#ferndoe story

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Brother in Darkness (part 1--Martenstep comic redone)

Martenstep’s eyes blinked open. 

He was dead. He knew it. He had known that he was dying, his chest aching too painfully for the medicine cat to help, and though it only took him less than a breath to realize it, he knew that he was no longer in the ThunderClan camp. That could only mean one thing: he was dead.

Martenstep sprang to his paws, pupils dilated, and a wide smile on his face. “Cricketfur!” He half-called, half-hollard just for the fun of it.

Not including the few moons as a kit before Cricketfur was taken in, Martenstep had hardly ever done anything without his brother. They were as close as two cats could be–they were practically the same cat separated into two bodies. They patrolled together, trained together, ate together, played together, napped together, they even mentored Martenstep’s apprentice together.

Then on a perfectly sunny day, a perfectly normal day, Cricketfur’s body was carried into the camp, his front leg missing and his pelt drenched in blood splatter. Martenstep could only think of how he had just seen his brother, how Cricketfur had just been okay, with no blood and no missing limb and no worries at all. He wasn’t able to believe that this mangled form was the same cat, or if it was, that he was really dead, and he had shaken his corpse in a deperate attempt to get him to quit the mean trick until their mother shouted at him and pulled him away.

Martenstep had tried to hold on to, well, anything he could to prevent him from falling into a pit of utter despair. He could always feel its icy claws, a constant shadow over everything in his life. Everywhere he looked were either memories of his little brother, the brother he was supposed to protect, or the painful reminder that Cricketfur would never step foot on that patch of grass, or climb that tree, or play with that mossball, or anything again. 

He managed to hold on long enough to finish his apprentice, Rushtree’s, training. Though the graduation did bring him joy, it wasn’t enough to fight the darkness, and it wasn’t long before he succumbed to the pain after begging the Stars that no matter what, no matter where, wherever his brother was, he wanted to be there as well.

He didn’t understand why the starry she-cat that spoke with him asked if he was sure, or why she told him that he might regret it, but he didn’t care enough to understand. The only thing he thought about was seeing his brother again.

“Cricketfur!” Martenstep called again, looking around. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose against the strange pungent smell of the forest around him. Then he took in the strange sights. The sky was a deep red, with thin, darker clouds marking it in a way that resembled veins on meat. 

He took a step–the grass beneath his paws crumbled. He bent his head to sniff at them, surprised to find the blades so pale and stiff. They were as dead as grass could be without rotting away entirely. 

All the plants were, he realized in shock. I thought StarClan would have fresh, lush plants, he thought to himself.

He had expected to see bright, open plants so full of colours that even the most seasoned warriors would be mesmerized by them. Instead, he faced drooping bushes with brown and wrinkled leaves, and trees with branches that curled like spider’s legs and trunks that looked to be marked by claws. 

Why? 

He walked along, looking around at this strange setting when his paw bumped against something. He paused, and looked, curious, at the flower so sunken into itself that he could hardly identify it–but he thought it might be a rose, a tinge of red just visible through the blackened skin on its petals that hung limply beneath rotting sepels. It had a single leaf that hung to it by the thinnest thread. 

Next to the plant were curling bramble thorns, long and sharp like a hawk’s talons. Martenstep sniffed along it, just close enough to not poke his nose.

“GET OUT!” 

The booming voice made Martenstep jump into the air. He spun around, scanning the trees and undergrowth, but he couldn’t spot anyone. “Hello?” He asked, confused.

“Hello there,” someone responded, much too close. 

Martenstep flinched, startled, and his head snapped to face the speaker.

A she-cat was looking at him, her pelt was grey with a darker back and spots, and she had a lighter muzzle and underbelly. She had red spots–

No, Martenstep realized, bile rising in his throat. The scent hit him.

It was blood.

=============================

It's probably gonna be a LOOOOOOOOONG time before the comic is continued, so here it is in story version with much faster to come chapters.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

The Most Important Meeting of Literally Ever (short story)

Gorseheart struggled not to shift from one paw to another, feeling entirely out of place next to the Starclan cats seated with him, not to mention judged. 

Firejay and Mallowstar had stayed for what Gorseheart guessed was a day, sleeping over before going back to Starclan to discuss how their going to the Dark Forest went. 

Now, cats gathered in a meadow in the Dark Forest right next to the border. There was what Gorseheart estimated to be fifteen Starclan cats, which included Mallowstar, Firejay, and Blightstar–who had nodded awkwardly at Gorseheart, but hadn’t said anything directly to him, fifteen Dark Forest residences, and eleven Dark Kits.

“It’s not a good idea,” one of the Starclan cats spoke up. Her fur was white and glossy. “Starclan and the Dark Forest are two different territories for a reason.”

“We may be separate, but we are connected,” another pointed out. “Or have you forgotten what we learned back when Ashfur took over the Clans?”

“He didn’t take over the Clans,” Bristleblaze commented.

“That part doesn’t matter,” the cat went on, “we exist in a balance.”

“Exactly,” a third–Jumptail?-- added. “If we merge our two afterlives together, that balance may shatter. Then where will that leave us?”

“I don’t want to merge with no Starclan cat,” Cloudfreckle spat.

“Oh, because we want to mingle with you mud-pelts?” Jumptail hissed.

“We’re not here to fight,” Firejay spoke above them. “We are not merging together, either. Those who have killed or committed one crime or another will remain on this side. Those who have not will still be welcomed into the Stars. But what of those who fit neither option?” She gestured with her tail to Proteafang, sitting at Gorseheart’s opposite side. “We know that, unfortunately, Dark Kits cannot enter Starclan for their own health, but does that mean we should abandon them? Can we not do something as simple as passing on our food, herbs, and moss, of which we are forever overfilled with?”

“Or are they to be punished for a crime their parents committed?” Gorseheart added. By the glance Firejay and Mallowstar casted him, he guessed they took note of the anger he had directed toward himself. 

“I’m sure we can all agree how unfair a Dark Kit’s life can be,” Ivypool–that was her name, wasn’t it?--put in. “But we start with passing on our herbs and supplies. What happens then? Kits and apprentices are brought over to grow. Then cats cross the border to visit their friends and family. Where do we cross the line before we can no longer see it?”

“You sound as if those things would be bad,” Blightstar grumbled. “Young cats being given the chance to grow into healthy young warriors would be a grand thing for all of us. And what of cats visiting criminals close to them? Speak for yourself all you wish, but I would rather walk around in this muddy, bleak forest for a moon than spend years asking myself where it all went wrong.”

Gorseheart’s heart twisted around in his chest until it split, bleeding down his legs and causing them to tremble. Noticing, Proteafang lay her tail across his paws. 

“Some of us know more about what the Dark Forest is like than others,” Ivypool snapped.

“Yeah,” Bristleblaze sneered, “like the Dark Forest cats.”

“You could be lying,” someone else joined in.

“Why would they lie, Breezepelt?”

“To get our stuff, obviously,” Breezepelt replied. “They tell us it’s not all bad here, they just need our moss, and food, and herbs, and oh maybe some water too, please?”

“Poor little Breezy, want to keep all the widdle wader to worself? Afraid the big bad cats gonna steal it?” Jackdawfoot chuckled. Ferndoe pressed against him, shaking her head.

Breezepelt jumped to his paws, slid his claws out, and hissed. 

“Fighting will add nothing to the discussion,” Firejay reminded them through teeth grinding in frustration. “Breezepelt, there is no point to be concerned about supplies that will be needed. We have more than enough to go around for as long as Starclan and the Dark Forest exists.” She paused to take a breath, waiting for some of the smaller arguments to die down before going on. “If we have a chance to improve the lives of cats who have done nothing to earn the punishments of those who came before them, how could we refuse? We will work with Dark Forest cats who wish to work with us, and together–in our own territories, we will find out everything we can about anything that there is to learn. Starclan cats who wish to stay here, such as Mallowstar and myself, will report back twice a moon. Too, we will keep an eye on all kits or apprentices that cross the border so that they may grow up, and ensure that they are protected. With that, I would like to propose that such kits would be allowed re-entry into Starclan. It is not a crime to search for the life taken from you so early. Does everyone agree?”

“Agree.” Gorseheart was relieved to hear most of the cats seated respond. Others murmured it, and others still remained silent, but no one outright disagreed or started any more arguments.

“It may not be like this for the rest of time,” Mallowstar informed everyone. “But we will test out how this new system works for seven moons. Any lingering grievances can be discussed when we meet again then. 

The entire time the meeting was held, Gorseheart felt extremely uncomfortable. Though he was far from the only Dark Forest cat there, he could feel every pair of eyes burning through his skin and setting his fur on fire. He knew he deserved it–there was nothing he shouldn’t be judged for, but right from the beginning, he wished he hadn’t agreed to come, and had just stayed holed up in his tunnels. Then again, he knew this was an important meeting–the most important of all, and he would have kicked himself if he didn’t attend it. He should feel lucky, really.

But then the group began to disperse, Starclan cats returning to the border, while some Dark Forest cats either left or remained to stick their tongues out at them. Some remained, only for a little  bit, and Gorseheart realized–trying hard not to look–that Blightstar was still here, and that he was staring directly at Gorseheart.

==========================

--Canon cats present because it only makes sense.

--Bristle belongs to @ambitiousauthor

[wills-woodland-warriors]

Garden Day

FleaThistle huffed, shaking the seeds off of his paw pad and into the small hole he’d dug. 

He sat back, stretching out his shoulders and for a brief moment he tried to imagine that the sun was still here, that this was just another time building a garden after sneaking away from camp. 

Opening his eyes, the mangled shadowed branches above swayed slightly in the wind, with small wispy clouds covering one of the red moons. 

The dim light shun down on his garden, making the poppies look almost as if they were glowing. 

Convincing cats to let them pick through their fur to find stray seeds was quite a challenge, but with the help of some friends they ended up with a good pile of seeds. 

MottleCry was kind enough to help them gather organs, and he’d even convinced GoblinSnap and GremlinFrost to help! 

Even if the two were a bit concerning in the ways they got them.. 

Picking through his fur, he thought of all the people who had helped him with the garden.   

MouseSpots was another friend who helped out, along with BasilTooth and Ferndoe. 

As soon as FleaThistle found the small, speck-like poppy seeds he knew that he had to grow her some flowers. Depending on how many they can grow, she might even be able to give the newest residents some as welcoming gifts! 

It was kind of weird, being so excited while in hell. FleaThistle had expected to be killed again within the first few minutes, but most of the cats here were relatively nice. 

He’d been so scared, so anxious when he had arrived. Frozen in the spot, he had squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the pain. 

But none of them hurt him, and now he’s here. Building a garden with some amazing friends. 

Especially FadingStar. He was so cool. He listened and even took interest in his plants, and was the one to suggest starting a garden. 

The small sprouts struggled to grow in the damp and murky depths of the dark forest, but after some trial and error they had a bit of plant diversity, although they did have a lot of mushrooms… 

FleaThistle stretched, shaking the dirt from his pelt as he carefully stepped around the sprouts. 

MottleCry’s extra long claws were a huge help once he’d convinced the pale Tom, and he made small rows for them. 

FleaThistle crouched, leaping over a patch of moss with small spot-like white flowers in it, his paws slipping in the mud.

Sliding into a tree, he quietly tried to unpeel himself from the bark, looking up to a very confused FadingStar. 

“I left you for five minutes, what happened?” FadingStar said through a mouthful of rocks, the words muffled and distorted. 

“Trees.” FleaThistle blinked blankly, giving his chest fluff an awkward lick as he tried not to laugh. 

It was a pitiful attempt, broken by JackDawFoot rounding the corner with a pelt full of random leaves and twigs he’d gotten stuck in his fur while helping them. 

JackDaw looked at them blankly, with FleaThistle’s forearms still wrapped around the tree in an almost-embrace, and FadingStar trying to talk around a mouthful of rocks. 

FleaThistle tried to smile at JackDaw, but the absolutely massive Tom just shook his head slowly and walked over to help them as FadingStar choked on a pebble. 

FleaThistle gave a very happy little chirp as he properly detached from the tree, bouncing over to pick through JackDaw’s fluff for seeds.    

He dug through the soft, wispy grey-brown strands, tilting his head down so as not to have the fur tickle his muzzle, as he gently pawed through his fur, careful not to pull. 

They had found most of the seeds buried in JackDaws pelt so far, and in TurtleStepper’s herb pouch where he puts the dried herbs used for his asthma. 

Poking out of the fluff to look at the others, with them laughing and talking as if this were a normal day outside of camp, mingling between patrols, it was growing easy to feel at ease here. 

And maybe the dark forest wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

______ 

The garden is surrounded by pebbles that TurtleStepper collects

FernDoe spends a lot of time looking at the budding flowers. 

LoonFur has tried to pour blood on the seedlings in an attempt to “make them stronger” and FleaThistle didn’t have the heart to tell her no so he made a small patch for her to take care of a few small mushrooms, which are the hardiest ones he could find.

Jackdaw just walks by the garden once a day or so and just. Shakes a ton of seeds from his pelt. TurtleStepper has 100% had an asthma attack from this and been banned from getting too close to the garden 

While picking through jackdaws fur for seeds, FleaThistle just goes off about how pretty FadingStar is and jackdaw is just sitting there, fur over his eyes so he can’t even see, as a tiny ass sarcastic fleaball of a cat pokes his head out of his fur to talk about his crush.

FleaThistle keeps the first flower he ever grew in his nest

StumpPaw and FleaThistle have “gardening night” where once a week they teach everyone who’s interested how to properly care for a plant. 

Each cat gets there own sprout to take care of 

FadingStar belongs to @liberhoe 

MouseSpots belongs to @ambitiousauthor

JackDawFoot, FernDoe, BasilTooth, LoonFur, MottleCry belong to @residents-of-the-darkforest-of-the-darkforest 

FleaThistle, GoblinSnap, GremlinFrost belong to myself. 

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Sorry Means Nothing From You (short story)

The worst and best thing that could possibly happen to Ferndoe has happened to her, and her mind was completely empty. 

She had reunited with one of her kits, Greykit, her darling eldest daughter. She had looked exactly how Ferndoe had remembered her, precious little ears and orange spots all. Seeing her was the last thing she expected to happen today. She had cuddled her, held her close, apologized profusely and told her how much she loved her. Yet it felt like it was ending all too soon. 

Then again, even if she knew better than Starclan how safe kits could be here, she knew how cruel Starclan could be to kits who left, and she was not going to put her kit at risk for her sake. Not again.

What made things worse was that Poppyhill’s own daughter, Mottlekit, was here as well, which meant Poppyhill had padded alongside her as they took their kits to the border tunnel. When the two kits reluctantly, but happily crossed through the tunnel, shouting cheery good-byes as they went, Ferndoe’s swelling love dissolved into disgust. Disgust at herself, and for the cat standing next to her.

Ferndoe waited until she could no longer hear Greykit, and then some, then began to turn away. Unfortunately, Poppyhill had other plans.

“Our daughters are best friends,” she said simply.

Ferndoe fixed a glare on her. “And? We’re not.”

Poppyhill only kept staring blankly at the tunnel. “I forgot what she looked like. Is that weird?”

Ferndoe curled her lip. “Are you referring to your kit or the one you manipulated me into killing?”

Poppyhill didn’t seem to hear her, infuriating Ferndoe further. “I was obsessed with her and Oatkit for so long. I dedicated everything to avenging them. I hurt innocents for them, and I can’t even properly remember what they look like.”

Ferndoe’s fur burned in anger. She turned on Poppyhill fully. How dare she speak to her about killing her kits and act like her biggest sorrow was forgetting how her own looked? Ferndoe would never forget! She can never forget any of it, because of Poppyhill! “Put those tears away! You won’t fool me again!” She felt suddenly very aware of the kits in her belly, and her rage increased tenfold.

In spite of the threat, Poppyhill only seemed to flatten against herself. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, surprising Ferndoe. “Really, this time,” she added. “I…I couldn’t see my victims–your kits, your brother, you, for anything other than pawns to hurt Goldennose. I just couldn’t bear losing my kits, I had to make that she-cat suffer, even if it meant causing pain to those that never did anything to me, even if it meant hurting you.”

“I trusted you,” Ferndoe spat. “You used my grief against me. You made me kill my kits for your little revenge plan.” It took everything in Ferndoe–mainly the reminder of her unborn kits and their need for safety–not to leap and claw at Poppyhill right there and then. “You think excuses will make that all go away now?”

Poppyhill vigorously shook her head. “No, no I don’t. I know no reason that I give will make any part of it better. I did trick you. I swooped in when you were at your lowest and manipulated you, forced you to do the worst thing imaginable because I made you believe that it was the best thing for them. I knew,” she went on quickly when Ferndoe snapped open her jaws for a sharp retort, “I knew what I was doing, grief or no grief. That makes it my burden alone. You were only a victim. You did nothing wrong.”

Ferndoe shook, but as harsh as she wanted to be, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. As little as that may mean coming from Poppyhill, the words still resonated deep within her, gripping her heart in sharp talons, tugging it from her ribcage. 

She showed her fangs, feeling them drip saliva, flattening her ears until they pressed against her skull, and snarled. “Stay away from my family!” With that, she turned tail and fled, racing through the trees, ignoring the spiraling of thoughts and the painful pounding in her chest.

================

--Sometime after when Greykit and Mottlekit find Wormkit. I had no idea how to write that interaction, so skipped to this one!

[wills-woodland-warriors]

The Pit Tw: Drowning 

TawnyKit kicked at the dirt with her small white paw, huffing as she laid down on the flattened dirt. She could still feel the phantom touches of bugs crawling on her, and the scratches on her shoulder burned. 

Dada had said that they would heal. But it’s been who-knows-how long and they still dripped and stung. 

In a blink of an eye the sky flashed above and a loud crackle sounded through the darkened sky. 

It began to spit, washing mud off of her fur and causing her paws to sink. 

She curled up around her paws, head ducked under her paws to stay dry. 

 - 

She couldn’t breathe. 

Her lungs ached and her ears rang as she struggled against the surface, the water far above her head and causing her to have to swim desperately to stay afloat in the pit. 

Her paws scraped at the walls, trying to grab onto something, anything. 

She gasped for breath with every sip of the waves, and tried to hook her claws into the mud. It slipped out of her claws, dropping her down into the water and knocking her head against the ground as another boom of thunder sounded. 

She was going to die a second time. 

Her whole body burned with straining muscles and she felt bile rising in her throat as she screamed into the storm, begging for anyone to notice her. 

Maybe her dada was right, maybe she was meant to die out here.

A strike of lightning lit up the top of the pit, revealing a cats figure shadowed by the rain. 

For a brief moment she thought it was her father, and she wasn’t sure if she was meant to be terrified or relieved. 

Nonetheless, the strange cat pulled her out by the scruff, and for the first time in many moons she felt grass. 

Her joy was covered by a fit of coughs racking her chest, her fur so cold the white spots might as well have been LeafBare snow. 

The cat nudged her, and she flinched away in instinct. They picked her up, and as she hung limply in the strangers jaws, her head spun and she cried out for her family. 

 - 

She looked so much like HornetLeg. She was so small, and mud covered. Her already thin fur clung to her pelt leaving the ridges of her ribs exposed. 

LoonFur stood awkwardly at the entrance of the den, and FleaThistle gave her a warm look. 

“Thank you for leading me to her. If you hadn’t heard the cries and ran for help I think she would have died,” 

LoonFur gave him a quick smile, saying she was glad she could help, and ducked out of the den to head back to her own before the mud became too steep. 

FleaThistle leaned down and began to lick the kit clean, ignoring his own dirty fur. 

After he’d groomed her, he padded the moss around her small body to keep her warm. 

He ducked out of the den, blinking against the strong rain pouring into his eyes. It was  difficult to get to JackDaw and FernDoe’s den in the storm, his paws slipping and the muddy water going up to his shoulders at times. 

He glanced up at the trees when he heard a branch crack, and saw GremlinFrost’s small frame staring down at him. 

“FleaThistle? What are you doing out?” 

FleaThistle hauled himself onto a tree stump just out of the mud so that he could stand without sinking. 

“I need to talk to FadingStar,” He panted, blinking back tears as the mud stung the cuts on his torso. 

“In this storm? Head back home, I’ll get him for you,” the blue eyed tom shook his head, and his voice sounded far too old for his age. He was barely an apprentice, and FleaThistle’s heart ached, wondering if he was alone out here. 

 - 

She woke up in a small den, thin, twig like roots from a tree stump poking out of the walls and brushing her fur. 

TawnyKit whimpered, lifting her head as she pulled herself into a sitting position. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a small, brown-grey tom poked his head up, carrying a mouthful of leaves.  

TawnyKit blinked, tagging in the sight of cuts lacing down his fur, chunks of flesh held on with poultices and bandages. 

His ear was almost completely missing, more so a stump. Despite his injuries, somehow she felt calm. His eyes were warm. Kind. 

He looked  though, almost fearful. 

“Who are you?” She coughed, her voice hoarse.

“My name is FleaThistle! And.. and you are?” 

“TawnyKit,” she chirped, tucking her tail over her paws as she shivered, her fur still slightly damp. 

The tom—FleaThistle—nodded, placing a few leaves in front of her. They were a bit crunchy, but she ate them anyway. 

“Do you remember what happened?” He asked gently, sitting down in the nest next to her. 

At the back of the den, two small brown toms were curled up, snoring lightly. Their nest was decorated with pebbles and feathers, and FleaThistle gave them a warm look before turning back to her. 

“I remember drowning. And someone pulled me out,” she sniffed, her pelt prickling and ears flattening at the memory. 

“Well.. that was me. Do you know if your parents are here?” 

“My dad, HornetLeg. My clan said he was a bad cat,” 

FleaThistle froze, before shivering and leaning over to smooth his pelt down. He took a few deep breathes. 

“I’m sorry sweetie, but he’s not here anymore.” 

She nodded, pressing her paws into the moss bed to ground herself. 

“I can take care of you, if you’d like. My husband and I spoke about it and we’d be happy to,” His voice was soft, gentle. 

TawnyKit thought for a few moments, looking around the comfortable den, and into FleaThistle’s kind eyes. She’d be safe here. 

“I’d like that,” 

———

I’d love to know what anyone thinks of this! 

LoonFur, JackDawFoot, and FernDoe belong to @residents-of-the-darkforest 

FadingStar belongs to @liberhoe 

StumpPaw belongs to @ambitiousauthor 

HornetLeg, FleaThistle, TawnyKit, GremlinFrost are my characters 

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Confusing Lack of Feelings (short story)

Fallenkit tried not to make her discomfort obvious, but her whole body was tense, ready to spring at a moment’s notice despite the fact that she knew–she knew–that she was safe in her dad’s embrace. She wasn’t discreet enough. 

Myrtlewing paused his grooming. “What’s wrong?” he asked, because he always has to ask when he notices someone of the Eye-Out Thorns is unhappy. Why does someone like him care? 

Pipitfeather died just over two moons ago. Myrtlewing hadn’t so much as shed a tear.

“Nothing,” she mumbled back.

“You lie as well as your father,” Myrtlewing told her gently. Too gently. “Would you mind not making me pry like he does before he admits that something is bothering him?”

Fallenkit sighed. Sitting up, she turned to face him, his paws still stretched out on either side of her. Her voice was scratchy as she spoke. “Was he really your son?” They had looked similar enough.

Myrtlewing’s eyes remained blank. “In the blood sense, yes, he was. I didn’t know he even existed until he arrived here as an adult, however.”

“Does that make a difference?”

Myrtlewing shrugged. “It does for me.”

“Would you not care if you met me as an adult?”

Myrtlewing’s eyes widened only a fraction as he realized his mistake. “I don’t know,” he answered. “But I would like to get to know you. And I love you the way you are now, adult you would be the same, only with more great traits for me to love.”

Fallenkit wished that what he was saying was helpful. She knew that it was kind, endearing, but she also knew her dad was a wonderful liar, and that everything he was saying could be utter dung. “Do you not love blood?” She still didn’t understand why she was so different, why Myrtlewing was so furious about seeing her hurt at the same time he stared at Pipitfeather’s decaying, dying form without a twitching whisker.

“I don’t think blood is everything,” Myrtlewing answered. “I didn’t love Pipitfeather, he never bothered talking to me. I did respect him, because if he is my kin then he is good, until he attacked you. There was nothing for me to love or respect then.”

Fallenkit wished that she could shake her head and have all the jumbled thoughts she had spill out of her ears, so that her dad’s words could fill the space and make sense. She knew it should, she knew it sounded reasonable, and she knew that her mind was so overfilled with confusion that more words only added to the collection instead of dispersing it.

She wasn’t even sure if her dad’s lack of emotion was what bothered her the most. It was her own.

She had been comforting by many healers–Myrtlewing, Fleathistle, Shiverrose, even Pumpkinpatch who also hates her father, every one of her kin from great ancestors to siblings, and her aunt Ferndoe. They had all said the same thing, that they understood she was hurt and confused, that it was okay to cry.

The problem was that Fallenkit only felt the confusion in addition to anger. She was angry at Pipitfeather and all those cats, most dead again now, for tricking her, for earning her trust and shattering it so that she looked like a fool. She was angry because they had hurt her and Waspkit for revenge they had nothing to do with. She was confused because that is the only thing she felt, and she was confused because Myrtlewing seemed to feel nothing, besides his concern for her.

Waspkit was still having nightmares. He still didn’t like talking about what had happened.

Fallenkit only had bad dreams for a few nights before they went away, and her reaction when she woke up was no where near as intense as Waspkit’s wailing. He cried about being attacked and witnessing Pipitfeather’s horrible death. 

Fallenkit didn’t think seeing it had been a huge deal until others started to say that it was.

What was wrong with her?

Her dad was the same. She knew that much, they were open about it, how he had trouble feeling things unless it was for those he already cared deeply for–that itself also confused her. How could you care deeply for someone and care nothing for another? How do you begin to care deeply for someone if you feel nothing for them to begin with?

Was it really a blood issue? Did she get it from him, or because he raised her?

If she talked to someone else in her blood, someone not on his side and who felt things, who was normal, perhaps she could be normal then, too.

She had been silent for a while in her thoughts, so Myrtlewing had resumed his grooming. After a while longer, he began to doze off. His chin rested on her back. Carefully, she slipped out and began moving through the thorns to the outside. She was almost there when behind her, someone spoke.

“Where are you going?” Wolfpool asked. He and his siblings, as well as their parents–everyone in the family, in fact–had temporarily moved back to the main den after the kits had been attacked. Fallenkit should be grateful for it. Yet she felt nothing.

Of course she should have known that they would be extra ditiligent. There were multiple guards keeping watch on each side. Fallenkit wasn’t allowed to leave without an adult. 

Wolfpool was an adult.

Debating on a lie, she decided to tell the truth. Wolfpool looked at her, then looked around them. “Okay,” he said more hushed, “duck under my belly so they won’t see you.”

Fallenkit did was told. It was difficult to manuver around the remaining branches that blocked their path, and to move as fast as her nephew while mud sucked all along her legs. She stayed hidden while Wolfpool asked anyone who passed them for directions, until at last they stopped at a large rock. It was tilted, leaning heavily against another, with vines draping down the entrance.

“Hello?” Wolfpool called.

A young, black tom with orange and bright flecks stepped out. He raised a brow. “Uh, yes?”

“Is Tanglestar here?” Fallenkit asked, stepping out.

The tom blinked at her. He turned to face the entrance. “Tanglestar! You have–uhm–visitors?”

There was shuffling, and a mumbling response, then a sleepy black tom with bigger orange and white splotches stepped out into the red light. When his eyes met Fallenkit’s, they stretched wide.

Fallenkit held his gaze firmly. “Are you my other dad?”

=============================

--Fallen calls Alder “father,” Myrtle “dad,” and Grouse “papa.”

--The Pipitfeather thing happened 2+1/2 moons ago. Fallen and Wasp are about 3+1/3 moons old, roughly.

Fallen is a ‘wise beyond her years’ kit while Wasp is a sweet baby.

--Remember how I said that Fallen feel nothing like Myrtle does, but questions it? Here we are!

--Taglist: @ambitiousauthor @wills-woodland-warriors @umbranoxs @starfalcon555 @liberhoe @elementaldeityoffood (if you weren’t tagged it’s most likely because Tumblr doesn’t tag some usernames for some reason, not because I forgot or don’t care!)

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Get Well Soon (short story)

“I hope you get better soon!”

Ferndoe couldn’t resist shaking her head in amusement at her son, who had screeched the words and made the she-cat before her jump into the air in startlement. Then, refocusing, she stepped forward, making sure to snap the twigs beneath her paws and ruffle the leaves of the bushes around her so that Daisysong knew that she was coming.

The tan-gold she-cat arched her back and hissed at the hidden cat, her claws unsheathed. Ferndoe padded into the open slowly, then sat at the edge, well away from Daisysong, keeping her calm–or as calm as someone who had just died and arrived in the Dark Forest can be. “Welcome, dear. Do you know where you are?”

Daisysong’s chest visibly heaved. “The Place of No Stars,” she answered. “I’m–I’m dead. I…Did I die? I died.” 

Ferndoe nodded. It was common for cats, particularly cats who had died suddenly as Daisysong had, to be confused at first. “You died nobly, in battle.”

Daisysong recovered just enough to sneer. “There is nothing noble about me or anything that I have done! That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Ferndoe nodded again. “I cannot excuse it. But to look at you with disdain would be hypocritical on my part. Do you want to talk about it?” She offered softly.

Daisysong blinked, body tense. “What do you–did you–you know I killed my kits, right?”

“I do.”

“Why do you want to talk to me? So that you can call me a monster? So that you can lure me in and attack me for what I did?”

“I won’t hurt you,” Ferndoe promised.

Daisysong took a step back. “How can I trust that? You’re a Dark Forest cat!”

“So are you,” Ferndoe pointed out.

“I killed my own kits!”

“So did I.”

The words hung in the air, swirling slowly like a calm breeze around Daisysong’s ears, gradually relaxing her muscles until at last she collapsed onto the muddy floor. “That’s not funny.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t say that. Not about this.”

Ferndoe inched closer to her, wanting to comfort her physically but moving at a slow enough pace that Daisysong could stop her if she wanted, and not be startled. “I would never joke about it. I had two daughters and a son, Specklekit, Greykit, and little Thornkit.” Her own voice began to quiver, and her vision blurred and she admitted the truth that she had pushed away for so long. “I killed them, because I thought that I was protecting them, that they would be safe from life’s setbacks and trauma in Starclan.”

Daisysong rubbed her running nose against her paw. “I thought it was for the best. I thought if I killed them before they–but I don’t even know if it was even a real prophecy! Oh stars, I think I killed them because of a stupid dream! I murdered them because of a dream!” Her shaking became violent, rocking her against the ground so hard that mud sloshed into the fur on her back.

Ferndoe was now close enough to touch Daisysong’s pelt. She sat down next to her, wrapping her tail carefully across Daisysong’s back. She waited until the poor she-cat’s cries faded, knowing all too well how much she needed to let her grief out. “Do you want to know why I killed my kits? Because someone convinced me to. I thought that they were my friend, that they had my and their best interests at heart. But she just wanted to make my mother suffer.” The familiar disgust with Poppyhill and herself stabbed through her heart, leaking bubbly poison.

Daisysong snorted. “At least you had a good reason. You were manipulated.”

“And you were abandoned,” Ferndoe told her firmly. “You were a new mother, and you were on your own! I cannot say that if you had someone there for you, someone spinning lies like in my own situation, you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Daisysong’s attention changed to the trees ahead, staring blankly. “Your mate left you too?”

“Not really,” Ferndoe admitted. “But I felt like he didn’t understand. I felt like Poppyhill–the someone–was the only one that knew. I knew moons before I died that I had been lied to, that I killed my own kits because of lies and another cat’s obsession with revenge.”

Daisysong was silent for a long moment. Then, glancing back to Ferndoe, asked, “did you get over it?”

Ferndoe shut her eyes. “I will never get over it. I think about them every day, when I wake up, when I go to sleep. Sometimes when I watch my younger kits here. But I can tell you that it gets easier.”

Daisysong pricked her ears. “You have kits here?”

Ferndoe smiled. “Blackkit and Mudkit. My dears. They were rejected by Starclan–” her voice turned cold–”and so we adopted them, and we keep them safe.” She brightened. “It was Blackkit that first greeted you. Little scamp beat me to it.”

“Rejected by Starclan…” Daisysong shook her head for a long time. “Why?”

Ferndoe had no idea how to answer that. “I’ve come to learn that Starclan can be crueler than us half the time. But, given how much they had changed since they first arrived, I think they are happier here than they had been in Starclan.”

Another long moment of silence stretched between them, broken by Daisysong with a massive yawn.

“Tired?” Ferndoe asked.

“I...so tired….but can’t sleep here.”

“It’s alright,” Ferndoe assured her. “I’ll stay here if you want. When you wake up, we can search for a good den.”

Daisysong was already struggling to keep her head up. “It’s about time you slept,” Ferndoe told her. 

The Dark Forest was freezing, especially for newcomers who weren’t used to the chill. Ferndoe was reminded of this fact when Daisysong shivered. She layed down, curling around her, with her chin on the back of Daisysong’s neck. Daisysong would need many moons to recover and forgive herself. Ferndoe knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would do whatever it took to help her.

=========================

@ambitiousauthor you’re naming Doesnap and Daisyheart after these two pushed me into righting their first interaction.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

The Welcome Committee (short story)

Bloomwhisker flinched back, blocking his throat. But it quickly dawned on him that the scenery had changed. No longer did he have Fringesong lunging at him, he was alone in a forest rank with the scent of blood. The trees were massive, littered with countless claw marks with roots the size of Bloomwhisker’s head twisting out of the ground like gnarled fangs.

He was surrounded by a cluster of sharp-edged boulders. He could feel them beneath his paws, rough and scraping even though he barely moved. Puddles of crimson-red mud–or what he hoped was mud–filled the hollow gaps in the stone.

As everything set in, sights, and sounds, and feeling, Bloomwhisker realized where he was. It wasn’t long after that that a tune reached his ears, a sing-song whistle like birdsong, only with a strange slowness, and as if the tongue was snagging in all the wrong places. It made Bloomwhisker’s hair stand rigid along his suddenly very icy spine.

He whipped around in time to see two surprisingly small warriors–apprentices?--leap onto one of the boulders. They stood in such a way that Bloomwhisker wasn’t entirely sure that one wasn’t the shadow of the other, movements so synchronized it made him dizzy. But one was spotted brown and black with yellow eyes, and the other was dark with a darker back and some spots, with blue eyes surrounding slitted pupils so intense that they had Bloomwhisker backing up until his back hit the wall of another large rock.

He jumped away when laughter sounded above him. He whipped around and saw a she-cat, definitely older than the two, but very similar in appearance to the black-and-white cat. Her eyes were multicoloured, one of them icy like the dark cat.

She raised her chin into the air and sniffed, shaking her head while smiling. “It’s been too long since I’ve smelled such terror, and we’ve only just started talking. Take it in, girls, you’ll miss it when it’s gone.”

That only served to make Bloomwhisker’s heart thump harder. He turned again, to the side this time, and slipped on one of the puddles. 

“Graceful,” a new voice chimed in. Bloomwhisker looked up, eyes bulging out of his thrumming skull. A brown tom with lighter forelegs stood on the highest rock, standing with his pads on the pointed stone as if it didn’t bother him at all.

“I–uhm, uh…” This was a trick, a joke. Bloomwhisker knew what to expect, Nettlefrog had warned him. “Where’s Ferndoe?” The kind she-cat. She was supposed to meet him, she meets everyone.

“Sorry, spotty,” the tom grinned. “We’re the welcome committee today.”

========================

--There’s no way Myrtle will just stop killing. But killing cats in Starclan, though he’s done before, is way too complicated, and he can’t do it often. If he kills soemone in the Dark Forest, cats throw a fit.

But if he kills someone new, too new for anyone to really be bothered by it beyond disgruntled annoyance? Most cats here are murderers, after all--they’re not going to be shocked by more murder.

--Aw, and look! He decided to bring his daughter and grandkits! He does kill with others, it was just their time today. Scab and Blight are young apprentices at this time.

--Yes, Fallen questions why she’s so evil, but she still does evil things.

--Bloomwhisker’s story is very vague, all I know is that they and another friend, Nettlefrog, were doing evil stuff at the same time. Nettlefrog died first and was visited by Ferndoe before going into Bloomwhisker’s dreams and telling him about it. 

That’s why Bloomwhisker expecting Ferndoe to greet him.

--Bloom is spotted, which is why he’s called ‘spotty.’

===========================

Taglist: @starfalcon555 @wills-woodland-warriors @elementaldeityoffood

@ambitiousauthor @liberhoe @umbranoxs other names just don’t tag

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Apprentices of The Place of No Stars (short story)

It was hard to believe that this was happening. 

Jackdawfoot hadn’t been a father since he was alive, and he left when all of his daughters were adults. Then suddenly, he had a mate again, became a father again, and now, his fluffy chest puffing out in pride, was watching his kits receive their apprentice names again.

The ceremony wasn’t like that of a regular Clan. Not everyone in the Dark Forest was going to show up, but all the important cats were here, kin to Redkit, Blackkit and Mudkit, and Wormkit’s adoptive parents, and of course, the parents themselves. As well, there were the mentors, making it no real surprise who they would be. There was also Fungichomp, the main caretaker of the ‘Daycare,’ as well as some onlookers.

Jackdawfoot and Ferndoe had discussed long and hard about who they wanted to train their precious son and daughter. They initially wanted to train them themselves, knowing they could protect them and keep them safe, but decided that what Mudkit and Blackkit needed was help from someone they didn’t already know to bring them out of their shells. ‘Daycare’ could only do so much.

Beside him, Wordweaver made a noise–something of a purr. Or maybe a word, because it made Daisysong chuckle. 

Jackdawfoot couldn’t pin down why exactly Wordweaver was here. Was it because Wormkit was her kin? Because Redkit was the kit of her kin? Could it be because Blackkit had been the first voice her mate heard when she arrived in the Dark Forest? Because Ferndoe, Blackkit’s mother, was a good friend of Daisysong’s? Or perhaps it was for their son, Mellowpaw, seated between his mothers’ legs, chattering on about how he wanted to show the new apprentices that ‘realy cool training grove.’

Jackdawfoot hoped it was somewhere safe.

At least Wormkit was doing better. Jackdawfoot still wasn’t too fond of the kit, and he had made his request to keep him away from his kits clear to Fungichomp, but he was still a kit, and Jackdawfoot had to acknowledge how much better Wormkit was doing. He, reportedly, didn’t get in half as much trouble as he usually did these days, and once even helped another kit find their lost pinecone.

He wasn’t all the way better just yet. He still had his moments, but that was why he was beginning training. Jackdawfoot knew that his mothers agreed that the ‘Daycare’ and themselves had helped Wormkit as much as they could, and now he needed one-on-one attention. 

Training would have begun earlier, as well as Mudkit’s and Blackkit’s, if they had not met Redkit. They met because of their parents’ connection, bonding so well that Blackkit cried about not getting to become an apprentice alongside his friend. It wasn’t about a difference in age, more of a difference in readiness.

Ready. His kits were ready. A pang stabbed Jackdawfoot’s chest. He wanted Blackkit and Mudkit to remain as they were, small and able to fit in his paws or climb over his back. He didn’t want them to grow. He didn’t even know that they could.

“Welcome, everyone,” Alderstar spoke up from where he stood on a tall, jagged stone, cutting into Jackdawfoot’s thoughts. Jackdawfoot couldn’t suppress an amused grin. Being Alderstar’s friend, he had found it funny that so many looked to the golden leader for advice and ceremonies, as if he hadn’t also been a serial killer. Alderstar had never forced a meeting or respect. Perhaps that was why he always seemed to get it.

“This moon, we welcome four young cats into our ranks of warriors. They will learn skills the Clans were frightened of teaching. They will be taught lessons in sonderness and survival, fighting not for cats who would have asked them to give their life for the greater good, but for themselves, their own worth, and their own loved ones. Redkit, step forward.”

At the front of the crowd in the line of kits, Redkit visibly shook. From nerves or excitement, Jackdawfoot couldn’t be sure. All the same, she obliged. 

“With request of your father–my son, your dad, and Fungichomp, your mentor shall be Hootpetal. I know her as a strong and compassionate warrior, and trust that she will protect you and allow you to thrive in ways that will thrill you.”

Redkit’s tail flicked. She was clearly much happier now, touching noses with her grandmother with a little chirp, before settling down next to her. Hootpetal turned to Perchclaw on her other side. “I’m so proud of you!” she exclaimed, licking at his ear.

“Mom!” Perchclaw complained, ducking away, but try as he might, he couldn’t hide the grin.

“Wormkit, step forward.”

Jackdawfoot held his breath. He scanned the crowd, wondering which of them would receive the kit. 

“With request of your mothers and Fungichomp, your mentor shall be Snowwing. He is a passive, skillful warrior, whom I expect will pass on everything you need to know.”

Jackdawfoot heard the hint in his words. It wasn’t just about skills in fighting, but in other things Wormkit needed a lesson or two about. But it had been stated in a kind way, disguised as to not embarrass or anger the kit.

He realized that Snowwing, Wormkit’s adoptive brother, was probably the best choice anyone could have made. He visited his mothers often and likely met Wormkit before, but not so much that that could soften his lectures for Wormkit. Too, he really was passive, always having a resting bored face and never feeling bothered enough to fight. He was the kind of cat that would respond to an insult with “well, I don’t think that,” and move on. It would certainly help to focus Wormkit on his duties, and on not trying to hurt someone’s feelings once he figures that that is an impossible thing to do.

“Mudkit,” Alderstar spoke again. Jackdawfoot and Ferndoe both straightened as high as they could. “With request of your parents and Fungichomp,”--Jackdawfoot and Ferndoe exchanged a nervous glance. He hoped their choice was the right one– “your mentor shall be Hawkjay. A clever convergent thinker, I trust her to keep you safe and teach you well.”

Jackdawfoot narrowed his eye, paying close attention to Hawkjay’s and Mudkit’s actions as they touched noses. Mudkit’s ears were flat, but that was to be expected. Hawkjay bent down carefully to reach her, blue eyes warm. “I look forward to getting to know you,” she said in a low voice so that only Mudkit, and the parents close by, could hear. 

Jackdawfoot relaxed.

“Blackkit,” Alderstar went on. “With request of your parents and Fungichomp,”--the nerves returned– “your mentor shall be Lovagecreek. A warrior with a big heart is something of interest in a place like this, and I trust that he will use it to make you feel safe and happy to the best of his ability, until you are able to do so on your own.”

On your own. The pang pricked deeper. Blackkit and Mudkit weren’t just becoming apprentices, they were growing up–growing apart from him. He forced his muzzle straight and not quivering as Alderstar finished. “We welcome you as apprentices of the Place of No Stars!”

To a Clan cat, to Starclan, maybe even to kittypets, that would have felt like a thing to be ashamed of. But Alderstar managed to speak as if it was an honour only the best of cats get to experience. Maybe it actually was. 

“Redpaw!”

“Mudpaw!”

“Blackpaw!”

“Wormpaw!”

============================================

--Daycare in quotations because it’s Jackdaw’s POV and he doesn’t know where the name came from and doesn’t know what to make of it.

--Jackdawfoot doesn’t know about the water incident with Wormkit/paw.

--I was going to give Mud and Black to mentors that weren’t my characters, since Red and Worm already were, but then realized that Lovage and Hawk haven’t been seen in a while.

--Snowwing is the kind of person to respond to “I think you look like shit” with “okay. I don’t think that.” and his opinion on the matter is the only one he should care about, so it doesn’t bother him.

--The ceremonious words are a little different than that of the Clans (and also with some shade). While the Clans view importance in the group (protect this Clan even at the cost of your life), the Dark Forest views it in the individual. 

As well, because they’re in Hell, they do need to know extra fighting skills that are more....violent than Clan cats would have learned, in order to stay safe. I don’t know how much hunting they would learn, considering there’s no food, but there’s probably lessons in other things that wouldn’t have been taught to living cats (like sonder).

-- @ambitiousauthor

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Little Stars (short story)

“I don’t know about this,” Mottlekit said quietly, stopping a few steps behind Graykit.

The kit who was somehow both older and younger than her had gotten an idea, one of her many. The idea was to collect a bunch of feathers and attach them to a sleeping warrior with tree sap. The little kit shook with excitement, her laughter already bubbling up as if she could see the confusion on the warrior’s face now.

Mottlekit, on the other hand, saw the inevitable anger. Seeing Graykit’s exasperation with her, she wished not for the first time to have her friend’s confidence, to do fun things without worrying about getting in trouble.

“I’ll target Firebird,” Graykit promised. “You know how nice she is!”

“That just makes me feel worse!” Mottlekit whined. “But we can’t target someone mean ‘cause then they’ll be really mean!”

For a moment, a dark shadow hovered beneath Graykit’s eyelids. Then, more casually, as if she were trying to convince herself that it was no big deal, she said, “no one gets mad at two dead kits.”

Mottlekit didn’t stiffen, well used to the fact by now, and finally, finally past the trauma of having her fragile body held beneath the water. Her mind went to her mother, how devastated she had been, and then becoming a murderer, a kit-murderer.

Mottlekit and Oatkit hadn’t been sure how to react to Goldenkit. His mother killed them and their mother killed him. Some of the Starclan cats, kind and devastated at the whole situation, had gently explained everything to them as much as they could, but even in their young and confused states, they could tell that the warriors weren’t too sure how to explain it at all, that they hardly believed what had happened. Mottlekit was even sure they wanted to keep them separate to avoid conflict. 

It had been Mottlekit who decided to confront Goldenkit. His mother was a murderer for no reason. At least Poppyhill did it for revenge! She needed to defend her mother’s honour, to take out her anger and grief over her own life at the only one around that she could connect to the deaths. When she had approached, his back was to her, and his golden pelt reminded her so much of the leg that had held her beneath the shallow water, claws digging into her little skin as she wriggled, panicking, fighting for air.

But when he turned around, tears welled in his eyes. Snot fell from his nostrils. Mottlekit recognized the look. He was scared.

 How horrible her death had been, how much she and her brother needed each other’s comfort. Poor Goldenkit had no one, his sister lived on. Mottlekit wondered how it had felt, to be flung over the gorge by a Clanmate you were told by everyone to trust, plummeting to the ground in a camp you played in, a camp you thought you were safe in with a warrior you thought you were safe with.

Mottlekit had offered to show him around, pretending to know everything. Oatkit became fast friends with him, too. Finding out that they both loved the same games was enough to stall Oatkit’s resentment.

It was harder with Ferndoe’s trio, and that was no surprise. They may have been killed by their own mother, which was horrifying all on its own, but she was manipulated into doing it by Poppyhill. Mottlekit couldn’t defend that, and didn’t plan on trying to, but with the three’s insults, Oatkit and Mottlekit fought back.

It was never really bad, in retrospect, kit squabbles and kit-hitting, nothing dangerous and nothing the bigger cats couldn’t put a stop to when it got bad. Goldenkit had been caught between them, his friends or his same-aged nieces and nephew.

It hadn’t been a dramatic final fight or confession that ended the fights. It had simply slipped away over time, and maybe boredom. But eventually the caring over who did what stopped. And after a few more moons, they went from indifference to friends when Specklekit had stopped to listen to an elder’s stories, and as the climax grew, more and more kits were attracted to the tale. When it had finished, they were buzzing with energy and wanted to play it out. It was as though they had never been enemies at all. 

In a way, they never had been. They were simply playing out the parts of their kin’s quarrel. It seemed that in that moment, hopping over each other, playfully smacking each other with sheathed claws instead of unsheathed, they all realized that, too.

Mottlekit also realized, too, that she and Graykit had the same sense of humour. They became fast friends, and Graykit would bring Mottlekit more out of her shell, bringing her further away to do fun tasks that while Mottlekit feared at first, was always glad to have done them when it was over. Mottlekit, in turn, taught Graykit how to settle down and have fun without necessarily doing anything at all.

“I don’t want to do it,” Mottle told her now. As outgoing as Graykit was, she had no doubt she would respect Mottlekit’s boundaries. “And you shouldn’t either, not without your partner in crime to shoulder the blame.”

That was their nickname for each other, as well as Mottleheart and Graystar, names they had hoped to one day have. ‘Everyone knows you would have been a great leader!’ Mottlekit had said. Graystar had grinned before replying, ‘and you my deputy.’

Graykit scuffed the earth in frustration. “Eeeh. But we’ve already done every other exciting thing there is to do!”

“We can put a spider–”

“Did that.”

“Uh, we can trick Thornkit into–”

“He won’t fall for it a fourth time.”

Mottlekit looked around, racking her brain and the landscape for an idea. Graykit took her on so many fun adventures. It was Mottlekit’s turn to figure out a fun task to do. But what would be exciting enough? Thrilling enough to be worthy of all of Graykit’s adventures?

Her eyes stopped at a blinding light in the distance, so far it was almost unnoticeable unless you squint really hard and already knew it was there. The idea escaped her mouth before she could stop it. “What if we go into the Dark Forest?”

[wills-woodland-warriors]

Question for @liberhoe @residents-of-the-darkforest @ambitiousauthor @starfalcon555 are you okay with me posting my dark tales mini stories in a collection on ao3? It contains characters like FadingStar, FernDoe, StumpPaw, WebStripe, etc. so I wanted to make sure you’re all okay with it. (If yes, im going to be linking to each of your blogs in the notes) 

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

I’m caught between two next story options:

Perch and Alder bond for the first time

Ferndoe has her kits

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Previous: https://at.tumblr.com/residents-of-the-darkforest/wormkit-watched-mudkit-and-blackkit-playing/h5cundnxxnmu

====================

Jackdawfoot looked at his mate lovingly.

Ferndoe was almost ready to deliver their kits, and she looked so beautiful that it took his breath away.

“Jackdaw, sweetheart, can you stop staring and go find our kits?” Ferndoe asked, struggling to groom her belly.

Jackdawfoot nodded, and set out in search of his eldest two.

He followed their scent, humming a little tune until he found Blackkit nestled under a tangle of thorns. “Little bit, Mama’s almost ready to kit, are you ready to meet your new siblings?”

Blackkit sniffled. “No.” He muttered. “Wormkit told me that you’re having new babies because we weren’t good enough. He said that we were emba-“ he stammered over the big word, nose scrunching in concentration.

Jackdawfoot growled low in his throat. “That is not true at all! Where’s your sister?”

Blackkit wiped his cleft snout miserably. “Crying.”

Jackdawfoot felt his heart twist. Mudkit was many things. Mercurial. Volatile. Prone to violence. But she had never once cried. Not when her biological mother had faded, not when she was adopted, not even when she was telling Jackdawfoot the story of how she had died.

But to think that she was crying now..

“Where is she?” Jackdawfoot asked again, urgency flooding down to his claws. He had heard the horror stories from Alderstar and Hootpetal about Perchclaw’s time in the Sward, had seen the scars..

His heart skipped a beat when Blackkit carefully un-chickened his sister. Mudkit glared up at him, whiskers trembling around her tears.

“Oh honeybee..” Jackdawfoot lay down, putting his head on his paws. “Come here..”

His kits, his precious little stardrops, obeyed, running to him and burying themselves in his fur as they started to cry in earnest.

“You two are never going to be embarrassments to us.” He said softly, feeling them shake like leaves against him. “Even if the sky and the forest come crashing down, even if the dark waters rise again, I will always love you. Your mother loves you too, and no amount of new siblings will make us love you two any less.”

Mudkit looked up, gold eyes as wide as moons. “Promise?”

Her little voice was gravelly from disuse and crying.

Jackdawfoot leaned down and groomed her gently.

“I swear by all the stars in Starclan.”

=============================

This is so bittersweet oh my god–

Blackkit chickening his sister, Jackdaw being an awesome dad, Mudkit CRYING, the little hint we see of how far Ferndoe has come, focusing happily on her new family instead of the old..SO perfect

Next: https://at.tumblr.com/residents-of-the-darkforest/part/qza7fb1cwf2c

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Bristleblaze’s arrival (full story)

Ferndoe led the way to the meeting place, eager to meet the newest arrival.

She had expected a terrified, scrawny cat, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

Instead she saw the biggest cat she had ever seen. Even bigger thanJackdawfoot, he sat calmly, one eye closed and tail wrapped neatly around his paws.

“Hello.” She greeted, stepping forward and looking up to see his face. “I’m Ferndoe. Do you know where you are?”

He nodded. “My name is Bristleblaze, and I am in the Dark Forest to atone.”

Martenstep peeked out from behind Ferndoe. “You’re awfully calm about this.” He pointed out.

The tom shrugged. “What would be the point of getting upset? It isn’t as though anything can be achieved through-“

He froze, glaring through the trees.

Ferndoe turned around and saw the second welcoming committee approaching, consisting of Alderstar, Myrtlewing.. and Avery.

Avery hadn’t been paying attention, but Alderstar and Myrtlewing sure as hell took notice when the cat equivalent of a tank began to apparently size them up, turning sideways with his fur puffing out to make him look even bigger.

A growl like a Twoleg monster rose from his throat, and Avery finally glanced over, glee in his eyes when he recognized his opponent.

“Heyy.. weren’t you that better-than-thou clan tom?” He called. “Bramblebutt or something?” He plopped down, tilting his head.

Alderstar and Myrtlewing exchanged a single look before putting themselves safely out of range as quickly as possible.

Avery- unfortunately- kept talking. “You kept trying to talk to that Two-leg. Who does that?” He joked. “If you hadn’t tried to negotiate so much, maybe you would’ve kept your-“

He barely got the ‘your’ out before he was slammed into the undergrowth.

The two tumbled down the hill into the pond next to the dark garden and into the murky water.

Ferndoe, Alderstar, and Myrtlewing rushed to the edge of the incline and looked down.

“Should we help them?” Ferndoe asked.

Myrtlewing snickered and shook his head. “Nah, Avery needs to be taken down a peg.”

As he said that, Avery emerged, swimming frantically for the shore and racing behind Alderstar, who stepped back.

“No way. You aren’t hiding behind me covered in all that gunk.” He mewed.

Avery’s eyes were wide, looking even bluer than usual due to his thorough coating of mud.

“Please?” He begged “ I’ll make it up to you later, I just need to hide until that guy calms down.”

Myrtlewing laughed and shook his head. “No way.”

Avery whined anxiously and glanced behind him.

He was then forced to look up, to see Bristleblaze glaring down at him.

“You dishonorable, lying, selfish piece of-“ he glanced at Ferndoe and then forced his fur to lie flat.

“You ruined my life!”

Avery’s ears flattened.

“Well, I heard you lived with Nutmeg.. So, technically, I did you a favor. If I hadn’t led you into that trap, you wouldn’t have met him!”

Bristleblaze leaned down, still growling.

“If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t be here. I would be in Starclan with my mother and father, with Poppyhollow and my sisters. But instead I’m here with you.”

Avery shook his head to get gunk out of his ears. “What’d you even do? Sneeze too hard? Accidentally say a bad word?”

Bristleblaze hissed and glanced over at Ferndoe. “I’m not discussing this.” He hissed, walking away into the trees. “If I see you again, then I won’t be so nice.”

Alderstar laughed nervously, staring after Bristleblaze as though he expected to be next in line for being tackled. . “Avery what in Starclan’s good name did you do to that tom?”

Avery snickered and started grooming out the mud.

“I got him neutered.” He laughed at the word.

Alderstar looked at the others, obviously confused and more than a little suspicious.

“What is.. neutered?”

Avery merely grinned.

“Let’s just say that it’s why I’m here.”

===============

Avery:

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Any of your ocs you would be interested in seeing in a story about the great battle? Cuz I have great ideas!

OK YES ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO WRITE STORIES WITH MY OCS IT'S ALWAYS A TREAT TO READ

On the top of my head, the Eye-Out poly and Jackdawfoot. In my canon, they didn't participate because they honestly didn't care, but a story could be considered an AU where they did! (I once got a story where Alder and Myrtle existed under Blackstar's reign by @bvnny-skllvz and it is, to this day, my favourite story about them--even topping my own).

You can also, if you want to include another character, tell me which ones you wish to include so that I can confirm the timeline matches (Ferndoe, Poppyhill, Gorseheart, and Emberdawn, for example, wouldn't take part because they weren't born until long after the battle--but of course this could also be another timeline au thing).

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Welcome to Hell, sweety! (short story)

Ratbirch couldn’t move. Paralyzed from the neck down, he could only shift his head, which itself proved difficult as Batroot held him beneath the water’s surface. He lost count of how many times he slipped into unconsciousness– or perhaps death, to wake to Batroot performing compressions on his chest and to cough up water, only to have his brother drag him into the lake again and repeat the process. 

Each time became shorter and shorter, while the moments of pure blackness became longer. Ratbirch came to prefer it over when he was awake and could feel the water bubbling in his lungs, but he was afraid. He didn’t want to die, certainly not like this. Not at the paws of Batroot.

But he was getting so tired, and the thought of letting go was so easy. It almost came as a relief when he felt firm, albeit muddy ground beneath his paws, paws that could move and feel again, even if it was of little use now.

Then realization set in and his heart sank. He gazed at the pale, twisting trees and gnarled branches. He was dead. Not only was he dead, he was in the Place of No Stars. 

He should have known. What was he thinking, attacking a queen? He didn’t mean to hurt her, surely he had not hit her badly enough to cause her kits to be stillborn?

Creaking sounded overhead. Ratbirch flinched. Other than the kits–which was an accident– the only times he had killed someone was in battle, and that had been an accident too, one that made Ratbirch throw up! There was no way he could survive here among blissful murderers!

Then the bushes rustled beside him. Ratbirch froze. Should he run or face them? If he ran he would give himself a reputation as a weakling, but if he stayed….

Shivering, he unsheathed his claws and bared his teeth.

A grey she-cat stepped out. What appeared to be a flower hung from her jaws. The way it dripped, brown and blackened, made it hard to tell. “Hello dear!” the she-cat mewed around the plant.

“Don’t be alarmed by the trees, Stars know I was when I first joined. I’m Ferndoe. Erhm, I saw what happened to you. I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t much, but maybe this could help ease the welcome?” She placed the plant at Ratbirch’s paws.

Ratbirch lifted a brow, and picked it up between his toes. He sniffed it, then held back a grimace. Ferndoe smiled embarrassingly. “Yeah, they’re not a looker when it comes to flowers I’ve seen before, but it’s the best gesture I can give.”

Ratbirch looked around. Was this a trick? He was in the Dark Forest, wasn’t he? So why was this cat being so pleasant? He didn’t want to be rude to who might be the only kind one here, either. “It’s great,” Ratbirch told her.

Ferndoe gave him a knowing look. “I know they smell awful. You don’t have to keep it, it’s just to make the newcomers feel better.”

“Oh, thank Starclan,” Ratbirch chuckled politely, then frowned. “Would I.. Would I still say that here?”

Ferndoe shrugged. “Only if you’re okay with spit,” she answered, then when Ratbirch gave her a confused look added, “cats tend to spit when they hear it. Anyway, why don’t I show you around?”

Ratbirch gazed around again. “There are important places to know? I kinda thought it was ‘just wander around.’”

Ferndoe smiled. “There are some places you might want to know. The freshest water, the most dried ground, the more sturdy trees if you’re interested in climbing.”

Ratbirch shuddered. “I tried that as an apprentice once and dislocated my shoulder.” Padding beside her, his feet began to sink into the mud. He lifted it up and shook it, sticking his tongue out distastefully. “Might need to get used to it if I want to avoid all this!”

“Oh, you’ll get used to that, too!” Ferndoe laughed kindly. Her words were almost drowned by a yowl of surprise. 

Whirling to face the noise, Ratbirch came face to face with his brother, Batroot.