#Book Two

[wyked-ao3]

Trick or Treat, from the Creators Club.

from this post

Treat

A piccrew of my oc Jade

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker-writes @thecomfywriter @evilwriter37

@saebasanart @the-golden-comet @mauannacreates @kind-lion @alinacapellabooks

@kuebiko-writing @kaeru483 @theink-stainedfolk @unstableunicornsofasgard @mysticstarlightduck

@demon-sneeze @fromthenortheast @smellyrottentrees @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives

@illarian-rambling @paeliae-occasionally

[luxxbean]

thinking about “Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.” a lot lately

[zythebeeking]

Very short little ficlet expanding upon Halt watching Will be taken by Skandians in book two (I’ve never posted something I’ve written before I hope it’s alright ^^’):

Long after the ship had passed the horizon line and faded from site, Halt sat on the ocean shore. A broken promise fell from his lips repeatedly “I’ll come find you, I promise, I promise I’ll come find you, Will.” His voice was broken as tears slid down his face, a heartbreak unlike any he’s felt before. His chest felt so violently empty, an ache that reminded him of what he’d just lost. The sun began to set, marking the hours he’d sat, unable to leave the place he last saw his apprentice. This boy he’d come to consider like his son. And he was gone now.

-

Gilan had looked all over for the grizzled Ranger, unable to find him after the battle. Blaze, his horse, carried him on as he scoured the land near the battlefield. The swampy lands of the Fens appeared before him as he dismounted and continued on foot. Carefully making his way through the land, ensuring he didn’t step in the wrong area and sink into the mud, he looked around for Halt. The ground became sturdier the further he walked until he crested a ridge. There, he could make out the small figure of his former mentor and one of his closest friends. He left Blaze where he was, softly telling him to stay. As he got closer to the Ranger, he could hear the repetitive promise he’d been muttering to the wind for hours, the pain in his voice evident. Never once had he seen Halt this broken. Silently, he dropped to his knees beside the man and brought him into a hug, taking in his tear stained face. He was shocked when Halt buried his head into his shoulder, sobs wracking at him as he finally let it all out. A couple tears slid down Gilan’s cheeks at the loss of Will and at the pain Halt was feeling. Halt stayed like that for a bit before Gilan pulled back to look at him.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he said, trying his best to be as reassuring as possible. Halt shook his head.

“I lost him, Gilan. I was right there and I couldn’t get to him. I failed him,” Halt said brokenly. Gilan’s heart shattered at the words, that being the first time Halt had ever spoken like that. Normally he was self-assured, confident, wise. Someone who’d guided Gilan through so much. And here he was, blaming himself for Will’s capture.

“You did everything you could. We’ll get him back. If anything, it’s my fault I left him alone,” Gilan reassured. Halt shook his head, unable to say more. Gilan stood up and offered a hand.

“We should get going,” he suggested. Halt shook his head and remained put.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Halt you need to go back and eat and get some rest. We have a lot of work to do,” Gilan hoped maybe the thought of work and his duty to the kingdom could distract him a bit from his heartache.

“I need to find Will,” he said. Gilan frowned. He knew Halt didn’t want to leave the spot he’d last seen his apprentice but he needed to. Resolutely, he bent over and picked the Ranger up. Blaze and Abelard trotted over at Gilan’s whistle and he hoisted Halt up onto his horse.

“You can’t find Will if you don’t take care of yourself and your horse,” Gilan reminded him, not unkindly. Halt made no further protest, tears sliding down his face silently as Gilan swung up onto Blaze and called for Abelard to follow. He led them back to the battlefield, knowing it was gonna be a rough time for his old mentor.

[starlost-lix]

finished book 2 of mdzs and OH MY GOSH I CANNOT WITH THE EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER I HAVE GONE THROUGH?!!?

THE YI CITY ARC???? POOR XIAO XINGCHEN AND SONG LAN 😭 idk its like xue yang is a psycho i find him kind of funny tho oops 😬 also sizhui is the cutest kid ever but smth seems weird about him like i feel like there’s smth important going on…

lan zhan and wei ying being absolutely dumb in love for each other like wwx sir u are full on spouting monologues and internal screaming over lwj how oblivious are u 😭 and lwj is so like cold but like not cold like i see u being jealous and protective 👏👏

idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i kind of really absolutely hate meng yao ik ppl like his character and want redemption but i highkey want to just see him get thrown off a cliff 😓😓 poor nie mingjue :((( also lan xichen i like him a lot but he highkey annoyed me bc of how blind he was

the ending 😩😩😩😩 no words that was a great cliffhanger

jin ling is such a lovely little angry little baby please can i adopt him 🥺🥺🥺

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Epilogue

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Camp was silent, but in the purposefully hushed way, that of a Clan who’d woken up to the pained cries of a queen as she brought her litter into the world and had elected to leave her be until the night. The kits had stopped squealing, busily nursing at Goldenflower’s belly, kneading her with their shut eyes and ears. Brindleface and her kits had fallen asleep quickly after the birthing, and Frostfur was outside guarding the nursery as her own kits drifted off again.

With the sun thankfully dimmed by a cloudy sky, Goldenflower’s eyes were glued to her litter of three: two beautiful little torbie mollies, the stronger pale ginger and brown and the weaker a darker version, and a curious, rotund tabby tom. Somehow, despite everything the matriarch had learned in her studies, he had come out dark brown.  

Just like his father.

Was StarClan punishing her for something? What for? Her ignorance? Her blind trust and love?  How was this possible otherwise?

Goldenflower repressed a grieving shudder and forced her thoughts to something else—anything else.

Names. They needed names. And she was the only one here to give them.

If Fireheart were here, she could take the opportunity to teach him how to name his own kits when he had them. It could have taken her mind off of everything, to see his excitement when he met his little siblings, and his worry over Cloudkit, who had grown fatter and louder, if that was possible.

But he wasn’t here. She’d have to do this alone.

Some small part of her reminded her that Brindleface and Frostfur could help, but… no. This was for family to do. She had a feeling.

The first molly, the pale one, she regarded with no small amount of affection. She was as big as her brother—bigger, really—and her markings were paired together beautifully, a solid blend of pale ginger and a warm brown with the tabby markings streaking down her body evenly. She was mostly that ginger, though the brown wasn’t giving up its spaces without a fight.

Tawny, maybe, Goldenflower thought. Or Morning. She could be a Morning. But Tawny feels more obvious…

She could come back to that. She had better ideas for the other two.

The weakest, runty and spotted, had more mottled brown and ginger. She was the smallest and the quietest; Goldenflower’s experience warned her to be ready for the worst. She didn’t let that forbid her from naming the kit. She should have a mighty name, something to make up for her size.

Leopard. He would have called you that.

And perhaps she shouldn’t have thought of what he would have wanted, but... how could she not? They’d discussed names before she had retreated into the nursery full-time. He’d loved the idea of a Leopardkit. That had been his favorite one out of all they’d talked about.

He loved you before you were born, she thought, pressing her nose to Leopardkit, who barely twitched in response. I know that was real. No one else has to.

Now, the tom…

Curse her sentimentality, but it was impossible not to think of him. He was a spitting image of his father, big and starkly-striped. He was going to be tall and powerful, she could see already. But perhaps not brutish; even as a newborn, his claws seemed mostly tucked in, barely grazing her stomach when he pushed harder for milk. They were long, still, like his, and his paws were massive.

He wasn’t getting Tiger, obviously. But something close, something fierce and prickly… shame Thornkit had taken that name already.

A name struck her, and she couldn’t think of another. Bramble. Bramble, with long, sharp stripes and long, sharp claws.

It was perfect. She could only pray no one figured out the source.

Drowsily, she returned to the pale molly, going over Tawny and Morning, back and forth, her exhaustion creeping in and tamping down her thoughts until she drifted off, with a vague image in her head of three little kits touching noses with their father, his amber eyes shining with love and pride.

Where was his soul now, she wondered… 

---

He runs, paws scrambling for purchase on the rocky slope that borders the road. A shining silhouette blazes ahead of him and he ducks into the forest. Ferns and brush stand still as death as he races through them, mouth open, panting for air he no longer needs, amber eyes wild with fright.

Screams like roars follow him through the woods, light-figures easily keeping pace with him, creeping close to his tail as he stumbles and sprints with every bit of power he can channel to his legs. Whooping yowls and jovial caterwauls rattle his chest with horror.

How could they be chasing me? Were my intentions not noble? Didn’t I do the best for my Clan?

It wasn’t good enough.

His victims, drowned and sliced and crippled and gasping for air, flash in front of his eyes, glaring at him, nearly making him trip and fall as he tries to skid to a stop and dive to the side, away from them, away from their damning eyes.

This is a mistake. He only manages a few more steps before sun-bright figures cut off his path. He jerks sideways again, and backs away from the rounding line of Hunters encircling him. He’s surrounded on all sides by glowing warriors: some apprentices, few leaders—the best of the best, the strongest in life and most righteous in death, the ones who protect the territories from all ghostly dangers.

But…

No, this can’t be right. I’m no danger. Not like this. Not like—

The deputy flails about, scrambling for escape, some explanation, anything to get him out of this. There is none. The Hunters are stronger, larger than him. They hurt to look at, blazing as they do. They say nothing to him. Their eyes burn with rage.

Where is He?

Behind him, a searing light exiles what little darkness was left in the forest, the only sound now of a crackling fire. He is immediately pulled into gazing at the giant; it’d be sacrilege to refuse to acknowledge Him. His eyes squeeze shut—this is worse than looking at the sun—but again, he is forced to open them, eyes tearing up in agony as he looks upon the Endless Watcher.

“You disappoint Me, wraith,” the Lion rumbles, His voice shaking the ground and making the trees tremble. “Potential like yours has not been seen in a long time. You could have been the finest leader in generations, if you loved your Clan like you thought you did.”

The deputy’s mouth opens to no sound; his throat is dry as an autumn leaf.

“Destroying your Clanmates,” a Hunter adds coldly, a strangely familiar golden tom almost as sunny as Horoa Himself. “Ignoring your neighbors, wanting them to fall, though you’d never let yourself acknowledge that…”

“Leaving your own family to expose you,” another Hunter says, dark grey and small (standing taller than the deputy even so). She narrows her eyes that shine too bright for a mortal. “They will not rest easy for a long time. Is that what you wanted? Pain and grief, by your doing?”

The deputy barely manages to croak out, “My Lord, have mercy. Please—”

“Another said that, recently,” a tortoiseshell drawls. “The living didn’t heed him.” Her lip twitches as she dryly looks the deputy up and down, regarding him like the stringy remains of stale prey. “Neither did we.”

“Go peacefully,” the Lion growls, and the ground shakes under the deputy’s feet. “This we will give you. Offer your throat and fade to mist. You will not get anything else.”

The deputy trembles. He looks for any kindness, any empathy in the eyes of his undoing. There is none. Pathetically, kit-like in his huddling, he looks to Horoa again.

“By—” he swallows. “By Your teeth, then. It would be an honor, my Lord. Please…”

The Lion throws back His head with a thundering, hearty chuff. The sound is echoed by His Hunters, who shake their heads and give each other tickled looks, like they’re sharing a private joke. Horoa lowers His head again, gazing down at the deputy, His single eye blinding.

“None from ThunderClan will honor you,” He says. “Neither will I.”

The small dark grey molly bursts forward; her claws streak with light. A snap. A crash. Sparks tear open the mist of his flesh. The storm raging in his throat chokes back his words as it rends him apart.

In the heartbeat of a moment, in an eye amidst his agony, one quiet thought murmurs in her voice.

“They will never know your name, love.”

And then there is silence.

The vapor, split in two even wisps, disperses and fades, absorbed by the clean air of the forest. Horoa waves His tail, smoking at the tip, with satisfaction as His Hunters keep their eyes on the very last misty thread. It dissolves, and nothing remains. The Lion curtly nods, growls a chuff, turns and leaps into a gallop, His Titan-like feet hardly touching the ground. His followers race after Him, cheering again, searching for the next danger to protect the Clans from. Light encompasses them, like the sun is swallowing them up.

As they disappear, the forest’s natural light returns, followed by hesitant shadows. The cackle of flames dies, and birdsong carries on again, somewhat confused as to why it stopped. The woods, just for a bit, are beautifully warm with the echo of the sun’s heat. 

The world continues on as if they were never there at all.

[truths33k3r4]

A Lotus doodle to brighten your day through the craziness life will sometimes throw your way.

~Em 🩷

I LOVE IT!!! Aw, Em, thank you so very much!! 😊💙

This is going right into my fanart collection and will be cherished for years to come 💙

Thank you for the smile!! Life has been crazy for a bit, but it’s finally starting to slow down. :) So much so I was able to finish the first draft of the next chapter of SIW!!

Because of your kind gift, here’s a little sneak peek. ;)

~

Lotus woke with a thrashing gasp, the air in her lungs stolen by another nightmare. Her hand shakily rose to her plastron as she tried to calm her pounding heart. The echoes of the monster’s threats slowly faded from her mind, but the adrenaline and fear still loomed over her like an inescapable smaug. Her dream still had its hold on her, morphing her reality as it saw fit; Shadows seemed to come alive as their claws shot out from the darkness. Every wall sprouted eyes and began to close in on her. Her stomach twisted in discomfort as she fought to forget her dream, closing her eyes and reminding herself again and again that it was over.

“I’m fine… It’s… It’s done..” She choked, still trying to regain her purloined breath.

Once the ghostly chorus of the phantom completely faded, she wearily opened her eyes. Everything had returned to normal, the shadows creeping back into their crevices awaiting the next time she would try to sleep. All the eyes had vanished from the walls. The room had stopped shrinking.

Before she could slump in relief her gut twisted again, making her wince as the discomfort only grew.

~

To God be the glory! :)

~ Melissa

[slaughter-books]

Day 29: JOMPBPC: Extra AF

My beautiful February, 2024 book haul! 💛

[vellatra]

I’d heard Mom and Aileev argue a few times already. So far, the scuffles had been short and mild, but I could tell things were getting more and more tense between them. Things really came to a head that night around the dinner table. Mom had come home tired — well, she always did now — but luckily, Aileev and I had brought leftover stew back from Grandma’s with us that day, so all she had to do was heat it up. We sat quietly for a bit, picking at the stew. Aileev must have finished her food first, because I suddenly heard her bowl clatter, empty, on the table. “Mom, I’ve made up my mind,” she said, firmly. “We’re not doing this again,” said Mom, setting her spoon down. “I already told you, you’re not going.” “Yes, I am,” said Aileev. “I want to help stop the jelturen." Mom sighed — a long, bitter sigh. She was barely thirty, but she was starting to sound so old, lately. It scared me. “You know what it was like. Losing your father… and Nabikio. Would you risk putting me and your sister through that again?” “Don’t you hide behind that,” Aileev snapped. “What about everyone else? We’ve got people dying every day. What about them? And what about you? You two can’t lose me but you’re okay to kill off?” “That’s different-“ Mom started. Aileev stood up with a little huff. “I’m joining the army, with or without your blessing. Either I’ll be like Dad and start training now, or I’ll be like you and just jump in, untrained, as an adult. That’s the only thing that’s up to you. Let me know when you’ve decided.” She stomped out to the porch and flew away. Mom was quiet. And she stayed quiet for too long. “You’re right,” I said, finally. “A lot of people do die in battle. But look at all the ones who don’t. How old is Rajag? Hasn’t he been in since he was a kid? And… don’t you want all the help you can get, bringing the war to an end? I’d enlist too if I wasn’t blind.” “…Never thought I’d be thankful for you losing your eyes,” Mom half-laughed. It sounded like she was holding back some strong feelings — which she did a lot lately. She got up too, and in a moment, her arms were around me. “…She’s right,” she mumbled sadly. “I can’t stop her forever. And if I try, she’s even more likely to die when she does make it out there. What am I going to do with her….” She trailed off as her voice threatened to crack. “Mom, it’s fine,” I said, standing up to return the hug. “Maybe she’ll go to training for awhile, and change her mind and drop out. We’re only ten. We’re talking years into the future, right now. Anything could happen.” “I hope so…” Mom whispered, rocking a little as she hugged me. “I hope so….”

[epnona-the-wisp]

Here's a new Lucas story! I wrote it a long time ago, but I don't think I ever posted it online!

Vote for Lucas in the OC poll here!

[warpedlegacywrites]

The Reign, Ch 11 - "No Rest for the Wicked"

Theresa and crew finally return to Skyhold. But there's no time for rest.

The Chantry has told many lies. Theresa Trevelyan is merely one of them. They called her a heretic first, then a savior, then a prophet. She rejects the myth they've made of her life and her suffering. But more than this, she resents their erasure of the truth behind her rise to power. You think you know the story of the Herald of Andraste? Now you will hear the truth. With a little help from Thedas's favorite serial author, of course. This is Part Two of my Reprises and Reprisals series, but I have done my best to make it accessible if you'd rather start here instead. Part One covers the game's beginning up through In Your Heart Shall Burn. Part Two is intended to cover early Skyhold up through the end of the base game (DLC and Trespasser to come in Part Three).

DAFF Tag List: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur

@ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb

@theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee

@blarrghe, @agentkatie, @delicatefade, @leggywillow, @about2dance

@plisuu

[wyked-ao3]

Out of context line

Jade pov

Looking at the pirate at the door, he said the last thing he intended to say for a long while. “Y'all are make’n’ a mistake, This will only end badly for ya.”

Np Tagging @tragedycoded @sableglass and @aintgonnatakethis

TPKODR tag list (y'all can join in)

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker-writes @thecomfywriter @evilwriter37

@saebasanart @the-golden-comet @mauannacreates @kind-lion @alinacapellabooks

@kuebiko-writing @kaeru483 @theink-stainedfolk @unstableunicornsofasgard @mysticstarlightduck

@demon-sneeze @fromthenortheast @smellyrottentrees @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives

@illarian-rambling

[dear-gods-wtf]

{2} Waterboy- P. Jackson🔱.

By Mari_coppolo on Wattpad.

Status: On going.

Chapters: 34.

Time: 5h 33m.

Updates: Every Monday at 7:30 pm (ET) (or whenever I feel like adding more)

���Table of Contents—

✨Act One✨ (The Demigod Diaries)

“Take 1”

“Take 2”

“Take 3”

“Take 4”

“Take 5”

“Take 6”

“It wasn’t my intention to crash on their date, but look who’s back!”

“I’m ADHD, of course I do things at the same time. I just don’t finish them.”

“He was a skater boy, She said see you later boy.”

“Happy one month anniversary…? *Jazz hands*”

“In Portuguese it’s called Vaca Preta, but no cows were harmed in the process.”

“Dude made a list and didn’t even told me.”

“I’m really bad at hide and seek, please don’t do this to me.”

“North, what are those? These are not clothes!”

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood… I guess. A cookie would’ve been good. No? Okay.”

“Everyone kills someone at least once in their life. Take a chill pill.”

“Free Prophecies! Who wants a Prophecy? It’s free, come get one!”

“Visiting a friend.”

“So, I found this place. Hey, calm down! It found me, okay?”

“That, kids, is why we don’t hold things for too long.”

“Fucked up hard. Omgs that’s depressing. All good in the end (partially).”

“I’m going insane. Can you see my eye twitching?”

“In a span of seven months… everything can change.”

“Wanna know what I had? I wish it was drugs, but it’s only a nightmare”

⚓️Act Two⚓️ (The Mark of Athena)

“Fuck New Rome, I just want Percy.”

“ *breathe in* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH”

“My Monster High lunch box is cooler than your Rainbow High one.”

“I’m the prettiest witch you’ve ever seen. After Hecate.”

“I love you, but please, shut up before I punch you.”

“Wanna change weapons? No? I’ll just stab myself then.”

[aurora-by-jacqui-natla]

8. THE EGYPTIAN COVEN

THE SUN ROSE THE NEXT DAY, AND ITS warmth and brightness were a stark contrast to the gloom that had greeted us upon our arrival. As we awaited the arrival of more vampires, I had the opportunity to acquaint myself with the members of the Denali Coven.

Tanya, the coven's leader, traced her lineage back to ancient Slovakian origins. She was Sasha's first adoptive daughter and her biological great-niece. Sasha, craving companionship, had chosen Tanya to join her, and over time, she had expanded her family with two more vampires: Kate and Irina. Their bond was as strong as any biological family's.

Kate, also known as Katrina, had once served as a protector to a noblewoman of a warlike Slavic tribe. Impressed by Kate's bravery and physical resemblance to Tanya, Sasha had turned her into a vampire after attacking the caravan she guarded. Kate swiftly became fiercely loyal to Sasha and Tanya, her defensive abilities manifesting within a decade.

Irina, the third addition to the coven, had been a beautiful peasant girl in a small farming community. Recognizing her resemblance to Tanya and Kate, Sasha had welcomed her into their family. The love between Sasha, Tanya, Kate, and Irina had been deep and unshakeable until Sasha's fatal mistake of creating an immortal child came to light. Although Tanya and her sisters were spared by the Volturi, the loss of their mother left them deeply scarred, leading them to become staunch enforcers of vampire laws.

Over the years, the Denali Coven had welcomed several newcomers, but none had intrigued them quite like Eleazar and Carmen, the most recent additions.

Eleazar, with his mysterious Spanish origins and centuries-old existence, remained a puzzle to all who met him. Details about his birth and the identity of his creator were shrouded in secrecy, enhancing his enigmatic aura. Known for his unique ability to perceive the special talents of others, Eleazar had earned a place among the Volturi guard, despite his reservations about their methods.

During his service, Eleazar had encountered Carmen, and their immediate connection had been undeniable. Balancing their love with Eleazar's duties had been challenging, and the violence inherent in his role eventually prompted them to seek a more peaceful lifestyle. With permission from Aro, they embarked on a nomadic journey, ultimately finding themselves drawn to the Denali coven and its "vegetarian" lifestyle.

For Eleazar and Carmen, joining the Denali coven marked a permanent commitment. They discovered a sense of community and acceptance they had never known before, grateful for the chance to live among vampires who shared their values. As the newest members of the coven, they had finally found a place they could call home.

My heart went out to them as I contemplated the turmoil they must be enduring with Irina. The betrayal of a coven mate falsely accusing them of a crime and reporting it to the Volturi was chilling to consider. The inner conflict they must be grappling with was beyond my comprehension. I wondered if their bond could ever be restored to its former strength.

As I ventured deeper into the thick forest, every sense attuned to the exhilaration of the hunt, Jacob and Renesmee accompanied me. Edward and Bella had disclosed Renesmee's delight in hunting alongside Jacob, yet I remained unsure if she comprehended his imprinting on her. Nonetheless, she appeared unperturbed by any complexities. Jacob, moved gracefully in his wolf form, Renesmee riding to him like a sovereign on her throne.

Suddenly, a magnificent elk came into view, and I swiftly leaped upon it with lightning speed, effortlessly bringing it down. Renesmee eagerly consumed the blood from the kill, her melodious voice chiming as she asked Jacob about the possibility of getting some chocolate. I couldn't help but yearn for the taste of food myself, a luxury that had been absent since my transformation into a vampire.

"What do you think it tastes like?" I inquired of Renesmee, genuinely curious about the flavour of chocolate.

"Um... chocolatey!" she exclaimed, her delight infectious as I chuckled at her response. Even Jacob, in his wolf form, appeared to grin at her enthusiasm.

Suddenly, Bella appeared, her long brown hair flowing behind her as she sprinted towards us. Renesmee swiftly dismounted from Jacob and rushed to her mother, enveloping her in a tight embrace. Watching their tender reunion, a pang of envy pierced me, imagining the warmth of my own mother's arms wrapped around me.

Bella proceeded to update us that another coven had arrived, though Jacob appeared cautious about their presence. She quickly reassured him that they posed no threat, explaining the longstanding peace treaty between the Quileutes and the Cullens. This revelation piqued my curiosity, prompting me to ponder how such a pact had been established. Bella assured us she would introduce the Egyptian coven to her daughter, sparking a surge of excitement within me at the thought of meeting them.

As I trailed behind Bella and Renesmee, the Cullen residence loomed ahead, a beacon of supernatural energy that drew me closer with each step. As I approached, my eyes widened in awe at the sight before me.

There, gathered outside the house, were the Denali Coven, my own family (minus Gabriel and Helena, who were likely off on a hunting excursion), and a group of unfamiliar vampires. The scene pulsated with a mixture of tension and curiosity, as though the air itself crackled with the meeting of so many powerful beings. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement coursing through me at the prospect of meeting new members of our kind, each one bearing their own unique aura and presence.

As I took my place beside Bella, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at standing next to such a powerful couple. Their grace and confidence were palpable, casting a reassuring aura over the gathering. And, for once, Jacob was fully clothed, having returned to his human form, his demeanor reflecting a blend of wariness and respect in the face of the diverse assembly before us.

Four beings stood before us, their eyes fixed upon our every move. Two men and two women, each with a unique aura that set them apart from any mortal I had ever encountered.

The first man was a young, boyish-looking vampire with hair as dark as midnight and a pale, olive complexion that contrasted sharply with his oddly cheerful expression. His eyes, a deep shade of crimson red, seemed to sparkle with a mischievous glint as he stood at a height of five foot seven inches, roughly the same age as Ayla. His presence exuded a sense of youthful energy and an almost playful curiosity, which intrigued me as I studied his features.

Beside him stood a girl with a similar olive-toned skin and hair as heavy and straight as the darkness of night. Her eyes, too, were a striking shade of crimson red, and though she was a little shorter than the boyish vampire, she exuded an air of maturity that belied her youthful appearance. There was a quiet intensity about her, a depth in her gaze that hinted at experiences far beyond her years, making her presence both intriguing and slightly unsettling.

As I took in the sight of these two vampires, my eyes were drawn to the man standing behind them, towering over them like a protective father. His black hair and slight olive pallor to his pale skin gave him an air of mystery and danger, and his piercing red eyes seemed to bore into my very soul. He exuded a commanding presence, his stature and demeanor speaking of centuries of wisdom and power accumulated through ages of existence.

Beside him stood a woman of breathtaking beauty, her long, curly black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of darkness. Her olive-toned skin was flawless, and though she was shorter than the three vampires before her, her presence commanded attention and respect. Her features held an ethereal quality, as if she were a living embodiment of elegance and grace, her eyes radiating both warmth and an underlying strength that hinted at her resilience in the face of countless trials.

Together, these four vampires formed a tableau of striking contrasts and intriguing dynamics, their presence sending ripples of anticipation and curiosity through the assembled company. Each one bore the mark of their unique existence in the immortal world, standing before us with an aura that was both mesmerizing and intimidating, beckoning us into their enigmatic realm.

"Is this the child?" The words echoed through the forest, bouncing off the trees and reverberating in my ears. I turned to face the boyish vampire, his eyes fixed on the small bundle in her mother's arms.

"Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze filled with a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability. He and the girl approached us, their movements graceful and fluid, like dancers in a timeless ballet.

Bella gently placed Renesmee on the ground and watched as she sauntered towards them, her tiny feet barely making a sound on the forest floor. They looked down at her, their eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, as if they were beholding a phenomenon beyond their wildest imaginations.

The boy knelt down to her level, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that spoke of both reverence and intrigue. "Hi, what's your name?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.

"Renesmee," she replied, her voice a delicate murmur that barely disturbed the stillness of the air around them. They shook hands, their fingers interlocking in a gesture of friendship that seemed to bridge the gap between their worlds effortlessly.

"I'm Benjamin," the boyish vampire introduced himself, his eyes never leaving Renesmee's face, captivated by her innocence and the depth of her gaze. "And this is Tia."

As they exchanged introductions, Renesmee placed her hand on Benjamin's cheek, her eyes closing momentarily as she allowed him to glimpse her memories - her birth, her origin, the love and protection she had known since her first breath. I watched in amazement as he gently took her hand in his own, his fingers closing around hers in a gesture that conveyed both understanding and acceptance.

Suddenly, dark brown earthly dust emerged from Renesmee's hand, swirling around in the air like a miniature tornado. Benjamin's right hand moved in a graceful arc, the dust following his every movement as if responding to an unspoken command. My mouth gaped open in wonder as I witnessed the elemental display, marveling at the harmony between Benjamin and the natural forces around him.

As Edward spoke of Benjamin's rare elemental influence, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement stir within me. The idea of possessing such power was exhilarating, igniting a spark of curiosity about the extent of Benjamin's abilities and the mysteries that surrounded him. Joseph's chuckle broke me out of my reverie, and I turned to him with a grin, sharing in the awe and fascination that permeated the gathering of supernatural beings in that enchanted forest clearing.

"I hope you're not feeling left out," he teased, prompting an eye roll from me.

"I'm not," I retorted, my voice tinged with amusement. "I mean, I can turn invisible and do this—"

With a flick of my wrist, a burst of vibrant purple energy shot forth and struck a nearby tree stump. To my surprise, flames erupted from the wood, leaving me momentarily bewildered. This was unprecedented. Before I could process it, Benjamin was already in action, manipulating water from a nearby lake to douse the fire. The flames extinguished, replaced by a lingering mist that hung in the air.

Turning back to the group, I found the vampires staring at me with a mix of astonishment and admiration. Renesmee's laughter rang out, filling me with a sense of pride in my newfound abilities.

"Since when can you do that?" Bella asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"It's a long story," I replied with a shrug, absently rubbing the Lunaris Mark on my wrist, feeling a slight burning tinge. "It started after the wedding, when I found out about Dina and Ayla being werewolves—"

"Children of the Moon," Edward interjected quietly.

"They're still around?" queried the tall, olive-skinned vampire, surprise coloring his voice.

"What do you mean, 'still here'?" I asked, intrigued.

"The last I heard, the Volturi had wiped them out," he explained.

"Well," I shrugged nonchalantly, "apparently not all of them."

Bringing Ayla into our circle had certainly been a fortuitous decision.

"And she's a vampire maxima too," Eleazar joined in, walking towards us with an air of excitement. "She nearly brought a building down from that blast," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with awe. "It's a rare thing to have."

Intrigued, Tia chimed in, her curiosity evident. "That is?"

"A single vampire with multiple gifts," Eleazar replied, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

As Tia approached Benjamin slowly, her interest peaked. "Who created you?"

With bitterness still lingering in my mouth, I answered him. "A vampire named Victoria," I spat out. "As part of a vengeful army. Then I found my place in this coven." Memories of my past still haunted me, but I knew I had found my true family here.

I gestured towards my family, and headed to the Egyptian coven turned to catch a glimpse of them. Suddenly, the olive-skinned male's expression shifted. Following his gaze, I saw their returning from their hunt.

Breaking the silence, Simon inquired, "How was the hunt?"

Helena beamed with pride. "We each bagged two deers," she announced.

As Gabriel's golden eyes locked onto the olive-skinned male, tension filled the air. Their gazes met, and the forest fell silent. The male's crimson eyes bore into Gabriel's golden orbs, his lips tightening.

"Dad, who is he?" I whispered.

"That's Amun," he replied quietly.

I watched as Gabriel nodded in greeting to Amun, then turned to acknowledge the stunning woman beside him. "Kebi," he said warmly and respectfully.

Kebi bowed her head in response, and Amun spoke up. "Gabriel," he acknowledged, his tone clipped and formal.

I couldn't help but wonder about their history. Were they old friends, or had they been enemies in the past? Whatever the case, it was clear they recognised each other, though with a hint of tension.

"I see Aro didn't need you anymore," Amun remarked with a slight smile.

"I left," Gabriel growled softly.

"Everyone knows leaving the Volturi isn't easy. They either discard or dispose of you," Amun retorted.

His words hung in the air like a thick fog, leaving me with more questions than answers. What had transpired between my father and the Volturi? Had he left because of their twisted ideology of taking human lives to sustain their own?

As I opened my mouth to ask, a deafening screech shattered the silence of the woods. It seemed as though even the trees were protesting against the secrets being kept from me. I turned to face the source of the noise.

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Thirty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Screaming woke him up. Frostfur’s screams.

Fireheart jumped to his feet before his eyes were even open, and when they did open they were greeted with blinding sunlight and a sea of cats outside, spreading out to the various dens. The air was thick with rogue-scent.

Before he could make another move, several scarred strangers poured into the warriors’ den. He was knocked over and trampled by heavy feet, barely avoiding having the wind stomped out of him by holding his breath. The den immediately lit up with screeches and yowls. Those who weren’t awake yet were grabbed by their scruffs and hauled off their nests, while the more alert were already tackling the intruders, shoving back against the wave and forcing them backwards into the open.

Fireheart managed to get up again and duck past a black cat rolling with Mousefur in her grip, charging into the open, followed by his Clanmates. They rushed by him and lunged for the nearest rogue, roaring challenges. The rogues met them easily, almost preemptively turning to face the cat closing in on them and catching them, rolling and whirling in clouds of fur and claws.

But— hang on. Every way Fireheart looked, the rogues were more biting and batting than really using their claws. Their faces had the look of apprehension more than anger or malice.

Like they’re not even trying.

On instinct, Fireheart’s eyes darted to the camp entrance. A large, dark brown tail was slipping through the tunnel.

“No!” Fireheart dove through the crowd, sprinting after the tail, but before he could take more than a few steps, he was knocked over again. This time, he was pinned to the ground, and no thrashing he did could get the weight off. He glared up at his attacker, a dark ginger tom who returned his anger with sullen boredom.

“Sorry, kid,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. Orders.”

“Get off him!”

The tom looked up in mild surprise before a grey blur barreled into him and sent him flying into the crowd of fighters. Fireheart wasted no time in scrambling upright, greeted by a bristling Greystripe.

“He just left camp!” Fireheart shouted over the chaos.

“Get to him!” Ravenwing slipped past Lizardtail wrestling with a tortoiseshell and started for the tunnel. “We’ll cover you!”

Greystripe nodded. “Just give us time to get there too.”

A scream of rage and blood hit Fireheart’s ear. He turned his head; Goldenflower had left the nursery and was slashing the face of another molly who was dancing around her, looking very uneager to fight the matriarch.

“Go!” Ravenwing yelled. “She’ll be fine! They’re not hurting anyone!”

Wrenching his eyes away, Fireheart ran for the entrance. Several times he was shoved or had to stop to let a pair of fighters pass, and a couple more cats leaped for him, only to be met with Ravenwing or Greystripe tackling them out of the way. Even so, it seemed to take an entire season to reach the entrance. With no cats on him, Fireheart pushed through and made the sharpest turn anyone could for Bluestar’s den.

No cats were outside, but voices could be heard coming from there.

“Tigerclaw, let me through!” Bluestar snarled. “You aren’t stopping me!”

Tigerclaw’s voice now, muted. “I’m sorry.”

Bluestar faltered. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Tigerclaw said louder, his voice almost pained. “I’m so sorry, Bluestar. This is for the good of ThunderClan.”

Fireheart reached the den just as a screech was cut off and turned into chokes. The lichen curtain flapped and he was greeted with the back of Tigerclaw, with Bluestar thrashing and spitting on the ground. Tigerclaw’s teeth were on her throat, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

“DON’T!” Fireheart bellowed, charging right into his father’s back legs.

The surprise attack did the trick; Tigerclaw’s back end buckled and he released Bluestar, turning around in alarm as Bluestar coughed and wheezed, clawing the ground to pull herself away from him. Blazing amber eyes met an intense, deep green. The fire in the amber went out and Tigerclaw’s mouth opened wordlessly.

Fireheart stood back up, tail lashing and every hair on his back skyward with an anger he was trying to force himself to feel.

“I know,” he said, throat tight enough to barely let him speak. “I know everything.”

Slowly, Tigerclaw’s face fell.

“Fireheart!”

He didn’t take his eyes off of Tigerclaw, but he nodded in acknowledgement as Greystripe and Ravenwing came around the corner and ducked into the leader’s den, panting angrily. Greystripe wasted no time in leaping at Tigerclaw, fangs bared and claws extended in as wide a stretch as a cat’s paw could get. Even being a little shorter than Tigerclaw, his weight worked it out for him—Tigerclaw was knocked down with a coughed grunt and Greystripe pinned him down, a dog’s snarl on his face.

“You’re paying for Lionface,” he ground out through his teeth.

Tigerclaw offered no argument. He lay still, his eyes shut in a grimace.

“You’re paying for everyone,” Ravenwing said, glaring the deputy down. “You disgusting excuse for a cat, calling yourself a warrior.”

Fireheart’s eyes turned to Ravenwing now in surprise. His friend was bristling too. Even as calm as he sounded, his face was cold, steely anger, eyes narrowed and tail twitching. Fireheart didn’t comment. He instead went around Greystripe and bent close to Bluestar, who was getting her breath back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and stupidly gentle.

Bluestar’s throat was bleeding and her breath rough and wet, but she slowly got to her feet with a nod barely restraining fury. “Thank you.”

A yowl sounding suspiciously like a signal-cry sounded off. Outside, paws shoved through ferns and brush. Ravenwing poked his head outside and sighed in relief.

“They’re retreating,” he said when he brought his head in again. “I’ll grab guards. Keep him pinned, Greystripe.”

Greystripe grunted, his eyes firmly fixed on Tigerclaw’s morose face.

Bluestar coughed again and drew in a ragged breath. Fireheart leaned against her as softly as he could, which she returned with a haggard sigh.

Outside, confused conversation drew closer, Ravenwing’s voice sharp and direct.

“Don’t let him get away, for all that you’re worth,” he said. “Get him into camp immediately.”

Whitecloud’s head parted the lichen, followed by Dustpelt. Their faces scrunched up in further confusion at the scene before them.

“What in the world…?” Dustpelt squinted.

“Come help us,” Fireheart said quietly. “Tigerclaw just tried to kill Bluestar.”

Dustpelt’s eyes flew open wide. He didn’t ask questions, thankfully, just stepped into the crowded den. Greystripe lifted his weight off of Tigerclaw and backed up, giving the tabby a hard shove with his paw and forcing him to his feet. Tigerclaw made no effort to defend himself or run, just dragged his feet along after Whitecloud and Dustpelt, Greystripe close at his back and Ravenwing at his side.

Fireheart looked up at Bluestar silently. She didn’t meet his eyes, just sighed again, this time more guttural, and stood, following the patrol out. Fireheart’s stomach went queasy as he followed her.

Camp was, thank the stars, only sparsely dotted with blood. Most cats had slight nicks on their ears or cuts on their faces and paws that they were grooming away. Some were remarking to each other about the strange attack. Those remarks trailed off as Tigerclaw was brought to the ground in front of the meeting stump, which Bluestar jumped up onto. At her beckoning tail, Fireheart, Greystripe and Ravenwing went to stand at its side, Ravenwing’s jaw tense and Greystripe still glowering at Tigerclaw. The gathering crowd traded puzzled looks that were quickly changing to worried ones at the anger on Bluestar’s face.

When everyone was gathered, Bluestar spoke. “Is everyone alright? Are we all alive?” Confirmations peppered through the crowd and she stood tall. “Then we can get directly to the point.” She grit her teeth. “Our deputy just made an attempt on my life.”

Baffled, disbelieving shock rippled through camp. Goldenflower was making her way around the crowd, her face frightened and struggling to comprehend. Fireheart’s chest ached for her.

“It was brought to my attention last night that he had an interest in getting rid of me,” Bluestar went on. “He’s tried multiple times, as a matter of fact.” She looked down at the younger warriors. “If you three would care to elaborate?”

With a heavy heart, and at her nod, Fireheart jumped up onto the stump, where she dropped off to let Greystripe and Ravenwing on as well. With so many eyes on him, Fireheart was vaguely reminded of when he was first brought into the Clan, with skeptical gazes and suspicious squints. He’d give anything for this to just be appraising his value again.

Before he could open his mouth, Ravenwing straightened up and spoke, his voice as even and clear as when he had told Theful’s story.

“Tigerclaw has been murdering his way up the ranks for months now,” he said. “First, he killed Redtail. When everyone was fighting in WindClan territory, he pushed Redtail into the Gorge and said that a rogue did it.”

“Then Lionface became deputy,” Greystripe said, teeth clenched. “And Tigerclaw arranged to have rogues kill him.” He burned a hole in Tigerclaw’s head as he glared down at him. “And I’ll bet you also arranged to have the rogues attack us tonight as cover for Bluestar, didn’t you?”

Ravenwing laid a tail on Greystripe’s side, quieting him. He added, “Then when he was deputy, the next step was to get rid of Bluestar. He tried a poisoned rat-” Swiftpaw recoiled out of the corner of Fireheart’s eye. “-but that failed. Twice he called her to the border for a ‘scent’, and twice someone else nearly died instead of her. First Cinderpaw, and then Fireheart.” He leaned forward a little to look at Fireheart past Greystripe. “And you saw the rogues that we were told by kittypets were the ones to kill Lionface.”

Fireheart nodded glumly.

“Wait—” Willowpelt bristled. “Cinderpaw was crippled because—”

“Because Tigerclaw wanted to get Bluestar to be hit by a car, we can presume,” Ravenwing said. “Or at least kill her himself and then push her body onto the road to make it look like she was hit.”

Willowpelt started shaking violently, her expression a terrible mix of rage and grief.

“And those rogues Fireheart saw, they were probably supposed to kill her too. But Fireheart got there instead, and Tigerclaw conveniently caught him and brought him back home before he could get hurt.” Ravenwing’s voice rang out in the dead silent clearing. “And those very same rogues tried to kill Greystripe a few nights ago. Greystripe can confirm, they verbally identified him and targeted him.”

“It’s true,” Greystripe said darkly. “They said ‘that’s him, the big grey one’, and started cutting me up.”

A wave of gasps and exclamations.

“That– that can’t be,” Sandstorm said, her voice unusually shaky. “Why would he ever want you and the others dead?”

Greystripe and Ravenwing looked at Fireheart, who took a breath, prayed for composure, and opened his mouth.

“Because he considers all of them traitors,” he said, soft despite his efforts to speak clearly and loudly. “Redtail wanted to help ShadowClan, and Lionface wanted to help RiverClan. Bluestar agreed to both of these things and has helped the other Clans out otherwise, and Greystripe had kits with an outsider. We talked last night.” He felt rather than saw Tigerclaw flinch and stare at him in betrayal, but forced himself to continue. “He cares for ThunderClan and wants us to grow and be strong. Having anything to do with the other Clans gets in the way of that. He’s ready to kill a few cats to save the majority.” His ears folded back against his head. “Or, at least, I hope he wants to save the majority.”

Whitecloud, stunned, stared at Tigerclaw. “Is this… is this true?”

Tigerclaw didn’t say anything for a long, horribly tense moment, his head down. Slowly, he lifted it and met the eyes of his Clanmates.

“Yes,” he said.

The crowd collectively jolted with wordless shouts of anger and horror. Tigerclaw stood and waited for the noise to die down to speak—his tone, Fireheart noted with some anguish, was that of a father soothing a frightened kitten.

“This Clan is a magnificent collection of the finest warriors who ever lived,” he said. “But we’ve lost our way with our leadership being who it is and was. Bluestar is a danger to ThunderClan, giving away our prey and time and effort to strangers who would turn their backs on us or feed us to foxes the instant we’re no longer useful to them. We need to stand alone, become stronger and wiser than any colony out there in the world. Wasting even a moment on the other Clans puts us all at risk.”

“By giving them skinny wrens?” Greystripe snapped. “By making friends with cats who don’t stand a chance against us?”

“You’ve forgotten that we’re already the strongest Clan of the four,” Ravenwing agreed, eyes burning. “And you know what? Even if we weren’t, who cares? They’re cats like us, aren’t they? I should have been hunting for them too.” He bent his head down a little in Tigerclaw’s direction. “Or would you have me murdered along with Greystripe?”

“Funny that you never tried to kill Fireheart, despite all that he’s done,” Greystripe continued. “I guess your worldview has a few blindspots when it’s convenient for you, doesn’t it?”

Tigerclaw twisted his head and looked up at Fireheart. Fireheart had the sudden urge to shut his eyes and bury his face in his paws. Out of the corner of his eye, Cinderpaw fell against her brother, aghast, and Yellowfang bristled enough to outsize her apprentice.

“I’ll crush your skull!” she roared, and surged forward as if she didn’t have a limp. Teaselfoot and Lizardtail dove in her way and barely managed to restrain her until Cinderpaw weakly touched her paw to Yellowfang’s side and pulled at her. Yellowfang stopped her struggles, but the murder was still in her burning orange eyes as she stepped back to stand with Cinderpaw.

Tigerclaw’s face was baffled as he looked between each of his Clanmates, whose shock was turning to rage. Unsteadily, he said, “I– I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I had to put a stop to them, for ThunderClan. It grieves me that anyone had to die at all. And Cinderpaw, I never wanted her to—”

“But she did,” Bluestar said. “And you did, even if you ‘didn’t want to’.”

“How could you?!” Brindleface cried from the back of the crowd. “How many of us were you going to kill to get what you wanted?!”

Frostfur shoved her way through the crowd, snarling, “My mate! My litter’s father! For nothing!”

Something nudged Fireheart. He looked to see Bluestar retracting her paw and gesturing for him to leave the stump. He obeyed, Greystripe and Ravenwing following while Bluestar took their place. They turned and stood facing Tigerclaw. Fireheart slouched on the edge of the crowd, just close enough to see Tigerclaw’s self-doubt start to show up on his face.

“Enough of this,” Bluestar said. “Whatever good you could have done, you’ve committed so much worse. You’ve pretended to be loyal all this time, when you’ve murdered for power. That’s the truth of it, Tigerclaw—you killed to become leader. You don’t have a drop of good will in you. Not any that hasn’t been swallowed whole by your crimes.” She lifted her head and spoke louder. “Keeping this cat alive is a risk to all of us, and I refuse to not make him pay for what he’s done. And s—”

She stopped, her mouth halfway open. For just an instant, the fury in her eyes was doused, a heavy pain replacing it. For just an instant, her face was that of a wounded bird, lost and frightened of whatever they saw before them. Fireheart watched in grieved fascination as his mentor shut her mouth, swallowed hard enough to force a large lump down her throat, and continued, even though her words were fighting valiantly to hide their trembles and that fury was barely lighting her eyes again.

“And so I call upon StarClan to grant me the power I have never wanted to use,” she said, quiet, before forcing her voice to echo through the camp. “As punishment for his uncountable, unimaginably horrible crimes, I erase the name ‘Tigerclaw’ from the hearts and memories of ThunderClan, and I sentence this scourge to death.” She heaved out the tail end of a shaky breath and looked down at her Clan. “Do we have volunteers to assist in the execution?”

A moment of silence, before Greystripe looked up at her and said, “Me.”

“And me,” Frostfur said.

“I’ll do it, too,” Willowpelt said, a storm in her eyes.

Dustpelt flexed his claws. “Me as well.”

Speckletail, standing next to Goldenflower, nodded curtly. “Count me in, too.”

The deputy stared at them, his shock turning to fear. His mouth moved multiple times as he tried to get words out before he finally managed, “You can’t– you can’t mean that. I’ve done everything in my life for all of you– I can be a better leader than her, I can make up for—”

“Rot, you can!” Dustpelt took a step forward, somehow looming over the deputy despite being considerably smaller. “You murdered my mentor, too! And your own apprentice’s father! How can you POSSIBLY make up for that?!”

The deputy had nothing. He trembled, looking around wildly for help, only to be met with glares and wrinkled muzzles.

“Goldenflower, speak for me,” he said, turning to his mate and stretching out a paw.

She flinched away from him, staring at him in horror.

“My brother…” she whispered.

The deputy withdrew his paw, looking genuinely hurt, before his gaze caught his uncle. “Halftail…”

The dark tabby narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

As soon as the deputy’s increasingly frantic eyes landed on Sandstorm, he opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Sandstorm silently marched up to him, raised a paw with unsheathed claws and slashed across his face. Blood-drops hit the ground and the deputy, disbelieving, pawed at the wound where several slash marks barely missed his eyes and spread over his nose and muzzle.

“Let’s not waste any time,” Bluestar said as Sandstorm backed away with cold fury in her eyes. “Surround him and escort him outside. No one needs to see this.”

“Make it slow,” Yellowfang ground out.

Willowpelt met the seer’s eyes and nodded darkly. She and the other volunteers made a ring around the deputy, the crowd spacing out to give them room, and started the march towards the entrance.

The deputy walked silently, but as he reached Fireheart, he stopped. He looked down at the only son that he was ever going to live to see, his eyes foggy and afraid.

Fireheart couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. All he could do was meet the deputy’s eyes and try to communicate the pain and grief he was feeling.

I’m sorry, he thought, hoping the deputy heard. I’m more sorry than you could ever know.

The deputy didn’t hear. He hung his head low, his face creased with shame.

Greystripe nudged him hard enough to almost topple him. “Move it.”

The deputy said nothing. Tail dragging on the floor, he walked with the party on the path to his death.

Fireheart watched him go. He still couldn’t say a word.

[thegodthief]

84,979 words and I'm ready to throw all of them in the shitter. But this is why it's called a draft. Get the ideas down first and shave off the extra adjectives later.

[inhibitcomic]

Still one of my favourite spreads in Book Two!! Inhibit is on Kickstarter right now if you want to order a couple of very good books.