#The leader of a gang went into paw patrol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

away-from-anthills · 4 years ago

Text

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

21 notes · View notes

calitraditionalism · 4 years ago

Text

Arc One: Chapter Four

A call in the still morning air, and Mistface jolted awake. He looked back and forth several times before he caught sight of a dark brown shape approaching. His eyes still blurry with sleep, he stood up, stretched with the proper amount of ease and luxury, and sat down to paw at his face and smooth out his fur. He got the fluff around his neck tamed just in time to look up and recognize Beetlefoot.

The little tom stopped when he was close enough to be heard at a normal volume and set his front feet close together, tail up and ears perked. He looked just as overly-serious as before, but this time he was silent.

Mistface blinked in surprise. Then a smile spread across his face. He couldn’t help but tease, saying, “Don’t tell me you’re fond of us already. Or did you come back to chat up my mother?”

Beetlefoot wrinkled his nose. “Actually, I’ve been assigned to your brother as his personal messenger. He sent me to invite you to the Coterie gathering happening nearby.”

“That so?” Mistface tilted his head. “Ain’t heard about it.”

“Because you don’t talk to anyone, love.” Nettlecloud emerged out of a nearby bush. Several leaves were stuck in her fur and she looked like she was still half-asleep (though awake enough to snark at her son, Mistface noted). “Hello again, Beetlefoot! It’s good to see you.”

Beetlefoot dipped his head respectfully. “Hello again, ma’am.”

“What’s this I hear about a Coterie?” Nettlecloud came to stand beside Mistface.

Beetlefoot somehow straightened up further than he was already standing. “One’s going on a few minutes away. Greyleaf was taken to it, and he asked me to come and tell you he’s there and that he’d like to see you.”

“That exactly what he said again?” Mistface said dryly.

Beetlefoot gave him a sharp look. “Almost entirely, yes.”

“Behave, dear,” Nettlecloud said to her son. “You’ll have to go without me. I’m not feelin’ too well. Perhaps you can bring Greyleaf here afterwards.”

“I shouldn’t leave if you’re sick, Mama,” Mistface protested. And besides, he added to himself, there’ll be too many people.

“I’ll just be sleepin’.” Nettlecloud flicked her tail dismissively. “Ain’t a need to worry about me. You should make sure your brother’s alright, anyway. You know how he is in a crowd.”

Mistface couldn’t argue that. He withheld a sigh and nodded. “I’ll be back with him if I can, then.”

The walk north was silent and awkward, both toms not wanting to be the first to speak. Mistface was grateful for the gradually building sound of a community meeting as they went along. The closer they got to a patch of oaks, the more cats popped up in the grass or came to trot along their way. Mistface made a point not to look at any of them.

Soon enough, the toms stepped into the grove’s shade. Cats of all sizes, shapes and colors lined the branches of the trees and sat around the exposed parts of the roots, chatting to each other. Apprentices chased each other through the crowd and kits huddled in the grass that was just tall enough to conceal them, pouncing on tails or stray leaves. Elders sat together in the sun, sharing stories or snapping at a pair of wrestling apprentices.

The main points of interest were the clusters of nearly ten cats that were calling the attention of passerby. One group had a brightly-colored item like a beehive that was leaned on its side to expose the many shiny trinkets like stones or shells that this group, the Magpies, had collected to sell. Another was full of older cats telling the history of the Clan to kits, who listened with wide eyes and open mouths. These, Mistface knew, were called the Vultures.

This was part of the point of the Coterie gatherings. Where the families of the Clan existed because of lingering connections to the colonies from before the Union, these minor groups came to be out of the culture that sprung up when the Clans became one. Telling the stories and legends of the Territory, or recording history, or even just sharing items from all over the valley to those who didn’t travel much – all of this was what the Margays, Vultures and Magpies lived for.

Mistface was not impressed. He knew as well as everyone else that there were other groups that existed that just caused trouble, and they had just not been invited (though apparently the local tricksters, the Coyotes, were allowed to come, from what Mistface had heard once). These gatherings just tried to smooth out the knots and tangles that should have been apparent to everyone.

His eyes roamed, scanning for Greyleaf. It took him a moment to hear what Beetlefoot was saying to him.

“I need to catch up on news with the rest of the Fleet,” he repeated testily when Mistface looked at him. “Greyleaf should be with the leaders.”

Mistface blinked. “The leaders are here?”

“Sealstar and Pebblestar are.” Beetlefoot turned away to trot off at that brisk pace for a gang of cats that were either bulky and tall or slim and short. A few of them looked his way, but none of them seemed interested that he was approaching.

Mistface hummed and started walking again, sniffing the air, trying to catch his brother’s scent, only to be bumped into with such force that he nearly fell over. He barely caught himself and turned to glare at whoever this was that shoved him, and immediately paused to look up at the monolith of a white cat at his side.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The tom’s voice was oddly high for someone as big as he was, and he huddled a little like a kit in trouble. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, there were these apprentices -“

Mistface almost forgot his anger in favor of amusement. He shook out his fur and raised a paw. “Ain’t a problem. They must’ve been awfully big apprentices to push you around.”

“Oh, no, no.” The tom made a noise that sounded like an apologetic laugh. “I was just trying to get out of the way. There’s so many here, you know, and they’re all playing. I didn’t want them to bump into me and get hurt.”

Mistface eyed him. The tom’s fur was just thick enough that he couldn’t tell how much of the body was fluff versus muscle. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He intended that to be the end of the conversation, but the tom continued on, sounding relieved to have found someone to talk to.

“I mean, I guess it’s better me than Sealstar,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, and he somehow got so much bigger than before! If he bumped into you, he’d probably send you flying.”

“Hm,” Mistface said politely. “He invite you here, then?”

“He did!” The tom beamed. “I should have guessed he’d come all this way south for a Coterie, but I didn’t think he’d have some of us come with him!”

This wasn’t a surprise to Mistface. Even he knew how much the Plage leader loved these gatherings. Of course he would want to share that joy with the warriors of his family. The Plage spent so much time away from the bulk of the Territory, since they traveled to and from the coast, leaving them little time to mingle with the rest of the Clan.

“You’re Plage, then?” said Mistface.

The tom nodded. “My name is Laurelclaw.”

“Mistface,” said Mistface. He opened his mouth to say “pleasure talkin’ to you”, but he caught a familiar voice calling to him and looked over.

“There you are.” Greyleaf stepped around a pair of talking cats and greeted his brother with a headbump to the shoulder. “Sorry, I thought I heard you, but Pebblestar stopped me to ask a question.” He paused and looked nervously at Laurelclaw. “Is, uh… is this one of Beetlefoot’s comrades?”

“He’s Plage,” Mistface said, adding to Laurelclaw, “Could be a Fleet member, though, couldn’t you? Patroller or somethin’.”

Laurelclaw laughed apologetically again. “Well…”

“Excuse me!”

Mistface closed his eyes and braced himself to be forced to talk to yet another cat. This time, it was a warmly-colored tortoiseshell with the elongated features of a Hillock cat. She was practically tugging a tiny calico along after her. The three toms looked at each other curiously as the tortoiseshell came to a stop uncomfortably close to Greyleaf’s face.

“Greetings,” she said. “You’re the healer for the leaders, right? Greyleaf, I think?”

Greyleaf looked confused and frightened at the sudden attention. “Uh- yes. Is something wrong?”

“The opposite, in fact.” The molly puffed out her chest. “My name is Morningsky. This is my daughter, Littlepaw.”

“Hello,” Littlepaw said unhappily.

Greyleaf’s eyes flickered from the mother to the daughter. “Okay?”

“My daughter is a very prolific seer apprentice,” Morningsky said grandly. “She’s three moons away from earning her name, and already she’s been blessed by StarClan. Dreaming of them every night, receiving messages from them-“

“Glad she’s capable of doin’ her basic job,” Mistface said flatly.

“She’s one of the best, if not the best.” Morningsky looked at Littlepaw with an oddly self-absorbed sort of pride, appearing not to notice Littlepaw’s embarrassment. “I wanted to inform you about her so that she can have the opportunity to work for the leaders, like you do.”

Mistface eyed the apprentice. “And she looks real thrilled about that prospect.”

Morningsky didn’t even spare a glance at Mistface before speaking to Greyleaf again. “I mean, if a cat with no family can make it there, a proper Hillock seer should be perfect material for leader service.”

Mistface shared another look with Laurelclaw. The tom seemed worried as he watched Littlepaw shuffle uncomfortably.

“Uh…” Greyleaf looked like he wanted out of the conversation too. “I mean-“

By a blessing, a yowl rang through the forest. “The story is beginning! Gather ‘round!”

Littlepaw’s eyes lit up and she looked to her mother. “Can we watch?”

Morningsky’s enthusiasm dissipated. “I suppose for a bit.”

“Here, come with me.” Laurelclaw beckoned with his shorter-than-usual tail. “There’s a great spot, I can get you up into the branches.”

Littlepaw’s low mood was immediately gone. In delight, she followed Laurelclaw, her mother disdainfully tagging along. The three of them started for a tree a little bit away from the crowd. Mistface watched as Laurelclaw put his front paws against the trunk and helped Littlepaw climb up with about as much effort as it would take to lift a twig.

“You feel like watchin’?” Mistface asked Greyleaf.

Greyleaf sighed in relief. “After that? Yes, that’d be nice. We can talk after.”

Mistface walked with his brother around the quickly growing crowd. Neither of them cared to be among the masses, so they joined Laurelclaw and Littlepaw in the tree (which was indeed a very good spot) and watched as a group of cats make a half-circle, with one standing to the side and two facing each other. Mistface noticed Littlepaw’s tail jumping up and down excitedly as the cat on the side opened her mouth and began the story.

#warrior cats #steorra #arc one #chapter #story #chapter four #dullard #mistface #nettlecloud #beetlefoot #greyleaf #laurelclaw #littlepaw #morningsky #sealstar #pebblestar

8 notes · View notes

canon-notcanon-warriorcats · 5 years ago

Text

sparrowfeather's grudge

Submitted by: butterscotch

unlike all the other stories, hers did not begin the day she was born. in fact, sparrowkit had a fairly normal life alongside her brother, featherkit.

however, near the end of their kithood a severe drought began, draining the life from every plant and all and any prey.

it got so bad that riverclan’s river dried up completely, and soon thriftstar(leader of riverclan) began to become desperate, not wanting her clanmates to starve to death or possibly die from dehydration.

so, in order to avoid this, they began to steal territory from windclan. this greatly angered eveningstar(windclan leader), as she was struggling enough with supporting her own clan, and didn’t want to have to deal with these fish-faces stealing her land.

sparrowkit and featherkit become ‘paws in the middle of all this turmoil, and eventually, their mentors take them on a patrol to remark borders.

they run into an invading riverclan patrol, which was planning on stealing more territory, and a fight ensues.

at some point in the fight, featherpaw is killed by one of the riverclan warriors.

sparrowpaw grieves for her lost brother, even requesting to eveningstar she be named sparrowfeather after him. but with all villain backstories, her grief turned to hatred towards riverclan.

if they hadn’t been stealing territory, he would’ve never died! featherpaw would have been a warrior alongside her, but now he could never fulfill his own destiny because some fish-faced riverclan cat decided to kill him!

overcome with irrational hate, sparrowfeather decided to begin killing riverclan cats, as she had never seen the cat who had taken her brother’s life away. she’d eventually have to find and kill the cat who did it, right?

after that fateful battle where her brother was killed, riverclan had begun sneaking out into their territory at night, and sparrowfeather quickly realized this after three days of stalking the border, finding no riverclan cats anywhere.

she began to sneak out at night as well, eventually claiming her first victim: spiderstep, a senior warrior tom-cat.

now, spiderstep had been the one to kill featherpaw, but sparrowfeather didn’t know that. how could she have known? and so, she continued killing, not sure which cat had killed her brother, and unaware that she had killed the right cat on her first try.

she went on to claim sixteen more victims, and adding in spoderstep, she had seventeen- the highest number of cats a dark forest cat has ever killed.

as these murders were happening, the clans became increasingly more and more antsy. not only was there a drought, but there was a killer on the loose as well!

they began to interrogate many cats- but never she-cat’s. after all, how could such dainty things ever harm a single creature?(you can clearly tell what this is inspired from-)

sparrowfeather’s adventures in murdering ended after she was killed by fawnpaw and his friends deerpaw, violetpaw, sheeppaw, and dogpaw, who had decided to investigate the murders by themselves and ganged up on her when she tried to kill deerpaw.

and still, in the dark forest, sparrowfeather holds a grudge, even as she fades away. even as she makes horrible, horrible things happen to riverclan cats who step too close to the border at night.

and it’s said that when thriftstar died in her den, they found a bite mark on her neck.

#warrior cats #spearrowfeather #warrior cats fanfiction #nice nice #submission

42 notes · View notes

warriorsredux · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-One

“Yeah!”

Everyone’s heads jerked up to look at the entrance of the tunnels. In a few heartbeats, a familiar, dark grey head poked out of the shadows, first regarding them with surprise, then delight.

Willowpelt wobbled as if she was about to collapse. She stumbled forward and bumped her head against her daughter’s. “Cinderpaw!”

“Cinderpelt, now, actually,” said the seer, purring not a little smugly.

Fireheart ran up to greet her. “Are you alright? What happened here?”

Cinderpelt blinked. “Of course I’m alright. What-”

She stopped, surveyed the scene, and said, “Ohhhh, right. Yellowfang said you’d be coming.”

“Is all this...?” Fireheart motioned to the clumps of muscle and meat.

“No, that was here when we showed up.” Cinderpelt shook her head. “We hid out in with that cat Barley for a while because we smelled dog, but we never saw it. I think it’s the one that did this.”

“So no one’s dead?” Speckletail broke in, approaching.

“Stars above, no.” Cinderpelt’s ears flattened. “We’re all fine. The apprentices are still sleeping. Yellowfang told me to stay near the mouth after I got my name, actually-”

Willowpelt wheezed and her legs gave out, letting her sink to the ground. “You’re going to kill me, love. I was certain this was you.”

“Well, I don’t know what it is, but as you can see, it isn’t me.” Cinderpelt limped out of the cave and stood as tall as she could. “See? I’m totally okay.”

“I see.” Willowpelt slowly got to her feet again and touched her nose to Cinderpelt’s forehead. “Fireheart and Whitecloud saw the dog coming from the north earlier.”

“Then it’s not around here?” Cinderpelt looked at Fireheart hopefully.

“We didn’t even see it when we went looking for it,” Fireheart said. “That’s why we came by.”

Cinderpelt sighed in relief.

“We should let you get back to the Moon Stone,” Speckletail said. “I hope we didn’t accidentally wake anyone up.” She side-eyed Willowpelt. “Or brought unwanted attention.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if it was Dustpelt,” Willowpelt retorted.

Speckletail hummed in acknowledgment. “We’ll stand guard out here until it’s time for you to leave.”

“Okay.” Cinderpelt backed into the tunnels. “Hopefully I can find my way back to them.”

“I’m sure you can,” Whitecloud said. “The Mother won’t let you get lost.”

Cinderpelt waved her fluffy tail and trotted into the darkness. Speckletail gave an order and the group took up positions by the entrance, by the Mother’s feet, and near the road, covering as much ground as they could in case the dog came back. With the heat and the exhaustion, Fireheart was certain every cat was fighting to stay awake. He certainly was.

That morning, the apprentices charged out to greet their Clanmates. Yellowfang’s bottom fang jutted out and glinted in the sunlight when she saw the deputy and her patrol waiting for her.

“Did StarClan tell you we were coming?” Fireheart said.

“That and an educated guess.” Yellowfang’s tail flicked cheekily. “I thought Willowpelt was going to wake up the apprentices. I heard her all the way from inside.”

A paw batted at Fireheart’s leg. He turned to see Snowpaw staring at him. He took a moment to remember the signs Raventhroat used and managed to gesture, “Did you have fun?”

Snowpaw’s eyes flickered to his siblings and he signed back, “Yes. No. I didn’t understand Yellowfang’s story. The Stone is really big.”

Fireheart nodded and said to Yellowfang, “You didn’t have Brightpaw or someone translate for him?”

“It’s good for him to learn to watch someone’s mouth and face,” Yellowfang said. “They can tell him after they eat.”

The sizable party crossed the road and stopped at the barn. Fireheart took a moment to smell the hay and thick scent of mice before he entered. He would have stopped for longer if Greystripe hadn’t playfully gave him a hard nudge to get him to keep walking.

Barley, a big black-and-white tom, greeted them tersely, not getting up from his position on top of a bale of hay. Speckletail swapped news with him while everyone hunted. Fireheart and Greystripe had Snowpaw help them catch mice for Yellowfang and Cinderpelt. Snowpaw pranced about with his tail and nose high after his second catch, which he proudly delivered to Yellowfang. The old molly actually looked impressed, not that that stopped her from eating like she was trying to make Fireheart feel sick. He quickly turned away to speak with Cinderpelt.

“How did your ceremony go?” he asked, dropping a mouse at her feet.

“Oh, it was awesome.” Cinderpelt pulled the mouse closer to her and lay down. “I had an audience and everything, and Yellowfang actually complimented me, and my name is awesome now. I even had a vision while I was waiting for you guys!”

“Really?” Fireheart sat down. “Are you allowed to say what it was?”

Cinderpelt looked at her mentor, who was still eating, and stretched her neck to whisper to Fireheart, “I’m not actually sure what I saw, really. Everything was bright and hot and this shape kind of reminded me of you? But I can’t think of why. It was pretty spooky.”

Fireheart hummed. “Maybe you should ask Yellowfang.”

“Ask me what?”

The pair flinched as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t, and looked guiltily at Yellowfang.

“Just about my vision,” Cinderpelt said sheepishly.

“You didn’t tell me you had a vision.” Yellowfang licked her chops, cleaning her muzzle of blood. “I suppose you already told Fireheart, which you shouldn’t have. You talk to me first on these things.”

“I won’t mention it to anyone,” Fireheart hastened to say.

“Hmph.” Yellowfang squinted at her apprentice. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

“First day as an official seer and you’re already in trouble.” Fireheart shook his head gravely. “Isn’t that an auspicious start.”

“You asked!” Cinderpelt swatted at him.

Fireheart ducked away from the play-blow. “You didn’t have to tell me. Now you’ve doomed all of us because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Whatever,” Cinderpaw said, but her eyes crinkled with amusement. She lowered her head and started chewing on her mouse.

Fireheart ate in silence, one ear turned towards Speckletail and Barley, who were the only ones talking.

“How many did you see?” Speckletail was saying.

“Couldn’t have been more than four,” Barley replied. “They were led by that cat with no fur on his back. Didn’t think to come near here, not that I know why.”

“Do you think they lost one of their own?” Speckletail said. “We found remains of something by the Mother, and we couldn’t tell what it was.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Barley stretched and yawned. “They don’t know how to deal with dogs.”

“Not that we’re much better,” Speckletail muttered. “If it charged us, I don’t know what we’d do.”

“You’ve got a lot of strong cats,” Barley said. “You could gang up on it if you wanted to.”

Speckletail said nothing.

After food, the group rested while the apprentices played together or chased mice. Fireheart didn’t get to sleep much, but he slept deeply. He felt much better when he was woken up.

They said goodbye to Barley, thanked him for the prey, and started on the long trek home. Cinderpelt talked excitedly with Willowpelt, who walked at the back of the line to keep pace with her daughter. Greystripe and Fireheart passed the time by practicing speaking with Snowpaw. He was hesitant to try it with so many cats around, so they went between mouthing and gesturing different words and having him respond verbally. He was incredibly quiet and constantly lowered his head in embarrassment, so they eventually left off with the word “difficult”.

Before Fireheart could really get bored, they reached the forest. Another patrol was waiting for them. Mousefur, at the head, made a noise of relief and bumped heads with her brother.

“We should’ve sent someone back to tell you, but everything’s fine,” Speckletail said. “We’ll need to keep an eye on the border, though.”

“So what happened?” Frostfur said. She greeted each of her kits individually with a lick on their heads. Fireheart marveled at how calm she was during the whole ordeal. She hadn’t even demanded to go with them to patrol.

“We’ll tell you once we get home,” Speckletail said. “Bluestar will need to hear this.”

Fireheart looked at his Clanmates to gauge their reactions. None of them seemed particularly excited to report to their leader. Fireheart hoped he was just imagining the pessimistic look in Willowpelt’s eye.

#warrior cats #warriors redux #redux #wr #chapter #chapter 21 #arc3 #ive been looking in my plan doc #and i have at least forty chapters planned for this arc #hope yall enjoy the long game

77 notes · View notes

warriorsredux · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Fireheart didn’t get a chance to say a word before the camp entrance exploded with a swarm of cats. He was shoved into the bushes by the force of the crowd; a rolling, screaming, tearing wave of fur, claws and blood.

He had barely freed himself from the branches when a grey cat with white markings lunged at him, knocking him backwards. Fireheart hissed and kicked with his back feet while the cat gripped at his face. Three sharp lines of pain flared across his right cheek. In blind retaliation Fireheart swung downwards. His claws connected with something soft and wet. His opponent screeched and stumbled away, scraping at her face with her paw. Fireheart took the opportunity to look around at the ensuing chaos.

It was madness. There wasn’t a space in the camp that wasn’t taken over by a pair of fighters. Countless cats, all stinking of something foreign and road-like, had filled the clearing to the brim. ThunderClan cats were split apart from each other, all surrounded by two or three outsiders. Some were being held down, others overwhelmed and wrestled to the border of the camp. Smallstorm was being dragged by his tail away from Halftail and Patchpelt, who were desperately pushing back against two much younger, more agile cats.

Then he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, a big, dark cat wove through the crowd, heading straight for the camp entrance. Not a single one of the outsiders stopped him - in fact, a few parted to let him through.

Fireheart’s blood went cold. Without giving it a second thought, he sprang over Goldenflower fighting with another molly and started running after Tigerclaw. Something heavy crashed into him and trapped him on the ground. He could barely turn around to face the cat before they bit down on his scruff. He was paralyzed out of reflex. A black cat with a grey muzzle slunk forward from the crowd, his eyes alight with an unpleasant interest.

“Hold him down,” he said. His voice was entirely too smooth and relaxed for the chaos around them.

Fireheart twitched, discovered he could move, and stood up as hard as he could. The cat above him was heavier than he’d expected, but they still stumbled back with a grunt of surprise and let him go. Fireheart leaped for the black tom. Caught off guard, the tom fell on his back, but in one easy motion he caught Fireheart on his hind legs and rolled him forward. Fireheart stumbled on his feet just in front of the tom and turned around in time to be lunged at again. This cat was a lot faster than him; before he could blink he was on his back and clawing desperately at the tom’s chest. The tom caught his paw between his teeth and bit down hard.

“You just sit still,” he said through the fur and meat.

Fireheart pushed with his free paw at the tom’s face, clawing his nose and muzzle. The tom’s response was to tighten his grip and start rabbit-kicking Fireheart’s stomach. A bigger white cat walked into view and raised his unsheathed claws, his eyes aimed at Fireheart’s throat.

A mass of grey bowled over the white cat. The black tom looked up in alarm and was immediately pulled to the ground by Raventhroat attacking from the other side. He released Fireheart’s paw and Fireheart scrambled to his feet, his foot gingerly touching the ground.

Greystripe and Raventhroat were now side-by-side, ganging up on the white cat. The black tom was shaking his head and slowly getting up. Raventhroat glanced behind him and kicked up a patch of sand directly into the black tom’s face. He yelped and, like the pale molly before, began pawing at his eyes.

“Tigerclaw’s outside!” Fireheart shouted over the yowling of the battle. “He might be getting away!”

“We’ll catch up with you!” Greystripe shouted back. “Hurry! You have an opening!”

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his paw, Fireheart whipped around and sprinted through the crowd. He was knocked aside once or twice, and a few cats jumped at him, but they didn’t get a chance to do much before they were kept busy by the slowly-following Greystripe or Raventhroat. One cat managed to grab his sides and, whirling through the air, force him onto his side with the weight of their attack. Fireheart wasted no time in rolling and slashing viciously at her face and neck. This got her off him just long enough for him to jump back up and run through the camp entrance.

As soon as he was out, he was greeted by a large patrol of ThunderClan cats running in from the woods. Fireheart didn’t need to say a word. He just jumped out of their way and scented the air. Tigerclaw had gone around the camp, heading for the leader’s den. Fireheart swallowed and ran after the scent-trail.

He skittered to a halt outside of Bluestar’s den just in time to hear her say, “Tigerclaw, what are you doing? Get out of my way. If we’re under attack-”

She stopped. Fireheart shut his eyes tight, praying for this one last chance to be wrong about the deputy.

“Tigerclaw?” Bluestar said, sounding worried.

Tigerclaw’s response was low, almost too quiet to be heard over the din in camp. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Someone scuffled backwards. “Tigerclaw-?”

“I’m very sorry, Bluestar.” A step was taken. “But this is for the good of ThunderClan.”

“Wh...” Realization creeped into Bluestar’s voice. “No...”

Fireheart didn’t waste any more time. He charged into the den as silently as he could for his speed.

Tigerclaw had Bluestar backed up against the wall. Fireheart got a heartbeat’s view of Bluestar’s eyes, wide with alarm, before he leaped upon Tigerclaw. He was positioned at just the right angle for Fireheart to latch himself onto the great warrior’s neck. Tigerclaw made a growling noise of surprise, but he barely stumbled under Fireheart’s attack.

“Don’t you dare,” Fireheart snarled through his teeth, which were firmly fixed into Tigerclaw’s scruff.

Tigerclaw spun a little, clawing at Fireheart. There was a shock and he tottered to the side. A slate-grey set of claws sunk into Tigerclaw’s shoulder, just above Fireheart’s head.

The weight of two cats on his neck brought Tigerclaw’s head down. He growled and shook it as well as he could. Fireheart responded by digging his hind claws into the fur and slashing downwards. The scent of blood hit his nose.

Tigerclaw suddenly hit the ground and rolled over Fireheart. His weight crushed the much smaller cat. Fireheart gasped for air, his forelimbs trapped. He kicked as well as he could, but he couldn’t reach Tigerclaw.

Bluestar had the sense to jump away and return to her attack as soon as Tigerclaw was exposed, but her deputy was quick. He shoved her away with all four limbs and got to his feet. Fireheart wheezed and tried to rise, but Tigerclaw already had his teeth in Fireheart’s exposed throat. He felt himself being shaken viciously. Memories of the fox flashed through Fireheart’s mind.

“Get away from my apprentice!”

Tigerclaw didn’t quite let go when Bluestar charged into him, which meant that fur and blood flew from Fireheart’s neck. He coughed and got up, still panting. Just outside, a cat was barking something that sounded like a command for a retreat.

Tigerclaw struggled a moment before knocking Bluestar away again. He stood up, breathing heavily, his fur coming off of him in patches, stuck to his body by blood.

“You,” he said to Fireheart, and he almost sounded angry. “You-”

There was a yowl, and Bluestar ducked out of the way in time for Greystripe to launch himself straight into Tigerclaw. This got him down again, and Bluestar rushed to help. Greystripe’s body blocked Fireheart’s view, but he heard Tigerclaw howl in pain.

“That’s for Lionpelt,” Greystripe growled.

Fireheart felt himself being nudged to his feet, and he heard Raventhroat muttering, “Come on, get up.” His throat, sides and paw stinging, he leaned a little on Raventhroat as he stood.

“The rogues got overwhelmed by that patrol,” he said. “They’re just about to leave, I think.”

“Which means you’re on your own,” Greystripe said to Tigerclaw. The rage was surprisingly gone from his voice, replaced by near-smugness.

Tigerclaw knew better than to get up. He shut his eyes and stayed where he was.

Fireheart poked his head out of the den, just in time to see the group of rogues running, pursued by a patrol led by Speckletail. One of the rogues looked right at Fireheart with great surprise, as if expecting someone different, but kept running after a nip from one of his comrades. They swiftly disappeared into the forest and the patrol slowed down, then stopped.

“We should keep going after them,” Lizardtail said.

“That can wait,” Fireheart called, and gargled in pain. Something warm welled in his throat. He choked out a cough and continued, “We have a bigger problem.”

Whitecloud trotted up, his fur stained with clusters of blood and sand. “Where’s Bluestar?”

“I’m in here,” Bluestar said. She carefully stepped out past Fireheart, but paused to look him over. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll live,” Fireheart said. “Where’s-”

“They’re holding him down.” Bluestar shook her head, turned to Whitecloud and narrowed her eyes. “How many cats were there?”

“Sot*, maybe more,” Whitecloud said.

“Send Teaselfoot out to make sure they’re gone,” Bluestar said, out of breath, her voice dark. “Help us escort Tigerclaw into camp.”

Whitecloud blinked. “Tigerclaw?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. Don’t let him get away.” Bluestar re-entered her den. A bemused Whitecloud followed.

Fireheart limped out of the way and sat down to lick at his paw. The stings of his injuries was gradually softening to a sharp ache. He nursed the one injury he could reach, listening to the muffled conversation inside Bluestar’s den.

After a moment, Tigerclaw emerged, surrounded by Raventhroat, Greystripe, Whitecloud and Bluestar. The patrol watched with some confusion. At a motion from Bluestar, they walked into camp, tossing curious glances at the deputy. Fireheart sighed, gave his paw one final lick, and followed after them.

Well, he thought. Here we go.

*Between ten and twenty - a vague approximation of a battle patrol.

#warrior cats #warriors redux #redux #wr #chapter #chapter 37 #the real one #arc2

123 notes · View notes