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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter thirteen-

He tried as hard as he could to ignore the wails of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw as he began his speech.

Antstar had carefully rehearsed this over and over in his head the night prior. He couldn’t do it too naturally, of course, or they could catch onto him. But with just the right intonation- just the right worry-

“Stoatslink’s body, as you may have seen, was discovered in the gorge this morning.”

Antstar could hear whispers from the cats below as they continued to inspect the body.

“His wounds smell like rogue…” he could hear Talonscar whisper. He hoped to StarClan- and whoever lurked above them- that he didn’t smell like what he was convinced he was.

“However, the obvious wounds all over the body lead me to believe that this was no accident, nor did Stoatslink die by falling in. In fact, I think something foul is afoot. Before he died, Stoatslink told me he believed Sparkthistle had not-“ -he had to swallow the sickly lump that was forming in this throat- “had not been killed, but rather… murdered by rogues.”

Again, he tried to ignore his Clanmates’ hushed whispering. But he couldn’t help but fear they already knew, somehow, and that somehow-

“Specifically, I believe, Stoatslink was worried about rogues who live near the Moonstone, who he swore he had seen on our territory. He was investigating the death- as some of you might have been able to tell- when he died. I believe…”

He had to stop his amber eyes from welling up with panic and with grief at his own actions. What have I done?

“I believe the rogues likely killed Stoatslink to silence him. We need to drive them out. It is what Stoatslink would have wanted, and what we need to do in order to keep our Clan safe.”

“Where are they?” growled Rockscratch with anger, and Antstar nearly leapt off the rock with fright until he realized that the russet tabby’s anger was directed at the rogues. “We need to stop them!”

“I’ll come too!” said Juniperfang. Antstar had to admit that Juniperfang made him uneasy. Only a scant few moons ago, the tabby tom had been a loner, a stranger to Clan life. Already now he was one of the more militant cats, and he only scarcely visited the elders’ den to talk to Audrey and Shrike.

More cats nodded in agreement- Spiderfoot, then Emberheart, then Twigpaw. Goldenpaw had ran off into the apprentice’s den, followed by her mentor Webwhisker, Milkpaw was angrily trying to convince Toadpool through her tears that she should join them.

“It’s decided then. Russetfoot-“ Antstar scanned the clearing for his deputy- “Russetfoot, could you-“

Suddenly Whitetooth appeared at the base of the rock and flicked their head back, indicating they needed to talk to Antstar privately about the deputy. Antstar felt panic swallow his heart, but he nodded, trying to keep his cool.

“Alright, then. Rockscratch, Spiderfoot, Emberheart, Juniperfang, Lilystone; I’ll lead you all on a patrol towards where Stoatslink thought the rogues were. Molethroat, Toadpool, Sparrowpetal, Birchshine, Shadeflower; you all guard camp.” He puffed out his chest to look authoritative, although the weight of said chest swayed a bit as it sat atop trembling limbs. “This is a very serious matter, and it only confirms Stoatslink’s suspicions. We need to act now.”

Already WindClan lined itself up for defense. Houndnose and Cherrycloud were taking kits inside the nursery for protection- even Brindlekit, even though she squeaked protests of ��But I wanna go get the rogues, too!”

As WindClan shuffled into place, Antstar padded over to Whitetooth’s side. There was a touch of consternation to the white cat’s long-snouted face, their ears attuned back towards the medic den.

“It’s Stripedwing’s litter,” they said quietly. “While it does seem that Aphidkit has healed from the sickness, Dewkit passed away in the night, joining her brother Mousekit in StarClan.”

A cold shock of grief grappled Antstar’s belly.

“The one ill one left is Thistlekit, and he’s so small and feeble I’d be surprised if he made it through. I need to stay here to care for them, and Russetfoot wishes to stay here also.”

“Of course,” said Antstar. In that moment Antstar nearly forgot of all the horror of the night preceding- Stoatslink’s last garbled cry, the smell of the blood, the way the yellow eyes that had once been his stared at Antstar after death. Perhaps he was a murderer now, but Antstar only felt softness for kits, and he always would.

Only after turning away to lead the patrol did Antstar feel uneasy without his constant companion behind him. He hoped the rogues wouldn’t spit out the truth as they were chased out- or, if they were, that nobody would believe them, and that their words would be forgotten like carved sand on the shore.

They set out, into the grass, which was yellowing and thinning with the autumn air. The sky was white, but not sunless; the clouds were thin like an amniotic sac and the sun’s light still peeked through. Still, there was an unnerving feeling to it- Antstar did not want to think about how the sky wore Stoatslink’s pelt color.

“There!” he heard Juniperfang cry, and he turned his dark head to see the rogues. They had not noticed Antstar, but they had become aware of the patrol’s presence. The rogues got up from the dead hare they had been sharing- evidently not their kill, judging from the tinge of rot around it- and slowly advanced towards them. They looked uncannily at Antstar- one of them seemed as if he were about to say something, but the thought came and went- and then Juniperfang leapt- and then- and then-

Antstar could not remember anything more.

He knew, objectively, he had been there. The rogues had been chased off, judging by the boastful cries of Juniperfang and Spiderfoot. He knew he had participated; his paws were flecked with blood and one of the rogues had scratched his snout. One of the rogues had been killed from the group effort, but Antstar could not remember which one and how; he only knew because Juniperfang seemed disturbingly proud of it and Lilystone had told him to shut up. It was as if Antstar’s brain, fed up with the tightropes of panic he always balanced on, had blotted things out; as if the fear that one of the rogues would reveal his secret overtook his memory.

His troubles were not over, however; one turn towards camp and he made out the figures of a SkyClan patrol.

“SkyClan? What are they doing here?” Spiderfoot asked, her voice fraught with suspicion. He narrowed his eyes to get a closer look. He could make out Hopscratch, Pigeonstar’s deputy, talking to Russetfoot about something; behind her were a whole corral of SkyClanners he could only recognize from prior gatherings. Once he stepped into camp and the warriors behind him dispersed to tell their Clanmates about the rogue fight, he caught the attention of Hopscratch’s amber eyes, and she got up from Russetfoot to talk to him.

She was a short, stubby thing, especially unique among a Clan renowned for their flexibility. She was mostly white, with brown patches covering her head and back, and her tail was only about a third of the usual size. Her ears were torn and the fur around her muzzle was slightly bushy, but the most notable thing about her was her back leg. It was small, shriveled, and black; over time it had been worn down to only a stump. Antstar had heard the story why: When she had been born, her umbilical cord wrapped around her leg and strangled it, cutting off its blood supply and rendering it unusable.

Despite her injury however she had grown to be quite nimble. She had to be, after all; nimbleness was SkyClan’s thing as they raced among the treetops.

“Hello, Antstar,” she said, dipping her head respectfully.

Antstar braced himself for attack, but upon realizing potential battle would take a moment he too dipped his head to her.

“Pigeonstar had sent us here with the intent of attack,” she explained bluntly. Antstar looked at the cats behind her. SkyClan was no ThunderClan, but their claws and teeth were sharp; some looked more willing for a fight than others. He could recognize the spotted calico who had attacked him a little less than a moon prior; she eyed him pointedly. “However,” Hopscratch continued, “upon finding out about the tragedy that has occurred this morning, I and my Clanmates figured it would be in our best mutual interest if we did not attack. Besides, I worry that attacks over such personal reasons would ultimately harm us both.”

Antstar tried to apologize for Stoneclaw’s death profusely, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Hopscratch simply nodded, and then raised a paw to quiet him. “We’ve all done things we regret in the heat of the moment- deaths in battle among them. One of my own children, once, accidentally killed an apprentice in battle, and she was torn up about it for moons. I told her over and over- she didn’t know, it was purely accidental, there was no ill will about it- but even to this day, she’s never quite gotten over it. I would not want the same to happen to you, or to whoever was the one to kill Stoneclaw in the first place. The guilt I saw in her eyes is something I couldn’t wish upon even the blackest of Dark Forest spirits.”

I’m already there, Hopscratch, he wanted to tell her. I’m already there.

But no sooner had she discussed it than she organized the patrol to leave. “There will be no fight today, Clanmates,” she instructed them, and they lined up orderly to go back across Fourtrees and home.

“Should I worry about Pigeonstar in the future?” Antstar asked. Sure, his deputy had stopped him this time- but it was an open secret Hopscratch was considering retiring soon, and whoever Pigeonstar would elect in her place was likely someone younger and less wise to the world around them.

“Pigeonstar? Oh, no. He’ll shape himself around his grief and live with it eventually. It’s his other son you have to worry about.”

And away they went, over the WindClan plains, before Antstar could ask anything more.

“The rogues were… dispatched easily.”

Antstar said his words quickly, trying not to think about how wrong it felt on his tongue. He knew it was right. They killed Stoatslink. They were chased out far beyond the territories. Nothing more and nothing less needed to be said.

But something gnawed at him. He pretended to himself that he had simply never gotten over how tall the Gathering rock was- hell, even on the Tallrock at home he felt a bit queasy- but something whispered to him, in a harsh, lawful tone, that he knew damned well what it really was.

“That’s good to hear,” responded Tulipstar, nodding her head. The full moon gave her white-and-ginger fur a particular glow, maternal but speckled with the chill of the brisk autumn air she breathed. “We extend our deepest condolences for Sandwhisker, Stoatslink, Mousekit, and Dewkit.”

Antstar had to crane his neck to catch his breath. “In other news,” he continued, “despite their- father’s passing- Stoatslink’s daughters passed their assessments with flying colors, and have received their warrior names- Goldencloud and Milknose!”

The rumble of cheers that spilled from below was enough to drown out Antstar’s worries. Away went the grief around him, and Goldencloud and Milknose seemed proud enough of their names to still bask in the cries around them. Antstar, however, still felt uncomfortable talking to them; he wanted so badly to apologize and yet he knew he never could. Even naming them just felt wrong; as if he had killed a mother bird standing over her nest and was now making off with her eggs.

Tulipstar began to speak about her own Clan; since the battle that had claimed the lives of Redfeather and Trufflepelt, they had enjoyed a peaceful moon. The Clan had somehow managed to catch a small deer, and two apprentices had received their warrior names a tad early for it. And finally, Velvetshade had bore two more kits- welcome arrivals, as the RiverClan nursery had not had more than two kits in moons. There was a ripple of cheers for the new names Tulipstar announced- Shortfeather! Lightstone! Gracklekit! Plumkit! Lilackit!- and then attention turned to ThunderClan. Tatteredstar similarly took the time to mourn the two ThunderClan toms that had died in the battle- Rooktalon, she said, would have made for a fine leader had he ever gotten the chance, and Frostsnarl was a very intense fighter who had more than proved his worth. Antstar flinched as he remembered how the tom had attacked him and ripped Trufflepelt in two- and, perhaps even more haunting, how Frostsnarl himself had met his end at dozens of RiverClan claws and teeth. But the old molly had seen more than her fair share of battle, and it all sounded like a script she had said before many times. Onward she went to describe how her Clan had built a new wall of brambles around the nursery to protect it, and how there had been an incident where Gourdfang was taken by humans but had managed to escape- but besides that, life in ThunderClan had gone on as usual, forever preparing for the next in a wheel of the endless battles that defined their lives.

There was sudden quiet- neither the SkyClan or ShadowClan leaders seemed to want to speak. They stared at one another, for the longest time; Currantstar’s emerald eyes boring into Pigeonstar’s teal ones, until at last Pigeonstar stepped forward- although the look he gave Currantstar told everyone that it wasn’t that the flint-gray tom was intimidated, or lacked will; it was that he thought their little silent feud was a waste of time.

Pigronstar looked… tired.

“SkyClan mourns those we lost in the battle as well, Bumbleshade… and-“ -he cleared his throat- “and Stoneclaw.”

Antstar half-expected the tom to go into a long spiel about his son and the life he had, just as Pigeonstar had been eager to talk about his children before, but just as he had touched on the topic he had left it at that. Onward he went to describe new matters. The teal-eyed tom wasn’t the convulsing mess he had been over his son’s body- thank God for that- but he wasn’t nearly as boisterous as he had previously been. He was just as prickly as ever, though. For a moment, a tussle between Weevilclaw and Beetleclaw of ThunderClan and Buzzardsplash of RiverClan interrupted Pigeonstar’s spiel, and he reacted with a sharp cry of “Watch it, dipshits!” before resuming and whispering a private, barbed comment about the three cats’ parentage. SkyClan living had been quiet since the battle; the only new development was that three kits had become apprentices, one of which was training to be a medic. As Pigeonstar described the three, Antstar watched the young cat and her mentor. Whisperpaw was small and excitable, taking in every detail around her and excitedly chattering with her mentor, Honeyfur. Honeyfur had always been a cat with a quiet melancholy nobody could truly describe, but he looked much more lighthearted than usual as his young apprentice skipped and sang and danced around him.

“She’s a force of nature,” the golden tabby explained to Pebblesky and Addertooth. “Not nearly as quiet as her name would make you think!”

Marblepaw watched Whisperpaw with a strange sort of envy. Antstar thought about how he had never seen her laugh and smile like Whisperpaw did. Even as a kit in the nursery, she and her brother Twigpaw were always quite sullen- because of the high likelihood they were the result of illegitimacy, as well as them both being unplanned to begin with, their mother Adderthorn was always cold and distant towards them. She really hadn’t meant to, of course, and she did love them in her own strange way. But she never seemed entirely sure what to do with them, and often she’d spend as much time away from the nursery as possible as she figured it would be better to just not be around than make mistakes. Antstar did remember Marblepaw was happy the day she was apprenticed- but ever since then, ever since she had known the truth of what Whitetooth was willing to do to help their Clan, she had remained still and scared.

Antstar wanted to help her, with every bone in his body. But he knew what would have to be revealed to do so- and he didn’t have the stomach to entertain the idea further.

But he couldn’t linger on the thought longer. Currantstar was taking the stand- and, if anything else, Antstar knew it would be interesting.

The secret of Currantstar’s infidelity had begun to get around, as Whitestone had told ShadowClan about it when he resigned as Currantstar’s deputy. Apparently, this hadn’t been the first time something similar had happened- but the last time, at least, he had no current mate and was merely ShadowClan’s deputy. Specklestar, the prior leader who he had served under, excused him- and privately arranged for the kits that resulted from the relationship to live with their rogue mother and never see the Clans. But now, he had nobody to defend him and hold his paw, and he looked rather like a lost kit. He had aged twelve moons since Antstar had seen him- like a paper structure crumbling under light rain.

“ShadowClan… ShadowClan mourns the loss of our friends from other Clans who passed on in the great Sunningrocks battle. We wish them good hunting in StarClan.”

“Are you gonna mention your kittypet girl?” cackled an old, battle-scarred elder just below him.

Currantstar pretended not to hear. “Over the last moon, Whitestone, my previous deputy, resigned. I have elected former leading permaqueen Gullflight in his place.” That made sense, Antstar thought- he and Gullflight had always been good friends. He recalled something that Shalestar had told him many moons ago before leadership was among even Antstar’s wildest of dreams: A leader’s leadership is truly over when they stop electing deputies that could lead the Clan, and start electing deputies that exist solely to protect and be friends with them.

There was more jeering from the crowd, and Antstar noted that the jeering seemed to bring Pigeonstar some strange sort of enjoyment. Currantstar cleared his throat, his breath suddenly getting shaky. “My… former deputy… asked me to tell the other Clans why he resigned, else he would tell them himself. My deputy-“ -he sped up the words to get them out quick, like ripping off a bandage- “my deputy chose to resign because he walked in on me with a kittypet mate.”

“That’s not all!” yelled a calico molly behind him. “She’s gonna have Currantstar’s babies!”

Pandemonium ensued among the Clans below. There was confusion, betrayal, and a joyous sort of lampooning. ShadowClan cats immediately went off on the allegations: The elders were gossiping about how Currantstar was likely seeing more mollies than just the kittypet he had disclosed, a black tom with scratched-out eyes was excitedly telling Smokebark of RiverClan about how Currantstar had only elected Whitestone as deputy to win favors with his daughter, three ThunderClan mollies were wondering how poor Sleekpetal, Currantstar’s mate, who hadn’t been to the Gathering that day was taking the news…

It was chaos. Only Tatteredstar bellowing “SILENCE!” was enough to get the Clans calm down from the sheer drama of it all- but before the silence truly died out, Antstar heard Spiderfoot over the crowd saying “Well, he should resign, shouldn’t he?”

“Because of this,” Currantstar continued, “I shall be placing myself in self-imposed exile for half a moon, during which I shall hunt for the Clan and the Clan only. Then I will return. In my absence, Gullflight will lead and provide me information about how the Clan is doing.

Fair punishment, if a little short, Antstar reasoned. Then it hit him- Currantstar was probably leaving to go be with Calypso further!

Oh, Stoatslink would have loved this, he thought - but then the guilt washed all over him again.

If nothing else, Antstar thought, it would prove to be a very interesting moon.

The Gathering soon dismissed- ShadowClan first, as they wanted to high-tail it after all of the embarrassment they had suffered on Currantstar’s behalf; then RiverClan, then SkyClan, until finally only ThunderClan and WindClan were left, gathering up their respective cats. Not a word was spoken between Antstar and Tatteredstar, although she did give him a nod of acknowledgement as did he to her. Tatteredstar, Antstar felt, was on another dimension than all the other leaders. She wasn’t just leader of ThunderClan- she was ThunderClan. It was as if the Clan itself could not exist without her- although Antstar did wonder how immortal she truly was, as every moon he had noticed Eelwhisker, her deputy, take more and more of an active role. Was he preparing himself for something more?

No, Antstar thought- no, he couldn’t be. There were two things Antstar was certain would live to the end of the universe- the stars above him, and Tatteredstar.

“Can we talk for a minute?” Antstar watched as a blue-gray-and-white tom approached Tatteredstar, his tail flicking. The WindClan leader recognized him as Cloudclaw, Pebblesky’s son from before she moved to be a RiverClan medic; he always seemed unpleased about something.

“Shoot,” said Tatteredstar gruffly as she organized the ThunderClan elders into a group.

“My new apprentice, Firepaw,” Cloudclaw began, “hasn’t been doing any of his assignments recently ever since he was reassigned to me after the battle. He’s constantly scared of everything, always going on and on about the battle we had earlier and all the blood spilled. I really want what’s best for the lad, I really do; I'm tough on him because I want him to succeed. I worry about his future in the Clan if he goes on like this.”

Tatteredstar nodded. “I’ve noticed. It seems to me the poor fellow’s got war-eyes.”

War-eyes? Antstar thought. He had heard the phrase once or twice in passing, but he had never known what it referred to.

“War-eyes,” Tatteredstar began to explain, “is something that can happen to anyone. Doesn’t happen always in battle either, but it happens there more often than not. You see something that terrifies you, it claws at your mind a certain way… only StarClan knows what and what doesn’t give you war-eyes. Once you got war-eyes, you have to live with it. The slightest things make you jump and re-remember it. It doesn’t leave your mind. Eventually you learn to work around it, and it loosens its grip on you. But sometimes it comes back in waves. My brother- he died many seasons before you were born, of course- had war-eyes. Never quite left him.”

Antstar- or anyone else, really- had never heard Tatteredstar mention her family before. They were all long dead, after all- she was the only one left from her entire generation, born about some seventy seasons ago.

But he knew he had heard that description before. Coalclaw, he thought- of course! Whatever Firepaw of ThunderClan was suffering, Coalclaw had to have had it too. He made a mental note- next time he saw Tatteredstar, he’d ask her about it, and, hopefully, he would know what to do with the haunted WindClan tom at last.

Home was quiet that night, at least.

Stoatslink had been buried for a solid quarter-moon or so now, and so the Clan no longer held the sort of paranoia it had the first couple of days after his body had been found. It had brought them all together, at least- just as Whitetooth said it would. The excitement of the Gathering wasn’t fully removed, as the story of what. Currantstar had been up to spread across camp the way thistles spread across the summer grass.

Antstar told Spiderfoot, Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal about what he had learned from overhearing Tatteredstar- about war-eyes, and how it was likely what Coalclaw was dealing with. Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal looked relieved that there was a term for it, but Spiderfoot was still adamant- if there was a treatment, she reasoned, Coalclaw should have already done the research himself to figure it out and work through it. She said she bore no hard feelings, and truly didn’t want to be the villain; she simply worried about the Clan and the greater good, and if Coalclaw would impede them all. So Antstar took a long night walk with her, over the moors and the plains, they reminisced about the past when Spiderfoot was still just a newly-appointed apprentice and how much she had learned. She’d be a good deputy, Antstar thought, if he ever had to elect a new one and if time lengthened her patience. Antstar reminded her how important her family was- and how she should be kinder to her brother, as Antstar himself wished for a family more than anything in the world.

“But you have your Clan!” Spiderfoot told him. “You have us, we can be your family!”

If only she knew, Antstar thought to himself as the moon, pale as Stoatslink’s fur, stared down at him.

If only she knew.

#finally! sorry for da wait <3 #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter eleven-

It became apparent to Antstar near immediately that Whitetooth and Marblepaw weren’t the only ones in the medicine den.

Next to Whitetooth lay Stripedwing. The gray molly seemed well, but even under the cloak of sleep her face looked troubled. Next to her were four small bundles of fur, one of which Marblepaw was tending to.

“What’s going on?” asked Antstar, his breath so low that he wondered if he was just thinking particularly loud.

“I believe I have told you in the past about the matter concerning Stripedwing’s family tree,” began Whitetooth. “For as far back as I or my late mentor can remember, the litters containing such ancestry are quite weak, and have difficulty surviving illness. You may recall that Rainleap and Stripedwing were born in a litter of four, yet only they survived their kithood.”

Antstar nodded, but worry began to dig under his skin like a short-tempered hare. These were Russetfoot’s children!

“They’ve all caught kitten-cough. It appears the other three in the litter- Runningkit, Rustkit, and Wheatkit- are safe and healthy, and Shadeflower is caring for them. But these four… these four, I worry about.”

Suddenly, Whitetooth and Marblepaw at once pricked their ears and pointed their long snouts towards the entrance, where a figure was standing. She was a calico tabby; half of her fur was an off-white color while her back and face were covered in splotches that were mottled orange and liver. She was a naturally rather demure thing, like a particularly thin workhorse, and her pale green eyes were cradled by thick, dark eyebags that had been tinged reddish from discharge.

It was Houndnose. One of the permanent queens.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, awkwardly walking forth to inspect. Whitetooth leaned toward her, causing her to back up into herself and arch over. “I cannot say they are. I and my apprentice are giving them all the care we can, but we do not know what will happen to them.”

Whitetooth was usually fairly tall, definitely within the upper half of WindClan’s heights. But their head only met Houndnose’s lower neck. She shot one last long glance at the kittens; her glance slowly lingered and met Antstar’s before she trotted away.

“Poor, feeble thing,” Whitetooth said, solemnly shaking their head. “All she wants in the world is to take care of kits and to be a mother. But every litter she’s had…”

Antstar didn’t need Whitetooth to finish the sentence. Houndnose’s first litter had been born two springs ago. But Dustkit was a stillbirth, and Privetkit and Newtkit slowly, agonizingly succumbed to illness. Her second litter the next year was healthier, but didn’t fare better in the long run, as a fox wound up getting them.

Antstar remembered how Shalestar had asked Houndnose if she truly wanted to continue being a queen after all that. But Houndnose was insistent: Queen life was worth all the heartbreak, all the pain; and her third litter would make it, whenever it would be.

“It must be horrible,” Whitetooth said softly, a true sympathy shining in their teal-green eyes. “Having to watch what happened to your own all over again- and not be able to do a single thing about it.”

They turned to inspect Stripedwing and her kits, and upon assuring themself that the molly and her kits were all in a deep slumber, they turned, in that sort of blank way they were so masterful at, to Antstar.

“I have heard about Stoatslink’s… suspicions, yes.”

“Well.” Antstar stepped back, a touch of incredulousness as he shifted his weight from one side to another. “What in StarClan do you suppose we do?”

Whitetooth squinted slightly before wheeling around to sort a stack of herbs near the back of the main chamber. “You are my leader, Antstar. I follow your command, not the other way around.”

Antstar opened his mouth to protest, but Whitetooth turned, their eye lidded with seriousness. “I do not kill my Clanmates, sir. I am simply the agent by which they join StarClan. If you truly think I’m going to kill Stoatslink on my own volition, you are sorely mistaken.”

Kill? Antstar had said nothing about killing. But in a strange sort of way, his mind was already headed there. And then he blurted out: “I don’t want to be the one to do it!”

“Quiet!” Whitetooth hissed, snapping at their leader. For a second, Antstar glimpsed their long white canines that had gifted them their name, and he was there in Sunningrocks all over again, when that flame-pointed ThunderClan tom had threatened him. Whitetooth’s mouth was very small and slight, and looked nearly invisible when it was shut. But inside- when they opened their mouth… it was nearly all teeth. Teeth that had never been dulled by the wear and tear of warriorship. Teeth that were long but with points so small that if they were to bite into something, nobody would notice but the victim, like hypodermic needles.

Antstar’s eyes darted over to the corner of the medicine den, where Marblepaw was curled up, eyes huge and glimmering with the shine of Whitetooth’s canines.

“You are going to wake her-“ -they gestured to Stripedwing, still asleep- “-if you continue, and the Clan will not understand us. And I know from hearing things that Clan cats have no trouble kicking out leaders if they decide they are no longer worthy. Why, it could be happening right now…”

“Right now?” said Antstar. “What do you mean?” “Not here in WindClan.” They tipped their head back cryptically. “I hear of things.”

“But what do we do?” asked Antstar. “What if- StarClan damn you for making me think of it, but- what if we were to kill him?” “Outside,” said Whitetooth, their tail still flicking towards the sleeping mother and her kits. “Now. Marblepaw-“ -they turned to address their apprentice, who was still hunched over from fear- “you watch Stripedwing and her kits.”

They were on the rim above camp now, the moon across the sky staring straight upon them.

“Well, now. What do we do?”

“Well, what does Stoatslink thinks he knows?”

Antstar tried to flicker back memories of all they had learned about the white tom. He was an analytical sort, yes. But he was stubborn, and seemed to fashion himself a genius. Bull-headed. An intelligent bull? Perhaps. But still one that would charge if he saw a red cape.

“He thinks a non-Clan cat killed Sparkthistle and threw her body in the gorge as cover.”

“Good, good.” Whitetooth’s voice slowly blended into a sort of hypnotic charm as it flowed through the air. “That’s exactly what we need. Here’s what I would propose.”

They stood back and tipped their head up and ears back, as if they were disposing of rotting crowfood, and spoke.

“We can make an example of Stoatslink. He is a family-oriented fellow, but has few friends because of his flaws. If he died-“

“What are you getting at? You think we can openly kill him to ‘make an example’? Are you mad?” Whitetooth looked offended, their nose slightly wrinkling with indignance. “Not openly, you shrew-headed fellow! And, personally, I was never saner than I am now. Listen. You know what happens, when Tatteredstar makes a faulty decision?”

Antstar nodded. Recently, there had been Rosefire. But he hadn’t been the only incident. He remembered that at his first Gathering as a warrior, she had announced that an ill-advised attack on a group of kittypets had killed her deputy. There was a sort of shock at it- he had quite liked seeing the fellow in question at Gatherings when he was an apprentice. And even before that, he remembered hearing from WindClan warriors returning from a Gathering- did you hear Tatteredstar didn’t let SkyClan get the herbs they needed, due to their prey dispute? And a bunch of SkyClan cats died because of it? I have no idea why ThunderClan adores her so much…

“Now. What else would happen shortly after?”

Antstar’s mind floundered at first, but as soon as he considered Tatteredstar’s other habits his mind latched onto something. “…They would attack RiverClan, and get Sunningrocks back.”

“Bravo.” Whitetooth drew back slowly, like he was leading Antstar with a carrot on a string. “A stroke of genius, on her part. In styling a common enemy for all her Clan to be directed towards, at once it removes the eyes from her and it unites the Clan together against this new obstacle. So even if the Clan is divided at her decision- they are swiftly united again by this distraction.” “So what you’re saying is-“

“I know the cats who live just beyond our territory. I would not say they are black of heart, but they are desperate. For food, for shelter… they shall do anything to get their claws on that sort of miscellany. I can arrange with them a deal- some of my medicinal herbs for them to kill Stoatslink, and then we shall throw him into the gorge. Solidify the belief he had in a killer outside the Clans- and then send a patrol to deal with the rogues that shall still be at the border.”

They turned away back into the medicine den, hearing Dewkit weakly cry as she began to stir.

“Think upon my words, Antstar, and consider it for now. If need be- I would consider it a necessary sacrifice to keep our Clan together for the oncoming of no-leaf.”

The last days of late summer slipped by, until autumn arrived in a hazy orange mist one day about a week or two later.

WindClan’s territory had always been at her prettiest in the mist- most of all when the sun still was able to shine through and cradle it with light. The sky above was mostly clear, but pale from its dawn youth. The trees, just slightly tinged with dappled shades of ginger, were practically painted gold by the sun’s light. The last morning stars slowly winked away just beyond the horizon, and the ground was so soaked with dew that WindClan cats nearly appeared to be RiverClan.

Antstar, however, had no time to admire newborn leaf-fall. He and Whitetooth, this morning, were on a mission at dawn. He had told Russetfoot he was helping Whitetooth find herbs, as it was important to do before the plants died out.

Russetfoot had accepted, numbly, his forest-green eyes staring mournfully at a small, freshly buried patch of earth that lay just beyond camp, where the last wildflowers of the season had begun to blossom. But Russetfoot had sighed and gone on with it, announcing names for the dawn patrol- mourning, in WindClan, was rarely ever a public affair.

Whitetooth always had a strange way of moving through the grass. It was almost like a swan: their top half remained still, except for the vague movements of the haunches and the flick of the tail; their legs, however, kicked away wildly beneath them. It was at once graceful and off-putting, as Whitetooth tended to be.

They went along, from the dewy grass to the slick, cold asphalt of the Thunderpath just beyond Mothermouth. They were traveling up it, parallel to the road. Antstar felt nervousness nip at his paws- ever since Rainleap’s death, which in truth had been only a season or so ago although to Antstar it had felt like eons, he had always had second thoughts about crossing roads.

And then Whitetooth stopped. They looked one way, then another, and then slunk across the road, Antstar in tow.

They stopped at a small, craggy cave, which resembled a much smaller version of the Moonstone’s cave- but with no tunnel, and no mystic monolith either. Inside, although it was dark, Antstar could see the silhouettes of a small group of rogues. They were all emaciated, and he tried to keep his distance- he could smell the fleas from here, and it appeared at least one of them had mange.

He heard a snarl and two cats caught his attention. One was a large ginger-and-white molly with patchy fur and scars webbing her shoulders, the other a much smaller, underfed little brown tom with a white underbelly.

“So you haven’t found any prey this morning?” asked the ginger-and-white molly, her voice thick with an accent that Antstar couldn’t place.

The smaller tom shook his head. He was visibly shaking, and his ribs were defined enough that Antstar could count nearly all of them.

“You know, Whimbrel, that this is the eighth straight morning-“ “I don’t want to go out to where the Clans are!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse.

“The Clans?” She scoffed. “You’re scared of the Clans?”

Whimbrel nodded. “I didn’t-“

At once the large patched molly leapt onto Whimbrel. He tried to flee, but there was little time before she was on top of him. She beat him around, as a kit would a moss-ball, and then thrust a thick yellow claw right into his eye. Whimbrel let out a wicked screech of pain.

“That’ll teach you,” she said, giving a crooked smile. Her teeth were cracked, and a few were missing altogether. “You’ve got more to worry about than the Clans, rag-pelt.”

Antstar winced. With no medicine, that eye was going to get infected- and it was already out of the question that Whimbrel would ever see in it again.

And then- speak of herbs- Whitetooth stepped forth, their chest puffed with confidence. “Sisters, brothers! May I see the leader of this fine group? I have a proposition I am willing to make.”

Antstar had no idea how much of Whitetooth’s words were laced with sarcasm, if any of them were. Yet some of the rogues seemed to know Whitetooth already, and acknowledged their presence with a nod. Antstar knew that medics were often entangled with connections to cats outside the Clans, and with each other; he didn’t want to press the matter further than that.

A large, muscly black cat came up to them. He had a sort of youthful swagger about him which was only further punctuated by mischievous yellow eyes and a white spot just above his left lip.

‘Name’s Captain.”

Captain? Fancy name, for a rogue, Antstar thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if this cat had once been a kittypet. Whitetooth nodded and bowed slightly in greeting.

“I and my companion here are willing to arrange a deal with you, provided you are capable of upholding our end of the bargain.”

The ginger-and-white molly from before trod up beside Captain, her hazel eyes clouded with suspicion. “They smell like Clan.”

“I am aware,” Captain whispered in her ear. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to Antstar and Whitetooth, his gaze smooth. “What is it?” “I will give you enough herbs to last two moons, as well as a position on the edge of our land,” Whitetooth began. Antstar nodded along, not wanting to interfere- or get too close to the rogues, as he watched a yellow tabby tom pry a fat tick from his shoulder. “…So long as you get rid of this rogue that has been bothering us.”

“And you’re sure you’ll hold up this bargain?” asked Captain, leaning forward with interest.

“Certain.” Whitetooth turned to Antstar. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

For a moment, Antstar’s mind faltered. He thought of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, who loved their father dearly. Their final apprentice assessments were to be held that quarter-moon. If he continued now… they’d have no parents at their warrior ceremony.

But it had to be done.

By God, it had to be done.

He nodded.

As Whitetooth and Captain got into the specifics- he’s a white tom, rather muscular, face like a bull terrier, yellow eyes- Antstar felt his head swirl with excuses. No, he didn’t- wasn’t going to, rather- kill Stoatslink. It wasn’t his fault. These rogues were going to kill someone anyway, right? And someone had to die to unite the Clan. He hadn’t killed Stoatslink; he didn’t kill Sparkthistle. He spoke no lies- he was solely omitting what he had to in order to keep his Clan safe. And in the long run, turning WindClan on these rogues was the right thing to do, to train them, to compel them to fight and band them together.

His mind stopped. He was at no fault, he decided. This was going to happen any other way.

“We’ll get the job done,” assured Captain, giving Whitetooth a gaze that was almost playfully roguish. Antstar wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him. “Meeting, everyone! Meeting!”

The rogues in the den gathered around the black-furred tom, their gazes wary.

“We have a deal with these two generous Clan fellows. I am aware most Clan cats are heartless bastards,” he jested, “but these two have granted us both part of their territory and medicinal herbs.”

“That’ll be great for Whimbrel’s injury here!” half-heartedly said the patched ginger and white molly. Beside her, Whimbrel was trying to wipe the blood from his face, but the more his paw rubbed the uglier the wound became. He tried harder and harder to stop the bleeding, to soothe himself; but in the end he had made a mess of it, giving up entirely as the blood seeped through his fur.

“It will be,” said Captain, flinching with disgust at the rogue’s injury. “However, we must uphold our half of the bargain. They have asked we… deal with… a white rogue who lives on their territory, who goes by the name Stoat.”

“Oh, that bastard!” said an old, thin black molly with long fangs. “Heard of him! Could have sworn he was a Clan cat, though…”

“We follow what they say, Linsky, and we don’t ask questions.” He turned back to the other rogues. “Tonight, we’ll get rid of him, so we don’t worry about having to do it later. If we all gang up on him, we’ll outnumber him. We’ll set up two groups. Towser here-“ -he indicated the patched ginger and white molly- “-will lead the first group, I’ll lead the second- as we are the best fighters after all, especially in my case.”

A large silvery tabby molly in the group rolled her eyes.

“One group will chase, the other will ambush. He’ll stand no chance. Towser, you’ll have Peg and Scamp with you; you’ll chase him down. I’ll lead the ambush group, which will be myself of course, but also Linsky, Garlic, and Whimbrel. I’ll kill the cat, of course, as I have special experience and tact-“

“You don’t,” growled the silvery tabby.

“Peg, you must have forgotten my run in with the ShadowClan patrol a few moons ago. You see, there were five of them, and one-“

“Let us leave,” said Whitetooth. “They’ll take most of it from here. And I have a queen and kits I must care for, especially after poor Mousekit’s death the other day.”

The day seemed to take forever.

Antstar felt like he was going to vomit every time he caught sight of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw. Even though he had mostly trained himself now into accepting that Stoatslink’s sealed fate was fixed, and that he had no true hand in it, his gut disagreed with his brain.

What would be, would be.

He took solace in Whitetooth’s confidence, at least- if that’s what you could call it. Nothing about the pale-furred medic seemed to indicate any sense of wrongness, or even that something different was about to occur that night. Hell, ever since even before Sparkthistle had died, they had looked the same way; acted the same way.

Medics were close to StarClan- and if Whitetooth hadn’t been smote down by StarClan themselves the last time they had visited the Moonstone and trod upon StarClan’s own divine territory, Antstar had to be fine.

Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, meanwhile, seemed to be having a fairly average day. The wound Goldenpaw had received in the massive Sunningrocks battle had nearly healed, although it left a scar that twisted and snaked around her flank and leg like a tangled vine. It had been her first hunting patrol since, as Whitetooth had only released her from their care the other night. She was the only moor runner apprentice, now. Twigpaw had moved on to his tunneler training after he had gotten the basics of hunting and fighting, and Shadeflower’s litter had graduated. Antstar wondered if the small catch she brought- only a small, scrawny whinchat- had to do with the lack of recent training since the injury, or the fact she had no competition she could brag about her catch to.

Coalclaw had been on the hunting patrol also, his face seemingly-permanently twisted into what Antstar could only describe to himself as something between numbness and far-off horror. Rockscratch, who was the one who had dragged the dark gray tabby along, had hoped that a hunting patrol would lift Coalclaw’s spirit and “get him back into a fightin’ mood”, but Coalclaw seemed almost too dazed to catch prey, even missing out on a rather clumsy red grouse that his sister Spiderfoot caught without even having to think about it. At one moment, Coalclaw was able to catch a young hare that had been chased around to him by the other members in the patrol; but as soon as he was told to clamp down on its neck and kill it, he started to cry in an ugly, desperate way, and yet again Spiderfoot had to finish the job for him. It’s only a hare, his patrol members told him, it’s only a hare, they are living but they are our food and they live through us, but he could not stop crying and staring into the crimson of its blood, and eventually Webwhisker had had to bring Coalclaw early, where he resumed his usual position sitting at the edge of camp towards sunset; still as a stone but haunted by something within.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Rockscratch said, with an air of sympathy but also a slight twinge of annoyance, like he was inspecting a tear in a well-loved coat of his. “We have to figure out how to fix it. I quite liked how he used to be.”

Milkpaw, meanwhile, was quite successful as a tunneler. While traditionally, a tunneler’s job was dependent on hearing, a trait Milkpaw lacked, her other senses brought a new understanding to the job. She could not hear, but her eyesight was excellent even in the thick, clammy darkness of the tunnels, and she had a sense of motion in the ground that only the finest tunnelers could really tap into. It was understood that tunnelers had longer training periods than their above-ground counterparts, but tunnelers generally got their warrior names around the time they had learned all of the basics and not when their training had truly finished. A tunneler’s leaning never ends,they reasoned when asked about why, as it was rather silly to everyone else.

That’s what terrified Antstar the most. The warrior ceremony. If Stoatslink really was to die, those two would have neither of their parents at their warrior ceremony. He supposed he knew how it felt to not have any parents to begin with… but to have them, and lose them, was a cruelty Antstar felt like he’d never really comprehend, just as he never had anything to say to Russetfoot’s wild grief about his children slowly beginning to slip away.

He didn’t want to cause that. Goldenpaw and Milkpaw had done nothing wrong. The idea of naming his victim’s children made him sick.

But he reminded himself. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him; it could never be him. The rogues by the Moonstone were going to be a problem. Perhaps some wandering patrol would run into them; even worse, perhaps they would see the medicine cats entering Mothermouth as a threat. They were going to kill some cat eventually. And he didn’t make the deal, nor did he tip them off- that had been Whitetooth. All he had been was there, due to absolutely nothing besides Fate and her wicked talons.

And he couldn’t simply expose Whitetooth, no. Whitetooth was the sole trained medic in WindClan; it would be a few moons before Marblepaw could even think about what her medic name might be. A Clan without a medic would be a death sentence, especially in the coming no-leaf season. And Whitetooth might turn on Antstar, which really wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Besides- as much as he felt wrong for admitting it, as much as he knew Whitetooth was a killer- he only truly felt calm, or perhaps the closest thing he knew to calm, by the white-and-brown cat’s side. There was something about their rich, dark voice; their eyes with pupils nearly always slit like a pocketknife had cut through the teal surface; their silent steps, their confidence. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, no. But it was like they were two souls, bound together by the limbs and thrown over the river; each pushing the other towards a direction only Hell and Heaven knew of.

The day was slow, but the night came quick.

“Stoatslink,” said Antstar as he approached the bullish white tom- he tried to sound confident- “I need to tell you about something. About what you said, regarding… you know.”

Stoatslink said no words, but nodded. At once he understood.

Thought he understood, rather.

“There’s a pack of rogues on the border,” Antstar began, his voice weary and hesitant like the first frost of a season. “I don’t know how many there are. But I am nearly certain they are the ones that may have killed Sparkthistle. You were right, Stoatslink.”

There was a moment of idle hesitation, and Antstar could see Stoatslink’s expression flicker between horror at the suggested reality and a strange, smug sort of pride.

“I’ll kill them,” the white tom grumbled. “I’m run them straight through. Nobody messes with WindClan. By the time I’ll be done with them, you won’t be able to tell they were ever feline.”

Antstar hoped to God and back that Stoatslink’s death would be quick, and that Captain’s group knew what they were doing. He knew he himself couldn’t take the white tom on in a fight- especially not with this attitude.

“That is why I want you, and you alone, to watch over the camp tonight. I hardly expect they’ll attack us. But just in case- I want you to sound the alarm.”

“Only me?” Stoatslink scoffed. His breath smelled like dried hare meat. “But what if they do attack?”

“Then the Clan will know about it,” continued Antstar. “And if the Clan knows about it, they’ll panic.”

“Rightfully so! They-“

“Do you want your daughters to live in fear or not!?!” Antstar yelled in a whisper. He realized he had never felt his voice go harsh like that before- at least, not since he had been a moody kit in the nursery.

But it was effective. Stoatslink backed down. His mouth opened up, as if another word had to escape his snout- and then, sensing he had no argument to speak of, it clicked shut like a music box with no coil left.

“I’ll do what I can, Antstar. And trust me- if they approach, the rogues won’t stand a chance.”

Antstar watched as the white tom sauntered away. He tended to sway about when he walked, like a basset hound; but from the way his shoulder blades perked up Antstar could see the purpose burning in his brain. Then, another white figure approached- Whitetooth, as smooth as ever. Antstar watched as the white cat took Stoatslink aside- or, really, rather just brushed him near, effortlessly; like a breeze guiding leaves. They whispered something in Stoatslink’s ear and threw a few glances.

This was all part of the plan. Whitetooth would convince the ever-bullish Stoatslink that Antstar was being too nice, that Antstar was underestimating him, and rile him up into a fury against these rogues. That way, Stoatslink would charge when he saw them, not caring to alert the Clan in a false belief he could manage on his own- and, therefore, charge into his own death.

It was a simple plan.

It was an awful thing to know.

It had to be done. For WindClan.

Perhaps Whitetooth sensed Antstar’s doubt. For as soon as Stoatslink set off, his vision cloaked in red, they slunk up to their leader and sat next to them, only for a moment whispering something into Antstar’s flattened ear:

“Rest assured, Antstar, this is needed. All of it is. You are doing what you can to keep your clan safe. Elsewise… evil would prosper in your failure.”

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story #FINALLy

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

chapter eight-

“You really think we can take on ThunderClan?”

Antstar could practically see Russetfoot’s hesitancy as the two toms sat on the rim of the hollow. “We’ll be taking them on with RiverClan.”

“Yes, but ThunderClan will have SkyClan with them, too.” Russetfoot, Antstar noted, had grown much more nervous now that he had his kits. There was still that trademark confidence of his, of course, but concern had balanced it. It had been a few days, now, and here they were- the night before the battle.

“I know we have to fight to keep RiverClan as an ally.” Russetfoot’s voice was careful, delicate; a butterfly landing upon a leaf. “And I have faith you know what you’re doing, Antstar. You’re my best friend besides my brother, anyway.”

Antstar felt uneasy as the tom carefully picked out his words.

“But I think- I think you should have handled this another way. We’re fighting for something we have no stake in, and- well, I don’t worry -that- much about our warriors, but I can’t say we’re the most formidable.” He clenched his teeth. “Especially against anything Tatteredstar is leading.”

“We’ll be fine, Russetfoot.”

Russetfoot, however, wasn’t convinced. “It’s already a stressful time, Antstar. Leaf-fall will soon begin, and with that will come cold and hunger. And with my seven kits, and Cherrycloud’s five…”

“I know. We’re all stressed.”

The last blue hues of dusk slipped away beneath the horizon.

“I pray to StarClan, you’ve made the right choice.”

Perhaps a walk could clear Antstar’s mind from impending battle.

The night was crisp, as the end of summer was. The cricket songs had slowly begun to quiet down, day by day, and already the grasses were turning yellow and the leaves a bold ginger. He remembered Shalestar had always liked this time of year the most. The old tom had told him, when he was an apprentice, that this kind of weather during this season gave him the energy to travel the length of the forest, and promised him something was always around the corner.

How he wished he felt that way…

The gorge made his belly churn, now, so he headed the other way, through the territories. He saw Stoatslink in the distance, hunting with his daughters. Antstar recalled their conversation from a few nights prior: Stoatslink was certain a non-Clan cat was threatening WindClan, and had been the one to kill Sparkthistle. Antstar and Stoatslink had never quite seen eye-to-eye, and something about the white tom had always been unnerving to him… but he had to hand it to him. Stoatslink was the only one who was right about it.

Antstar hoped he would abandon his case, however…

He continued to wander out of WindClan territory and up north. He could see Mothermouth on the other side of the Thunderpath, the flowers around it beginning to curl up and brown with the change of seasons. It was pitch-black, without a trace of the bright, glittering quartz that its path led to.

It looked, Antstar thought, like a predator’s maw, waiting to strike and snap shut.

He looked down the path of the Thunderpath before him. He could see a Twolegplace on the horizon, and the path seemed to stretch out forever and ever. What worlds lay beyond White Hart Woods? What would greet him, if he ran?

He was scared by just how much he felt his mind wander to the idea. Running away, never looking back. Leaving the world behind him. Russetfoot would be a good leader in his stead. They’d never find out about Sparkthistle- and if they did, it would be of no consequence to him. Perhaps some would miss him, especially Spiderfoot; but the world would spin without him, just as it always had, and he’d be dismissed as little more than a fluke who walked upon WindClan and was gone.

No- he couldn’t do that. He had his obligations. And, moreover, he was scared of what lay beyond all he could ever remember. He knew he had been there once, before they found him in the fields when he was a kit. But he couldn’t remember it well. On one hand- perhaps his birth family was out there, or other kindly cats; perhaps a nice Twoleg would take him in. But on the other hand, there might be none of the stability that the Clan provided. No medicine, no organization, no kindness in his fellow Clanmates. There might be pain, torment.

The thought that scared Antstar the most, however, was the idea that he’d escape, run free- and find that there was absolutely nothing out there. Not good, not bad. Just… nothing at all. And it would turn out the Clans were all that ever was…

He was pried out of his thoughts, however, when he saw a red tabby sprint by.

Russetfoot? He thought initially, but upon closer inspection he realized the cat couldn’t be him. While they were both dark red tabbies with emerald eyes, this tom had a more smudged pelt and a boxy shape, while Russetfoot was a slim, compact cat with clear-cut stripes the shape of fishbones.

No, realized Antstar- this was Currantstar!

He followed the tom throughout WindClan territory, steady and silent. He looked like he was in a hurry, and a bit nervous about whatever he was doing. Antstar had never seen him this way, sprinting through the dark, like a deer afraid that- at any moment- the dusty path below him might turn into pavement and he may be greeted with his downfall.

But as soon as Antstar could ask any questions, the tom took a sharp left turn into RiverClan territory, past the gorge and over the bridge. The tom’s figure grew darker as he ran, as dark as the shadows of the trees and stones, and soon Antstar could not tell which shadow was which.

Strange.

But Antstar didn’t want to ask further- two Clans against him were already enough.

The next morning came too soon and yet it felt like it had taken forever.

Russetfoot was busy gathering the warriors and apprentices. The elders and queens, of course, were staying behind to defend the camp in case anything wicked arose. The dawn was perfect- a tad too perfect, perhaps, with clouds running like honey towards the sun, nearly viscous, their milky haze yellowing the light. The grass was so soaked with dew that it clung to the dawn patrol’s coats.

“Are you sure you want to come with us, and not stay here with the elders, Sandwhisker?” Antstar overheard Russetfoot ask. The pale, thin molly was making her way into the crowd of warriors alongside more formidable warriors like Toadpool and Coalclaw.

“Of course,” she said, almost too defensively. “You’re concerned I’m going to hurt myself or die somehow, aren’t ya, youngin’?”

Russetfoot nodded. “You’re the same age as the elders. You should-“

“Don’t tell me what to do. If I die out there- which won’t happen- at least I’ll die in an important way.” The dawn’s light seemed to take away some of her age with its softness, but even then Antstar could tell the molly was too old for fighting. Her eyes were rheumy with fluid to the point she had grown two brown tear streaks, and her flank had long lost its sheen. She looked like a ragged lion pelt- thin, worn; yet still reeking of greatness.

But if Russetfoot could not change her mind, there was no way in Hell Antstar was going to.

A dark gray tabby slipped past him. It was Spiderfoot, making her way to the front of the crowd of warriors. She looked back at Antstar for a moment, her eyes filled with trust and admiration.

“Are you sure this whole fight is a good idea?” asked her brother. Coalclaw, despite being one of the largest cats in WindClan, was fidgeting in place, his eyes cast to the dusty ground below them.

“Antstar wouldn’t have made it so if it wasn’t a good idea,” responded Spiderfoot triumphantly. Her voice had a trumpeting quality in it. Antstar took faith in her- perhaps she could see the chiseled truths in Antstar’s decisions that he could not.

The elders, however, weren’t as certain about it.

“I know you said that this would be a good place to be, Audrey,” said Shrike, one of the two loners Antstar had accepted into the Clan, “but we haven’t been here a month and he’s already sending them away to battle against cats they don’t even know well.” “It’s fine, Shrike. It’s a border dispute. We had to deal with those when we were out traveling around.”

“I know. But something about the guy rubs me the wrong way.” The scarred black-and-white molly narrowed her dark brown eyes.

“Oh, Antstar’s doing his best.” Silverbelly got up and sat next to Shrike, punctuating his sentence with a sleepy yawn. “All leaders are a bit jittery like this at the start. They grow into their stride.” He smiled mischievously- he was old and had grown plump with age now, but the young, wild warrior that once was showed through. “And personally, I’ll support anything that’ll give that lump of rat-crap Pigeonstar a piece of mind.” He laughed, stifling his chuckles so as to not wake up Crowflower, who was dozing behind him.

Talonscar, the old brown tabby with ragged ears in the back, made no conversation despite being very much awake. But there was something about their olive-eyed glare that made Antstar immediately know they didn’t approve of his plan.

But it was nothing Antstar had the space to think about now. Russetfoot was already through the gorse-flower tunnel, and Spiderfoot, Coalclaw, and Juniperfang were just behind him. Even Whitetooth and Marblepaw had joined the crowd, Marblepaw carrying a little sack made from woven leaves that held all sorts of wound-tending herbs. What was done was done.

They got there at about the same time RiverClan did.

“I’m glad to see you here,” said Tulipstar, her tail gently flowing from side to side. The RiverClan cats, freshly joined by their WindClan allies, sat at the edge of the river, as close as they possibly could be to the prized territory. Redfeather’s snout jutted out as she leaned in to get a good look, just nearly keeping herself balanced so she didn’t slip and fall. Smokebark was steely-eyed as ever as he got a drink from the riverbank, his weary yellow gaze focused solely on the ThunderClan cats who lay on the pale, smooth stones ahead.

Something bumped into Antstar, and he wheeled around to see a small fawn tabby; an unusually meek-looking RiverClan specimen. “Oh,” said the tabby, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” assured Antstar.

“Oh, that’s just Oatwhisker,” said Tulipstar. “This is his first battle as a warrior. He’s quite nervous about it. Always worrying about something…”

“Oh, it’s my apprentice’s first battle as a warrior too.” Antstar stepped back proudly before realizing he had to correct himself. “Former apprentice, I mean.”

“Spiderfoot, right?”

Antstar nodded.

“I’ve seen her on the border when I go on walks. She’s a wily one.”

“I’m certainly aware of it.” Antstar had almost forgotten there was a battle to be held that day when the air grew deathly still.

Tatteredstar, sitting at the top of the tallest of Sunningrocks, had arrived.

She stared down at Tulipstar from across the river. There was a certain pity in those cold yellow eyes- as if she was giving Tulipstar an exit, knowing that she would never take it.

Tulipstar, unfettered as ever, stared back.

Tulipstar gave the nod to Antstar, and she slipped into the river. One by one, RiverClan warriors jumped in. There was none of the usual raucous splashing- only serious silence as each cat waded through the waters.

Then, WindClan jumped in, more noisily- first Rockscratch and Russetfoot, then Spiderfoot, then Toadpool, then Whitetooth and an especially hesitant Marblepaw… Antstar gathered in him the courage and jumped in, trying to keep his body streamlined with the water’s crisp surface to mimic the silent dives of the RiverClan cats.

He looked ahead, trying to keep his head up and even. He could see a small brown-and-white molly with a hairless, black, shriveled back leg leap up beside Tatteredstar. Tatteredstar uttered a command into the patched molly’s ear, and she limped away, onto ThunderClan’s side of the riverbank and into the fronds.

Hopscratch, Antstar realized- that was Hopscratch, Pigeonstar’s deputy. She must have gone to retrieve them.

What else could he see, from here? It was hard to make out any of the cats low on the rocks, given the angle he was at and the cats in front of him. There were two identical black toms, a tabby with a scar that stretched across the right side of his face down to his belly, a dark gray tabby molly with stripes that swirled around her like river currents, a white tom with ginger markings on his face and legs that reminded Antstar of his own… All of them massive, muscly, and far larger than he.

What had he gotten his Clan into?

He had no time to answer this, however, as a wicked screech erupted from the shore. The first clash of the battle. He could make out a tortoiseshell molly attacking a massive, blue-and-white tom.

He couldn’t quite place the name of the blue-and-white ThunderClan cat, but he knew the tortoiseshell was Mossfang. She moved like a firework, dazzling him as she ran about him, before she suddenly grabbed as his throat and pulled him to the earth in one ragged motion. The tom snarled with anger and slashed her across the face, ripping open a scab on her lip, but after a moment of pain-induced hesitation she bit down on his neck hard.

More cats joined in. Now WindClan was getting onto the surface.

Chaos soon erupted throughout the rocks. Antstar had tried to give his Clan orders, but they had for the most part devolved into cacophonic violence. Russetfoot leapt up and over him as he chased down a cream-colored molly, who wheeled around suddenly and slammed the russet tom into one of the rocks. Lilystone and Juniperfang, behind him, were tag-team attacking a black-and-white molly.

Something collided into Antstar. He looked up to see the white flame-pointed tom from earlier pinning him down, who had 3 scraggly scars across his left eye. There was a moment where the two said nothing and did nothing, and then Antstar felt fear yank his left paw as he slashed the tom’s nose open.

The tom moved with the blow as Antstar’s claws raked across him. Then, as soon as it was over, he gave a shrieky hiss, revealing to Antstar his drooling maw and sharp teeth- of which he had way more than Antstar felt comfortable with.

The ton clamped down on Antstar’s chest and began to pull, trying to rip Antstar’s skin off of his body. Antstar fought back the urge to jolt and instead grabbed the back of the tom’s head, yanking him in to bite down on his nose. The tom let go, and Antstar wriggled himself free, running to the shore to outrun his attacker.

But the flame-pointed tom was vigilant. His nose was now shredded open and red as a robin’s breast from Antstar’s claws and teeth, and his ice-blue eyes held a shark-like fury. The tom rushed over and used his body weight to slam Antstar into the water. Antstar leapt back up to rip and tear at the tom’s shoulder, back and forth, and soon the two fought further and further into the water, becoming a mess of claw swipes and thrashes and white crashing water, and Antstar lost himself in the mixture of terror and fury only close combat can bring.

And then- suddenly- a thin, triangular blue figure leapt out and slammed the flame-point ThunderClan cat into the water, grabbing on like a burr. Another figure- a thin, scrappy black tom- arrived, and the two held the pale ThunderClan cat under until he rose to the surface, gasped for air, and ran off. The water was red where he had been held under- his nose was now shredded completely open, the bridge of it nearly gone.

“Anything for our leader,” said the blue-gray-and-white tom as he lifted himself out of the water. The black tom behind him nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, Toadpool and Molethroat,” said Antstar, gasping for air- not because water had entered his lungs, but because it felt like adrenaline was gripping his throat. He could feel deep gashes in his flank, but the reality of it had not struck him yet because of the rush of fighting hormones that flowed in him. He ran to shore, clambering up one of the Sunningrocks to get a good vantage point.

He could see SkyClan had joined the battle, now- Pigeonstar was going at it with Willownose, a RiverClan warrior. Twigpaw was tussling with a tortoiseshell SkyClan apprentice. He heard a squeak behind him- a small ginger apprentice, who had to be the tortoiseshell’s brother, approached him.

“Don’t fight leaders until you can handle it,” said Antstar, trying to push him aside. But the ginger apprentice only spat in his ear.

“I can take on anyone I want!” Antstar picked up the tom and pushed him off the rocks, where he fell in the waters below. The little ginger apprentice, mostly unharmed except for a bruised shoulder and an even more bruised ego, ran off, muttering curses to himself.

Now that that was taken care of, he looked closer. There she was. Tatteredstar was in the middle of a fight with a lynx-pointed RiverClan tom. He clearly thought highly of himself, from the way his coat was excessively groomed to the way he held himself. He had to think highly of himself if he thought he could take the ThunderClan leader on. But she was no match for him. She picked up the tom and threw him, leaping after him as she did so she followed him through the air. Turning herself around, she latched onto the RiverClan tom and slammed him into the ground. Her body weight alone was enough- the RiverClan tom got up, shakily, almost as if he’d been punctured inward. It had all happened in the blink of an eye, in one smooth motion.

He had never seen Tatteredstar up close like this. And this was when he realized- war was not only what defined Tatteredstar. She had made it- whether she liked it or not- into art.

A yowl caught his attention, and he turned to see Oatwhisker, the tabby from before, confronted by two much larger black ThunderClan toms. Antstar headed down- the RiverClan cat was practically shaking in his paws.

“You think you can take Sunningrocks?” one of the black toms, who had a broader head and amber eyes, boasted. “Dumbass RiverClan cats and their dumbass ideas!” laughed the other, who was more square-jawed with lime green eyes. “This little clown really thought he could take us on, now, didn’t he?” “You were- you were-“ Oatwhisker stuttered. “You were going after the leader.”

“’Oh, you were going after the leader!’” mocked the amber-eyed tom in a cartoonishly whiny voice.

“She has nine lives!” The two pushed the smaller RiverClan tom into the ground, cackling. Oatwhisker simply whimpered with pain as the two slammed into him over and over.

“Hey!” Said Antstar, running in and trying to push one of the toms off of the RiverClan cat.

“Oh, here comes another leader now,” giggled the green-eyed tom with delight. The two black toms abandoned their prey and circled Antstar.

“I’m Weevilclaw,” introduced the amber-eyed one.

“And I’m Beetleclaw.”

“We’re the best battlers in the forest! ‘Cept for Tatteredstar.”

“Come on, rabbit-breath. Give it a try.”

Antstar leaned in to attack Weevilclaw, but Weevilclaw leapt forward and pushed him. Beetleclaw grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and soon Weevilclaw was pushing Antstar around on the floor. Antstar tried to get up, but Beetleclaw body-slammed him. He felt something in his rib crack, and a sharp pain erupted from the spot.

Again he tried to get up, again one of the two black cats pushed him down. The brothers were nearly identical, save for their facial shapes and eyes- two big toms built like bricks with wooly black fur and frankly annoying laughs.

“Hey!” yelled a sharp baritone. The two toms stood to their feet. Antstar got up slowly, now that the two were distracted. Oatwhisker was nowhere- he had to have run off when the two were initially distracted by Antstar.

Antstar turned to see who had saved him. It was the gray-and-white ThunderClan tom from earlier, the same one who had initiated the battle with Mossfang.

“You two idiots get off of the WindClan leader and listen to me. We have something important to do.” A cream-colored ThunderClan molly slunk up beside them, and the four cats began to whisper among themselves. Antstar ran off, bent over as his ribs continued to throb with pain.

He stepped in something wet and looked to see a pool of blood at his feet. He followed the trail of blood to see a broken, crumpled silver tabby figure- angular and muscular, like any good SkyClan cat, but warped beyond repair by battle. It was clear he had been dead for some time.

A pang of sadness hit Antstar, although he had never known the tom. It was Bumbleshade- the very same cat who had just been made a warrior a little more than a moon ago. All that promise, all that hope, gone in an instant…

Another cat slammed into him from behind, and he started clawing back, yowling at the attacker- this time a spotted calico SkyClan cat. He could hear the battle around him slowly turn from the yowls of anger and passion into yowls of desperation and horror. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stoatslink, Webwhisker, Smokebark, and Goldenpaw take on a horde of SkyClanners. Suddenly, one of them leapt out and slammed Goldenpaw into a nearby stone, and he heard Stoatslink cry out in panic before his attention was redirected to the calico before him. She was quick, but he was faster. He punched her under the jaw, sending her back, and ran off, darting this way and that through the crowd to avoid her.

He stumbled upon a dead black figure- another ThunderClan cat, but not either of the two he had seen earlier. No, this one had a sleeker, squirrel-like look to him, with tufted ears. A little ginger tom- perhaps the smallest ThunderClan apprentice- sat next to the tom’s bloodied breast, whimpering and crying, folding into himself.

Antstar wanted to do something. But he couldn’t. For ThunderClan was an enemy…

“Move it, will you?” It was the grey and white tom from before and the others he had recruited. The grey tom kicked at the ginger apprentice’s side, and the little apprentice- who had a deep cut across his eyebrow that was bleeding down his face- looked up at him with fear. “Sorry, Cloudclaw,” he mumbled apologetically, as if he had forgotten to speak.

But Cloudclaw was unmoved, simply waiting for the ginger tom to pick himself up before continuing on his path. The ginger apprentice, swaying side to side like he was about to vomit, followed wordlessly.

“Antstar! On your left!” He saw Russetfoot gesture to something behind him. He turned to see the speckled calico from before, and again the two whirled into combat. Faster and faster the two thought, on top of and over and around each other.

“TRUFFLEPELT!” he heard someone scream. He looked above to the tallest stone in Sunningrocks, where a flame-pointed tom with a shredded nose- the same one that had attacked him- was barreling towards the RiverClan deputy. Trufflepelt tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. The flame-pointed tom extended his claws, and then, and then-

His head was pushed into the earth by the calico molly before he could see what happened, but the sickening ripping sound and the spine-curling shriek that went with it told him all he needed to know.

There was a ripple of fury- enough to distract the SkyClan calico. He evaded her grasp and pinned her down, grabbing at her throat to keep her still. She worked harder and harder to escape him. A flurry of RiverClan cats- nearly all the ones he could recognize- swarmed the flame-point tom, who had leapt into the waters below.

The calico suddenly grabbed at his throat and bit. He pulled back, and felt her tear open a wound in his neck. She pulled back, her mouth lined with his fur and blood, coughing, but as soon as she had she leapt back in for more. He bit down on her neck and pried himself up, holding her in place- she responded by flipping him over. Left swipe, right swipe, uppercut-back. Left swipe, right swipe, uppercut-back. She leapt at him; he ran underneath her and watched her barrel to the side. He tried to run, but she was too quick. Back and forth the two went- left swipe, right swipe, left swipe, right swipe. He managed to rake open a gash on her cheek, and she jumped away in pain.

He looked to where the RiverClan cats had swarmed. They were pulling away, now. What remained of the flame-pointed tom could barely be identified as a cat.

He ran, knowing the calico was still after him. He nearly tripped on something, and turned over to see what it was. He recognized the pale figure on the ground below him immediately. His heart began to twist in place and turn black with grief.

Sandwhisker.

But before he could focus on her body for too long, he heard commotion behind him, and turned to see Cloudclaw and his group circling Pebblesky, the RiverClan medicine cat. Only now that the two were close could Antstar see that Cloudclaw resembled a short-furred, more muscular Pebblesky.

“You traitor,” snarled Cloudclaw.

Her herbs were already tossed about and rendered useless- clearly the ThunderClan cats had attacked those already. She looked around, trying to escape, but there was no sign of urgency- only pain as she gazed at Cloudclaw and the cream-colored molly, who were both bristling at the sight of her.

“Please let me leave,” she urged them. “You’ve done enough leaving already,” snapped the cream molly, her tongue spitting out the words as if they were venom. “I’m ashamed that I have to live with the knowledge my mother left me to prance about in RiverClan!”

Cloudclaw roared with anger and leapt at her. She did not fight back, letting him kick her around. The cream molly was about to join in when suddenly a red-and-white molly- Emberblaze, ThunderClan’s medicine cat- barged through.

“You don’t treat our mother this way!”

More figures slid in to fight off the group- this time being Whitetooth and Honeyfur, with Marblepaw close behind. Together, the medicine cats fought off the two. Beetleclaw and Weevilclaw, who had initially been on the two ThunderClan siblings’ side, slipped away as soon as they recognized the towering ThunderClan molly over them.

“Cloudclaw.”

Cloudclaw looked like a terrified kit as he turned to see Tatteredstar standing there. The cream molly tried to get up and leave, but before she could Tatteredstar called her name as well:

“Daffodilfur.”

The two stood pathetically in front of her. The medicine cats had all left, save for Emberblaze, who stood at her leader’s flank.

“You don’t attack a medicine cat. I thought I made this clear to you two.” She snarled with fury. “Expect punishment when the battle is over with.” The two cats, still shaking with fear, ran off in different directions, tails between legs.

Antstar heard a yowl and turned. It was the SkyClan calico- now with several other SkyClan cats. The group barreled after him, and Antstar began to attack- but he felt light-headed and woozy. Was it the fear of battle? Or had his wounds gotten to him?

Left swipe, right swipe, uppercut back. Left swipe, right swipe, uppercut…

He began to black out. Something harsh ripped at his belly.

Left swipe, right swipe….

Everything began to dissolve into syrup, it felt. He felt something attacking him, but he could not tell what SkyClan cat it was….

Left swipe… left…

He awoke with a jolt.

The StarClan cat- someone he did not know, someone that smelled of harshness and cold and not the warm WindClan scent he had felt from old friends at his nine lives ceremony- had told him that that was his first life spent.

The SkyClan cats had all dispersed. He could tell the battle was winding down.

“You alright?” asked Toadpool, who walked up behind him.

“…Yeah.”

“Alright.” Toadpool cantered off, hearing a cry of a RiverClan cat.

Antstar looked ahead. There stood a terrified-looking blue SkyClan tabby, with wide yellow eyes… and a chest coated in Antstar’s blood.

Suddenly, Antstar felt white-hot anger bubble up into his throat. This cat couldn’t be very old. And yet- and yet, they had the audacity to take away a WindClan leader’s life? Even though their clan had nothing to do with WindClan at the moment? Despite everything? Despite all the war waged, all the cats who it would make sense to attack…

“Coalclaw!” Antstar snarled, sighting the charcoal-colored tabby. He nudged his nose at the SkyClan cat. “Get him! NOW!”

The blue-gray tabby tried to run, but Coalclaw caught him in one leap. He grabbed onto the cat’s neck, and then looked at his leader for orders.

“Should I keep him here, or-“ “He took my life. He’s a danger. I don’t care what it takes, get him out of my sight!”

Antstar regretted the words as soon as they had flung out of his mouth. He almost tried to take them back, but he didn’t have the courage to. Coalclaw’s teeth were deeply embedded into the blue-gray tabby’s neck, and they clamped down harder and harder for what felt like hours. Coalclaw looked as though he were in great terror doing it, as if he was clamping down onto his own throat. A horrible, dark crimson pool erupted from the blue-gray cat’s throat and mouth.

Coalclaw let go, nearly stumbling on himself. The blue-gray tom stumbled, and the blood didn’t stop pouring, only getting faster and faster as it slunk down the sloped ground…

At last, the tom gave out at his ankles, and fell to the ground. There was a crowd gathering, now. Antstar felt more nauseous than ever, almost wanting to slip into the river and escape from it all.

The battle was at standstill as a horrible scream- worse than even Trufflepelt’s dying caterwaul- echoed throughout the air. Antstar had never heard anything like it. The sound was pain personified.

He turned to see what it was.

And there stood Pigeonstar.

Pigeonstar was covered in scratches from the battle, but it seemed like all his physical pain left him as he ran to the tom’s body. He was in shock, prodding at the body and trying desperately to find a sign of life.

And then it hit Antstar like a boulder from the sky. The same blue-gray pelt. The same angular figure. The same diamond-shaped face, the same pale underbelly.

Pigeonstar’s son.

At once, the SkyClan leader looked like he lost all the tension in his body. He collaped on top of his son, sobbing with grief, quieter than any cat ever knew him to be.

Then, after eternity and a day, he stood up slowly and shakily. The body before him remained still.

“I think he’s waking up,” he said deliriously, wild grief turning to wild, desperate hope. “He has to be! See, the chest is moving! He’ll wake up any moment now. He has to be! Someone!” His face flickered through a thousand emotions. “Someone get a medicine cat! Please! They’ll show you! They’ll show you all!” He lay on the body, rocking back and forth, his eyes blank. “StarClan wouldn’t let him die, you know. They have to know my children are my greatest joy. They have to!...”

He looked right at Antstar. He had been robbed away by grief. All that was left was desperate madness, desperate denial.

“He has to be asleep. He’d sleep like this when he was a kit. Just him and I. He was always the one that was closest to me, my little runt of the litter.”

Honeyfur entered the little clearing in the crowd where Pigeonstar and the body lay, gently, his face wracked with horror as he already knew what he had to tell his leader. He went over to check the body, laying a paw on the tom’s crushed throat.

“See?” said Pigeonstar, still feverish from denial. “He’s just asleep, right?”

“Stoneclaw is dead,” said Honeyfur matter-of-factly.

Pigeonstar jumped up, convulsing, eyes wide.

“His neck was crushed. The wound is very deep; I doubt we could have saved him. He died from a mixture of blood loss and suffocation.”

He was cut off by a wild scream of agony from Pigeonstar, who buried his face into the body.

There was dead silence.

After another eternity, however, Pigeonstar slowly got up, shaking. His back was turned to Antstar, and Antstar suddenly felt something horrible stick to the back of his throat.

“YOU!” Pigeonstar turned around, staring Antstar dead on. Antstar realized, then, that he had been a fool when he had thought about Pigeonstar. Pigeonstar wasn’t always angry. Annoyed? Mean? Yes. But only now- only now as he stared on this wild apparition, this thing that was no longer a cat but a parent’s grief possessing flesh- only now, he realized, was he dealing with a truly furious Pigeonstar.

“YOU KILLED HIM!”

In a flash, Pigeonstar leapt towards Antstar. But Honeyfur and a brown SkyClan warrior caught him before he could make contact, pulling him away, away from the clearing.

“HE KILLED MY BABY! HE KILLED MY BABY!” he sobbed wildly.

As they pulled him away, he tried to push back, his paws reaching out- but nobody could tell if he was after Antstar, or after his dead son.

“I- I didn’t mean…” Coalclaw had stood in place the entire time, his eyes wide and his knees buckling from guilt. “I- I never meant to kill…”

“Battle’s over,” said Tatteredstar, interrupting. Antstar looked around. The dead- Bumbleshade, Sandwhisker, Trufflepelt, what remained of the flame-point tom, the black ThunderClan cat, Stoneclaw, and a red RiverClan molly Antstar only now realized had been killed with a pang of grief- Redfeather- were all being inspected by their respective medicine cats, already being prepared to be taken back to their camps and buried.

Tatteredstar flicked her tail and turned towards ThunderClan territory.

“Sunningrocks is theirs, now. Battle’s over.”

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #Holy Damn was this a wild one to write #also i haven't written a battle scene since i was 11 lol so it's probably not Great #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

chapter one-

(prologue)

As conversations died behind them and the Gathering glow of Fourtrees began to fade, WindClan lumbered home.

As they had been positioned northeast in the Gathering, they would have to walk parallel to the Thunderpath to get back to camp. The eldest cats, like Shalestar and Sandwhisker, didn’t even think twice as they walked along the gravelly edge, their pawpads having grown thick enough that they didn’t flinch at the pebbles of asphalt beneath their feet. Some of the younger cats, however, didn’t seem as sure. Marblepaw in particular looked quite nervous, as she nearly always did. Her brother and polar opposite, Twigpaw, was cracking macabre jokes about what could go wrong to Milkpaw and Goldenpaw, who seemed particularly disapproving.

Antstep watched Rainleap, who was in the lead, with a mixture of deep respect, high regard, a sliver of wonder, and a smaller sliver of envy. The speckled gray tabby’s chest was angular and defined, like what one would expect to see on a horse, and his yellow-eyes looked like comets in the full moon’s light. There was not an ounce of trepidation in the WindClan deputy’s figure. As Rainleap’s ears flicked around to keep track of the entire Clan, he began to stop in his tracks and step over to the apprentices.

“The Thunderpath, Goldenpaw, is nothing to be afraid of. You’ll get reflexes with it over time. When I was an apprentice-“ -he stopped and began to sign the words as he spoke them so Milkpaw, who was deaf, could also understand- “-when I was an apprentice, I was the most scared of the Thunderpath of anyone in the Clan. Talonscar, who was my mentor, even wondered if we’d have to cancel my trip to the Moonstone because I’d start crying like a kit if I even smelled the Thunderpath.”

“You! Scared?” signed Milkpaw in disbelief.

“Did you have to cancel your Moonstone trip?” asked Goldenpaw.

“We didn’t, in the end- I got used to the Thunderpath, just as everyone else does. But it’s okay to be scared, too. But remember-“ -he tilted his head and smiled- “-if anything happens, just remember, the adults in this Clan are always looking out for you.”

Antstep thought about his own apprentice, Spiderpaw, who was in camp awaiting the Gathering group’s return. She was more like Twigpaw- a loud, wild thing, rather egotistical, and very clever. She was quite the lot to handle- even Shalestar had been hesitant about assigning her to Antstep, as they were quite opposites - but Antstep cherished her regardless. This would have been the second Gathering she would have gone to, but she and her siblings had to be punished for a particularly nasty prank they had played on Sparkthistle the day before, and so Shalestar instructed them to stay home.

As much as Sparkthistle had deserved that…, thought Antstep bitterly.

Suddenly, Rainleap’s ears pricked, and he looked up, stopping where he was.

“What is it?” asked Twigpaw, but Rainleap shushed him, pointing his tail in the direction of the Thunderpath.

There, a deer was slowly making its way across the road. It was young, not over two years old, yet its pair of antlers were impressive and the color of pale oak bark. It was slim and angular, and it craned its head vaguely in the direction of the WindClan cats. It was a rare thing to see; a beautiful thing to see.

“You don’t see one of those every day,” Rainleap whispered, signing so Milkpaw could understand. “Majestic, beautiful things.”

Even the older cats- Shalestar, Sandwhisker- in the front turned their heads to catch a glimpse of the stag. A sense of stillness washed over the Thunderpath, and the stag’s black eyes shined like the Moonstone under that pale moon light.

Everything was still.

And then, there was a noise. Slowly, one by one, the cats of WindClan raised their ears. It was at first, a low hum, but as it approached, it grew louder and louder. A yellow light emerged from the distance.

Headlights.

The stag froze.

The red monster barreling down the road, then, did something monsters never do. Trying to avoid the deer, the beast swerved against itself, its rubber feet skidding along and making a stomach-churning screech. First one way, then another, and then, as Shalestar ordered WindClan to run, as cats ran every direction, as Antstep leapt into a nearby patch of bracken with Russetfoot and Rockscratch close behind and as all the forest seemed to spin, there was a horrible shock, a horrible wail, a horrible crash as the monster plummeted off the road into a nearby tree.

A plume of smoke escaped the monster’s snout. It had, earlier, been big and boxy, but it looked crumpled and almost pathetic now. It looked so very, very… small.

The deer was nowhere to be seen.

A heavyset twoleg in overalls clambered out of the monster’s side door and began to swear as he inspected the damage that had been done. He seemed to get angrier and angrier, his fists tight against themselves and his face red, until he caught sight of a small, bloodied gray body, and his gaze softened.

It was Rainleap.

Gone was the confidence, the charisma, the aura so perfect it had to be sent from StarClan themselves. The tom was limp, crushed between the bark of the oak tree and the front grill of the monster. He was positioned nearly upside down, as if he had tried to jump out at the last second. His chest was crushed inward. His head craned downward, throat-up; a stream of blood left his upper lip and began to pool around his head like a halo. He looked like a dying egret as the moon turned his speckled gray fur pale and as the blood gave it an awful, wicked glow.

The twoleg pried Rainleap’s body from its position and carried it in his. It sunk into his leather gloves, wet and limp, like a newly-borne kit. The twoleg clicked his tongue and mumbled something in a sympathetic, pitying tone. Wandering over to the back of the monster, he picked out a shovel, and began to dig the dry earth near where the monster lay. One, two, three scoops of dirt were dug out, and then Rainleap’s body was set down. One, two, three scoops of dirt were put back, and he was gone.

Shalestar’s expression was unreadable.

For a moment, Emberheart reached out to the makeshift grave, which stood just by the twoleg’s feet as he pulled a little device from his left pocket and began to speak into it. Shalestar pulled her back. WindClan warriors began to cluster around their leader.

“What will we do now?” Antstep timidly asked the blue-gray tom, his amber gaze still focused upon Rainleap’s grave- not simply because of how fast everything had gone, how it felt the earth was still spinning beneath him, but because it hurt his heart too much to look at Shalestar.

“We need to go home,” said Shalestar. The back of his throat sounded pained in a way Antstep had only heard from him a few times before. “I… I have a lot of work to do.”

And then, he turned to address his Clan- the wide-eyed warriors, the terrified apprentices, all of whom were looking to him for answers. He looked to the sky- the moon was not quite at its peak.

But was he looking to check the time, to know how long he had to choose a new deputy- or was he looking for another speckled star in that endless night sky?

“Expect your new deputy… by Moonhigh.”

A terrible feeling began to bubble in Antstep’s belly as WindClan hurried away from the spot where Rainleap had died. The uncertainity that hung in the cool night air was so thick it was tastable- and it tasted bitter as bitter could be. Shalestar was on his last life, and it was as if Rainleap was born to replace him. If Rainleap was not to be Rainstar, if WindClan had been robbed of the future that it had built its back on recently… who would take the mantle instead?

For the most part, Antstep considered his Clanmates. Emberheart would be a good leader. Or Toadpool, although he was a tad too naïve. Russetfoot, maybe? Or perhaps Stoatslink… Sparkthistle, definitely not.

And yet a slither of him wondered. How would he do as deputy? It was unlikely Shalestar would elect him, of course, but the thought still sprang to his mind…

Soon, the forests gave way to the open meadows of WindClan. Heathers and tallgrass danced in the air, the pathways that WindClan moor runners had trod upon for generations glowed silver, and the entrances to tunnels that were founded beyond the memories of one’s memories beckoned under the starry sky. Yet the worry of returning to WindClan territory- the worry of telling those who had stayed behind the freak accident, the blunder of StarClan, that had befallen Rainleap- eclipsed the beauty and the warm scent of home.

A small, dark gray figure stood in the distance- Antstep recognized her immediately. Spiderpaw sped towards him, her eyes aglow with curiosity. He realized she had likely sat there waiting nearly the entire time they had been gone.

“How did the gathering go?” she squeaked, skidding to a stop in front of him. However, as soon as she was struck by the expression on Antstep’s face, she lost enthusiasm. “… Did something happen?”

Antstep didn’t want to explain to her that Rainleap had died- as he knew she, talkative as she was would then go and tell the rest of the Clan. There is no worse way to hear news than an apprentice who doesn’t fully grasp the severity of what has just happened.

“Shalestar will tell you,” he replied. Spiderpaw looked confused, but upon seeing the other, similarly-glum faces of the other WindClan cats, she nodded and turned away, her large ears still pointed towards them in hopes of eavesdropping.

As the cats trod closer, through the layers of gorse-flowers that cradled camp, their dens came into view. All the cats in the little sandy hollow’s eyes were upon them, waiting to hear the news of what had happened at the gathering.

“How are the other clans?” asked a ginger molly, peeking her head out of the nursery as a tortoiseshell kit gnawed at her foot. Before she could even finish the question, Molethroat came running over to her, burying himself in her shoulder.

“Where’s Rainleap?” asked a male dark gray tabby apprentice nearly identical to Spiderpaw. There was no reply.

A dreading curiosity began to wash over some of the WindClan cats who had stayed in camp- even Cherrycloud’s kits seemed to pick up that something had just happened. Some didn’t seem to want to know, instead shifting their weight back and forth as they imagined what horrible things could have happened.

“Maybe Tatteredstar announced that she wants ThunderClan to take over the whole forest. Maybe she’s taking Rainleap as hostage, and we have to pay ransom,” said the male dark gray apprentice- he clicked his cheek, as if to say he was telling a joke, but his breath smelled of anxiety.

“Don’t say that sort of thing, Coalpaw!” scolded his mother next to him as she exited the nursery. He lowered his head, looking rather ashamed- but something caught his amber eye, and he stood to full attention. Shalestar was making his way up the Tallrock. Arthritis wracked the old tom, and his ears looked particularly weather-beaten in the full moonlight, but his gaze was determined. This was something he, and only he, could do.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting.”

Fraught silence filled the air as WindClan cats shuffled around, finding their own seats. Antstep positioned himself in the middle alongside Russetfoot, trying to avoid any cats who were close to the late WindClan deputy- he was never good at comforting others, and he figured he’d just be in the way. Whitetooth and Marblepaw sat themselves just by the base of the Tallrock, facing their Clanmates instead of their leader.

“The Gathering, this evening, came and went with no incidents. There was an argument involving Tulipstar of RiverClan and Tatteredstar of ThunderClan, but it was settled, and at no point did it involve WindClan.”

Coalpaw seemed relieved that the situation he dreamed up on his own had been disproven.

“On the way back from the Gathering, WindClan walked on the side of the Thunderpath. We have done this for many Gatherings before, and in all of the cases I can remember there was no accidents. However-“ -Shalestar swallowed- “- a monster swerved off the side of the Thunderpath into a tree, hitting and killing our deputy, Rainleap.”

There was a second where the words Shalestar uttered had not yet been processed. And then- slowly, at first, and then all at once, like a kit wading into the water- the sandy hollow broke into howls of ugly grief. Stripedwing, Rainleap’s sister, collapsed to the sandy floor in shock, and Russetfoot hurried over to where she was to comfort her. Talonscar, who had barely managed to leave the elders’ den when the news was announced, began to whimper as the other elders comforted them. The air smelled of the salt of tears, and Antstep felt his head fog up with a headache of sympathy. Even Shalestar- almighty Shalestar, steadfast Shalestar- seemed to crumple as he took in the sights and sounds of grief and panic. WindClan was mourning its most gifted son.

Shalestar waited a very long time to continue, letting the grief of the Clan bleed out into the earth. At long last, when the initial howls gave way to silent weeping, he continued. “We were not able to secure his body due to external circumstance, but rest assured, his body was buried in a respectful manner.”

By his killer, Antstep thought, but he knew saying anything would only make it worse.

“Rainleap was many things- talented, humorous, kind, intelligent- but, most importantly, he was one of us. He would have dedicated more lifetimes to WindClan than the amount of lifetimes all the leaders in this forest have put together. He was born the weakest kit of his litter, he died the pride of all of WindClan, and all of the forest. It was an esteemed honor for me to be his leader.”

Shalestar said that with every WindClan cat that passed away- but Antstep knew he deeply and truly meant it this time from the pained sound of his voice.

“As you know, I am on my ninth and final life, and I expect that it will not be long until I join StarClan’s ranks. When I made Rainleap my deputy, I fully intended for him to ascend as WindClan’s leader after my death. However, destiny is, at times, a beautiful liar and a crooked path. As early as I can under the present circumstances, I will choose a new deputy for WindClan- one who I think will be able to take good care of all of you when I am gone. WindClan’s next leader will not be Rainleap, no. I can’t say if they will be better or worse than he- they will simply be different. But I assure you all now, everything will all turn out alright in the end eventually.” He turned away slowly after eyeing the warriors of the Clan below him.

“…Meeting dismissed.”

“One thing I’ll never forget, about Rainleap that is,” said Rockscratch late that night, taking a bite out of the rabbit he was sharing with Stoatslink, “for all the professionalism he had as a deputy, for how put-together he was… Damn, he was the biggest flirt in the forest when he was an apprentice. It was embarrassing.”

“Remember when he had that massive crush on Mossfang in RiverClan?” said Russetfoot, wandering up to them now that Stripedwing was asleep. He started to laugh in that sad, fond sort of way. “And she didn’t care at all for him. I swear to StarClan, she would have sooner dated a skunk’s ass! I don’t even think she’s into toms to begin with…”

“Oh, he made such a fool of himself at Gatherings back then… He had a thing for RiverClan, I swear. I always joked if he wasn’t careful there’d be a bunch of baby Rainleaps bouncing around the river someday…”

Antstep laughed at the thought- he had forgotten how Rainleap had been as an apprentice. The idea of Rainleap being anything but perfect had all but washed away in his mind. He thought of the conversation Rainleap had had with the apprentices just before he died, about how much the speckled tabby had feared the Thunderpath as an apprentice. How dark that seemed now…

“Now, Antstep, he was an apprentice by the time you joined WindClan so you never saw him as a kit- but we’ll tell you, as we were his nursery denmates, we saw all kinds of shenanigans him and his siblings got into. He’d be so embarrassed to hear us bring it up now. There was the time he escaped the nursery with Stripedwing…”

As Russetfoot began to ramble off, Antstep thought about Shalestar. The old tom was still in his den, debating to himself on who to choose. Only Whitetooth had been in the den at all.

Maybe he’d choose Rockscratch or Russetfoot? The two red tabby tom twins were Antstep’s closest friends. Rockscratch was more boisterous, more quick to fight; Russetfoot was calmer and gentler and dedicated to his mate. Antstep remembered how Shalestar had been when he had the leader as his mentor- he always appreciated calmer cats, who’d be willing to hear out debates and make amends. Russetfoot would be a good leader. And maybe Rockscratch could be deputy. Wouldn’t that be something?

His thoughts were cut off as he heard pawsteps behind him. He turned to see Whitetooth, the WindClan medicine cat, staring at him.

“Antstep. Shalestar wants to see you in his den.”

Antstep was confused, but he put the pieces together immediately. Of course- I was his last apprentice, and most of the warriors are about my age, so he wants to see me to get my opinion. “Should I go now? Or-“

“Come along with me,” simply replied the medicine cat.

As they walked across camp together, Antstep got a good look at Whitetooth, who he normally didn’t interact with much as he rarely went to the medicine den. The medicine cat was friends with everybody and nobody. They generally kept to themselves, but they were deeply trusted for their skill. Under the clear night sky, their almost all-white fur, which smelled of berries, seemed to glow.

Antstep got the sense Whitetooth was analysing him. Their gaze was scanning Antstep top to bottom- there was a conclusion being reached behind those teal, dawn-colored eyes of theirs, but Antstep couldn’t figure out what conclusion it was.

“Here we are,” said Whitetooth, stopping a whisker’s length away from the leader’s den. “Shalestar told me this was to be a private matter, so I shall see you later. I wish you good luck.”

Good luck?

“… You wanted to see me, sir?” said Antstep, suddenly feeling worry boil in his throat. But that worry soothed itself when Shalestar looked upon them. This was, after all, the very same cat who had insisted WindClan take Antstep in; who had mentored Antstep himself.

“…Yes. I have reached a conclusion, Antstep. But I need to make sure it will be alright with you first before I announce it. It is quite a lot to take in- it was for me, after all.”

An inkling scurried around Antstep’s mind. “… What is the conclusion, if I may ask?”

Shalestar took a deep breath. “Antstep. I have always seen you as something of a son to me. When we found you as a kit all on your own, you know I had just lost my children to a wildfire. That is why I mentored you. It felt like a sign, like StarClan themselves dropped a kit on my densteps to raise in place of my own. And… when I die… I want someone who I feel I can personally trust, who I have a personal regard for, to carry on Clan life, not just a fellow Clanmate with leadership skills.”

Antstep nodded, realizing what Shalestar was about to ask him.

“I am aware that it is a lot to ask of you, and that Rainleap left behind big pawprints to fill. But I fully believe that if you have the time to learn the ropes and adjust, you will be a wonderful deputy- and, if fate allows for it, a wondrous leader. So… Antstep… may I make you the next deputy of WindClan?”

At first, Antstep felt ill. He was barely able to keep ahold of his apprentice, let alone an entire Clan! And what would the other Clans think? When Currantstar announced a former kittypet was to be the next ShadowClan medicine cat when he introduced Rosettepelt at a gathering a couple of seasons ago, he was made a laughingstock by the other Clans. And that was ShadowClan! They let in outsiders all the time… But Antstep had been a rarity, only allowed in because it was against the Warrior Code to leave a kit out there on their own.

But then… a sickenly sweet idea hit the corner of his mind and bounced into it. The deep awe the leaders had instilled in him just earlier that night. The way they were all so loved by their Clans. The respect Rainleap and Shalestar got, the way everyone seemed to approve of them. Love. Respect. Approval. It could all be his.

He just had to say one word.

“Yes, Shalestar.”

#story #warrior cats #warrior cats ocs

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

chapter two-

(prologue) (chapter one)

“Let all cats, old enough to catch their own prey…”

“Already?” muttered Stoatslink. A dash of doubt sat behind the white tom’s yellow eyes. “It’s been almost too soon for Shalestar to make a decision…”

Stoatslink’s tone stuck on Antstep like a burr. Had it been too soon? No- Shalestar had to know what he was doing. Antstep knew of Shalestar’s wisdom more than he knew of his own nest.

“Who do you think it’s going to be?” Russetfoot padded up next to him, his red tabby shoulder touching Antstep’s solid dark brown one. “I’d bet on Shadeflower, personally-“ -he beckoned with his tail to the dark gray tabby molly that sat at the edge of the nursery- “-but I think my brother could do a good job. My mate, too- but she wouldn’t want to follow her brother’s footsteps.”

Stripedwing and Rainleap had been close as kits, but had naturally drifted apart over time. She wanted to be a tunneler, and lacked ambition; he wanted to be a moor runner, and had had his sights on leadership since apprenticeship. There were no hard feelings between either of them- and Antstep recalled a dawn patrol not long ago where Rainleap said he intended to share tongues with his sister more.

Antstep had felt an envy towards Rainleap then. Rainleap, at least, had a sibling. Antstep had none.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Antstep realized Russetfoot was waiting on an answer from him. “So? What do you think? Did Shalestar tell you anything when he asked for you?”

“I- uh-“ Antstep tried to stall the conversation- but thankfully, Shalestar was already about to begin, and Russetfoot’s eyes had left Antstep to focus on the old scarred blue-gray tom.

“I realize it has been only a short while since I announced the loss of Rainleap to the Clan. However, we must follow the Warrior Code- even in unprecedented situations like this. I promised a new deputy by moonhigh, and my Clan shall get one. I have come to the conclusion of which WindClan member shall become your next deputy. I ask only that you be kind to him. He may not be an obvious choice, but with a bit of experience as deputy, he will learn quickly.”

It felt as all the Clan were eyeing each other. Half of Antstep wanted to puff out his chest with pride. The other half, meanwhile, wanted to shrink inwards and disappear.

“I say these words now, before StarClan, so our ancestors- Rainleap among them, now- may hear and approve of my choice. The new deputy of WindClan… is Antstep.”

There was a silence of deliberation for a moment, and then a gasp or two. Molethroat and Cherrycloud, who were near the back of the sandy hollow by the nursery, seemed to approve. Rockscratch and Russetfoot seemed to be in what Antstep could only assume was awe. He had never felt what it was like to cause awe before.

But there was a tense feeling among some of the others. Talonscar, their eyes still dimmed from mourning their former apprentice, sat in silence, shifting their weight from one paw to another. Sandwhisker looked pleased, but even she seemed to have some doubt about Shalestar’s choice, despite being particularly close to him. Antstep flattened his ears against his chestnut-colored fur as he scaled the rock to stand besides his leader.

“Again, I know he is perhaps not what you expected. But I mentored him myself, and it was I who brought him to WindClan when he was but a kit. I feel like I know Antstep particularly well- he reminds me of myself, when I was about his age. And I was about his age when Marigoldstar elected me as deputy, back before many of you were even born. It may take him a while to learn the ropes as deputy- but when he gets the hang of it, I promise you, he shall be a great deputy- and, perhaps… a great leader, once I pass on.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Antstep felt his spine coil. That sharp voice belonged to only one cat in the Clan- Sparkthistle. The ginger molly, with bright stripes and a snout that turned slightly upwards, pushed her way to the front of the hollow. “You’re telling us, Shalestar, that you’re replacing Rainleap with this sad sack? He’s not even a proper WindClan cat! He’s just your pet project! There’re so many cats in this Clan- and you choose that excuse of a warrior? He can’t even manage his own apprentice, let alone-“

“Sparkthistle, I am your leader,” Shalestar commanded, a fleck of anger on his tongue. “If you have any complaints, you can talk to me or Whitetooth in the morning.”

Sparkthistle opened her mouth as if she had something more to say- but, she began to flounder, and the shrewish molly backed away into the crowd. Cherrycloud rather embarrassed on Sparkthistle’s behalf, slinking back into the nursery den with Molethroat beside her.

“Meeting dismissed. Webwhisker, Stoatslink, remember it is your duty to keep guard over the camp tonight.”

As WindClan retreated to their dens, and Webwhisker and Stoatslink climbed the walls of the sandy hollow to assume the night watch, the coiled nervousness in Antstep’s belly began to loosen. He left the Tallrock and flexed his claws into the sand below. The moon- which was at the very center of the sky- looked downward upon him, and the hollow was filled with a certain stillness. The cicadas and crickets sang in the distance, and a curious hope began to flow through Antstep’s veins as his amber eyes locked with the moon’s pale one.

I’m WindClan deputy now… it’s my chance! They’re going to finally love me! I’m going to be the best deputy I can be…

It dawned on Antstep that he was not the only one there. He turned to see Whitetooth. The WindClan medicine cat seemed as if they were still analyzing him. They were nearly all white- the color of slightly stale milk- except for their ears, a spot or two on their back, and their tail, which was plumy and brown like a female pheasant.

“I look forward to our partnership and- if you’ll allow me to say it- friendship, Antstep,” they said simply. “As deputy and medicine cat. If you ever need anything- all you have to do is ask.”

Antstep nodded. Even the medicine cat wants to be my friend!

As Whitetooth slunk into their medicine den, where Marblepaw was already fast asleep, Antstep contemplated. He climbed the edge of the sandy hollow- away from Webwhisker and Stoatslink’s positions- and looked towards the east, where the sun would rise and where the marigolds grew.

As sunlight crept into the clearing the next day, Antstep immediately began to try and plot out what his first patrol would be. This was, after all, one of the most important deputy duties. He had to get it just right. Suddenly, the confidence he had had earlier dissipated. What will the Clan think of me if I’m not able to plan this out right? They already hate me, don’t they…

“Well, you may be a good hunter- but I’m far better!”

“You’re not!” “Am too!”

There was a squeal as Twigpaw, in the heat of this little spat, launched himself onto Spiderpaw, grabbing onto her shoulder. However, she was too quick. The dark gray tabby molly shook herself, and Twigpaw let go as soon as he had latched on. She then jumped over and pinned the smaller brown tabby tom onto the sandy earth. As he grunted and tried to free himself, she stood triumphantly.

“Spiderpaw, let him go,” Antstep instructed. She gave it a moment of thought, and- after pushing down on Twigpaw for a moment- let him go. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Well, just remember, Twigpaw- my mom’s the leading queen and my mentor’s the deputy.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” warned Antstep, curling his paw around her feet to make sure she didn’t jump back out at him. “If I mess up too bad, you wouldn’t want to even look at me, now, would you?”

“Depends,” she said slyly, her lips curled upward like the biting adder. “But it means I have two on Twigpaw.” She grinned. “Hey, maybe when you’re leader, you could make my mom Shadeflower your deputy! Then Twigpaw won’t even be able to lay a paw on me.”

“Don’t get too ahead of me,” said Antstep. “It’s my first day. …Say, would you like to go on the dawn patrol this morning? You haven’t been out on it in a while.”

Spiderpaw nodded enthusiastically. Antstep felt proud of himself- but then the worries began to nip at his paws again. There’s no way that’s going to work! They’ll all think I’m favoring my own apprentice over the others! What other apprentices are there… Goldenpaw was on patrol just yesterday… Maybe Milkpaw or Coalpaw?...

“You’re up early,” yawned a sleek blue-gray tom. His shadow was identical to Shalestar’s; however, he was a tad shorter and far younger. A white bib-shaped marking covered his chin and chest.

“Oh. Hello, Toadpool,” said Antstep, nodding to acknowledge the blue-and-white cat’s presence.

“I think you’re going to do just fine as deputy.”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” said Antstep. Was his anxiousness that obvious already?

“Deputy jitters,” explained Toadpool, shrugging. “Everyone gets it. Even Grandpa told me that he had them. You’ll do just fine- I trust his choices, after all.”

Toadpool was right. Shalestar had a good head on his shoulders, and neither of them had a reason to doubt him.

“I’m trying to figure out the dawn patrol,” explained Antstep. “I was thinking Spiderpaw and your apprentice Milkpaw could take it this morning. Would you- uh- like to come along?”

“Sure! But you don’t have to ask, you know. Deputies usually just kind of say who’s going on patrol or not.”

Right. Antstep already felt hot embarrassment on his face.

“I have an idea. I can come with you and try to calm your nerves a bit. We can bring our apprentices, too. Maybe you could also take Rockscratch and Sparkthistle? I know you don’t like Sparkthistle and she doesn’t like you, but maybe you could talk it out…”

It was a naïve suggestion. But Antstep didn’t have the heart to tell Toadpool that.

“Sure.”

“Great! I know Grandpa will give you some tips and stuff, but I can tell you if there’s anything I know. And we can train our apprentices together.” He looked over to where Spiderpaw was- she was busy chasing down a centipede that had weaseled its way into the den. “Be careful of her,” he joked. “She’ll eat you alive.”

“Takes a brave one to be her mentor,” Antstep joked back, puffing out his chest with pride.

The sun’s lazy red eye began to peer over the earth, and Antstep’s first patrol slithered through the WindClan grass. It was a quiet morning, and the world seemed as though part of it had stood completely still since Rainleap’s death. Dew stuck to their pelts as they schlepped themselves along the trail.

“If Rainleap were here…” said Sparkthistle in the back of the small group, muttering something off-key to herself. Rockscratch, who was just in front of her, distanced himself.

But Antstep tried to keep his worries behind him, crowded around Sparkthistle instead of wandering to his head. It was his first day, after all. Anything could happen. He could worry later, with the comforts of Shalestar and Whitetooth there to listen.

Spiderpaw ran up to him with a fat mole in her mouth. “Look!” she said, in the muffled way cats do when their mouths are crammed full. “Milkpaw showed me how to catch it. You have to feel their tunnels beneath your paws, and you gotta have the right timing. She told me it’s a tunneler skill. Maybe I should show you how, someday…”

Antstep watched Toadpool sign a joke to Milkpaw, who responded with throaty laughter. He didn’t get the punchline- it was something to do with tunneling, which he had never been familiar with- but he began to think. Why hadn’t Shalestar chosen Toadpool? Shalestar was also fairly close to Toadpool, and had watched him grow up in a similar way as he had with Antstep, although the leader had not mentored him. Toadpool even had something Antstep did not: Toadpool was the son of one of Shalestar’s children, who had perished in that forest fire around the time Antstep had been found by a WindClan patrol.

But then it truly sunk into him, as he watched Toadpool and Sparkthistle converse. He was trying to let her on in the joke, but she responded with overdone apathy, flattening her ears tight like they were strapped to her skull to get him to shut up. Toadpool was too ineffective; too naïve. Tatteredstar and Pigeonstar could tear him apart with one word.

He would make for a great friend. Perhaps a deputy- but as a leader? He would fall apart like dried leaves in a fire, up there on that Great Rock.

Antstep knew Shalestar had to have chosen him for a reason.

But he couldn’t think of what that reason was.

The next few days went by with little incident. Patrols were organized; patrols were sent. Occasionally, when he was out with them, Antstep would see the wandering eye of RiverClan or ShadowClan cats, from deep within their own territories.

Did they notice a change?

Could they tell something was different?

Antstep did not know what he wanted the answer to those questions to be.

The camp was quiet. Besides his few friends, Antstep found himself once again a stranger in his own- or was it ever his own?- land. Perhaps the death of Rainleap weighed his Clan down too much still- this is what Antstep wanted to believe. But there was always this great, nagging feeling that sat on Antstep’s haunches- do they like me enough? What if they hate me? What if, on the night I become leader, they’re all going to kill me together? What if-

But Antstep tried to take solace in the fact that Shalestar was always there. Shalestar knew what he was doing. Shalestar would teach him all he needed to know. He’d learn.

It was a briar that shattered that thought.

It was an overcast day- the kind of overcast where the clouds look like a big, unraveling blanket; the kind of overcast that makes your head feel heavy with the promise of an oncoming storm. Antstep was taking a few of the apprentices out into the heart of the moors to learn some hunting techniques.

“Now, the key to catching a good rabbit is to know what way to chase it,” Antstep said. “Some of you have caught one of them before. And that is very good! But you need to have a plan.”

“You could raid a rabbit nest,” said Spiderpaw, in that sort of smart-alecky way that was practically her second language. “Bunch of little rabbits in there right for the taking.”

“Ah, but what about rabbits who live in burrows? And what about getting the proper taste of grown rabbit meat?” That- and Antstep always felt a bit of pity, raiding nests and newborns like that. He assumed an almost exaggerated posture and tried to project his voice towards them. “What you have to have is a plan. You have to know how to corner it. The rabbit’s always going to run away from you, and it’ll outrun you nearly all of the time. What you have, that the rabbit doesn’t, is strength in numbers. You need to drive it towards your Clanmates and pounce from all sides.“

The apprentices nodded in unison.

“Now- look, there’s one now. All of you, position yourselves here. Crouch down and hold steady. I’m going to chase it here, and when I give the word, leap.”

Antstep hunkered himself down into the grasses and slunk around it in a great circle. The rabbit turned its head, and for a short moment there was stillness between the two. Then it bounded away, slowly gaining momentum as Antstep broke into chase. Faster and faster, becoming rhythmic with the land below and the sky above- until Antstep recognized the shapes of the apprentices ahead, hiding below patches of Queen Anne’s Lace.

“Now!”

Goldenpaw and Twigpaw leapt from one way, and Spiderpaw and Coalpaw from another. Goldenpaw grabbed onto its chest and pulled it to the earth, Twigpaw grabbed its head by the front of its throat and pushed it back as far as he could. Spiderpaw grabbed its midsection, and Coalpaw pinned the legs to the earth to prevent the leporid from kicking further. There was a struggle, there was a finality, and then it was gone, as if the soul had slipped straight out of the meat.

“Very well done! Now, you see how I made sure to go in a big circle around it? That’s so it’s tricked into running this direction. If I went right towards it, it’d run away. If I went at it from the side, it’d run away. I’m going to show all of you how to chase rabbits one by one. Hopefully, we’ll make more successful catches, and we’ll have plenty to restock the fresh-kill pile with by the time we return to camp around sundown.”

He took the corpse of the freshly-killed rabbit with him, straddling it with his front legs, and the group quietly moved to another location a bit north of where they initially where. “Now, be careful,” said Antstep. “There’s a briar patch over there- the rabbit’s going to be smart enough to avoid it, so we must plan around it.” He pointed his tail towards where a big, bracken-colored mass of twisted thorny branches lay. The apprentices nodded- but not without Spiderpaw whispering a joke to Goldenpaw about how likely it’d be that Coalpaw or Twigpaw would get themselves tangled in it.

They can handle it.

There was the sound of a soft crunching of plant stems in the distance.

“There’s another,” said Antstep. “Here. Coalpaw, come with me.”

Coalpaw was bigger and heavier than the other apprentices- a cat built for fights, but not so much the hunt. Antstep figured he could go first, as he might take longer to learn the speed and stealth involved with rabbit-hunting. Antstep hunkered down again, Coalpaw followed, and carefully, slowly, the circled back around to the rabbit. Just like last time, they gave chase, and the two cats started to herd the rabbit. Antstep felt his paws go faster and faster, his muscles slowly easing to let sheer momentum swing his feet, the earth moving below him.

“Now!”

He leapt onto the rabbit, and again the other three apprentices leapt, there was a moment of struggle, a moment of release, and then Twigpaw and Spiderpaw declaring victory.

Antstep felt very, very pleased with himself until he heard a voice behind him.

“Help me! Antstep! Help!” He turned to see Coalpaw. Evidently, during the chase, the young tom had tripped himself on a pebble and sent himself flying into the briar patch, where he lay now. He was not particularly stuck, but Antstep could see he needed someone to pull him out.

“Hold on, Coalpaw, I’m…” He got a good look at the briar patch. The earth below it was lower than the rest of the ground, and there was a definite incline between the two surfaces. If Antstep were to pull out Coalpaw, he’d need to watch his step.

“I’m coming. Here, Goldenpaw, hold onto my back foot.”

He felt Goldenpaw grip his back ankle with her teeth. He grimaced at the feeling for a moment, and then leaned over the edge into the briar patch. He grabbed onto one of Coalpaw’s legs.

“Shut your eyes and make yourself go limp, so the branches don’t scratch as much.”

Coalpaw did so, and then Antstep thrusted him out in one quick motion. But as he did, he felt Goldenpaw suddenly let go of him on accident. Coalpaw managed to scramble out onto the grassy pathway as Antstep plunged into the briar patch backwards and belly-up.

Dammit!

Antstep wriggled himself back and forth to try and get back upright, but the briars further tightened around him. He clenched his teeth, trying to thrash himself free, but he only slunk deeper and deeper into the briar patch. Panic seized him as he watched the apprentices crowd around to watch their own deputy make an absolute fool of himself.

And then, finally, he gave up.

“Twigpaw, can you send for a patrol?”

“Well, well. Look who got himself stuck,” said a familiar unenthused voice. It was Sparkthistle, accompanied by Webwhisker and Emberheart. “Our own deputy can’t even get himself out of a stack of twigs.” “It’s a bit more than that,” said Webwhisker, cringing with sympathy.

“Here.” Emberheart slowly nosed her way into the briars and grabbed Antstep’s right foot. “Sparkthistle, you get the other one. Webwhisker, help us pull him out.”

Sparkthistle hesitated, and then grabbed Antstep’s left foot. The two mollies yanked him free- Sparkthistle a bit more forceful- and Webwhisker pushed him as soon as they had pried out his torso. Antstep flipped over onto his feet, his head dizzy from having been upside down.

“You’ve got a lot of scratches from it,” said Webwhisker. “You should see Whitetooth, I think.”

“For just that?” snarked Sparkthistle.

“I worry about it getting infected, that’s all.”

“It is rather bad,” Emberheart said as she inspected Antstep’s flank. “He’s lucky his ears and eyes are in one place.”

Great- I’m not even leader yet and I’m already incompetent enough that I nearly lost my eyesight!

“I can continue on with the apprentices,” offered Webwhisker. The two mollies waited to see Antstep’s reaction; he responded with a nod after some contemplation.

And so, Antstep, Sparkthistle, and Emberheart walked back to camp.

“’Tis not too bad,” said Whitetooth, inspecting Antstep’s myriad of scratches as they wrapped him in cobwebs. “You shall be on your feet within a couple of days. But it is important you rest so infection does not begin. Lie down on the nest Marblepaw prepared for you on the right. Avoid Shalestar, you don’t want him to give you illness.”

“Illness? Shalestar?” Sure, Antstep had noted the leader was a bit slow the past few days, but he hadn’t ever noticed he smelled of sickness. He watched as Marblepaw- a little brown tabby molly, nearly identical to her brother Twigpaw- carefully inspected the sleeping leader, who’s eyes were crusty and who’s fur had became oily from a lack of cleaning himself.

“Mild whitecough, with fever. We have enough tansy for it, but it is worrying given his age. …May I talk to you in private?”

The two cats exited the medicine cat den and sat on the edge of the sandy hollow. Droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, speckling the earth.

“…I suspect that Shalestar may not be long for this world. He may leave us sooner than he expected to.”

Antstep felt something inside himself, black and shivering, begin to coil. “You mean-“

“…This is mild whitecough, and it’s wrecked him. If he doesn’t pass of this- something else is going to come along, and it will be far, far worse.”

Antstep felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn’t even match wits with briars- and now, less than a moon since Rainleap died, less than a moon since he had become deputy at all, before he had even attended a Gathering, here he was. It felt as if a great shadow stood over him, one that only he could feel, who bristled the fur on his spine and clamped its paws on his shoulders.

“… What shall we do? I- I can’t be leader now! I barely got to be deputy! What will the Clan think? What will the other leaders think? What if they think I killed him? I can’t have that on my record, I can’t-“

“Calm yourself, Antstep.” Whitetooth’s voice was deep but smooth, like thick greenleaf tree-sap. “Take heart. You are not the first or the last cat to become leader on such short notice, and I am sure the other leaders will understand as will our Clan. Elsewise- I will be here for you. You know me to be very compassionate.”

The first thunders of a storm began to rumble in the distance.

“Please trust me, for the good of the Clan. …Now, rest. If our beloved leader passes within the next few days from this illness, take solace in that you will be there for him.”

Anstep nodded, and as the rain developed into downpour, the two cats headed back inside.

Shalestar slipped away, later that night, long after all but Whitetooth and Antstep fell asleep; his last words were faint mumblings too obscured by the thunder outside to understand. It was a slow and very peaceful death- the eyes closed, the breathing stopped, the muscles suddenly went limp. Whitetooth placed two leaves over his eyes and positioned the body flat and compact, like he was crouching forever, so when the Clan would visit his body before the burial the next day he would not look too ill. When he died, there was a moment where the clouds unweaved themselves, and a small patch of starlight lit the center of the sandy hollow.

It was over now, and it had begun.

Antstep awoke as Antstar two days afterward.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story #ayyyyooooo

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter four-

(emetophobia/body horror mention warning for this chapter)

The next morning, Antstar had names on his mind.

Coalpaw, Spiderpaw, and Sparrowpaw were set to have their warrior ceremonies in about a little more than a quarter moon. Spiderpaw was to take her final assessment in a few days, and Sparrowpaw was in the process of hers; Coalpaw’s was to begin the day after (but Antstar was fairly confident he’d pass). This was Antstar’s first warrior ceremony as a leader- and not only that, but one of the apprentices involved was his own, and he didn’t want to let Spiderpaw down. He had quite a soft spot for the little gray tabby- part of him wondered if, granted he made it as a leader that long, she could someday be his deputy, just as Shalestar had chosen him.

Coalpaw, he had already figured out, would make for a great Coalclaw. He was as built like a brick as a WindClan cat could be, big and muscly; and the name clicked off the tongue with the refreshing feeling of a cold spring of water.

Sparrowpaw’s defining trait, in his mind, was how much she wanted to be like her mother, Shadeflower, to the point she was training to be a permaqueen just like her. Sparrowshade for her, maybe?... No, that was almost too obvious, and she didn’t have the sly stealth one would expect of a -shade. Sparrowshadow? No, that was too long, and the syllables blended together too much when one tried to say it.

A blue-gray figure passed him. Antstar turned to see Toadpool, making his way to the fresh-kill pile.

“Toadpool,” he said gingerly as he paced up to the tom, “did your grandfather ever tell you how he named cats? For their warrior ceremonies, I mean.”

Toadpool thought for a moment, clicking his tongue. “He did tell me a little bit about it. Not much, though. Why?”

“I’m stuck on figuring out names for- well, you know.” He pointed to where Sparrowpaw was chatting with her uncle Webwhisker, the little brown tabby molly seeking advice for the hunting portion of her test. Antstar could overhear him soothingly reassuring her.

“Oh, Sparrowpaw. Well… she’s like her mother the most, isn’t she?”

“She is, and I was thinking of incorporating that in the name. She’d be pleased with that. But Sparrowshade doesn’t feel quite right.”

“You could try Sparrowflower,” Toadpool suggested. Antstar mumbled the name to himself a few times, but while it was a pretty name, it didn’t fit Sparrowpaw just right. She wanted to be like her mother, yes, but she had the boisterousness of her siblings; she would need something with a touch of playfulness.

Sparrowstem? Sparrowleaf?

“…Sparrowpetal, maybe?” Toadpool suggested, still scrounging for ideas as he nosed through the fresh-kill pile.

That was it! Sparrowpetal- easy to say, playful, but still reminiscent of Shadeflower.

“… I think that’ll do, Toadpool. Thank you.”

Toadpool nodded cheerfully and Antstar turned away, pacing back to his den where he could survey WindClan’s camp from. Antstar found himself quite liking Toadpool. He wasn’t intelligent in a bookish way, or even in a social way, but there was a quiet brilliance about him that he had to have inherited from Shalestar. And, as anxiety had tickled Antstar’s feet throughout his leadership thus far, Toadpool was something of a constant- always confident in his grandfather’s final choice… or, perhaps, too naïve to ever think Shalestar could make mistakes.

Had it been a mistake?

There was a knot in the back of Antstar’s mind that was well on its way to thinking it had been.

Antstar looked across the clearing, hearing the whisper of his name on the wind. It was Sparkthistle- this time, conversing with Stoatslink and an old black molly.

The old black molly Antstar recognized as Crowflower, who had been leading nursery queen before Shadeflower had taken over the position a couple of seasons ago. She was retired, now, but even still she was one of the Clan’s most trusted cats, and it was she who set the tone of the elders’ den.

“I can’t be the only one who sees it… Shalestar must have been out of his mind. All Antstar does is slip up. I think- personally- we’d be better off without him…”

Antstar’s windpipe tangled itself into a knot. Crowflower’s expression was slightly doubtful; Stoatslink, however, nodded, his brows low and his eyes dark with agreement.

Antstar felt his feet take him away. He dashed through the tunnel that led out of WindClan camp, the thorny weeds scratching at him as he neglected to pay attention to where he was going. The sky above him was just slightly overcast, with only a sliver of sunlight slinking through. Antstar felt dizzyingly sick.

WindClan brought you in. And they could surely bring you out.

Suddenly, Antstar stopped himself. Only a fox-length away lay the gorge that separated WindClan’s territory from RiverClan’s. In the distance, he could see a small RiverClan patrol, led by a red tabby with tufted ears. For a moment, she stopped, and gave him a friendly nod of acknowledgement. Antstar nodded back, and watched the patrol slip away, back behind the ferns and stones that RiverClan called home.

The gorge had always calmed him. Even as a kit, he remembered running off to sit by it, taking in the smell and the thrashsound of freshwater that echoed from the gorge’s two walls. There was something so deeply alluring about standing on its rim- so long, of course, as Antstar didn’t think too long about what would happen if he slipped.

“…Sir?”

Antstar, at first a tad startled, turned to see the unwavering gaze of Whitetooth. The nearly-white cat stood behind him, their ears turned to show a slight worry behind two teal eyes that were rarely privy to show emotion.

“…Sir, you left camp rather abruptly. You looked very worried. While I respect your confidentialities, Antstar- pray tell, what bothers you?”

Antstar’s tongue clammed up against his lips, but the Burmese tom couldn’t handle the stress that gripped his heart like a hawk talon. “…I was overhearing Sparkthistle talk to some others. And- she told them that they’d be better off without me. And maybe this is a crazy thought but- what if they go through with that? What if they start rebellion? What if everyone hates me, and when my back is turned they’ll all gang up on me and-“

“Calm yourself, sir: You are not the first or the last to feel this way. I am sure Shalestar, and all the leaders before him, felt very similarly.”

“But I’m not a Clan cat! Shalestar was!”

Whitetooth thought for a few seconds, their pointed snout turned towards the ground below. “You may not be. But there are cats in other Clans who are well loved despite being not of their Clan. Two of us medicine cats, even, were not born in their home Clans. Pebblesky of RiverClan left her ThunderClan birthplace to be in RiverClan, and Rosettepelt was a kittypet who was taken in by the Clan. Both of them are very well respected, and both are gifted at their craft despite that. I have the same faith in you, my friend.”

There was something innately calming in Whitetooth’s voice. It was deep, and smooth, and it felt like it was cradling Antstar’s soul and holding it close until the panic that had seized him earlier ebbed away.

It could be done, couldn’t it.

Everything would be fine.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar yelp of pain echoed across the WindClan sky.

“What was that?” asked Antstar. His ears suddenly pricked as he tried to detect the direction the unfamiliar sound was coming from- was it a trick the gorge was playing on him?

There was another cry. Whitetooth cantered away, their body seemingly remaining perfectly still as their legs cycled beneath them. Antstar followed his medicine cat across the territory, the grasses poking and prying at his sides, until the two were side by side on Outlook Rock. Suddenly, Antstar saw what Whitetooth detected: Six cats- cats Antstar had never seen before- near a bush of red berries. One was collapsed, quivering; the others nervously circled around their fallen associate with a mixture of confusion and terror.

Before Antstar could ask what was happening, Whitetooth sprang from the rock. Determination flashed in their teal eyes as they approached the group.

“What’s going on here?” they asked.

A small, old ginger molly opened her throat to speak, but before she could she was cut off by a much younger tawny-and-white tom. “Juniper had one of these little red berries, and- and he’s hurt! We don’t know why!”

Whitetooth nodded sagely. “I think I can help.” They picked up the unresponsive brown tabby- a small creature, about ShadowClan-size- and laid him belly-up before kneading their paws into the space just below the tom’s chest. One, two, three, four pushes and a chewed-up berry- along with a small, dark seed- went flying out of Juniper’s mouth.

Juniper’s eyes awoke with a start, revealing themselves to be a shade of deep green. He got up, swaying back and forth, and, after schlepping himself over to the corner of the pathway, vomited out whatever else had been in his belly.

“These are deathberries,” said Whitethroat, pointing with their brown tailtip to the bush that sat besides them. “The berry part is harmless, and can even have some medicinal qualities. However, each berry has a seed in the center that can easily claim a cat’s life are they not careful. Your friend here was lucky.”

“Juniper looks too sick to be lucky,” said a large dilute calico molly. She had a point- Juniper looked nauseous and barely cognizant of Whitetooth’s lesson. However, Whitetooth didn’t seem to grasp the point she was making.

“In addition- I’m sorry to say this, but you are trespassing on WindClan territory. We are kind to loners, and we will let you stay, but you cannot stay for too long.”

“The Clans!” said the young patched tawny tom. He was rather tall and very lean, and his paws looked as if he had never quite managed to grow into them. “I thought those were legends! There’s five of you, right? And you’re all noble, and honorable, and-“

“Enough, Baxter,” said a stern-looking old tuxedo molly, her face checkered with scars.

“Who is the leader of this group, anyway?” asked Antstar, trying his best not to be a sudden interruption. The little ginger molly that Baxter had previously interrupted stepped forward. She was very old, her red pelt practically hanging off of her bony frame like a discarded bullfighter’s cape. “I am. My name is Audrey, and these are my friends. I’ve been close to Shrike here-“ -she motioned to the old tuxedo molly- “for a very long time, and since then we have taken in these four cats. Lily was a barn cat who was forced to leave when a new family of Upwalkers took over the farm. Baxter and Stella wandered too far from their respective housefolk and never found their ways back. And Juniper was a rogue living on his own who decided to join us. We haven’t been very lucky in recent moons, however. There was a seventh of us, Bruno, but while we were traveling, he caught a sickness that he never recovered from.”

“I miss him,” reflected Baxter somberly.

Suddenly, a thought- perhaps an insane thought, perhaps a thought too idealistic to be reached without hurting oneself in the process- danced across Antstar’s mind. Of course- maybe some cats of WindClan could never be convinced Antstar could rule well. But what if- just what if- what if he could bring in cats who’d certainly have to think the world of him? “You could all come join us in WindClan!” Baxter looked immediately sold on the idea. Stella, the black cat beside him, also seemed to be immediately warming up to it. The others, however, were apprehensive.

“In WindClan,” started Antstar, putting on his best salesman voice, “everyone cares about each other. We have medicine cats, like Whitetooth here, who can heal the sick. We care for kits and the elderly, and everyone helps each other. There’s work to be done, of course- hunting, fighting; keeping the borders protected and the camp tidy. But when we’re all together, when we’re all asleep under the great big night sky- it’s all worth it.” Antstar almost believed himself for a moment.

“… But I’ve heard the Clans don’t like outsiders,” said Shrike, the gears in her head beginning to turn ever so slightly.

“Well- I was an outsider once. I was taken in by WindClan, too. And I’m their leader, now. Not all cats like outsiders- but they’ll warm up to the lot of you quickly. We’re a rather small Clan, so they will appreciate the extra help.”

“I’m afraid that Shrike and I are too old to do all that hunting and fighting,” said Audrey gently. Shrike seemed to disagree with her, but she didn’t say a word about it.

“The elders of WindClan are well cared for. All of you will be well cared for here, so long as you are loyal to our Clan and do your best.”

Slowly, reluctance bubbled into curiosity, and the little group of loners began to go along with the idea. Baxter and Stella seemed already sold; Juniper, Audrey, and Lily needed a bit of time to make up their minds, and Shrike was the hardest sell- even as they trekked through the tunnel into camp, Antstar got the feeling that she wasn’t entirely sure of WindClan’s merits.

Antstar noted that, just before they made the left turn home, Whitetooth seemed still drawn to the deathberry bush. It was like it had set off an electrical impulse in their mind, and Antstar couldn’t understand what about the deathberries was occupying the medicine cat’s mind.

It wasn’t long before WindClan cats began to approach the strange little group. Stripedwing, Webwhisker, and Molethroat greeted them amicably; Sparkthistle and Stoatslink, however, seemed apprehensive. Crowflower was already entrenched in conversation with Audrey as Antstar made his way up the Tallrock to start a meeting that would inaugurate them- but, just before he did so, a dark red tabby slunk up his side.

“Hello, Russetfoot,” said Antstar. He had not seen his deputy since the early morning, as Russetfoot had been out hunting with the apprentices for much of the day.

“Hi. I was going to ask- what, exactly, are those loners doing here?”

“They seem like a nice bunch of cats. I was going to make them apprentices- we are a small Clan, after all, and they seemed willing to join.”

Russetfoot’s green eyes flickered with a trace of apprehension. “…That’s nice, and we could use the extra help. But… this, so quickly? I support your decision- but could you maybe pipe down a bit before you make a choice like this again?”

Antstar knew that Russetfoot was simply offering critique. That was his job, as a deputy. Yet every time even the slightest trace of rejection crossed Antstar’s path, he felt like his stomach had been torn open and thrown into saltwater.

“… I’ll make sure to.” Away Russetfoot went to corral the crowd, and Antstar started the spiel.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Tallrock for a meeting.”

There was the shuffling of pawsteps and the silence of dying conversation, before the air cleared enough that Antstar could speak.

“Earlier today, while I was on a walk with my medicine cat Whitetooth, we ran into these six loners. Whitetooth was able to save one of them from an ailment, and from there they began to consider joining WindClan. They are capable of being fine members of this Clan, and so I have decided to allow them to join us. It will be up to them to prove themselves, but as they will become members of our community-“ -he glared at Sparkthistle, who glared right back- “I expect all of you to be kind and gentle. Remember that your leader was a loner once.”

Sparkthistle snickered something under her breath. Antstar, frankly, did not have the patience to listen to it.

“Baxter, Stella, Lily, Juniper. As members of WindClan, you are expected to take up names that pertain to this Clan’s tradition. Do you understand?”

The four cats nodded their heads. Baxter and Stella looked a tad reluctant to give up the names their housefolk had dubbed them.

“Alright. You are now Birchpaw, Nightpaw, Lilypaw, and Juniperpaw, respectively. While you are all old enough to be warriors, I have enlisted you as apprentices so you can spend the next half-moon or so learning about and adjusting to Clan life. Your mentors will be Sandwhisker, Emberheart, Stripedwing, and Rockscratch. Remember, you will not be apprentices for very long- but you still must make every moment count.”

There was some cheering from the crowd from some of the friendlier cats of WindClan, but there was also enough doubt that the air felt slightly palpable with it.

“And for Audrey and Shrike. These two cats, while dedicated and worthy, have admitted they are too old to be warriors. They will become elders and pass on their knowledge and skill to the Clan. As they are old, I am allowing them to keep their old names.”

Another cheer- another slice of doubt.

“Meeting dismissed. If any of the mentors or apprentices introduced today have questions, feel free to see me.”

That’ll solve the issue, Antstar thought. These cats are going to think the world of me, just as how I saw the world of Shalestar. The cats who doubt me will simply be outnumbered- and now, of course, I will be accepted.

As Antstar went off to the leaders’ den to enjoy a dormouse he had picked up from the fresh-kill pile, he felt Whitetooth following him once again. He looked up to see the cat- who seemed, as they almost always did, to have some indescribable answer.

“Meet me near the gorge tonight, when the moon is at its peak.”

Just as Antstar was about to ask why, the white cat with the brown tail slipped away into the medicine den and was gone.

That night, the thin veil of clouds that coated the sky dissipated, illuminating the WindClan camp with hair-tingling moonlight. WindClan cats slept in the open space of the sandy hollow, close together as if the night might try to pull any one of them away.

Antstar got up out of the leader’s den. Having to adjust to sleeping in a den, rather than in the open air with his Clanmates, was something that Antstar had found very difficult, although the leader’s den was shallow and amounted to little more than a slight cavity in the hollow’s wall The ceiling above him might keep him safe- but it hovered over him, leering, blocking the stars from his sight.

Antstar looked up. The moon had begun to grow thin ever so slightly, and it was at its highest point in its arc, positioned just above the silhouettes of the ShadowClan territory that lay beyond the Thunderpath.

It was time for whatever Whitetooth had wanted to tell him.

Antstar slipped out of camp and away, careful to not awaken any of his sleeping Clanmates. The night beckoned him. There was the distant hum of moths and the glow of fireflies across the moor. Night always comforted Antstar, especially as the days always felt too bright and too busy.

Whitetooth sat by the gorge, acknowledging Antstar with a nod. For a moment, they sat in the silence, with the only sounds coming from the rivers that coursed below. The moonlight reflected off of the water, giving Antstar and Whitetooth’s underbellies an eerie glow.

“Antstar. I know something has been bothering you. There’s a pebble stuck in the back of your head, and you’re not acting much like yourself.”

“… I just… worry. Does the Clan like me? What if they don’t? What if they kill me?”

“You have nothing to fear. If worst comes to worst… I have a solution.”

“… A solution?”

“Yes.” Whitetooth took a second, thinking of the words that were about to bounce off their own tongue. “Did you see the deathberry bushes from when we found those loner cats?”

“…Of course. Why?”

There was a glint in Whitetooth’s eye. It was not a glint of glee, or even of preparation. It was simple, honest, the glint of an apprentice following their mentor’s instruction or of a deputy awaiting their first task. And even yet, Antstar suddenly felt like he didn’t like where his medicine cat’s thoughts were headed.

“Sparkthistle is never going to accept you. She’ll die the way she is, stubborn, spiteful, shrill. But as long as she is around she presents a natural weakness to your leadership, correct?”

Antstar could only nod in agreement.

“Now, deathberry seeds serve another very important purpose. Remember a few moons ago, when that ShadowClan elder Mothfall passed away?” Antstar nodded again, keeping his head close to Whitetooth’s so he could hear Whitetooth’s voice as it became quieter and quieter. “It wasn’t old age or sickness that killed him. Mothfall had a massive lump that developed on his jaw, so large it nearly engulfed the size of his own head. It was horrific, and every moment it was there, he was in horrendous pain. Eventually, he could no longer sleep or eat because of it- he would just sit in the corner of the medicine den, withering, weeping with agony.”

Antstar’s ears flattened with horror at the image of the old ShadowClan tom that his mind was lending him. He had heard of such uncurable lumps, and had even seen a few Clanmates die from them- but nothing like what Whitetooth had just described.

“Now, it would be inhumane to let Mothfall continue surviving when he was barely living. If anything, he was dying a slow death already. But in ShadowClan-“ -they paused, thinking, letting Antstar process the direction they were about to carve with their tongue- “-in ShadowClan, the medicine cats use deathberries for that exact reason. Addertooth fed him a few. There was a moment of nausea and suffering, and then he was gone, and they buried him soon after. The next time we all visited the Moonstone together after that, Addertooth and Rosettepelt looked so relieved. They must have seen him in StarClan then; healthy, thriving, having left the agony of his mortal existence.”

Antstar nodded. But something in his belly felt deeply uneasy. “…But what does that have to do with Sparkthistle?”

“Well, Mothfall was never going to get better. Everyone knew that from the second the lump was first felt.” Whitetooth’s teal eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and their brown ears drew back. “And Sparkthistle is never going to get better, either.”

Antstar stepped back away from the gorge, the horror of what Whitetooth was about to suggest truly hitting him.

“It would be quick- and again, I would only ever do it if you asked me to. Sparkthistle herself would be in no pain- just the moment of nausea, and then she'd land among the stars.” They looked down below the earth, and then raised their chin up as if they were telling a dark joke. “Or in hell, maybe, if StarClan gets sick of her.”

“What- no!” Antstar had to fight to keep his vocal volume at a whisper. “What kind of leader do you take me for? I’m not killing my own Clanmate!”

Whitetooth backed away, and then craned their neck and cocked their head a little to the left. “Fine, then. I will only ever do what you ask me to. But think of this, Antstar, think of what you already know to be true. Sparkthistle is hurting your Clan. And- as a leader- it is your job to protect them…”

Antstar shook his head and walked away, leaving Whitetooth by the gorge. This had to be a bad dream. A rotten dream. He blinked to himself over and over, trying to wake himself up; the realization dawned on him that he was already awake in his reality. But Whitetooth had said they wouldn’t do anything of the sort were Antstar not okay with it, and they were so important to Antstar now that he couldn’t imagine ever mentioning what had just occurred and the things that had just been said to anyone else.

He went back into his den and began to ease into sleep as he heard Whitetooth arrive and slink into the medicine den. But after a moment of thought, he placed his head just out of the den, so the stars could still watch over him, and soon the thoughts of Sparkthistle and deathberries left him entirely as he fell into sleep’s awaiting arms.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

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chapter five-

He recalled what Tatteredstar had said at the last Gathering as Whitetooth’s words echoed throughout his heart.

Rosefire. He had done little wrong- in his eyes, the only hope for a future was the Clans united. In his eyes, Tatteredstar and Eelwhisker were enemies that had to be vanquished. And yet his attempt at rebellion was gone as soon as it began, like a hare plucking and eating a sprout from the ground. He was killed, or at least that was what Tatteredstar’s dark tone implied, and as far as Antstar knew those who worked with him were likely either on close watch or driven out entirely. He presented a weakness and a challenge to her leadership, and so she handily dispatched him.

But could he say the same of Sparkthistle?

There was no indication she was to actually plan something. There was no indication she had the willpower to truly try to stop Antstar. But every so often, there was this inescapable look in her eye of hatred, and every time Antstar caught it he felt sick.

Would the Clan be better off without her?

Antstar had been just made a warrior when Sparkthistle and Cherrycloud had been born. Their mother was one of the most respected warriors in her Clan at the time, and she had great expectations thrust upon her two daughters. Initially, she adored Sparkkit the most, as Sparkkit had ambitions that Cherrykit did not. She made her favoritism shockingly clear, despite the warnings of Crowflower. But as time went on, when the two mollies were apprenticed, Cherrypaw emerged the more naturally gifted one while Sparkpaw struggled. Their mother’s opinions on them flipped dramatically. Now it was Cherrycloud that could do no wrong, Cherrycloud that deserved all the love in the world; Sparkthistle was a candy wrapper, read once and then discarded. Sparkthistle had been deeply embittered ever since- part of it from cynicism, and part of it because she wanted to emulate her mother to some extent.

It wouldn’t be fair to deny Sparkthistle the rest of her life, to cut her off short. But she had been this way ever since she was an apprentice, and there was no sign she would ever change. But it was as if Whitetooth’s words had bored a hole in his skull. And Sparkthistle is never going to get better, either.

“You’re thinking about what warrior name you want to give me, aren’t you,” said a cheeky voice as Antstar left his thoughts and sunk back to earth. It was Spiderpaw, looking back at him as she sprang into the grasses.

“You haven’t passed your assessment yet,” he reminded her.

“I know I will.” Spiderpaw had all the confidence of a wren challenging a bull. She smirked and trotted away to complete her assessment- then, suddenly, stopped in her tracks and looked back to see if Antstar was watching.

“I have to watch you in secret.” Antstar nodded his head upward, as if he were pushing her away. “Go on.”

She slunk into the grasses, which were turning the deep golden color that late greenleaf always brought upon itself. The sun peeked out from the pitch-black clouds above them, giving everything a surreal yellow glow. Away Spiderpaw went to get herself into the swing of hunting- and as she did, Antstar started to pace in circles, thinking about the Sparkthistle predicament.

Mentor and apprentice were on the far end of WindClan territory, away from the Clan, away from the other Clans, away from the world. Besides the slight rustle of grasses that followed Spiderpaw as she stalked a rabbit and the distant creaks and sighs of the windmills on the horizon, Antstar found the air deathly still, except for his thoughts which buzzed within him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a figure. It was Twoleg-like in shape and size, and after cowering from it instinctively, Antstar realized it was a familiar figure. Shalestar told him back when he was apprenticed that the object was called “Scare Crow”, and that the loners who lived in the barn thought of it as a friend. Scare Crow was moved around by the farmers to keep birds off the nearby crops, but yet it always remained perfectly still, as its skin was burlap and its veins were hay straw.

“Did it always sit like that?” he had asked.

“Perhaps.” Shalestar had looked off into the horizon, the warmth of being about to tell a good story curling up the corners of his lips. “Legend has it that, many moons ago, StarClan took pity upon Scare Crow, and reanimated him to come alive and live among the Clans. His humanoid, flawed figure was made feline. His burlap became handsome tawny tabby fur, his straw became flesh and blood, and his buttons became two beautiful eyes the color of harvested wheat. Scare Crow was sent to live among the Clans, and so he did- but, having once not been a cat, he never truly fit in, despite the beautiful appearance StarClan gifted him. When he was trying to woo a molly to take as his mate, they strolled together through Sunningrocks. In the reflection of the Sunningrocks’s water lay Scare Crow’s true self- ragged, ugly, weather-beaten and lopsided. He ran away, sobbing at the discovery of who he truly was, and StarClan realized then that it was more humane, more gentle, more right to strip him of his mortal coil and turn him back into his true self as the being of straw and burlap. He has remained here ever since.”

More humane. More gentle. More right. More right to stop them. More right to end them.

More right to kill them.

Sparkthistle had barely any friends. Her bitter, dour nature led her to be quite an outcast in the Clan’s community, save for Stoatslink, and even then he didn’t seem entirely approving of her. She had to be miserable. And the Clan was miserable any time they interacted with her. Furthermore, if she was turning on Antstar, she could turn on all the community. If a rival Clan asked her for intel, she could flip. She had little attachment to anyone in the Clan, so it was excruciatingly imaginable that her hatred for Antstar would outweigh her loyalty to WindClan…

His train of thought was halted by a squeak as Spiderpaw bit through the throat of a juvenile rabbit. He watched as the dark gray tabby carefully lined up her kill by a fallen log- leaving plenty of space for the next prey she was to catch.

He knew he was going to pass her. How couldn’t he? She had already proven herself. But having her hunt alone and complete the traditional assessment gave Antstar the space he needed to process the decision he already felt doomed to make.

Sparkthistle could find peace in the afterlife. She had never done anything deserving of Hell, no matter how many times Antstar had probably muttered that under his breath when dealing with her. Perhaps she could calm herself in the heavens in a way that she could never truly do in her mortal life. StarClan would be a kinder land than the rough earth and harsh sky of WindClan.

Maybe he was trying to rationalize himself here.

But then again- what could be gained from her continued flesh-and-blood existence? At best she was an annoyance. At worst… at worst she was an outright security risk.

There was the thumping of paws. Spiderpaw was in full chase, a shrew just before her. It ducked one way and another, around the bend and back again, into and through a log. Faster and faster they went, despite the shrew being so small, so unnecessary, so unimpactful in the grand scheme of the world at large and its moon. And as Antstar made his decision- as Antstar looked to the sky, looked to the unblinking amber sun, hoping that StarClan was with him and approved, hoping that StarClan knew he was doing this for WindClan’s sake- she leapt, and the shrew went out with a final cry, so unimportant and yet defiant to the last in spite of the very jaws that would always defeat it.

As they went home, Spiderpaw holding her catches and lost in the daydreams of what her warrior ceremony might be like, Antstar could only think of what he was about to do. Spiderpaw’s warrior name- something that once seemed so momentous, so important only a scant few days ago- already felt dwarfed by the matter of Sparkthistle’s fate. Antstar paused by the edge of the medicine den. The air he was about to speak with felt like it was caught in his throat. Whitethroat slunk out, always alert, almost as if they already knew he was there.

“About what you said a few days ago.”

Whitetooth nodded attentively.

“…Can we go through with it tonight? As fast as possible, I- I don’t want to think about it too hard.”

Whitetooth took a moment to respond, already visibly figuring out how they would do it. They looked towards the den, where Marblepaw was chewing up a poultice, and then into the general direction of the gorge. Ears pricked, eyes intense, looking almost more like a ferret surveying the land than a cat.

And then, they nodded. A transaction was about to begin.

“The weather is ripe for it… As you wish, Antstar. I am your dearest servant.”

That night, the sky was dark. Thick black clouds had continued to roll in, and there was the distant rumble of storms beyond the horizons. Brief, misty scatters of rain speckled the dusty earth.

Antstar watched the Clan go to sleep, one by one. While some still decided to sleep out in the open hollow, others that were worried about the chance of storm hid away in burrows scattered throughout the camp area, and slowly, the Clan came to rest. He had asked there be no guards or vigils held on this night- while the threat of impending rain acted as justification, he needed there to be no eyes, nothing that could possibly spot him when he and Whitetooth figured out what to do with the body.

“I tell you,” snarled a certain ginger tabby from afar, “I am not sick. I don’t know why you think I am.”

Whitetooth, however, wasn’t fettered. They circled her like an adder, their brown tail gently stroking her flank as if they were attempting to tame a wild horse. “I am aware you may think that. But I can already recognize symptoms of kittencough in you, and the sickness takes a few days to set in. If we treat you now, you won’t be sick later.”

Sparkthistle snarled in defiance, but after a moment of contemplation, she followed Whitetooth into the abandoned rabbit burrow that made up the medicine den. “Fine. So long as you make this quick, pal.”

As she did so, Whitetooth scurried over to Antstar, in that silent, almost eel-like way they were so skilled at. They leaned in slightly and began to whisper. “When I give you the signal-“ -they twitched their left ear- “I want you to come in. We must do this tonight, Antstar- else they may catch onto us.”

From there, Antstar carefully watched, pacing around camp to get a good look into the medicine den. Marblepaw seemed fast asleep at the entrance, her head resting upon a clump of mosses she had fetched earlier that day. In fact, just about everyone was asleep now save for the leader, his medicine cat, and their target. Sparkthistle caught the amber glow of Antstar’s eyes and stared at him as Whitetooth took something small and dark and stuffed it into a dead shrew.

“Kittencough,” they began, speaking in the voice of a lecturing mentor, “is usually much like a mild case of whitecough. The issue, however, is that it is very contagious and can be deadly for kits and elders. Usually, we treat it with whitecough medicines and drowsiness-inducing herbs, so that way the cat involved does not spread it and risk hurting the most vulnerable.”

But Sparkthistle’s yellowish-amber eyes indicated she had paid little attention to their monologue. “Why is Antstar there?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“He and I are having a conversation once you fall asleep. Mostly about the next Moonstone meeting, StarClan, those types of affairs. That, and figuring out what we’ll do about herbs come leaf-fall.”

“In the night? With this weather?”

“The night lends impulse to new ideas, my Clanmate.”

And then- slowly, slyly, they brought the shrew towards her. The very same shrew Spiderpaw had caught in her apprentice exam. For a brief moment that felt like nine lives and a day, Whitetooth made eye contact with Antstar.

This was it. The last chance to stop now. The last chance to keep Sparkthistle alive.

Every joint in Antstar’s limbs wanted to move, to give a last-minute refusal. And yet, he stood perfectly still.

Whitetooth turned back to Sparkthistle. For a moment it felt in Antstar’s mind as though she had already died. Perhaps, in a sense, she had.

“Here. I want you to take this. Medicine can trouble an empty belly if one is not careful.”

Sparkthistle sniffed it carefully, her pink speckled nose twitching with apprehension. Finally, she gave in, slowly taking a mouthful, ripping away at the skin.

“Now, I’ve put some medicines into this shrew of yours, as to clear out the kittencough. You shall feel drowsy. But- and this is important- do not be alarmed.”

There was a crunch as she bit into the black seeds that Whitetooth had enclosed within the shrew’s flesh.

“Everything is going to be perfectly fine.”

For a moment, Sparkthistle remained perfectly unaffected, continuing to nose around the shrew to pick out its best meat. Suddenly, however, her paw began to twitch. She looked around uneasily, as if her vision was beginning to spot out. She looked at Whitetooth, but Whitetooth gave her the same soothing stare they always had.

“Is it supposed to feel-“

“Like that? Yes.”

She got up to her paws, swaying back and forth like a tree about to topple in a storm. Saliva began to bubble from her jaw.

“I’ve had drowsiness herbs before, and they’ve-“ She struggled to speak. The deathberries had already coursed through her tongue, gradually paralyzing it. Her slurred words devolved into mumbled, slobbery vocalizations. Then, suddenly, Whitetooth knocked her to the ground and pinned her there.

They twitched their right ear as they stared at Antstar. That was the signal.

Antstar rushed in, silently, holding the ginger molly down as spasms shook her. She looked up at him, and he pushed her head into the ground to keep her still as she writhed and tried best she could to fight back. Her stare back at him bore into his very heart, gripping and shaking his very being. She had figured out what was going on, now. This was no look of anger, or of annoyance, or even of betrayal. No, this was a look Antstar had only seen before a scant few times. The look of a cat freezing as a monster runs out before them. The look of a young hare as a patrol leader strikes the killing blow. It was a look of pure, unadulterated horror.

Antstar stepped back instinctively. For a second, a further worry flashed through his head- had he let her go?

But the ginger body simply sank to the earth like a rug wet from saliva and rustled with struggle, sinking inward like a balloon that had slowly deflated from a puncture.

Sparkthistle was gone.

Antstar felt worry creep in as he scouted the clearing, over and over again to make sure the glint of no eye caught him. Behind him, he could hear Whitetooth clean up the blood-tinged cluster of foamy saliva that had pooled around Sparkthistle’s head. For a moment, he checked to ensure that Marblepaw was still asleep, and he felt slight relief when he saw the apprentice still lay in her nest, seemingly deep within a dream.

“Now,” Whitetooth whispered, stepping back as if they were admiring their own handiwork of having cleaned up the den. “What we’ll do is drag this over to the gorge. You would like to hide the body, correct?”

Antstar nodded fervently.

“Right. I know exactly what we shall do.” They picked up Sparkthistle by the scruff of her neck. Her shoulders hung limply. The white medicine cat indicated the other half of her body, and Antstar picked it up by the lower spine. Carefully, the two cats dragged her out and away without making a sound, through the gorse tunnel and out of camp. Dust gathered on her paws as they were dragged across the earth. Whitetooth’s grip was confident, certain; Antstar’s was far shakier and he had to fight to keep his jaw clamped. He had never realized how small Sparkthistle was. How small any cat was, really. It felt as though he were asleep in the leader’s den, and this was all some mad dream that he was watching from the distance of the mind.

Suddenly, Whitetooth came to a stop, and Antstar had to stop himself from falling forward onto the body. They looked down into the river, which looked as black and endless as the clouded sky that loomed above them, and then across to ensure no RiverClan cat had caught sight of them.

“…Why stop here?” Antstar started to ask, but his question was answered by the precise stare that Whitetooth was sending into the depths of the waters below.

“Check to make sure there’s no blood on her or sign of injury,” they instructed. Antstar carefully looked over the body, which had gradually grown a tad stiff. There was still a line of froth around her lip, but besides this, nothing had remained of the desperate struggle from earlier.

“…Nothing of the sort.”

“Good.”

“… We’re going to throw her into the river, right?”

“I knew you had figured it out already. You’re a smart cat. Any scent of deathberry- or us- will be soaked away by the water. If she is dragged away by the current, we shall say she clearly ran off because of her distaste towards your leadership.”

“And if she is found, she…?”

“She stumbled over the edge. Lots of cats have fallen to their deaths here. It wouldn’t look a moment out of place.”

Antstar pushed the body over. It rolled lopsidedly, like a chipped pebble; and soon slipped off the edge. Turning over itself, flank over flank, it fell into the black river and was swallowed up by the hungry waves. There was a hint of orange, and then it was gone.

Antstar looked to Whitetooth. “Can we…” His throat choked upon itself. “Can we never speak of this again?”

Whitetooth nodded. A talon of lightning darted out of one of the clouds nearby, and there was a corresponding grunt of thunder.

They walked back to camp, side by side, master and servant. Antstar looked at the ground, not daring to look ahead; Whitetooth, unflinching as ever, looked right ahead, squinting slightly to keep the dapples of raindrops from hitting their eyes. They slipped into the medicine den, doing one last check to make sure any indication of a struggle had vanished.

Everything was silent, there. Clumps of moss, diligently organized by type and age, lined the den. The nests, clean as ever, were empty. Except for one, which held Marblepaw.

Antstar paid close attention to Marblepaw’s figure. She was shuddering a bit, her breath shaky. Was she having a nightmare? Or- or had she-

Antstar felt his nerves coil in terror as he realized her amber eyes were wide open.

“Whitetooth!” he whispered, a sudden sharpness to the syllables as panic clutched him. “Whitetooth, your apprentice-“

But Whitetooth was unfettered as ever. “Do not fear, Antstar.” They laid a paw on Marblepaw’s shoulder, and she recoiled slightly, gasping with fright. But she stayed in position, letting the medicine cat’s pale, cold pawpads touch her warm dark tabby pelt.

“She can keep a secret very well,” they said, a sudden darkness in their words. “And if not- I can make her keep it.”

This was wrong. This was very, very wrong, and Antstar felt a pang of sympathy for the little apprentice. It was only now he realized he had never seen her befriend anyone else in the Clan.

But it had to be done. For WindClan.

And so, Antstar walked off to the leaders’ den. Just as he got in, rain fell in great, big curtains, obscuring his view of camp. He checked for a moment if he could see any glitters of light from his Clanmates’ eyes, in case they had awoken and seen at least something, but he was reassured by the uniformly dark rainy landscape before him. Slowly, his trembling breaths began to ease into sleep once more.

He thought of Whitetooth, of Marblepaw, even Sparkthistle. How much had changed in the past few hours alone. He had gone from leader, to murderer-

No! He was no murderer, he told himself. He had simply -disposed- of her. She was leading a rotten life and all he had done was let her leave it. And if he truly had murdered her, it was for the best of WindClan, for their safety. If warriors could kill in the midst of battle, if medicine cats could end the suffering of the burdened, nothing he had done was out of line. It was the best for everybody.

But when he looked back to the sky, to be reassured by starlight, all he found was the thick rain battering the earth.

#warrior cats #Warrior Cats OCs #story

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away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

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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