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darktreeroots · 8 months

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Woodstalk's Determination

3.6k

tws: canon typical violence, descriptions of death

Allegiances

ThinleafClan

Leader:

Tempeststar - gray and black trans she-cat

Warriors:

Ivyslip - gray and yellow speckled cat Woodstalk - a brown tom Barkgrip - a brown and black tabby she-cat Clawleap - a gray and white tom Primroseswift - red tom Dropletdawn - gray tabby she-cat Daisyear - white she-cat with golden patches on her ears Flintgaze - gray she-cat Alderwhisper - tortoiseshell cat Splashforest - black tabby cat Beemarch - yellow she-cat with black spots Skimleaf - gray-blue trans tom with white spots Antslash - black tom Irisnight - gray-blue she-cat Woodarch - brown and cream tom

MarshClan

Leader:

Fawnstar - a trans tom with yellow eyes with markings that greatly resemble a wolf’s

Deputies:

Shatteredmask - a heavily scarred white and gray tom with emotionless eyes Toadleap - a kind brown tom with dark brown spots and a light brown underside

Medicine Cat:

Starlingblossom - a black she-cat with gold and white patches

Woodstalk keeps their eyes and tail close to the marshy floor. With every step his distaste grows—had the rotten leadership from MarshClan really extended as far as to change the landscape. He swore that when he was a kit, the land here had been studier, drier, stronger.

Less marsh-like.

The patrol moves silently, with a deadly yet grave intent.

Woodstalk keeps his eyes on Ivyslip, copying the motions of his mentor. It’s been moons and moons since he was an apprentice but he can’t help but look up to the speckled cat. They move with a easy grace, carefully avoiding small puddles of water underfoot. Woodstalk copies them, the very end of his tail touching a puddle of water, spreading ripples behind him.

A cat falls into a puddle with a quickly silenced yowl and a large splash. The silent reapers look back at him and glower.

“Sorry.” Woodarch apologizes, lowering his head. A drop of water rolls down his muzzle, returning to the water with a small splash and Woodstalk barely manages to keep from laughing at the younger cat. They had both been named for the same Woodstorm, a littermate of Tempeststar. While Woodstalk had been a young warrior when Woodarch was born, he felt a kinship with the younger cat.

After all, the Woodcats had to stay together.

Tempeststar’s tail quickly slaps a pool of water, drawing all attention back to herself and then they’re off again. Their mission is clear, made even clearer when they find the cats they need to, deep within territory that rightfully belonged to them but had been stolen away. Only because Morningstar was kind enough to allow them to hunt in BroadleafClan territory had they survived until now.

MarshClan had grown and swelled exponentially under recent leadership, and no matter how many cats fell in battle, they never stopped. For each cat that would fall, two more would continue fighting. It was untenable, if Fawnstar was allowed to continue then their Clan might not survive another leaf-bare. He was growing like a storm, and as Tempeststar had said the night before after calling the patrol to her den, it takes one storm to stop another.

Tempeststar was not one for theatrics, they all knew.

They found them, playing like kits.

“Do you yield?” Says the wolf-like cat, holding down his deputy with a paw to the chest. They’re both purring.

“I yield, I yield!” The deputy’s smile pulls at the scars around his mouth, stretching them even further. Wooldstalk just barely manages to hold back his revulsion at seeing the pink flesh move like that, “And the great Fawnstar wins yet again.”

Fawnstar purrs, replacing their paw with their head and lying on top of his mate.

“We always do.” Fawnstar begins, before his head suddenly jerks up. They did nothing to alert him to their presence, Fawnstar was just so naturally aware of their surroundings that the moment that they crept too close his head snapped up. Shatteredmask is out from underneath the in seconds, but it is too little too late.

It’s a combination of many things that allowed them to get this close: the scent of ThinleafClan still lingering in the area of newly acquired territory, the dampening effect of the rainfall from the day before, the lingering effects of an early morning, the knowledge accidentally handed over by a loose-lipped medicine cat too drunk on praises to know when she’s said too much (imagine, not only admitting that your leader and deputy like to wander the territory alone but also keeping cats in camp to keep out of their way!)—and Woodstalk can see in in Fawnstar’s eyes, the moment that he realizes that this is a battle he can’t win. Faced with nearly a dozen cats and a leader with multiple lives left, he knows that he is not walking away from this.

“I assume that you are here for the obvious reason?” Fawnstar says directly to Tempeststar. Shatteredmask tries to step in front of him but Fawnstar gives him a quick look and the deputy steps aside.

“And what might that be?”

“Must I be so blunt?” Fawnstar says with a quick, yet defeated sigh before not stopping so he doesn’t have to be so blunt, “To kill me—to kill us.”

Seemingly, just the thought of someone hurting his mate set off something in Shatteredmask and he snarls, revealing two glimmering rows of white teeth. There are a few gaps and some teeth are misaligned but that only enhances the threat that he is. In the Clans, there are very few cats that have taken nearly as much damage that Shatteredmask has. Losing just an ear would be enough to send cats off of the front lines, and at least retire him from the deputy position. That with the scar that cuts through his mane, one his shoulder, a long one down his spine that had nearly left his insides spilling out on the ground from a prior failed assassination attempt, would have sent any other cat to the elder’s den with the appreciation of the clan and silent relief from their neighbors.

And still Shatteredmask had more scars. He walked with a permanent limp and a slight shake, with large areas of battered flesh on two legs and a tail that has been bitten and mangled.

And still, even with his glower stretching the scar around his muzzle, the look on Fawnstar’s face was even more terrifying. Even with his back to a metaphorical wall, an admission of defeat already on his lips, Fawnstar still looked like they would walk right out of this situation unscathed.

Tempeststar nods her head. Immediately, Shatteredmask lunges forward, claws outstretched. The group of warriors moves to react. Woodstalk notices immediately how difficult it is. Battles are different, there’s multiple attackers, so it’s unlikely that too many cats will disturb you and get in your way by aiming for the same target. Against BroadleafClan they’ve learned how to separate up a pack, against MarshClan they’ve learned how to watch their footing in uneven terrain and watch from attacks from every angle.

It was necessary to have so many cats here, just for the intimidation factor, but Woodstalk can’t help but wish that there were less of them because as he lunges forward, so does everyone else.

“Do not.” It’s only a simple two words that prevent a two-sided slaughter. Shatteredmask stops, one paw raised in the air. Light reflects off his claws, sharpened to a razor-blade edge. The deputy stares at them, empty blue eyes give purpose—he stopped. Woodstalk knows that he’ll hold as long as Fawnstar commands him to.

Shatteredmask doesn’t lower his paw.

“Lower your paw and get back here.” Fawnstar commands. Shatteredmask hesitates for a moment. But only for a moment before he’s trudging back to sit beside Fawnstar like an admonished kit. He turns to look at Fawnstar. It’s a look that Fawnstar didn’t expect because he had opened his mouth to talk to Tempeststar but had fumbled when he noticed it.

Fawnstar lays his tail over Shatteredmask’s.

The display is heart wrenching, made even worse by the fact that Woodstalk knows that it isn’t a ploy.

“I have a final request then. Or do I not get—” Fawnstar cuts himself off, shakes his head, and restarts. The marsh squelches up from between his paws as Fawnstar visibly reins himself in, “Excuse me. I have a tendency to be dramatic and aim farther than I can reach.”

“Debasing yourself will do nothing.”

Fawnstar lets out a short, humorless laugh, “Thought it might help. I have a final request for you, Tempeststar. If you fulfill it, then I will allow you to kill me without a fight.”

Tempeststar remains calm, only a flick of her ear showing her surprise while Shatteredmask is the complete opposite. The monster on the battlefield, the blank-eyed deputy with a kind smile—he whirls to look at Fawnstar, hair raising along his spine. He turns back to the patrol, baring his teeth in preparation for yet another attack.

Fawnstar’s words, though not a command, stop him, “My request is that Shatteredmask is allowed to live. I die, so he does not.”

“You delay the inevitable?” Primroseswift jeers. Speaking out of turn quickly earns him a sharp glare from Tempeststar.

“You ask of that?”

“If you want me to beg, I will. If you rise that I expose my stomach and wriggle around on the ground and beg like a dog, then I will.” Fawnstar says, looking disgusted at his own words. Not a single one felt insincere.

“Just for him?”

“Just so he doesn’t die fighting.” Fawnstar says, “You deserve a softer death than that.”

The last part, directed at Shatteredmask, does nothing to smooth his pelt. Instead, it seems to do the opposite as he comes to stand in front of Fawnstar again. He tries to subtly push his mate to the side once more but Shatteredmask stays in front of his leader.

“I deserve all the same things as you.” Shatteredmask says, flicking his singular ear.

“Not in my eyes.” Fawnstar says, before giving his deputy a swift swat to the head. The determination that had been slowly condensing around Shatteredmask dissipates for a moment as Fawnstar quickly presses him to the ground, paw on his neck. Shatteredmask struggled of course, but he was unwilling to hurt Fawnstar and it seemed like all their playfighting had given Fawnstar a good lesson on restraining his mate.

Fawnstar raises his head and tilts it back, exposing the soft part of his neck. The easiest way to take his last life. Shatteredmask glared outward. There was no emotion in his eyes, yet there was a palpable weight to his gaze.

“It is unbecoming of you to beg.” Tempeststar says.

“You’ve put me in an unbecoming situation.” Fawnstar hisses from the effort of keeping Shatteredmask down. The deputy thrashes wildly, teeth bared. His blue eyes were doing something unnatural: showing emotion. The hatred there made Woodstalk shiver.

Tempeststar looks on passively.

“Kill them both.” Tempeststar commands, and the plan continues on as usual.

Fawnstar may beg, but there was still the fact that Shatteredmask was not only dangerous, but the leader’s second in command. If he were to survive, then there would be Shatteredstar. A Shatteredstar who was a killing dog unleashed, a vengeful wolf with no pack leader, a raving mad fox. A Shatteredstar who was an unknown variable, because there was no way to see what Shatteredmask would be without Fawnstar. His mate had invaded every bit of his being, leaving his eyes vacant because Fawnstar’s held all the malice, his fur scarred to take all his wounds.

There was a chance that a Shatteredstar would be a fair, just ruler with a level head and clear mind.

ThinleafClan couldn’t risk the chance that he wasn’t. For too much of Woodstalk’s life they’ve had an overly aggressive Clan at their border, to the point that eclipsed BroadleafClan’s bloodlust several times over. First with Heronstar, and then with Fawnstar. If Shatteredstar was the same, ThinleafClan would be shattered and spread like dust.

Toadleap was weak, with soft fur and a soft mind. He could forget and forgive an act such as this. He would know that the wars needed to end, that no more cats needed to die day after day. And the only way that there would be a Toadstar would be if there wasn’t any Shatteredmask to become Shatteredstar.

They surge forward.

Woodstalk keeps his eyes on Fawnstar and watches so hard that he swears that he sees his expression change—was that surprise?—someone bumps him to the side and teeth clamp down on his throat. Woodstalk has only a moment to glance down at the white and gray tom and the blood that’s beginning to stain his muzzle before Shatteredmask turns their heads to the side—

I want to go home. Woodarch desperately thinks to himself, moving despite his paralyzing fear. He shouldn’t be here—he’s a young warrior. He’s nothing special. He was born, he got a mentor, he passed his assessment when it was time.

There is nothing special about him other than his ability to look at cats making a bad decision and say absolutely nothing.

He lets out a terrified screech as the throng of warriors moves at once, not with grace but with brutal desperation. Woodarch has no clue why Tempeststar decided that so many cats should go because he doesn’t dare to unsheathe his claws lest he drag them down his Clanmate’s fur. He can barely move barely think barely process what’s going on around him.

He lost track of everyone in just a moment. The air is thick with the scent of marsh and blood. Woodarch simply presses his ears against his head and steps back, standing still and letting the world move around him. A cream paw reaches out through the pile of cats, and scratches his muzzle.

Woodarch jumps back, wondering if that was a Clanmate before he sees a yellow eye through the tangle of limbs. It stares at him with unrestrained hatred.

A pawful of claws lash out at him and all of his training kicks in at once. Woodarch pats the paw away, taking a short leap back and purposely landing with his weight on his hind legs. He uses the momentum to lift his front legs into the air—but there’s nothing for him to retaliate to. Once again, Fawnstar had been swallowed up by the writhing mass of cats.

He stills, for a moment.

Woodarch doesn’t want to fight—in fact he doesn’t want them to be fighting at all.

This isn’t a honorable. This isn’t a battle, this isn’t fair.

They came here, crossing Clan boundaries, into territory that they fairly lost, to kill the cat who had won it without threats or coercion. Fawnstar did not play tricks. Fawnstar never tried to trick them.

So when Skimleaf stumbles back, bleeding from a nick in the ear, Woodarch isn’t there to disappoint him by hanging a few pawsteps away and refusing to fight anymore. He’s climbed up one of the few trees that still remain. It was a struggle to climb up and remain seated on one of the maple’s branches due to the dew that clung to them, but he managed it.

He could not stop this fight, but he could choose to do nothing.

Ha. What a joke. The reason that he runs instead of acting is because he’s afraid. Woodarch doesn’t want to die, nor does he want to fight. He doesn’t want ThinleafClan to be destroyed, nor does he want to kill a cat that would destroy his home with honor.

Woodarch doesn’t want to do anything, cannot commit to any side—so he remains still, sitting on a branch. Looking down on the world like a bird on a branch, like a bee on a tree, like a useless lump that does nothing but take up space and watch as his Clanmates hurt and kill and are hurt and are killed.

Shatteredmask is a monster, a beast beyond compare. His jaws snap on open air and flesh with no hesitation. The only difference being when he doesn’t taste blood that he doesn’t bite down hard and twist his head to the side in a killing blow. He lashes and kicks and leaves chunks of fur and sprays of blood in his wake.

Fawnstar was vicious in his own right, with quick, exact motions that could finish off any cat that Shatteredmask left whimpering on the ground.

Woodarch watches as his claws flash along Dropletdawn’s neck and the gray tabby’s head falls backward, eyes dulling. He watches as two cats attack Fawnstar the moment his slice finishes. He watches as Ivyslip jumps on Shatteredmask’s back, dislodging his teeth from Flintgaze’s neck before he can get a good hold on her neck.

He watches as Fawnstar takes a step backwards, fending off a tri-pronged attack from Irisnight and Tempeststar and Alderwhisper. He watches as Shatteredmask tries to clamp his teeth around Alderwhisper’s neck. He watches as Shatteredmask succeeds. He watches as Splashforest comes around and nearly splits open his stomach.

He watches as Shatteredmask is pushed farther and farther away from the focus of the fight. He watches as Fawnstar is slowly surrounded on every side, fending off attacks from every angle—first pelt dripping with blood and now it had become a river.

He watches as Shatteredmask’s attacks quickly become more desperate, lashing his claws out without grace or strategy.

Woodarch watches as Fawnstar begins to falter, first strikes ending up clawlengths away from their target as blood began to blind him, and then strikes failing to initiate as he got weaker and weaker.

Shatteredmask did not scream out for him. Shatteredmask didn’t even try to save himself. He just kept on pushing forward, back into the fray, closer to his death—his paw comes down on Antslash’s head as the tom was balancing on his back legs to ward off blows. It was an unexpected hit, due to his desperation and the fact that Antslash was behind the line of cats that had been attacking him.

But Antslash stumbles, and due to the density of cats—dead and alive—he stumbles and falls.

And doing so, he leaves Fawnstar with an exit. A gap between cats, one that if he took that he could use to flee. It wasn’t a guaranteed chance, someone could close the gap before he could escape, there was a chance that they could stop the leader while he tried to leave his cage, they could still hunt the leader down before he got too far—but the element of surprise was gone. If they broke their battle lines, then it gave Fawnstar a chance to disappear into a pool of water and vanish into the murky water. Even if they could follow the blood, Shatteredmask was just as capable as fighting in water as on land.

If Fawnstar escaped—then this was all for naught.

(Don’t look at the obstructions to your Clanmates don’t look at what they step around don’t look at the bodies on the ground.)

Could he move?

Could Woodarch leap off this branch and save the day?

Would he?

Fawnstar leaps between the small gap. Tempeststar reaches out to keep him down but her paw misses his tail by a whisker length. He lands, just outside his cage, muscles bunched for a leap.

“Run!” Fawnstar screeches before leaping at Ivyslip, Ivyslip who is not guarding the exit, Ivyslip who has been fully consumed with avenging their former apprentice. Ivyslip who had had their paw raised to rake it down Shatteredmask’s spine.

Ivyslip falls to the side, hitting the ground and rolling along the slick ground. They barely avoid being trampled as the rest of the cats rush back in to reform the circle around Fawnstar.

There is—

There’s a second where the MarshClan cats are left there—blood dripping from their pelts, every muscle screaming, gazing at each other determinedly—and then the next second Fawnstar is slamming into Shatteredmask with all their weight screaming for Shatteredmask to turn to flee to live.

Barkgrip tries to latch onto Fawnstar’s back. In comparison to all of Fawnstar’s other injuries this would be minor—the patchiness of Fawnstar’s fur was evidence of that.

Shatteredmask scrambles over Fawnstar puts himself between Barkgrip’s claw and Fawnstar’s back. Barkgrip’s outstretched claws dig into Shatteredmask’s neck. His paw disappears into Shatteredmask’s mane, disappearing under layers and layers of fur.

And then, a moment later, five claws leave his mane but it’s hard to see them due to the fountain of blood that comes out of Shatteredmask’s neck.

The deputy stands there for a moment, shaking slowly as more blood begins to pour from their neck, staining their light fur a bright red. It’s stark, it’s lovely, it’s awful. His leader stands there, as shocked as Woodarch is.

Fawnstar takes a step forward.

With the last of his strength, Shatteredmask turns to look at him.

Whatever his last expression may be, Fawnstar doesn’t see it because Tempeststar has surged forward—pelt thick with blood, ever motion honed to a vengeful perfection—and clamps her jaws around his neck.

Even now, Fawnstar fights.

Not much.

It seems like…he’s trying to turn himself around to see Shatteredmask one more time.

Fawnstar raises his paws.

Tempeststar snaps her head to the side, planting her paws on his body. Fawnstar’s head turns with a sudden, sickening crack that makes Woodarch’s stomach roll. His nausea nearly overwhelms him. Woodarch’s vision shakes and swims.

Tempeststar spits something out.

“Come on.” She commands. Her voice wavers at the very end, she takes a moment to pause, “Gather our fallen. Gather their fallen. We must tell MarshClan what they must do. We cannot afford to be idle. Not now.”

There’s Irisnight and Beemarsh and Alderwhisper and Clawleap and Dropletdawn and Woodstalk and Woodstalk and Woodstalk and Woodstalk

It takes them a few moments to notice that Woodarch is neither among the dead or on the ground. At least, he assumes because he is too busy holding back his own emotions to be aware of anything until the branch dips and he nearly leaps straight off it.

“It is only me.” Tempeststar says, voice clear and commanding, “Get up.”

Woodarch opens his mouth to respond, to yowl, to cry, to do anything.

He closes it. With unsteady paws, he follows Tempeststar back to the ground.

Woodarch doesn’t carry a body.

(He wonders if it’s supposed to be an insult but he cannot be more relieved.)

#allseeing eyes close #warrior cats #warriors oc #warrior cats oc #kitty talking #fawnstar #shatteredmask #woodstar #tempeststar

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