#doesong story

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Shake (short story)

“Kits, little darling kits…” Brightsway sang sleepily. She hardly allowed herself a wink, afraid she would miss something important, but at last she had drifted away. 

“Where’s Shallowkit?” Furzerose’s mew woke her with a start. 

“Right here!” Brightsway told her as if the answer was obvious, beaming with a smile, but when she looked down at the three little bundles of joy, she saw that there were only two little bundles.

She jolted to her feet, almost knocking the napping kits over if they had been any closer. She looked around in a panic. “He was just here!” She wailed. “I was watching him, I promise.”

Furzerose’s eyes sparked with fear. She leaned and touched her chin lightly to Brightsway’s head. “I know, honey,” she responded, panic taught in her voice. “He can’t have gone far.”

It was only a few heartbeats. A few, agonizing heartbeats that burst little sharp pieces in Brightsway’s chest, so strong and overwhelming that she nearly vomited onto the curled-over ferns….The ferns….There! 

Relief washed over Brightsway. 

Little Shallowkit was wobbling around, hidden behind the leaves. She wasted no time in grabbing him by the scruff. So relieved and wanting to get him back to the others as soon as possible, she raised him quickly and spun around, racing to the nest.

“Brightsway, stop!” Furzerose’s yowl made her freeze in her tracks. Her mate’s eyes were wide in horror. 

“What?” She asked, already shaking.

“He’s not…Is he breathing?”

Brightsway set their son down as quickly but cautiously as she could. She stared at his still form, throat tightening–

“What’s happening?” Sparktail asked. She and Doesong emerged from the undergrowth that kept their home hidden, Myrtlewing following behind–thank StarClan!--or, thank whoever that Myrtlewing was meant to give the kits a check-up today.

“He’s not breathing!” Brightsway cried. “I didn’t–I don’t think–Did I hurt him?” Her voice cracked. Did she hurt her son?

“Give me room,” Myrtlewing nudged the mothers away. He settled onto his stomach and inspected the kit, holding him with a paw. Immediately, he began compressions, pumping a paw expertly on the little one’s chest…he seemed so small…Was Myrtlewing hurting him? Brightsway expected his paw, so massive compared to the kit, to crush through his tiny ribs.

Forever seemed to pass, fur growing white and whiskers so stuff that they fell off.

Then…“He’s breathing,” he said, breaking the silence, and all four let out a breath they had each been holding. “Did you shake him?” he asked.

Brightsway wanted to sink into the ground, thinking about how eagerly she had grabbed him–swung him–ran with him in her jaws–She was such an idiot!

“Did you shake him?” he repeated, more firmly.

“I might have…” Brightsway’s voice was small.

Shallowkit coughed, a dribble of phlegm leaving his jaws. Myrtlewing ran his paw carefully along his little spine.

“What are you doing?” Doesong asked, a tremble in her voice. 

“I need to make sure there’s no spinal injury,” he told her.

Spinal injury? I’m a monster! A terrible mother! 

When Myrtlewing had finished, he turned Shallowkit’s head to one side. “His spine is intact, and it doesn’t look like he hit his head,” he observed aloud. 

Sparktail couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips. She curled tightly around the two other kits, holding them close.

Shallowkit began wailing, cries splitting the air.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Doesong asked hopefully.

Myrtlewing’s gaze remained focused on the kit. “Not necessarily,” he answered. 

Doesong’s tail drooped.

Myrtlwing gently–as gently as Doesong had ever seen him–opened Shallowkit’s eyes with a steady toe.

“What are you doing now?” Furzerose looked over his shoulder.

“There’s no bleeding in the eyes,” was his response.

Brightsway squeaked. “Bleeding in the eyes?”

After what felt like an eternity, Myrtlewing rose into a seated position. He eyed the kit for a few more moments before Brightsway couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Is he okay?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“Why?” Sparktail demanded.

“Because kits who are shaken suffer the most damage to the inside of their heads. I can only see so much.”

“What do we do?” Brightsway gasped.

“Support his airways and keep them clear as much as you can.” He looked over his shoulder, in the direction of his home, far from eye-sight. “I’ll tell my family that I’ll be staying around here for a while to keep an eye on him. And I’m sure Alderstar would want to do the same,” he added. Of course. Alderstar was the donor. 

“Is there anything else we can do to help him? Anything at all?” Doesong wanted to be sure.

“I’ll have to discuss medications with Fleathistle,” he responded. “Other than that, if he seems to get worse at all, we may need to consider internal treatment.”

“What’s that?” Furzerose could hardly keep herself together enough to ask.

“I’ll need to fix him on the inside,” Myrtlewing responded. “I’ll have to open him up.”

“You will not!” Sparktail snarled, showing her fangs. “Don’t you dare!”

“Only if it is necessary,” Myrtlewing replied, undeterred. 

“Have you done that before?” Brightsway asked. Tears stained her cheeks.

“Not on a kit,” Myrtlewing answered. “But yes, I have done it plenty of times in the past. Cats here are less susceptible to brutal injuries unless in the living world. I’m sure many of you remember those games of Hide-and-Seek.”

Doesong flattened her ears, face screwed up in distress, thinking of organs…her little one’s organs…

Myrtlewing decided not to tell them that he would most likely need to check Shallowkit’s head, an area that, unlike most of the other organs, was especially sensitive. “One final thing,” he spoke up. “Shallowkit has a high chance of surviving, but there’s also a high chance that certain effects will follow him.”

“For how long?” Furzerose whispered.

“Forever.” 

Myrtlewing turned to leave, telling them that he would return soon after talking with Fleathistle, and then left. 

The mothers could only stand incredibly still…then Shallowkit began to cry, soon joined by the others, who Sparktail began licking urgently.

Carefully, as carefully as she possibly could and with the slowness of a sleeping snail, Doesong picked up Shallowkit and carried him to his siblings. All she-cats curled tightly around them, except for Brightsway, who still hadn’t moved from her spot.

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

--This is how I imagined the scene looked. Myrtle of course being Sarabi.

--In which Brightsway's idiocy truly hurts someone....Or maybe this would have happened to anyone, but surely Brightsway wouldn't think the same thing.

--He wobbled so far because, while still very young and small, the kits are in the 'crawl and explore' stage. He wasn't extremely far, but it was far enough for Bright to run for a short burst.

--I imagine that Shallowkit (yes, named after Shallowrun) survives! He'll need to be watched for a while, and he MIGHT need the 'cat surgery' thing that Myrtlewing was mentioned before to be an expert in (I'll let you decide that and maybe right a story for it).

--I was inspired to write this because I'm in a Child Development course in Psychology rn and I'm currently reading about things that could harm babies, so I wrote this inbetween studying. It just so happened that Brightsway recently had babies, so boom! Inspo.

--Myrtlewing's seen as a good guy for once (I also wanted to write him being an expert medicine cat).

--It's possible that Myrtlewing knew what to do here, in spite of this being a rare occurrence in Warriors and probably not studied much, because of Marigoldpaw and her litter being so weak and easily hurt.

--Problems that Shallowkit could potentially have include partial or total blindness, developmental delays, learning problems, or behavioural issues, and intellectual disability. Of course, these could all also happen by chance...but Brightsway can never be sure.

--

@elementaldeityoffood

@ambitiousauthor

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

How Long (short story)

“Whatcha looking at?” Doesong asked, coming up to a halt beside Avery, who was staring with an expression mingling perplexion and foreboding.

She followed his gaze and saw, in the near-distance, Myrtlewing and Alderstar. With them was a she-cat Doesong didn’t recognize. Her fur was white with pale-ginger and grey patches throughout her pelt. Her eyes, yellow in colour, gleamed as she spoke with Alderstar. 

“...Has your diet been only eagles? Well, it must have been, just look at your muscles!...”

Alderstar didn’t seem at all interesting in what she was saying, dipping his head every now and then as she rambled on with compliments. Myrtlewing sat beside him, head tilted curiously.

“Does she know?” Doesong asked, eyes now on the scene as well.

Avery shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Doesong settled onto her belly, her spine curved slightly as she tucked her paws beneath her chest.

Avery shrugged. “I think that’s what they’re trying to find out.”

“So, what do you think? Before the end of the day or–”

“Oh, you’re such a good friend!” The she-cat spoke up again when Myrtlewing had stepped forward to lick a non-existence smudge out of Alderstar’s shoulder. Clearly, it was to see if the she-cat would catch on.

“At this rate,” Avery thought, “it’ll be a moon at the earliest.”

---------

--A fun short story, so writing is gonna be low effort for this (plus I've been studying since 3).

--The she-cat is a nameless character created just for this. You can do what you want with her.

@ambitiousauthor

@elementaldeityoffood

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

“She’s been like this all day.”

Doesong could barely hear herself over Brightsway’s excitable cooing, and Myrtlewing stifled a chuckle.

“My guess is she’s got the new queen roses.”

“What’s that?” Sparktail looked worried as she groomed the little gold-furred runt of the litter. “Is it serious?”

Myrtlewing shook his head.

“It just means she’s not gonna shut up about the new babies for a couple moons. Nothing strange about it.”

Brightsway reached over and batted him with a paw gently, and Myrtlewing resisted the urge to break it.

“Myrtlewing look!” She gestured to the pair of calicos nursing at her belly. “I made these!”

“Yes, Brightsway, you certainly did.”

----

@elementaldeityoffood

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

The Better Mother (short story)

“Halfkit? Halfkit?” Gorsekit swung his gaze around the camp, searching for his brown-furred friend. He had slept in most of the day, not yet used to the sleeping schedule of his denmates. It had only been less than a quarter-moon since he was found by his foster mother, Doesong, and taken into the Clan.

In the last few days, while most of the apprentices and Eelkit poked fun at Gorsekit for not being Clanborn, Halfkit had befriended him. It was Gorsekit’s understanding that Halfkit recognized what it was like to be tormented, his leading reason for giving a former rogue-kit a shot.

Eelkit was Halfkit’s brother. Gorsekit saw him now, watching intently as the apprentices, Snowpaw and Cloudpaw, practised battle moves. Halfkit wasn’t with him.

Moving on, Gorsekit poked his head into the elders’ den. His rustling woke Thistledust, who blinked a weary eye at the black kit. The grey-chinned tom let out a massive yawn. It was an effort not to flinch at the horrid breath that erupted from behind his yellow teeth. 

Thistledust was kind. Gorsekit didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so he made sure not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Thistledust smiled. “Hello youn’ Gorsekit! Are ya here for a story?” Forgetting his etiquette, Gorsekit pressed his paws against his ears.

Another elder, Archfrost, stirred. “Thistledust, you’re yelling again,” he grumbled. “Am I?” Thistledust asked loudly. “Is Halfkit here?” Gorsekit raised his voice in case Thistledust decided to speak again. “No, why? Are ya playing hide-n-seek? I loved that game when I was yur age. Have ya checked the nursery?” “He wasn’t there when I woke up.”                                                                  “He could be there again,” Archfrost suggested. “I love having you here, Gorsekit. But I’m trying to sleep, and Thistledust doesn’t exactly understand volume after age took his ears.”

Thistledust scratched behind his ear. “I heard ‘Gorsekit’ and ‘sleep.’” He paused, his leg still raised behind his head. “Do ya need to sleep, Gorse? Go on! Doesong’s gunna be waiting for ya. I’ll tell ya a story when ya wake up, maybe the one with the hawk in the ice!”

“Okay!” Gorsekit cheered, and turned to race out of the den and toward the nursery. Even if he didn’t find Halfkit, at least he still had that story to look forward to. Thistledust had an air of enthusiasm around him, capable of making the most boring stories sound like amazing legends.

“I saw the way he played with you yesterday. He was too rough. He was trying to hurt you.” Gorsekit recognized Shadefur’s voice. He perked up, peeking into the nursery. Sure enough, there was Halfkit. He was about to call his friend over, when Halfkit spoke.

“We were practising battle moves, he’s supposed to be rough!” Halfkit sounded defiant, an odd contrast to his ducked head and averting gaze.

Gorsekit trained with Halfkit yesterday, sure of being the only one that did. After all, Stormpaw, Snowpaw’s brother, was the only one that didn’t tease them, and he had been in the medicine den all day due to a scraped pad. Gorsekit ducked away, his eyes fixed on the brown figures in the gaps of the leaves. Why were they talking about him?

“He had his claws out, he made you bleed,” Shadefur insisted, almost as if her son hadn’t spoken. That was an accident! Halfkit had yanked on Gorsekit’s tail, it was only instinct that Gorsekit unsheathed his claws. Besides, Halfkit hadn’t needed to see the medicine cat.

“He said he was sorry,” Halfkit mumbled. He seemed to be losing his confidence.    

“Only after I had a strict word with him!” Shadefur shook her head. Because I didn’t know before then! Halfkit hadn’t screeched, being just as surprised as Gorsekit had been when Shadefur fretted over the tiny dots of blood on Halfkit’s legs.

Shadefur sighed, wrapping her tail around her son. “I don’t want you to be mad at him. I know he didn’t mean it. He’s a rogue, it’s in his nature to be rough. That’s why I want you to stick with your brother from now on, okay?”

“No!” Halfkit wailed. “I don’t want to! Eelkit’s mean to me, Gorsekit is nice! Why can’t I play with Gorsekit?” Gorsekit’s legs buckled from beneath him and he fell back on his haunches.

Shadefur had always been so nice to him. Why was she speaking the way she was now? And what of Halfkit? Gorsekit imagined growing up, tormented by the older cats, with no backup to share the pain with. Was that only going to get worse when he became an apprentice? His chest heaved and he sobbed.

“Gorsekit!” A warm, familiar milk-scent filled his nose, and he felt himself be wrapped around by Doesong, as much as he could be at least, with her round belly. Her fluffy fur pressed against his own, pricked ones. Gorsekit shook as she licked the tears from his face. “What’s wrong, little one?”

It was a while before Gorsekit could answer her, gasping and sobbing into her fur. Doesong waited patiently, grooming his pelt in gentle rhythms. “Shadefur says that Halfkit can’t play with me anymore.” Gorsekit’s bottom lip stuck out.

Doesong tilted her head. “Is he unwell?” “No. She says I’m too rough, because I was a rogue.” Doesong pricked her ears. “She did?” Gorsekit nodded vigorously. “What’s a rogue?” He only had a few recollections from living outside of the Clan. He was sure his biological mother had a dark pelt, but he wasn’t sure.

“It’s a cat who lives outside of the Clans, and is usually hostile. Are you hostile?” “Hostel?” “Aggressive. Are you aggressive?” “No! You’re supposed to be nice.” Doesong smiled at him, a sight that almost made Gorsekit cheer up. “Then there you go, you’re not a rogue. You’re Gorsekit, my kit. And you’re Thunderclan.”

Gorsekit snuggled deeper against her, relieved. Then a thought returned and he worried again. “So I can play with Halfkit?” “You know what?” Doesong stood up, gesturing for Gorsekit to do the same. “Why don’t we go ask Shadefur?” Gorsekit cowered beneath his mother’s belly as she trotted into the den. Shadefur was going to yell at him again, he was sure of it. Would Halfkit get angry at him too, for upsetting his mother?

“Hello, Shadefur! Would Halfkit like to come play with Gorsekit?” Halfkit jumped to his paws, his tail lifting excitingly. He took one glance at Shadefur and sat back down. “It’s almost time for Halfkit’s nap. I don’t want him riled up, or he won’t sleep right.” “Maybe I could help tire him with a story?” Doesong kept her voice polite and smooth, but from beneath her, Gorsekit could feel how tense she was.

Shadefur licked her chest-fur. “Isn’t that usually something reserved for the elders?”

Doesong flicked her tail dismissively. “Nonsense! I tell stories to Gorsekit all the time when I need him to settle down. Not one has ever been ineffective. You did say you wanted Halfkit to sleep, didn’t you?”

Gorsekit held his breath. Shadefur’s tail flicked in what was presumably annoyance, her eyes darkening as she continued to stare at Doesong. Gorsekit pressed himself against the ground in an attempt to hide himself as much as possible, in case that enraged leer flicked to him.

  He glanced at Halfkit, who met his gaze.  The brown tom’s yellow eyes were troubled. At first, Halfkit looked as if he were hiding from Doesong, as Gorsekit was with Shadefur. That is, until Gorsekit realized that his paws were shifting impatiently, with his ears angled behind him to listen to his mother’s response. “One story,” Shadefur grumbled at last. Gorsekit’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as Shadefur began to leave the den. “You have until I finish my crow.”

Silence fell over them again as they waited for Shadefur to exit earshot.   “Alright.” Doesong padded over Gorsekit, toward her nest, and climbed in. Gorsekit ran over to her, practically leaping in beside her. “Halfkit?” Doesong looked up. “Are you joining us?” Halfkit took a step toward them, then paused. He frowned, glancing out of the den.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Doesong soothed. “Shadefur said that you can listen to one story. There’s enough room for you here.” Halfkit continued to hesitate. Gorsekit panicked. Was Halfkit going to decide to join Eelkit after all?

Halfkit broke into a smile. Gorsekit wriggled happily as his friend padded over and climbed in beside him, even as his paws shifted some of the moss. “Now, I have a really good one. When I was an apprentice, Thunderclan….”

Gorsekit rested against Doesong’s shoulder as she told a story of how Thunderclan fell into a minor famine, and had to hunt mice from the barn on Windclan territory in order to get their food. His head sank into her pelt as her soft words lulled him and he felt himself growing sleeping, comfortably snuggled in Doesong's warmth.

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

--Yeah Shadefur is racist (classist?). She doesn’t want her son, who would become Gorseheart’s long-time best friend until Gorse was pushed too far, to have anything to do with someone who was born outside of the Clans. But Doesong’s like “no, fuck u”

--Good mom

--Thistle is Doe’s dad and therefore Gorse’s adoptive grandfather. Archfrost is the parent to three cats that Gorseheart would later kill.

--Not the same Doesong as the resident, that’s just a coincidence 

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

We’ll Love Her (short story)

“I don’t understand,” Emberdawn held back a sob as she held little Fressiakit between her paws. They knew that Dark Kits, as many were beginning to call them, would need more care than all living kits put together, and neither mother nor father left their side in the den that had been added next to Ivyspots’ and Scaleears, separated for privacy between families. Theirs was still in the works, and was for now covered mostly in leaves than dirt. 

Lightkit, Molekit, Ashkit, and Frostkit stayed with them, excited to have new sisters and a brother, perhaps too young to understand the danger. It was them that suggested the names. Lightkit named Doekit, after hearing Gorseheart’s story of his mother, Doesong. Frostkit named Jaykit, after Emberdawn’s father, Ashkit had named Proteakit after the colour of the flower, which sort of matched her pelt if you squinted, and Molekit named Fressiakit after the plant, which suited her more than he might think.

Fressiakit…. Were they doing something wrong? They kept them warm but not hot, fed them as much as they could, showered them with attention. 

Her littermates were doing well, all things considered, but for some reason Fressiakit wasn’t growing like they were. Where their skin flattened out their wrinkles, hers seemed as rubbery and creased as ever. Where their fur glossened, hers stuck in sticky, sweaty clumps in spite of the countless groomings they gave her

Ivyspots and Scaleears checked in on her from time to time, as did former medicine cats, but all were at a loss. 

“We’ll just keep loving her,” Gorseheart suggested hopelessly, not for the first time. Emberdawn nudged her to her belly, coaxing her to drink, but Fressiakit only emitted a weak, hardly audible wail before curling up and sleeping fitfully.

Applefoot had wondered aloud how likely it was that all kits in a litter born in such a situation would survive, to which Gorseheart had tore at his ear for. Now, as angry as the thoughtless comment had made him, he couldn’t stop it from sinking into his mind.

“We’ll love her,” he repeated, shoving the thought away forcefully. “We’ll love all of them. That will be enough.”

He prayed that he was right, but deep down he knew how cruel the Stars could be.

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

Being realistic.... kits born in such a sitatuion, to dead demons, there’s bound to be problems?...Right?

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Residences: Gorseheart and Emberdawn

Gorseheart

Aliases / Nicknames: The Shadow That Walks The Forest, Idiot, Fluff-brained, Goof-ball, Moron, Nightmare On Four Legs

Gender: tom

Sexuality: heterosexual, heteromantic

Family: unnamed biological mother, Doesong (adoptive mother), Adderkit (adoptive brother), Volekit, Flaillight (adoptive sisters), Blackbloom (former mate), Songowl (former mate), Cherryclaw (former mate), Emberdawn (mate)

Other relations: Mallowfur (mentor)

Clan: Thunderclan

Rank: warrior, rogue

Characteristics: kills when someone angers him as a tactic to relieve his emotions and to feel powerful. Kills when he feels like it. Enjoys other’s pain, especially those who wronged him.

Number of Victims: 56

Number of Murders: 56

Murder Method: suffocation, blunt force, impalement, drowning, crushing, slicing throat, tearing belly, ripping tail or ears off.

Known Victims: several unnamed warriors, loners, rogues, and kittypets

Cause of Death: caught in mass of thorns, death by 1000 cuts

Cautionary Tale: N/A

Story:

The funny thing is, for most of his life he was a saint. There was plenty words to describe him in that time: loving, caring, kind, silly, happy, easygoing, a bleeding heart, maybe a bit daft at times, as others would see him.

He was abandoned as a kit, but his foster mother and her father were more than enough. Two of his adoptive siblings died, but he still had another, along with Halfkit, his lifelong best friend. Or at least, almost lifelong. 

There was a time, a really long time, that he would lay his life for his friends, whom he’s come to think of as family. Blightstar, the leader and Mallowfur’s and Halflight’s mentor, Mallowfur, Gorseheart’s mentor, Firejay, Mallowfur’s secret mate and the medicine cat of the Clan, and Thorneyes, not quite Mallowfur’s age and not quite Gorseheart’s.

That’s not to say they had never had scraps before. Firejay and Mallowfur fought, Blightstar and Mallowfur fought, Thorneyes and Halflight fought, Halflight and Gorseheart bickered constantly.

But Gorseheart had never gotten angry, truly and completely angry. At least, not that he took out on someone. He had internalized so much of the words spat at him in heats of rage, so many thoughts going unsaid, left to linger in his brain. Perhaps it was one thing that lead him down such a harsh road, perhaps it was all these thoughts accumulating over so many years, finally spilling out.

There was the issue of mates, too. Or the lack thereof, really. One left to another Clan, one left to explore life outside of the Clans, and one Gorseheart broke up with because she insulted his friends. At what point must a tom ask himself if he is the issue? He was a good mate, wasn’t he? He was gentle, protective but not controlling. 

Rule-follower Mallowfur found a mate in the medicine cat, Thorneyes and Nettleface were an item, and Blightstar has three kits! Stars, even Halflight of all cats found someone. 

So why was Gorseheart, the one who cared the most, the one who didn’t make snide comments about his mate like Blightstar did, the one who was always left behind? It wasn’t fair!

But anger wouldn’t rule his emotions yet, not even--well, maybe a little-- when Halflight’s mate, Primrosefur complained of being too cold and Halflight stole the moss from Gorseheart’s nest to give to her. 

For the most part, he was despondent. He tried to go to Mallowfur for advice. His mentor was the most brilliant cat he knew. But Mallowfur, bad with emotions, was of little help. Although Gorseheart’s friends did try to set him up once, it was of little help too.

Funnily enough, it was the she-cat Gorseheart had gotten into previous spats with that he became mates with, full, complete, unended. They had first met in battle, where they fought. Gorseheart had went easy, as he did on all of his opponents, and Emberdawn took that to her advantage.

The pair bickered whenever they met, along the border or at gatherings, and both would heave a great sigh when the other was near. Yet somehow, when Emberdawn joined the Clan.... they became close. Then they became closer, and suddenly they were loving mates.

It was a funny sight, due to Emberdawn’s shoulders meeting at Gorseheart’s head. Gorseheart was happy. Contented.

But a resident of the Place of No Stars cannot have a life without grievance. 

They were hungry. They needed food. Gorseheart knew that Mallowfur and Blightstar wouldn’t approve, so without telling them, he left to hunt Skyclan prey, only to be attacked by a warrior. He was caught off-guard, and wounded terribly. If only he didn’t go. If only he wasn’t caught by someone who took such pleasure in his pain.

When his friends saw him, they had been so worried, but the instant he explained that he had entered enemy territory, he was told what an idiot he was, that it served him right. They were right, so, although hurt, Gorseheart did little to argue.

And of course the situation got worse. The Skyclan warrior told his leader, who was now threatening war against Thunderclan. As if Blightstar and Mallowfur couldn’t get any more angry.

Firejay was better. She was essentially the therapist. Brilliant in all aspects, she was the perfect cat to vent to. But it didn’t take long for Gorseheart to stop. Firejay had apparently been letting Mallowfur in on what he was saying, and when a complaint caught his and Blightstar’s ears, they were quick to chew Gorseheart out further.

It seemed like the only one that was there for Gorseheart was Emberdawn, who made sure to tell the lot off when Gorseheart needed time, for once, to not get yelled at. It was amazing to think how strongly she had become his rock. Even more, it seemed, than his friends, whom he had known almost all his life.

But even with her to keep the snapping jaws at bay, Starclan was against him. Gorseheart was out in the forest, trying to get away from the sounds of camp. He felt like, for no reason at all, he was reliving that moment the Skyclan warrior attacked him. He felt the claws digging into his skin, the tearing sound as his flesh ripped, the gleeful glint in the tom’s eyes, a paw on his shoulder-- and Gorseheart had wipped around, lashing.

Firejay gurgled, blood dripping from her throat. Gorseheart had sprinted to the Clan for help. She had lived, thank Starclan, and Gorseheart was lucky to as well when he faced Mallowfur and told him what he had done.

If he had thought Mallowfur was angry before, he was delusional. Mallowfur had gotten frustrated before, giving a ticked-off comment every now and then like an exasperated mentor with an idiotic apprentice, but it was usually Blightstar that spat all the rage-fueled comments and insults, even before the incident. 

The look on Mallowfur’s face.... It was as if he was staring at an enemy. And he was, wasn’t he? Gorseheart had nearly killed Firejay! Stars, Stars! What had he done? 

He tried to explain himself, or at least apologize, but no one would have it. Not even Halflight or Thorneyes, who weren’t even part of the situation. They didn’t want to get involved, to get on anyone’s bad side. Of course, they meant Firejay’s, Mallowfur’s, and Blightstar’s bad sides. They didn’t care about him. Clearly, no one did.

Save for Emberdawn, who slept next to him in the elders’ den, where Gorseheart was placed to, away from Firejay. Did they think he would attack her again?

Not long later, another gathering rolled around. Skyclan and Thunderclan were still in their dispute. 

Gorseheart had recovered enough to arrive. He had prepared all night for this, had to practically beg Blightstar to let him come (and he’s not entirely sure he didn’t only allow it because he wanted more Thunderclan warriors to make the Clan appear strong). He was going to put this to an end. He was going to make everyone listen. He was going to tell them everything, how, yes, he had tried to take prey, but how the warrior who had caught him was much too cruel in his retaliation. 

He hoped--prayed, really--that detailing his experience would make everyone finally look past his faults and see how hurt he really was, see what trauma he had gone through, understand that he didn’t mean to hurt Firejay. Stop being so angry with him, to just be there for him!

He should have expected it to go wrong. When Blightstar had denied him permission to speak, Gorseheart had leaped onto the Great Oak anyway. But hardly did he open his mouth did Blightstar shout, asking what he thought he was doing, not to disobey him, to get down and stop embarrassing the Clan.

He had stayed silent for the rest of the night, ignoring the looks cats gave him.

On the way back to the camp, Blightstar had stopped him. Anything Gorseheart tried to say was, again, cut off by Blightstar’s anger, which was packed with horrible phrases. “You have to be leader to step on the Great Oak, and with the way your brain works, you’re lucky to ever have been apprenticed.”

Gorseheart separated from the group, hoping again for some alone time. The words played over and over in his head, of now and days ago, even ones from moons ago when he had messed up a different time, though it was never so colossally horrible.

He found himself walking back to the island. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was simply his paws carrying him wherever. But as he was crossing so, too, was another cat. 

Gorseheart recognized it to be some Windclan senior warrior. The tom began to laugh, calling him an idiot, saying how entertaining that was. Gorseheart didn’t even notice as he shoved the tom from the bridge or as the warrior’s head smacked against a rock in the water below. 

Yet at the same time, it was so slow. So controlling. Horrified, Gorseheart stood frozen on that bridge for what felt like forever and nothing. It wasn’t until dawn light showed through the trees did he return to camp.

He met with Blightstar in his den, preparing to spill out what he had done and face the consequences. But Blightstar wasn’t finished with him yet. All it took was one more insult, and Gorseheart decided not to say anything.

He wouldn’t say anything else, for that matter. Not to any of them. For so long he was looking so anxiously forward to them forgiving him so that they could go back to the easy things ways were. How foolish he was!

Why should he be the one to be forgiven? Firejay was injured, but so was he! More so, in fact! His attacker took joy in his pain, Firejay was only wounded because she snuck up on him!

So many times he tried to tell them, so many times they shut him up. He was done.

Oddly, he was too angry to even care that he had taken a life. The tom didn’t have a mate or kits, and his parents were long past. What life had been taken, really? There was a time he would break down at the realization of what he had done, but that time was over.

Dreams occured over and over. With every one that came, the horror dripped away, revealing the bright happy picture of someone powerful, someone who didn’t let others push him around, someone who was strong enough to take a life.

The “friends” hadn’t even noticed. They were too busy avoiding him to notice that he was avoiding them too. They were too busy glaring at him to notice that he was glaring at them too. Greatest of all, they didn’t ask questions when he left the camp. Maybe they didn’t notice that either.

He didn’t do it often at first. Only when someone was really annoying him did he go out and take a life. It was like a calming medication, the weight off of the shoulders and the surging feeling of bloodful power.

No one noticed. Except, of course, Emberdawn. They were patrolling together when Gorseheart felt the urge to tell her. Only her, the only one who had always been there. He had thought of telling her for a long time, and now he did. He told her everything. When he had finished, Emberdawn simply licked his cheek and responded that she knew.

Apparently, he wasn’t the best at washing his scent or removing fur from his claws. But she didn’t tell anyone. She did express concern that he would be caught or be killed. Gorseheart told her that he would be careful, but if Emberdawn had figured it out, who else would?

Then she took Gorseheart even further by surprise, and suggested they work as a team. His love, his light. How could Gorseheart say no?

Soon enough, the deaths increased. First Gorseheart had never killed before, then he killed once, then he only killed when someone really made him angry, then slightly mad, then annoyed, then he was killing every week and then almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day.

And no one else had ever noticed! And they thought he was the fool! 

At this point, the others had gotten over their anger. They tried to speak to Gorseheart, and were surprised when he glared back. Were they expecting him to run back into their open arms?!

Gorseheart would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the hurt in their eyes, or their stammering of surprise when Gorseheart said something rude. The only reason he wasn’t avoiding them completely was because, Starclan, did he enjoy it so much. 

He loved the shocked expressions, the stammers, the apologies, the begging for forgiveness. The longer it went on, the colder he became, and the more desperate they got. 

They didn’t mean for it to go so far! They didn’t mean for him to become so bitter! Yes! The idiots were finally seeing what their treatment had done to him. Even better, they were suffering from that realization, and soon enough from the realization that Gorseheart, lovable, forgiving, silly Gorseheart was taking pleasure in his old friends’ pain.

He got into plenty of spats with Blightstar too, due to both of them now having such a short-temper. Now, the old grump was the one who didn’t want to fight but was forced into it by the other (and as the leader who had to punish disobedience).

Soon enough it was Gorseheart, comic relief, Gorseheart, the tom who forgived even the rudest cat, who became the enemy. That was a turn of events to die for.

But it didn’t last long enough. He was eventually caught. Each of his friends had gathered to exile him, away from the camp, as if protecting him from the Clan’s rage. They looked more horrified than Gorseheart had ever felt. 

But if they thought that was the end, they were wrong. Gorseheart continued killing. Mostly kittypets, rogues, and loners, but also the occasional Clan cat, mostly to worry them. Emberdawn, secret kept, helped him. She was the eyes in the Clan, giving him ideas of who to target--though it was mostly who he saw or who he felt like.

A medicine cat from Skyclan had caught on. Instead of telling the Clan, they had poisoned his prey. It was only meant to weaken him, kill him even. But Gorseheart had hallucinations. Them.. the cats he killed.. every single one of them coming for him, rotting, bugs crawling.

He ran and ran. When he came across a dead-end with only a strong barrier of thorns, he kept running and running, until he couldn’t any more.

By: @spottedsnap​ , I miss you man

By: Sky-doggo on DeviantArt

By: Spottedsnap

By: Sky-doggo

By: kichi on Amino

By: oakie:) on Amino

By: >{~meow~}< on Amino

By Spottedsnap

By: whisper on Amino

By: 1-800-LOVE-YOU on Amino

By: oliart on Amino

By: cherryktikat

Additional Information:

--top image by KhaoticVex on DeviantArt

--Keep in mind that this is going based off of Gorseheart’s point of view. Yes, he had a right to be angry, but so did his friends. Both went too far.

--Blightstar hated arguing with Gorseheart. He just wants his buddy back, they all do.

--Firejay wasn’t gossiping to Mallowfur. They were both talking about how they could help him, it was just unfortunate that Blightstar heard, and then when he and Mallowfur showed up, Gorseheart took it as both of them being angry with him (plus memories and bitterness warping memories).

--They are HORRIFIED of what he has become. I cannot stress enough what they felt. They were friends for a really long time, don’t forget. In the scheme of things, the whole incident was just one bad moment in 10000 good ones.

--Yeah unfortunately Emberdawn doesn’t get her own story aside from what is seen here. There’s not really much to add for her, since she wasn’t even going to be killing with him until I started writing. 

--No, his foster mother is not the other Doesong. That’s just a fun coincidence.

--I had Gorseheart for a long time, hence all the art. His story and the stories of his friends is probably the most detailed of all.

--He managed to kill a lot for several reasons:

1) he had the kind of silly and warm personality where you could watch him bury a body and still not suspect him

2) he was a rogue for a while, and that gave him free range

3) he killed often, almost daily

4) many serial killers can reach 30 victims. I wanted that, but more so that he can remain on top. He’s my OG and he deserves it.

5) because I can

--Mallowfur eventually becomes Mallowstar

--I don’t have any drawings of Emberdawn unfortunately, but here she is on picrew:

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Oakstep

Aliases / Nicknames: Breath-Stealer, Bad Omen

Gender: tom

Sexuality: asexual, aromantic

Family: Lilywhistle (Parent), unknown father, Doesong (grandmother), Berrybranch (grandfather)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: Shadowclan, loner

Rank: loner, formerly warrior

Characteristics: snide, cruel, vain

Number of Victims: 13

Number of Murders: 13

Murder Method: suffocation, breaking necks

Known Victims: Whiskerpaw, several unnamed rogues and warriors

Victim Profile: those who made fun of Lilywhistle, random rogues

Cause of Death: starvation

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

It started simple. 

Whiskerpaw was a pain in the ass who wouldn't shut up about his parent’s love of birds and how he didn't have a father in his life. Really, Oakpaw had just meant to scare him a little, show him a little glimpse of Starclan by pressing on his throat until the brat’s eyes rolled back.

But then the sound of a snap sent his whole body into a spasm, sending a rush of exhilaration through him. The excuse was simple, they had been alone after all, and silly, dumb little Whiskerpaw had slipped and cracked his neck on a rock. Oakpaw struggled to stifle his laughter at the wailing of his victim’s father, who was honestly just as merciless in mocking his mother.

As he grew older, he found himself enthralled with the feeling of slowly tearing the life away from another cat and watching the panic in their eyes before the snap. 

Now, Oakstep started to get more cocky in his actions, often goading warriors from other Clans into trespassing only to end them and drag their corpses back onto their territories just to hear the panic at gatherings. Then he got too cocky. He was caught, by Lilywhistle no less, and dragged before the Clan for a trial. Wrongly assuming this was his only murder, he was exiled, and chased from his home.

He had never been good at hunting, and the unfamiliar terrain he was in found Oakstep getting skinnier and skinnier by the moon, until his body just couldn't take it.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @elementaldeityoffood​

--He actually doesn't care a whole lot for Doesong, nor really anyone other than himself. He only felt the need to "protect" Lilywhistle's image to protect his own.