriors. Even Toadpool, stalwart as ever, looked slightly uncertain. But the younger warriors, like Spiderfoot and Juniperfang, burned with ambition; the courage only a cat under two years old could truly have.

“Thank you, Antstar,” said Tulipstar, the tenseness leaving her body like a slowly-draining water spring. Pigeonstar seemed insulted, but Tatteredstar remained absolutely still, analytical as always, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two leaders against her like a clock pendulum.

“Fine, then. We shall battle at noon a week from now. If RiverClan and WindClan win, we will let you keep Sunningrocks. And if we don’t…” She narrowed her gaze- she did not need to finish the sentence.

Antstar made no conversation on the way back, his ears pinned flat against his head. Would WindClan hate him for what he had chosen? He hoped not. Most WindClan cats seemed to like RiverClan, after all. Was he overthinking?

The gorse flowers that marked home were a welcome sight. Antstar wanted nothing more than to rest in his den and sleep- it was like the other leaders had drained his energy.

But he would not get rest, as Rockscratch greeted him immediately straight to his face. “There’s seven of them!”

“Seven of-?” Antstar attempted to ask, but he was cut off.

“Seven kits! I’ve never seen a litter so large! Oh, Russetfoot’s going to have his paws so full…”

Seven? Antstar tried his best not to look nervous. That meant seven warriors, yes, but also- seven mouths to feed, seven apprentices to track and train… With Cherrycloud’s litter, that meant WindClan nearly had enough kits to rival ThunderClan’s supposedly massive amount.

Whitetooth greeted Antstar, smelling of kit fluid and freshly-nursed milk. “There’s seven of them, yes. Most of them are strong and healthy, exception being the runt of the litter, but that’s usually the case. The parents are very tired, they’ll show you them tomorrow.”

“How will we manage seven kits?”

“Same way we always do, my friend,” Whitetooth reassured. “They have excellent name choices, too. There’s Rustkit and Aphidkit, the dark red tabbies; Runningkit and Dewkit, the gray tabbies; Wheatkit, the fawn tabby…”

Antstar already felt his head spin with all these new names.

“-And Mousekit and Thistlekit, the brown tabbies. Thistlekit is the runt and the weakest of the litter, but I assure you he is not as weak as he may seem.”

“That’s…”

“It is a lot, yes. An unusual amount. We are very glad fortune has smiled on Stripedwing, as she seems well. We have enough queens to care for the lot of them.”

Antstar nodded along, making a mental note to himself to reassign Goldenpaw’s mentorship to Webwhisker. She had originally been Shadeflower’s apprentice, but she had drifted away from queenhood and Shadeflower clearly had her paws full.

“Do you have any concerns, Whitetooth?”

Whitetooth thought for a moment, but simply shook their head. “No- not that I know of.” Their eyes narrowed. “But if you ever need anything, you know who to ask.”

Away they slunk to the medicine den, Marblepaw greeting them at the entrance. Even from the other side of camp, Antstar could see a glint of fear in her sunset-colored eyes.

Part of him wanted to do something.

But a larger part of him was wise.

Antstar barely has turned around, however, before another Clanmate of his greeted him with bright yellow eyes. It was Stoatslink, looking unusually alert even for how alert he was. He was a rather stiff, sinewy fellow, with a snout that was round and exaggerated like a bull terrier’s. His fur was short and white but very coarse to the touch, always flattened against his body to the point you could often see his muscles peek out beneath them. His eyes were small and often at a squint, yet they still were the yellow of gorse in full bloom.

“I have to talk to you about something, Antstar. It’s beginning to worry me…”

Antstar nodded, and Stoatslink motioned for them to leave camp together. Something terrible and black and cowardly began to bubble in Antstar’s belly as he remembered who he had often once seen Stoatslink with…

It was a peaceful night, now that the clamor of the birth had died down and cats were falling asleep one by one. He could hear Birchshine and Emberheart chattering in the distance as the two cats took up the night watch, and, faintly, the soft hoots of the first owls to awaken.

“I know RiverClan said Sparkthistle drowned.”

Immediately, Antstar felt nauseous.

“But I can’t help but think something else happened. I mean, hunting out on her own? In the dark of night, just before a storm?” He shook his head.

“I think something else had to have gotten her… and they used the gorge as a cover-up.”

Antstar felt as if his heart was pulling itself apart, into smaller and smaller pieces. He wanted to crawl into himself like a snail into its shell. Part of him wondered- should he already give himself up? Should he tell? Should he also say Whitetooth-

“Now, I don’t think it was anyone in the Clan.”

Relief sprang across Antstar, although it felt fleeting.

“I trust Whitetooth. I think they’re telling the truth. Besides, Sparkthistle had her enemies outside the Clans. She’d go over and pick on the barn cats when she was feeling restless. She’d get into spats with them. I tried to warn her not to, but she was on a path to self-destruction. Not even the will of StarClan could stop her.”

“So…” Antstar tried not to fidget in place. “What do you think happened?”

“I could see her going out on her own.” He looked off into the distance sagely, and Antstar could see the gears of his mind turn like a polished watch. “I think a loner cat- one she would have been enemies with- came across her and had enough of her. They probably strangled her, given the lack of blood, and then threw her into the river to cover their tracks.” He clicked his tongue. “And the storm would act as a perfect curtain, washing away the scent.”

Antstar wasn’t sure if he should have felt hidden, safe, just escaped from his own doom; or exposed, just an inch away from his downfall.

“I think that’s a bit of a reach.”

“It might be, Antstar. But I worry. Sparkthistle was on her way to Hell, no matter what anyone- including myself- said otherwise. But there’s the off-chance that this stranger had a vendetta against our very Clan.” He looked back to camp, where his daughters, Milkpaw and Goldenpaw, were falling asleep trading gossip and sly insults about the other Clans with Twigpaw. “I worry about my kits, I guess, that’s all. I wouldn’t want them to suffer that fate. Or lose me to whoever this stranger might be. I was Sparkthistle’s closest thing to a friend, after all. They already lost their mother… I can’t bear the idea of them having a warrior ceremony after all.”

There was a long silence between them, punctured only by whispers from beyond.

“I dunno. Maybe I’m wrong and she really did fall over into the gorge like that. But if I see anything suspicious… I’ll tell you about it.”

Away the wiry white tom went into camp to sleep, and Antstar found himself alone once again, surrounded by his own Clan.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

chapter six-

“Sparkthistle! Sparkthistle is missing!”

Antstar bolted upright from sleep as if he had been struck by lightning. He could hear murmurings of confusion outside his den, and turned to see his Clan awake with their newfound discovery. The sky was a beautiful, vivid teal blue made brighter by the storm that preceded it, and the ground was wet from the remnants of rain.

“Sparkthistle is missing?” Antstar asked into the crowd. Goldenpaw came forth and nodded- although her expression was not one of concern but of simple confusion. A small crowd had gathered outside Whitetooth’s den, where the van-patterned cat was soothingly reassuring their Clanmates that they had fallen asleep with her there and woke up to her missing.

Marblepaw, meanwhile, was in the back, her tailtip still shivering, nodding along to every word her mentor said.

Antstar turned to see Russetfoot behind him. “Should I send out a search patrol?” Antstar nodded and watched as the dark red tabby rounded up Adderthorn, Webwhisker, Stoatslink, and Coalpaw in an instant.

He hid, best he could, that he did not want them to find anything.

But after the initial shock, the camp dissolved into disdain. “She probably ran off,” said Sandwhisker. “My father went much the same way. He disagreed with his leader’s choices one too many times, and ran away to Twolegplace from frustration…”

“Personally,” said Talonscar, narrowing their rheumy olive-green eyes, “I’ll be glad if she ran off.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” reprimanded Crowflower.

Cherrycloud stood outside the nursery with Molethroat at her side, confliction across her face.

Figuring it was the best thing to do, Antstar climbed the Tallrock, about to make an announcement about the disappearance in order to settle his Clan down.

His mind felt spacey. Was he forgetting something?

Right- the warrior ceremony for Spiderpaw and her siblings was to be that day! “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey…” He trailed off as he recited the familiar spiel, but it seemed as if his Clanmates understood him as they lined up. He looked behind him to see the distant silhouettes of the search patrol, and then began.

“This morning, Whitetooth discovered that Sparkthistle, who had been in the medicine den last night for kittencough treatment, had gone missing. Russetfoot and I have started a search patrol to find her. Some of you seem to suspect…” His throat felt dry and his head felt like it was filled with helium as his Clan stared him down. “…Some of you seem to suspect that she purposely ran off, or that she wanted to join another Clan. We cannot confirm anything until she is seen again, so please refrain from such gossip.”

“He’s so willing to excuse a cat who did nothing but swear against him,” said Talonscar. Crowflower jabbed them in the rib to get them to quiet down.

“As the search starts, however, Clan life must go on. Provided nothing drastic is found in the search, we will proceed with Spiderpaw, Coalpaw, and Sparrowpaw’s warrior ceremonies this afternoon.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Much to Antstar’s relief, Whitetooth seemed to have had a point. Nobody was particularly missing the ginger molly.

Not too long later, Russetfoot’s patrol came back empty-handed. “We found nothing,” admitted the red tom.

“However,” Webwhisker added with a touch of meekness, “we found the slightest trace of WindClan scent on the gorge near RiverClan.”

For a moment it felt as though a sheet of ice was cutting through Antstar’s lungs.

“So we figured we’d ask RiverClan if we saw anything.”

“We’d likely need you to come along, though, Antstar,” Russetfoot said, gazing into Antstar’s perpetually-wide amber eyes. “While we are friendly with RiverClan, it will do well for us if you explain why we are asking them.”

“Right, then.” Antstar swallowed, making a silent prayer that no RiverClan cat had seen the disposal of Sparkthistle’s body the night before. “Let us go there. Russetfoot, stay behind to keep watch of camp.”

To Fourtrees and then across the rickety bridge they went, careful to not let its fraying sides splinter them. The familiar, wide-open territory of WindClan seemed to fold away behind them as they were greeted with RiverClan’s reedy grounds and corrals of willows. Smooth rocks embedded into the earth seemed to tower over them, and Antstar had to look twice to ensure no cat was watching them from the peaks. Soon, a large island cut off from the rest of the world by the smooth river became visible through the reeds, and Antstar realized this must be RiverClan’s camp. He had never been here before, but he had heard Shalestar’s deputies complain about having to swim to get to it. Nearly as soon as he had stopped to look it over, though, Stoatslink and Coalpaw had already leapt into the waters, and he had to follow them. He slipped in, the cool summer waters licking at his flank. Something about this water felt positive, gentle; something very much unlike the frightful black current that he had watched Sparkthistle-

No. He couldn’t think about that now. It was a false memory, he told himself. That couldn’t have really happened. Sparkthistle was simply missing, and he would have to aid his Clan in finding her.

Soon, his paws gripped onto the shore of the island, and he pulled himself up before looking back to ensure Adderthorn and Webwhisker would reach the other side. Webwhisker pulled himself out of the water first, and silently motioned an offer to help Adderthorn, but she refused, her gaze far beyond him. She had always been distant like this, even to her own two children, Marblepaw and Twigpaw. Perhaps that was part of what Whitetooth meant when they stood over Marblepaw and-

No, no. It didn’t happen. It was some wild dream, Antstar tried to convince himself. It had to be.

The air hit his nostril, and it was thick with the scents of water, reeds, and freshly-caught fish. It was not nearly as pungent as he had thought it had been- or at least the way gossipy WindClan cats had whispered it was to him as RiverClan strode into the Gatherings.

He was surprised by how freeing it felt- not that he liked the scent, but he had never realized how tired he had been of the smell of WindClan grasses. But before he could take a chance to ponder that, a hiss greeted him, and he looked to see a tortoiseshell molly on the shore confronting Stoatslink.

“Trespassers!” she snarled. She was a rather small specimen for a RiverClan cat- perhaps she shared a common gene with Tulipstar.

“I am Antstar, WindClan leader,” said Antstar, the words feeling rather uncomfortable in his mouth like a grain of sand in an oyster’s maw. “I need to talk to Tulipstar.”

“And you think you can just come onto our territory like that? Show some respect. We may be allies, rabbit-feet, but that doesn’t mean you can just come into our camp on such short notice.” She drew her teeth together to make a ffft sound, but as she did so she backed into a tall tom with brown tabby fur, who Antstar immediately recognized as Trufflepelt, Tulipstar’s slightly-harried deputy. “Let them trespass,” he said. Immediately the tortoiseshell nodded and slinked off into the reeds.

“…Sorry about that. She means well, but she always has a bit of a temper.” He bowed to Antstar. “I will take you to Tulipstar now.” He led them away through the reeds and into camp. The WindClan cats, with their thin bodies and drawn-out faces, looked like kites among kestrels with the RiverClan cats around him. Not only did they live in nearly complete cover from the starlight- something Antstar found deeply unnerving- but their habitat had shaped them completely differently. Where WindClan’s tough, lean prey had rendered the cats thin and hardy, RiverClan cats had grown fat on their diet of fish- an advantage, given the cold waters that often soaked their pelts. Their ears were rounded at the tips, and they often had fur that wasn’t necessarily long so much as it was incredibly thick. Suddenly it made sense to Antstar why they spent so many summer days lounging: their thick pelts and plump bodies couldn’t make the heat easy for them.

“There she is,” said Trufflepelt, pointing his tail over at where the RiverClan leader was talking to a red tabby molly with tufted ears. Her ears twitched with the sense of the WindClan cats’ arrival, and soon she got up to canter over to them. Her small size was accentuated by the rest of RiverClan, who were nearly the size of ThunderClan cats, albeit with less of the muscle.

“Hello, Antstar,” she said kindly. “It is good to see you look well.”

Antstar was a bit surprised to hear he looked well, given he felt as though he hadn’t slept in moons. “Hello, Tulipstar. Good to see the same of you. …Can I talk to you about something?”

The RiverClan leader nodded. Antstar felt something soothing in her presence, rather something of a doting aunt that he never had.

“Last night, one of our warriors was ill with kittencough. Our medicine cat fell asleep with her in the den, and when they woke up, she was gone. We’re wondering if you or your Clanmates have seen her; her name is Sparkthistle. She’s a bright ginger tabby molly, rather skinny, slightly upturned nose, amber eyes…”

Tulipstar thought carefully, clicking her tongue and staring at the ground as if she was trying to summon every word she had heard that day. “I’m sorry, I can’t say we have.”

“Sparkthistle?” snickered the tortoiseshell from earlier, her jade-green eyes aglow. “I fought with her at a Gathering once. Don’t know what was for, and I know you aren’t supposed to pick fights at Gatherings- but man, I totally licked her.”

“Not appropriate, Mossfang,” Tulipstar said slightly bitterly. The tortoiseshell frowned, as if she was a child Tulipstar had put into time-out, and went back to where she had been sharing a small pike with a pale tan tabby tom.

“Here,” said Trufflepelt. “I’ll arrange a patrol. Redfeather, Longsnout, Smokebark, and Willownose.” The red tabby from earlier rose to her feet and padded over, alongside three other experienced-looking cats. Antstar could tell all of them were older than him. If they found Sparkthistle… could they recognize what had happened to her?

“Our friends in WindClan have a missing Clanmate. Could you do a patrol with them to ensure she has not found her way onto our territory?” instructed Trufflepelt. “I shall come along with you.”

Away the ten cats went. Trufflepelt and Antstar sat at the front, Trufflepelt’s pale amber eyes deeply focused at the task at hand compared to Antstar’s floundering ones. Then there was Redfeather, Webwhisker, Stoatslink, and Coalpaw, all exchanging pleasantries as they searched, then the three other RiverClan warriors, and then, in the very back, Adderthorn, who remained completely silent.

“Tell me about Sparkthistle,” asked Redfeather, suddenly pacing up to Antstar. She was a very pretty molly, despite clearly being in middle age. Her face was framed by vivid darker red stripes, and her fur was so dark ginger that it was practically the color of ripe currant.

“Sparkthistle… she’s a very argumentative molly. Always has prickly things to say. Doesn’t get along with anyone, in our Clan or in others. You saw that tortoiseshell in your camp talk about how she had a fight with her once.”

“Ah.” Redfeather nodded sagely. “And you said she was in the medicine den with illness?”

“Kittencough,” said Antstar. “She didn’t seem to believe she had it.”

“Could she have run out and done something just to show she didn’t have it?” “That would sound like something she’d do.”

“My sons would often do that when they were apprentices. If Pebblesky said they were ill and put them to bed, they’d always be found the next morning sneaking out and trying to fish to show how tough they were.” She laughed wistfully. “It never worked, though.”

Antstar nodded along, pretending that he didn’t know she had come to the wrong conclusion.

As they walked, they soon approached the gorge- this time, from RiverClan’s side. While WindClan’s side was a sharp edge, a cliffside; RiverClan’s was more of a slope, and Antstar felt too nervous to approach it in case he lost his footing.

“Could she have fallen into the Gorge?” Smokebark asked in a very matter-of-fact way, after a long pause as they looked into the crashing rivers below.

Another long pause. Antstar felt the silence creep under his pelt.

“…It’s possible.”

They all looked down into the raging currents.

“That’s how one of Redfeather’s sons passed away,” whispered Willownose into Antstar’s ear. “The two of them went out playing by the gorge, and Applepaw tripped and fell in. Squirrelpaw went running in after him. They managed to pull Squirrelpaw out… Applepaw, however, was dead by the time the patrol had found them. We worry about Squirrelface, now. A fine warrior, but he seems to never want to make connections.”

Something vile began to burn in the back of Antstar’s throat as he looked over to see the look of horror on Redfeather’s face as she stared down into the waters.

“… It is a possibility she might have fallen in,” said Antstar, trying to convince himself.

“If we looked in the gorge,” Smokebark continued, “we’d have to do it on our own, with more RiverClan cats. It’s a very dangerous thing. Even the most powerful of leaders would be no match for it on their own.”

“We should look everywhere else first instead,” said Webwhisker. “That way it’s a last resort for you guys.”

They nodded amongst themselves and left, Redfeather shaking her head to get her mind off of the son the gorge had whisked away from her.

They continued on, through the territory, but there was no sign of the WindClan molly- as Antstar knew there would not be. They soon made their way into RiverClan’s camp, and when Tulipstar looked in their direction Antstar and Trufflepelt simply shook their heads.

“No luck?”

“Not a sign of her,” Antstar confirmed.

“I think she might have fallen into the gorge,” Smokebark continued, “but we agreed we’d only look there as a last resort.”

Tulipstar approached Antstar. In the sunlight that glittered through the willow leaves, her white-and-orange pelt only looked all the more vibrant. “I’m sorry you could not find your friend here.”

Friend. Antstar did not have the heart to tell her that couldn’t be more untrue.

“We’ll keep looking on the moors. And-“ -he swallowed- “there’s always the chance she could have run far beyond the Clans altogether.”

And so, the WindClan cats slipped away as Redfeather and Tulipstar watched, through the reeds, through the water, and over the bridge, on the long path home.

“Was anything found?” asked Russetfoot as soon as the patrol returned, but judging by their distant expressions and the lack of Sparkthistle among them, he had already found his answer. He nodded immediately as Antstar explained- the kindness RiverClan had given them, the lack of WindClan scent on their land, the gorge.

“Ah. I’m sorry. We asked a ShadowClan patrol and the barn cats, but neither said they saw any sign of her.”

However, as Antstar looked upon camp, there was still little distress over Sparkthistle’s fate. Only Cherrycloud seemed to be acting off. Otherwise, while there were murmurs and rumors circling through camp of what might have become of the ginger molly- maybe she ran off to SkyClan, maybe she went to Twolegplace, maybe the bull in the farm pens got her- there was next to nobody that truly seemed to miss her.

For a split moment, Antstar made eye contact with Whitetooth. They looked reassuring, as if they knew all along this was exactly what would happen.

It was fine. It was all working out for the better.

Everything was fine… And he had a warrior ceremony to start.

“And do you promise to uphold the Warrior Code and protect and defend this Clan… even at the cost of your life?”

Spiderpaw nodded enthusiastically. Antstar had always thought of her as small, as she had been when he had first received her as an apprentice. Only now, as he was about to bestow her warrior name, had he realized she was nearly as tall as him. How much had changed since Shalestar had given her to him, all those moons ago…

“Then, by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Spiderpaw, from this moment on you shall be known as Spiderfoot. StarClan honors your determination and cunning, and we welcome you as a full warrior and moor runner of WindClan.”

The three former apprentices turned towards the Clan, their mentors and their mother Shadeflower looking on with awe.

“I give you Coalclaw, Sparrowpetal, and Spiderfoot!”

“Coalclaw! Sparrowpetal! Spiderfoot!” cheered the Clan. Shadeflower and Houndnose, who had been Sparrowpetal’s mentor, chatted together about Stripedwing’s upcoming litter. Coalclaw was being congratulated by the other tunnelers. And Spiderfoot, her head held high, was bragging to her uncle, Webwhisker, and her grandfather, a tabby elder named Silverbelly. The Sparkthistle matter had been forgotten nearly entirely.

Just as Antstar decided the matter was safely buried away, however, he spotted RiverClan cats on the horizon marching towards camp with urgency in their gait. Trufflepelt was leading them; Redfeather, Smokebark, and Willownose were behind him, the latter two carrying something limp and orange.

Oh, no.

“WindClan!” cried Trufflepelt. The tom was out of breath. Presumably, they had practically sprinted there from RiverClan territory. “WindClan! We found Sparkthistle!”

Immediately the cheer from the apprentice ceremony vanished as the RiverClan warriors slipped into camp through the gorse-lined tunnel. They laid Sparkthistle’s body out before the Clan, who stared before it in a lopsided, shocked way. It had been rendered ragged from the waves, sopping wet, with the once-ginger fur now darkened and muddied, clumping together like windblown grass.

“We’re very sorry to inform you of this, but we found her drowned in the gorge. She had been dead for some time. She was snagged on one of the rocks near the edge of territory.”

“It is most likely she fell in on accident,” added Smokebark, in the methodical way which he always seemed to speak with.

Antstar suddenly felt his heart, which had been rattling around his ribcage, begin to still as there was a murmur throughout the Clan. “She refused my instruction to rest in the medicine den,” said Whitetooth, stepping forward. Their face always looked so still but yet so genuine, like a stone reflecting sunset. The events of the night before felt so distant already. “If she was found in the gorge, she likely went out hunting to try and defy my instruction. She then must have tripped and fallen in, as our RiverClan friends have told us.”

Antstar scanned the clearing. Ironically, it seemed as if nobody was particularly upset. Only Cherrycloud seemed to be struck with an emotion, and the expression on her face wasn’t one Antstar could clearly read. For a split second, the Burmese tom felt his amber eyes wander to Whitetooth, who locked their eyes back. It was as if they were communicating something to Antstar through his mind: I told you there was nothing to worry about.

“We should bury her on the north side,” said Stoatslink, “near the farm.” He was carefully sniffing the body, inspecting; it was like he was not yet fully convinced on her death. The camp began to fill itself with discussions of how they would do the burial, who would be there, and Trufflepelt offered his apologies as the RiverClan patrol slipped away. The cats who had joined WindClan just a scant few days ago seemed unable to comprehend the body before them- they had not dealt with the death as often as their clanborn peers had. The elders, however, seemed to regard Sparkthistle with only the dullest surprise.

Antstar knew he should have felt relieved. In a way, he had. And yet… something gripped at him. If they regarded Sparkthistle with such indifference… if they ever found out his secret, would they regard him the same way?

No, they wouldn’t. He was no murderer. He was simply helping his Clan be unified, peaceful.

But something told him this was not the last time he would have to make such a choice.

That night, the sky was so clear it felt as if one could jump up into it and be gone. Sparkthistle had been buried at sunset, on the north side of territory. Only Stoatslink and Cherrycloud had chosen to sit vigil for their Clanmate, although Antstar sensed that perhaps more would have joined out of a sense of pity; the sort of pathetic, reluctant pity one would regard a dying adder with; if it had not been for the warrior vigils of Spiderfoot, Sparrowpetal, and Coalclaw.

“Antstar, can I talk to you for a moment?” asked a voice. For a moment, Antstar jumped when he saw an orange molly that looked eerily like Sparkthistle, but he calmed himself when he realized it was simply Cherrycloud. She shared her sister’s bright tabby pelt, and her amber eyes, but she had a softer face, and she smelled of drying kit milk.

“Of course.” Antstar tried his best to look peaceful and solemn, but a raging current was coursing through his nerves. Had she already realized?

“I just… I really want to thank you.” Antstar nearly stumbled back in his seat- partially with relief, partially with bewilderment. “I know the Clan and… my sister… did not get along well. But it means a lot that you sent out those patrols and went to RiverClan.”

“She was one of us,” Antstar said. “I would have done the same with any other Clanmate.”

He had nearly forgotten she was a WindClan cat, in his mind’s attempts to rationalize what he’d done.

“I know she didn’t get along with you particularly well.” Cherrycloud began to walk over to the gorse tunnel, and Antstar followed. “She never really got to connect with me, either, after we were apprentices. I wish I did something back then about how neglected by our mother she was. I just… never found the courage to.”

She looked into the distance. The very last vestige of day was on the tip of the horizon, giving a faint purple glow, but the rest of the sky was as indigo as indigo could be.

“Did she ever talk to you much?”

“…She did, at first. I couldn’t handle her negativity, though, and I had to let go for my own sake. It was right around when Molethroat and I fell in love that she stopped trying entirely. I think she envied me for it. I remember she had always wanted a mate. …She never visited our kits. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

Antstar looked back to the nursery, where Houndnose was trying to wrangle Rosekit and Amberkit. Only now that he had ruminated on the two sisters- and seen Sparkthistle’s look of horror as death overtook her- did he notice her resemblance in them. Amberkit had her eyes, Rosekit had her ears…

“I guess that’s what I’m mourning. Not her, necessarily- oftentimes she just made my days worse. But… the opportunity she could have had. I wish she had had the time to sort herself out and adjust.”

At first, Antstar felt the guilt was going to gnaw through him so hard that his liver would be torn in two. But then he remembered Whitetooth’s words: And Sparkthistle is never going to get better, either.

The tragedy here, Antstar decided, was not that Cherrycloud’s sister never got time. It was that Cherrycloud had expected a fantasy that would simply never come, like waiting for a stone to sprout flower buds. Sparkthistle was not going to change. If anything, she could have gotten much worse. It was a tragedy. It had to be. But leadership, if nothing else, was a chain of little tragedies.

“…Sorry for rambling,” she added.

“No, no- don’t be sorry.”

“I just… it’s hard for me to know how I feel about it, I guess. But being a mother grants me some peace about it. It feels like I can stop it from happening all over again. Brindlekit in particular reminds me so much of her better qualities.” She trotted away, toward the nursery, where Antstar could see the reflections of her kits’ eyes glow back at him in the dark.

“You should come visit the kits, sometime. They love you.” And with that she slipped into the nursery, and the faint chattering of her children became whispers in the night’s air.

He’d never think about this again, he decided. The only time he would allow Sparkthistle to occupy his head once more was when he would announce her passing at the Gathering. There was no need to continue to ponder it.

It was over now. And Antstar hoped that he could approach leadership, from this point on, with a fresh mind.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story

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