#i always thought she was a pale brown tabby but apprently not!

[bowiestarzzz]

warriors designs in order of appearance 13/???: Fluttering Bird

[image description: a digital drawing of a brown kittien with white markings and yellow eyes. end ID.]

[warriors-on-shadowed-wings]

Book One - Prologue

           It was a quiet night.  The air was cold and sharp with frost, and the whole forest seemed to be hushed, saving its strength for the chilly moons ahead.  The old gray cat should have been able to sleep well. But things had rarely gone as they should have in her life.  Flicking her white-tipped tail, she rose to her paws and pushed aside the lichen curtain that hid her nest, wincing as her joints creaked in the cold.

           Here and there, cats sat around the clearing. Over by the apprentice’s den, two brown toms were arguing – Dustpaw and Quailpaw, likely quarreling over something they’d laugh about as warriors.  A moment later, another apprentice – a pale tabby molly named Sandpaw – stuck her head out of the den to chide them.  A gray molly and a white tom were curled up outside the nursery, speaking quietly to each other.  Bluestar smiled faintly – Whitestorm and Willowpelt were very much in love, and their kits would be apprenticed in just under three months – an unfairly short time to a cat her age.  An old ache settled in her chest as she thought of the kits, remembering her early days with her sister, Snowcloud.  Things had been so much simpler then, long before the weight of leadership had settled on her shoulders.

           Bluestar nodded in greeting at her nephew and his mate as she padded out of the camp.  Whitestorm flicked his ears at his aunt, puzzled, but Willowpelt nuzzled his shoulder and diverted his attention.

           Pale moonlight filtered through the bare branches overhead, causing the frost-covered forest to glitter like Starclan’s fabled territory overhead.  Wisps of fog still clung to the bases of tree trunks, shrouding the undergrowth in mystery. The whole forest was eerily silent, and the crunch of Bluestar’s light paws through the grass sounded like thunder. The frosted air stung her throat and nose, her lungs wheezing in protest; they did not care to be out in this weather, not so soon after losing a life to greencough.  Still, the molly walked on.  The Owl Tree had always been her place of refuge.  Maybe she would find the answers there.

           Padding through the forest, fond memories passed through Bluestar’s mind.  There, she had watched Lionpaw – Lionheart now, one of Thunderclan’s finest warriors – catch his first mouse.  Here, she had played tag with Snowcloud, back in their apprenticehood, chasing one another back and forth among the falling leaves.  Pausing to rest a moment, curling her tail over her paws, Bluestar turned to look up at the sky.

           Snowcloud, Briarpetal…  You two were always my most trusted advisors.  A puff of steam mushroomed into the air as Bluestar sighed.  What would you think of me now? If you knew about everything I’ve done… What would you say?  Is Thunderclan really better off because of what I’ve sacrificed?  Her paws flexed on instinct, driving her claws into the frozen mud.  The battles, the deaths, is there a point?

           A twig cracked, the noise echoing through the trees and shattering the silence like ice.  Bluestar whipped around to see a small, plump tortoiseshell crouched under a bush, looking sheepish.

           “Sorry, Bluestar,” the younger molly chuckled. “Never learned to step as lightly as a warrior.”

           Bluestar forced a smile.  “Spottedleaf.  What brings you out into this weather?”

           “I was…  Gathering herbs?”  Seeing that Bluestar wasn’t going to buy her story, the healer sighed and trotted forward to sit beside her leader.  “You just lost a life to sickness, Bluestar.  I’d be a bad medicine cat if I didn’t make sure you were alright.”

           Bluestar flicked her tail and dropped her gaze to a stray pine needle.  “…Hawkfang’s death was my fault, wasn’t it?”

           Spottedleaf’s ears flattened against her head. “What?  Bluestar, you can’t—“

           The older molly cut her off, continuing. “Larkwhisker and Cherrypaw too. Heatherwing, Nettleclaw, Duskfeather… All of them died because of battles I started.  Battles I allowed to happen.”  Bluestar turned to her companion, eyes wide with guilt.  “I’m no better than Hawkstar was.  The decisions I’ve made…  Thunderclan is dying, and it’s my fault.”

           Spottedleaf reached out and smacked Bluestar on the ear, claws carefully sheathed.  “You stop that.  Now.”  The little tortoiseshell stood up and stomped around to look the other in the eye.  “As your medicine cat, I am telling you to stop blaming yourself for everything.  It’s bad for your health.  You didn’t cause this greencough outbreak. You didn’t tell Cherrypaw to jump into the river after her sister.  You didn’t tell Heatherwing or Hawkfang or any of the other cats to follow the Riverclan patrol into the water.  Absolutely none of these deaths are your fault, do you understand me?”

           Bluestar was silent, but after a long moment, she blinked slowly.  “I appreciate your intent, Spottedleaf, but—”

           “No!  No buts!” Spottedleaf was a small cat, but her dappled fur was bushed out so much that she looked twice her size.  “Stop blaming yourself for things you can’t control. Are you Silverpelt?”

           “No—”

           “Do you think you can decide life and death better than Silverpelt?”

           “No—”

           “Then shut up and stop trying to say that their deaths are on you!”  Fur settling, Spottedleaf sat back down and leaned into Bluestar, wrapping her tail around the leader’s flank.  “You’ve made mistakes.  We all have, we’re mortal.  I can’t tell you the number of times I confused comfrey and burdock roots, back when Briarpetal was in charge.  But that doesn’t mean that everything is your fault forever, alright?”

           “…Alright,” Bluestar relented, though part of her still wanted to argue the point.  “Alright, I’ll…  I’ll try, okay?”

           “Thank you,” Spottedleaf purred, turning to give Bluestar’s cheek a lick.  “So, what’s say we head back to camp now?  It’s too cold for you to be out, period, let alone when you literally died this morning.”

           Bluestar offered a wry grin.  “I’ve got three more lives left.”

           “That is not the point,” Spottedleaf hissed, tail bushed out.  “Starclan, you’re as bad as Redtail sometimes.”

           Bluestar laughed, getting to her paws.  “Your brother’s rubbing off on me, I suppose. He’s a fine deputy; he’ll make a wonderful leader one day.”

           Spottedleaf flicked her tail.  “Oh don’t start.  You know I love him, but I’m still going to do my best to make sure that day is a long way off.”  She headbutted the leader in the shoulder.  “Off you go then, back to your nest.  You need sleep.”

           Bluestar rolled her eyes.  “What I need is a Clan full of strong warriors.  What do you think of promoting Quailpaw?  Sandpaw and Dustpaw are still so young, but –”

           “I think that’s a question for Lionheart,” Spottedleaf replied, still nudging Bluestar back towards camp.  “And I think he’d tell you the same thing I will – That boy is too young and reckless to graduate yet, and he will be until he learns to keep his nose out of my catmint stores.”

           Bluestar snorted at that.  “Fine, fine.  I’ll ask him after he gets back from the dawn patrol tomorrow.  I can walk by myself, you know,” she added, trying her best to sound annoyed.

           “Then you march back to your nest and prove it!”

           The two mollies laughed as they turned back towards home, then passed into silence.  Yet after a few fox-lengths, Spottedleaf went dead silent and stopped in her tracks.

           Bluestar turned to look at the healer, concerned. The tortoiseshell’s fur was spiked along her spine, her tail curled tight around her flank.  Spottedleaf’s wide gaze was fixed on the sky, but when Bluestar looked up, she saw nothing much to remark on.  Then, a flurry of shooting stars winked through the sky, thin clouds scudding in behind them.  Startled awake, the harsh cry of a blackbird sounded through the icy trees as it rose, flapping crookedly into the air, and flew off.

           After a few heartbeats, Spottedleaf shook herself free of whatever had held her in place.  “Bluestar,” she breathed, voice hoarse.  “Bluestar, I just had a vision.”

           The elder molly’s eyes widened.  “Is that what that was?  What did you see?  Did Starclan have a message for us?”

           Spottedleaf nodded slowly.  “Yes.”  She resettled herself and licked her shoulders smooth before continuing.  “‘A new star will rise, bright and bloody, and chase the other stars from the sky. The forest will burn beneath its light, and darkness will rule.  Our only hope rides on shadowy wings.’  That’s what they told me.”

           Bluestar squinted.  “Our ancestors have never exactly been plain speakers, have they?”

           Spottedleaf stood up and shook her pelt out, trying to dispel the last of the anxiety that clung to her like burrs.  “They have not.  I’ll sound out the other medicine cats at our next meeting, see if this is something only for Thunderclan’s contemplation, or if I may see they think of it.”

           Bluestar nodded.  “A good plan.  It seems strange that only Thunderclan should receive warning of such a threat, but if the whole of the forest is in danger, it may mean something dire for us all.”