Post by tinystep on Apr 8, 2017 20:15:59 GMT -5
This was a story I had on the old boards under the name Smallfur. I am still working n it, but again it is slow and will not be updated often. I'd like to thank my sister for the amazing drawing!
“Okay Dewpaw,” meowed Bramblestar, “Tell me what you can scent.”
“Whitewing, why do we even have to check this boundary?” the apprentice whined to her mentor. “There’re no other clans or anything along here.”
“Because rouges and loners might use it to get into our territory,” growled Berrynose.
Dewpaw sighed and lifted her nose to the air. There were the normal forest smells; earth and ferns. “There’s a fox, but it’s far off,” she reported. They were about to continue along the border, when the apprentice spoke again, “Wait!” She opened her jaws as an odd scent came to her; it smelled like a cat, but not quite right, “There’s…something else out there.”
A sleek shape emerged from the bushes, just across the border. It certainly looked like a cat, but it was huge, compared to the Thunderclan patrol.
“It’s a Leopardclan cat,” breathed Bramblestar.
The stranger shook her head, “No Bramblestar. I am far smaller than your great warrior ancestors of old.”
Bramblestar took a step back, surprised this creature knew of him, and, it seemed, the clans and their history.
“What are you then, and what are you doing near our territory?” Berrynose growled.
“My name is Emetaly, and I’m an Ocelot.” She turned serious. “The…I think Midnight says you call them twolegs...The twolegs that my kind lived with, told of the clans of cats, the four that will survive the beginning of the next life.
“The twolegs of today have forgotten these warnings of the time to come, for the twolegs we lived with stopped believing the prophecies after they had made a calendar showing 2012, and so others believe the coming of the next life has already been and gone.”
“Calendar?” asked Whitewing, “Next life? What are you talking about?”
Emetaly's eyes took on a misted look. “A time of great darkness is coming to the clans. No others will survive. The warrior code will be forgotten. A great battle will be won between honour, courage, and survival in the new life.” She looked straight at Bramblestar, “You must bring this message to the rest of the clans. They must survive. They must prepare for the next life!” She whisked around, disappearing back into the foliage.
****
Everything was dark. The plants looked so unfamiliar. Jayfeather padded the sandy ground in the direction he believed the lake to be. Suddenly he came to an expanse of hard wet rock, covering a vast mass of land. Was this the lake? He reached his paw forward to touch the surface, but drew it back with a screech, the rock having burnt his skin, as hot as the sun.
He startled awake, back into dark blindness. Leaping to his paws, he ran out into the clearing, “The forest is dying! There is no water here! The lake is hot rock, Windclan’s land is nothing, Riverclan is only marsh, and Shadowclan has cliffs of ice! The world is being destroyed!”
Darkkit
I slowly unflatten my body from the ground and sit up, raising my haunches just enough to protect them from the frost. The camp is in darkness, the feeble light of claw-moon barely penetrating it and I can't see anyone else moving, but if I sit still and strain my ears, I can hear the footsteps of my clan, Tundraclan, no louder than the whispering of leaves, and I wonder if my birth mother is still among them.
It will be dawn soon and my nurse mother will be waking. I look back to the maze of brambles that is the nursery and think of the queen trapped within. She nursed me and all the other kits of the nursery and has done so for many moons for Tundraclan. Soon a pregnant she-cat will be chosen to take her place. I am glad I'm a Tom. I can't imagine never being able to fit through the gaps in that tangle of brambles and never seeing the light of day again, except what little can seep through the thorny branches.
I head over to the kill pile, deciding to try and find something the clan hunted to bring her rather than what is scavenged: the creatures that died of thirst, or were killed by something other than us and left. There’s a plump mouse on one side. I sniff it cautiously, making sure it wasn’t sick or poisoned despite the clear claw marks of a cat that I can feel on it with my muzzle. It seems good so I begin to drag it back over to the nursery.
Half way across camp I stop, leaving the mouse in the sand, as I crane my neck up to the glow rising over the tops of the trees. The lichen covered trunks and shining leaves take on a red glow, as the sun begins its slow ascent of the horizon. Closing my eyes I allow an inward smile as warmth starts to penetrate my pelt, but I don’t stay long. Opening my eyes I continue to the nursery.
I pause at one of the entrances to clean the sand from my mouse’s fur. Inside I can hear one of the kits mewling for its mother, its real mother. I’ll have to help the other kits drag it out to the leader to be killed. There’s no room for the weakness of connections to those other than your mate in the clan.
My nurse mother is curled round the little kit, trying to cover its mewls with her tail and bringing it close to her body.
As I enter the centre of the brambles where she is I let out a small mew.
She gives one last lick to the kit and places her tail tip in its mouth.
I push the mouse towards her with one paw.
She nods her thanks, but says nothing. I stretch my neck to try and see around her to the mewling kit, but she puts out a paw to stop me, beseeching me with her eyes and shaking her head. I know she’s thinking about her own kits and how they were killed. She doesn’t want the same to happen to this one.
I stare at her for a few moments, my gaze giving nothing away, but deep down I feel that same sorrow yet know nothing can be done about it. Setting my paws and bowing my head I nudge the mouse towards her once more, before moving towards the mews.
Sharpkit
I shelter on the edge of the camp under some of the thicker icebound boughs which, with little wind, offers protection from the slow falling snow. I close my eyes and crouch, trying to conserve some of my body heat. By six moons I will have grown the thick coat of a Sheerclan cat, but as a kit it’s hard to stay warm outside the nursery away from the body of my nurse mother.
I stare towards the bramble thicket. This is the one plant I know because the branches are twined so close together that they show through the snow in the centre. My nurse mother says there are other trees in the forest which also have some of their branches showing, but most are in the lowest and narrowest valleys or underneath cliffs where enough snow can fall from the top to bury a cat whole.
I try to shake off the cold and head towards the death den where our deathcat is helping a she-cat give birth. The snow still manages to fall through gaps in here, and the ice crunches under my paws, but at least it’s not as deep as the main camp.
The she-cat blinks at me as I come in, before scrunching her eyes and screeching as another cramp wracks her body.
I join some of the other kits by the wall.
Another slimy body comes out of the she-cat to join three already sitting there.
The death cat nips its sack and I wander over to lick it clean along with a few other kits, while the mother hurries out of the den, not even pausing to look at the kits. I know she’ll be heading back to the warriors den so that she won’t see her kits, and won’t be able to form any connections with them.
the newborns are clean and all the kits help to push the small bodies up on top of four of us, others lifting limbs, scruffs, or tails with their teeth, and concentrating hard on moving as one. The journey to the nursery takes us through deeper fresh fallen snow that we have to jump through, so one wrong paw step from a member of a group and the newborn will fall into the snow often dying before someone can save it.
Dropping the limbs one by one as we reach the entrance, the last member of our groups squeeze through the entry gaps with the newborns still on their backs. I follow and help the newborn off their back as they reach the centre. Together we push them to their feet. They squeak in protest as we push them towards the nurse mother, but on feeling her body heat, they crawl towards her themselves and latch onto one of her teats.
Wildkit
I sit near the nursery, spitting blood out of my mouth and staring at the large gap in the brambles us kits made yesterday, the gap large enough to drag out our nurse mother - our old nurse mother I mean. I look towards her stiff lifeless body laying on the ground nearby. No one has moved it since Hawkstar killed her after we dragged her out of the nursery. I can still hear her screeches of terror ringing in my ears, her wails that she still had more milk to give, that she didn’t need to die for many moons yet. I can feel a growl rising in my throat. How could a cat of Rapierclan be so weak?
Two warriors are watching her body from outside their den, a queen and her mate. Their heads are close together and as their muzzles brush the tom closes his eyes in grief, not for the dead nurse mother, but for his mate who will soon become the new nurse mother, and for his unborn kits who will be killed. I look at the queen’s swollen belly, and know I won’t have to wait long to drag the wailing newborns to our leader to be killed.
Some of the other warriors and apprentices begin to gather around the old nurse mother, lifting her gently from the ground. Her head lolls to the side, almost as though it is going to tople off and I see once more the deep gash in her throat that took her life. The cats begin to take her away. Peering through the reeds I can see one of the group hopping through the tussocks of grass between the marsh ahead of the others. They find a part of the marsh full of mud rather than water and begin to dig. They’re too far away for me to see their movements or smell the stinking mud, but it has been done many times before, and has been described to me in extreme detail.
The old nurse mother is dropped into the hole with a muddy splash before the procession returns. As they enter the cam each one stops along the way to take a drink from the salty water of the marsh, the only water within our territory. An apprentice comes last, covered in mud. It was clear they were the one to dig the grave. In slow strokes they begin to wash the thick, rank, mud from their fur.
Hawkstar emerges from his den and leaps onto a willow branch above, letting out a yowl to call the camp together.
The queen and her mate share one last loving lick before taking their places in the meeting, the tom in the crowd, and the queen near the front.
As I trot over I can see Hawkstar’s ice blue eyes glaring at the queen, but she keeps her head high and doesn’t flinch, a true Rapierclan warrior.
“Our kits shall soon grow hungry,” Hawkstar meows, “And so a new nurse mother must be taken. The queen before you shall bear kits sooner than any other cat in the clan and so will begin producing the much needed milk before long.” He nods towards us kits, and we move towards her.
She stands up and allows us to escort her to the nursery. She shows no emotion and doesn’t look back, but I do and see her mate, his face downcast and his eyes showing nothing, but despair.
Clawkit
I stand on the bare ground of the camp, my paws scuffing up the dust as I squeeze into the nursery once more.
The queen we chose to be the new nurse mother is screeching in pain.
I can see another kit beside me, a large stick in his mouth which he places beside the queen. He pushes it towards her telling her to bite down, and I remember the same thing happening in the Deathcat’s den when other kits were born.
Even with the stick in her mouth, squeals of pain escape the nurse mother. It seems as though she has been giving birth for a moon, and I wonder if Tundraclan or Rapierclan can hear her she’s so loud, but at last the kits begin to come.
Three squirming bodies are dragged backwards out of the nursery, and I place one before Antsar along with the other two dragged by other kits. The nurse mothers’ kits are to be killed as always. They shiver in the cold wind lancing through the camp, pitiful squeaks for their mother coming out of their mouths.
Antstar stares down at them with distaste.
I wonder for a moment if he ever had to fear death as a kit.
He lived a long time ago when our land was once plentiful with prey, before the war with the cats of Dark Forest, but I can’t imagine a world without the prickly grass that grows throughout Winterclan territory, where salt does not leach from the rocks into the water when it rains. Antstar, like all the leaders, has been dead a long time. It is important for our leaders to be cats of Starclan as they have had more experience than any of us living cats, even the deputies. I can name each clans leader: Tigerstar of Tundraclan, Brokenstar of Sheerclan, and Hawkstar of Rapierclan. All are older than all the cats of their clans put together.
Looking back at Anstar I see his claws are unsheathed, and his gaze is focused on the kit in front of me. Nudging it with my head I push the kit towards him, then step back into my place to watch.
Some of the other cats have come out of their dens to also witness this.
Antstar flips the kit over with a flick of his paw, and plants his paw on the base of the newborns tail to stop it from righting itself. It’s eyes are still closed and it wails from the pain of a full grown cat standing on its tail.
Antstar ignores it and raises his other paw up and off to the side. He moves it down and across, slitting the newborns throat and silencing its wails, almost severing its head from its body in the process. He kicks the lifeless body away to be buried by the warriors and apprentices later.
Each newborn in turn is given the same treatment.
Finally Anstar steps up to the three bodies, and us kits retreat back towards the nursery.
“The weakness of a mother attached to her kits, “ Anstar yowls, “and a kit attached to its mother, has once more been removed from Winterclan!”
My clanmates around me raise their voices in yowls of approval. I let my voice join them, praising the joys of the strong and ruthless clan that Starclan has given us.
Hawkpaw
I’m woken by the squeals of kits, and remember a queen looked ready to give birth the day before. She must have just had her kits. I look towards the entrance of the den to see the softly falling snow, and reflect that the kits were lucky this time. There were many births when I was a kit where the wind was blowing so hard it whipped the snow into my nose, eyes, and ears, and almost blew a newborn off your back and into the drifts, if it did’t freeze them solid first.
I yawn, and stretch, wincing slightly as I straighten my back hock. I quickly look around, but, thankfully, all the other nests are empty.
Once outside the apprentices den, I sit back in the snow, relishing the cold against my sore hock, while I look around for my mentor, Firenight. I spot her over near the kill pile.
Seeing me, she narrows her amber eyes.
My ears flat against my head, I walk over to her, careful not to limp, knowing I’ll get a scolding for oversleeping. Reaching her I sit up straight and meet her gaze.
She watches me for a moment. Without warning, she flicks out a paw, claws unsheathed and rakes it across my ear.
I grit my teeth, and dig my claws into the snow.
“Come,” Firenight meows, swishing her tail for me to follow her out of camp.
Outside the camp we head down towards the plain. Elders tell stories of how the plain was once a lake long ago, but now it is hard, hot rock, which can scorch your paws if you touch it.
Firenight leads me to a clearing with a sheet of ice in the centre.
Across the clearing I see Scratchpaw, and her mentor Tornsmoke. Scratchpaw is standing right next to the ice ready for our fight. She’s one of the oldest apprentices, and I don’t look forward to fighting her when I’ve had so little ice combat training, but I know this is part of Firenight’s punishment for me.
I step carefully out onto the ice, stopping myself from slipping out of control by sliding out my claws to create some sort of grip on the smooth surface.
Scratchpaw shows her teeth, and swishes her tail, managing to look playful and menacing at the same time. She steps out onto the ice as if she were still on solid ground, her claw tips only just showing.
I have no time to notice her slight crouch before she leaps at me, claws fully extended. This time, thank Starclan, my lack of training actually helps. My sore leg collapses under me and Scratchpaw sails harmlessly over my body, flat against the ice. I almost smile at the look of shock on her face.
Regaining my balance I shake my head, my face burning from cold, and look up.
Firenight is smirking, but I’m not sure if it’s at me falling, or Scratchpaw missing.
Scratchpaw growls from the edge and makes a move to get back on the ice, but Firenight holds her back.
It seems my punishment is over for now. As I move off the ice, I see Scratchpaw watching me struggle with my weakened back leg. Please don’t let her see I’m hurt!
Boulderpaw
I can’t believe I’m an apprentice finally. I’m standing before Tigerstar with the other new apprentices in the correct stance to show we’re ready: Our paws are splayed to stop us sinking into soft sand, our legs bent for a massive spring, and our necks stretched high to keep our noses clear.
The camp is in a deep valley, where the sand is packed hard, but there are few places like this out in the forest. Even the slope leading out of the camp is made of very soft sand, which, if you don’t know how to walk on, you can sink in so deep you can’t move.
Shadowscourge pads up to touch noses with me. I’m in shock as we step apart. Shadowscourge was named by Tigerstar after a great warrior from long ago, in honour of his lethal abilities. I can’t believe he was chosen to be my mentor.
I don’t hear the other mentors named in the ceremony. Afterwards I raise my head and tail high, and trot off to meet my new mentor.
Shadowscourge is talking to Tigerstar, so I wait near the nursery. Inside I can hear squeaking, presumably the kits practicing fighting.
A small she-kit hurtles out squealing and bumps into my side. She falls silent and looks up. A long scratch runs from between her ears, across one side of her nose, and down her left cheek. It’s bleeding badly.
I look over to the deathcat’s den, but thankfully they’re nowhere in sight.
“Go back inside,” I hiss at the she-kit.
She blinks at me, not moving.
I hear my name, and see Shadowscourge is beckoning me. I begin to make my way over, but hear little paws pattering after me. Turning I see the she-kit is following me. I try to shoo her with a paw, but she just pounces on it, biting down with her little teeth. Shaking her off I spot one of the other apprentices and beckon them over. “Get her back in the nursery,” I meow, “and don’t let anyone see.”
The apprentice nods and leads the kit away.
I give a last quick look around, and scamper over to join Shadowscourge.
“What took you so long?” he growls. He’s sitting completely still, which somehow seems even more scary than him hissing and spitting, whilst lashing his tail.
“I…uh…sorry,” I meowed, “I thought I saw something.”
“Something?”
“It-it was nothing. It’s fine.”
“Well in future I expect you to be more punctual, and not get distracted by ‘nothing’. Otherwise I might need to talk to Tigerstar about you.” He brings his face right in close to mine, baring his teeth, and I can hear him sliding out his claws.
I step back, gulping, and nod vigorously. “Of course Shadowscourge. It will never happen again. I promise.”
Shadowscourge doesn’t reply, just giving me a hard stare before leading the way out of the camp.
Foxpaw
Walking across camp I pass Deathscourge at the entrance, carrying a dried leaf-wrap to his den. He scowls at me as I pass, and I hurry over to the elders den.
Our Deathcat scares most of the clan. I’ve even seen his apprentice Shudderpaw jump, when he saw him before.
Most of our elders are out, looking for dead prey and such, but a few are curled in their nests.
I start gathering the old, dry, prickly grass out of the other nests.
I can hear Deathscourge nearby, muttering. I can imagine him in his den, unrolling the leaf wrap, and revealing death berries or the like. He’d paw through his other supplies especially the foxglove seeds which he always has plenty of.
I shake off the thoughts and move out with the old grass. I take the grass a fair way from the camp and drop it. Most of the dirt in our territory as too hard and dry to dig in so instead I push the grass over the side of a gorge. Moving away form the edge, I start searching around for some longer clumps, tearing the leaves off with my claws, and laying them flat on top of each other. I made the mistake of using my teeth when I was young and stung my eyes on the other leaves sharp tips, and edges. There was no scratching or bleeding however, and I was spared a trip to the Deathcat’s den.
Soon I have a substantial pile. Briefly I check my pads for scratches and lick a few drops of blood off them. Then I carefully pack my pile under my chin, and carry some of the longer strands in my mouth.
I head back to camp the long way, wanting to avoid another confrontation with Deathscourge. Once I’m sure that I’ve given him enough time to finish sorting and go out again if he was planning to I walk back into camp.
I head back into the elders den and start doling the grass out into the sparser of the nests.
One of the elders inside is awake and washing. They watch me from the corner of their eye for a few moments. “Hope that scratch isn’t bad,” she mews quietly.
I look at her, startled. Then I notice some of the grass I placed in the last nest is stained with blood. I hold up a paw, pretending to be unconcerned. The cut isn't deep, but it’s long, going all the way across my centre pad and one toe. “It’s nothing,” I reply flicking my tail and going back to work.
The she-cat’s silent for a moment. Coming over to me she says “Once. You wouldn’t have had to hide it.” She look over her shoulder at the entrance to the den and spits. “Deathcats,” she mutters heading back to her nest and curling up, her back to me.
Tigerpaw
I stretch in my nest. I had been sent to rest after working till sunhigh, and I’m starting to get restless. I did sleep for a bit, but after the last kill patrol got back the whole clan hasn’t stopped talking. Getting up I shake grass out of my pelt, disgusted. I haven’t had a chance to change it for a while. Seeing as I can’t sleep I may as well go get some fresh bedding.
I step out of the den into camp and stop, my eyes wide. Now I know why no one’s stopped talking.
In the centre of camp one of our warriors sits with scratches all over his body and missing lumps of fur. Worst yet, he has a nasty bite mark on one cheek, which has started crusting over. Judging by what’s on the kill pile his prey must have been a fox.
I stare. Why hasn’t the Deathcat killed him yet? If any other cat comes into camp with wounds half this bad the Deathcat would kill him straight away.
I then see another apprentice rush into the camp carrying a well wrapped bundle in his jaws. He hurries over to the Deathcats den oblivious to those around him. Barely a moment passes before he shoots back out and crouches wide eyed at the other end of the clearing.
The Deathcat emerges from the den and glares at the late apprentice, a low growl coming from his throat. He flicks his tail at two of the warriors edging the clearing, and they rush forward to hold the injured warrior still. The Deathcat steps forward with the herb bundle the apprentice had been carrying. Unwrapping it he reveals water hemlock.
The injured warrior begins struggling.
I’ve heard of water hemlock being used on cats before, but I’ve never actually seen it. Elders describe it as one of the most painful deaths a cat can endure!
The Deathcat forces the struggling warriors mouth open and pushes the water hemlock to the back of the throat before clamping his jaws shut.
The warriors eyes stretch wide as the herb slides down his throat. The other warriors step back as foam forms at his jaws, and he starts writhing on the ground, gasping. It’s is a horrific scene to watch.
Unable to bear it anymore I scamper over to the elders den, and lay panting for a few moments just inside.
“Hard to watch isn’t it,” One of them rasps to me.
I nod, shaking.
“You know it wasn’t always like this.” I get up and pad over. “What do you mean?” I ask, “Water hemlock didn’t kill us?”
The old cat shakes her head, “Deathcats didn’t kill those who were injured.”
I stared at her. Sitting down before her, I curled my tail over my paws, eager to learn more.
“Well, this was long before I was born. Moons and moons before any cat besides our leaders, and other cats of Starclan can remember. There were no Deathcats in those times. The cats who dealt with herbs were called Medicinecats, and they healed any cat that got injured.”
“What happened?”
“The clans who's sick survived became weak. They lost every battle, and could not hunt enough food to survive. Starclan knew something must be done. The weak of the clan shouldn't survive to have kits, only those that were strong. They would pass on good fighting skills onto the next generation so the clan could survive.”
“So that’s why the Medicinecats became Deathcats?”
The elder nodded, “Now they kill the weak so our clan remains strong.”
Prologue
“Okay Dewpaw,” meowed Bramblestar, “Tell me what you can scent.”
“Whitewing, why do we even have to check this boundary?” the apprentice whined to her mentor. “There’re no other clans or anything along here.”
“Because rouges and loners might use it to get into our territory,” growled Berrynose.
Dewpaw sighed and lifted her nose to the air. There were the normal forest smells; earth and ferns. “There’s a fox, but it’s far off,” she reported. They were about to continue along the border, when the apprentice spoke again, “Wait!” She opened her jaws as an odd scent came to her; it smelled like a cat, but not quite right, “There’s…something else out there.”
A sleek shape emerged from the bushes, just across the border. It certainly looked like a cat, but it was huge, compared to the Thunderclan patrol.
“It’s a Leopardclan cat,” breathed Bramblestar.
The stranger shook her head, “No Bramblestar. I am far smaller than your great warrior ancestors of old.”
Bramblestar took a step back, surprised this creature knew of him, and, it seemed, the clans and their history.
“What are you then, and what are you doing near our territory?” Berrynose growled.
“My name is Emetaly, and I’m an Ocelot.” She turned serious. “The…I think Midnight says you call them twolegs...The twolegs that my kind lived with, told of the clans of cats, the four that will survive the beginning of the next life.
“The twolegs of today have forgotten these warnings of the time to come, for the twolegs we lived with stopped believing the prophecies after they had made a calendar showing 2012, and so others believe the coming of the next life has already been and gone.”
“Calendar?” asked Whitewing, “Next life? What are you talking about?”
Emetaly's eyes took on a misted look. “A time of great darkness is coming to the clans. No others will survive. The warrior code will be forgotten. A great battle will be won between honour, courage, and survival in the new life.” She looked straight at Bramblestar, “You must bring this message to the rest of the clans. They must survive. They must prepare for the next life!” She whisked around, disappearing back into the foliage.
****
Everything was dark. The plants looked so unfamiliar. Jayfeather padded the sandy ground in the direction he believed the lake to be. Suddenly he came to an expanse of hard wet rock, covering a vast mass of land. Was this the lake? He reached his paw forward to touch the surface, but drew it back with a screech, the rock having burnt his skin, as hot as the sun.
He startled awake, back into dark blindness. Leaping to his paws, he ran out into the clearing, “The forest is dying! There is no water here! The lake is hot rock, Windclan’s land is nothing, Riverclan is only marsh, and Shadowclan has cliffs of ice! The world is being destroyed!”
Chapter 1
Darkkit
I slowly unflatten my body from the ground and sit up, raising my haunches just enough to protect them from the frost. The camp is in darkness, the feeble light of claw-moon barely penetrating it and I can't see anyone else moving, but if I sit still and strain my ears, I can hear the footsteps of my clan, Tundraclan, no louder than the whispering of leaves, and I wonder if my birth mother is still among them.
It will be dawn soon and my nurse mother will be waking. I look back to the maze of brambles that is the nursery and think of the queen trapped within. She nursed me and all the other kits of the nursery and has done so for many moons for Tundraclan. Soon a pregnant she-cat will be chosen to take her place. I am glad I'm a Tom. I can't imagine never being able to fit through the gaps in that tangle of brambles and never seeing the light of day again, except what little can seep through the thorny branches.
I head over to the kill pile, deciding to try and find something the clan hunted to bring her rather than what is scavenged: the creatures that died of thirst, or were killed by something other than us and left. There’s a plump mouse on one side. I sniff it cautiously, making sure it wasn’t sick or poisoned despite the clear claw marks of a cat that I can feel on it with my muzzle. It seems good so I begin to drag it back over to the nursery.
Half way across camp I stop, leaving the mouse in the sand, as I crane my neck up to the glow rising over the tops of the trees. The lichen covered trunks and shining leaves take on a red glow, as the sun begins its slow ascent of the horizon. Closing my eyes I allow an inward smile as warmth starts to penetrate my pelt, but I don’t stay long. Opening my eyes I continue to the nursery.
I pause at one of the entrances to clean the sand from my mouse’s fur. Inside I can hear one of the kits mewling for its mother, its real mother. I’ll have to help the other kits drag it out to the leader to be killed. There’s no room for the weakness of connections to those other than your mate in the clan.
My nurse mother is curled round the little kit, trying to cover its mewls with her tail and bringing it close to her body.
As I enter the centre of the brambles where she is I let out a small mew.
She gives one last lick to the kit and places her tail tip in its mouth.
I push the mouse towards her with one paw.
She nods her thanks, but says nothing. I stretch my neck to try and see around her to the mewling kit, but she puts out a paw to stop me, beseeching me with her eyes and shaking her head. I know she’s thinking about her own kits and how they were killed. She doesn’t want the same to happen to this one.
I stare at her for a few moments, my gaze giving nothing away, but deep down I feel that same sorrow yet know nothing can be done about it. Setting my paws and bowing my head I nudge the mouse towards her once more, before moving towards the mews.
Sharpkit
I shelter on the edge of the camp under some of the thicker icebound boughs which, with little wind, offers protection from the slow falling snow. I close my eyes and crouch, trying to conserve some of my body heat. By six moons I will have grown the thick coat of a Sheerclan cat, but as a kit it’s hard to stay warm outside the nursery away from the body of my nurse mother.
I stare towards the bramble thicket. This is the one plant I know because the branches are twined so close together that they show through the snow in the centre. My nurse mother says there are other trees in the forest which also have some of their branches showing, but most are in the lowest and narrowest valleys or underneath cliffs where enough snow can fall from the top to bury a cat whole.
I try to shake off the cold and head towards the death den where our deathcat is helping a she-cat give birth. The snow still manages to fall through gaps in here, and the ice crunches under my paws, but at least it’s not as deep as the main camp.
The she-cat blinks at me as I come in, before scrunching her eyes and screeching as another cramp wracks her body.
I join some of the other kits by the wall.
Another slimy body comes out of the she-cat to join three already sitting there.
The death cat nips its sack and I wander over to lick it clean along with a few other kits, while the mother hurries out of the den, not even pausing to look at the kits. I know she’ll be heading back to the warriors den so that she won’t see her kits, and won’t be able to form any connections with them.
the newborns are clean and all the kits help to push the small bodies up on top of four of us, others lifting limbs, scruffs, or tails with their teeth, and concentrating hard on moving as one. The journey to the nursery takes us through deeper fresh fallen snow that we have to jump through, so one wrong paw step from a member of a group and the newborn will fall into the snow often dying before someone can save it.
Dropping the limbs one by one as we reach the entrance, the last member of our groups squeeze through the entry gaps with the newborns still on their backs. I follow and help the newborn off their back as they reach the centre. Together we push them to their feet. They squeak in protest as we push them towards the nurse mother, but on feeling her body heat, they crawl towards her themselves and latch onto one of her teats.
Wildkit
I sit near the nursery, spitting blood out of my mouth and staring at the large gap in the brambles us kits made yesterday, the gap large enough to drag out our nurse mother - our old nurse mother I mean. I look towards her stiff lifeless body laying on the ground nearby. No one has moved it since Hawkstar killed her after we dragged her out of the nursery. I can still hear her screeches of terror ringing in my ears, her wails that she still had more milk to give, that she didn’t need to die for many moons yet. I can feel a growl rising in my throat. How could a cat of Rapierclan be so weak?
Two warriors are watching her body from outside their den, a queen and her mate. Their heads are close together and as their muzzles brush the tom closes his eyes in grief, not for the dead nurse mother, but for his mate who will soon become the new nurse mother, and for his unborn kits who will be killed. I look at the queen’s swollen belly, and know I won’t have to wait long to drag the wailing newborns to our leader to be killed.
Some of the other warriors and apprentices begin to gather around the old nurse mother, lifting her gently from the ground. Her head lolls to the side, almost as though it is going to tople off and I see once more the deep gash in her throat that took her life. The cats begin to take her away. Peering through the reeds I can see one of the group hopping through the tussocks of grass between the marsh ahead of the others. They find a part of the marsh full of mud rather than water and begin to dig. They’re too far away for me to see their movements or smell the stinking mud, but it has been done many times before, and has been described to me in extreme detail.
The old nurse mother is dropped into the hole with a muddy splash before the procession returns. As they enter the cam each one stops along the way to take a drink from the salty water of the marsh, the only water within our territory. An apprentice comes last, covered in mud. It was clear they were the one to dig the grave. In slow strokes they begin to wash the thick, rank, mud from their fur.
Hawkstar emerges from his den and leaps onto a willow branch above, letting out a yowl to call the camp together.
The queen and her mate share one last loving lick before taking their places in the meeting, the tom in the crowd, and the queen near the front.
As I trot over I can see Hawkstar’s ice blue eyes glaring at the queen, but she keeps her head high and doesn’t flinch, a true Rapierclan warrior.
“Our kits shall soon grow hungry,” Hawkstar meows, “And so a new nurse mother must be taken. The queen before you shall bear kits sooner than any other cat in the clan and so will begin producing the much needed milk before long.” He nods towards us kits, and we move towards her.
She stands up and allows us to escort her to the nursery. She shows no emotion and doesn’t look back, but I do and see her mate, his face downcast and his eyes showing nothing, but despair.
Clawkit
I stand on the bare ground of the camp, my paws scuffing up the dust as I squeeze into the nursery once more.
The queen we chose to be the new nurse mother is screeching in pain.
I can see another kit beside me, a large stick in his mouth which he places beside the queen. He pushes it towards her telling her to bite down, and I remember the same thing happening in the Deathcat’s den when other kits were born.
Even with the stick in her mouth, squeals of pain escape the nurse mother. It seems as though she has been giving birth for a moon, and I wonder if Tundraclan or Rapierclan can hear her she’s so loud, but at last the kits begin to come.
Three squirming bodies are dragged backwards out of the nursery, and I place one before Antsar along with the other two dragged by other kits. The nurse mothers’ kits are to be killed as always. They shiver in the cold wind lancing through the camp, pitiful squeaks for their mother coming out of their mouths.
Antstar stares down at them with distaste.
I wonder for a moment if he ever had to fear death as a kit.
He lived a long time ago when our land was once plentiful with prey, before the war with the cats of Dark Forest, but I can’t imagine a world without the prickly grass that grows throughout Winterclan territory, where salt does not leach from the rocks into the water when it rains. Antstar, like all the leaders, has been dead a long time. It is important for our leaders to be cats of Starclan as they have had more experience than any of us living cats, even the deputies. I can name each clans leader: Tigerstar of Tundraclan, Brokenstar of Sheerclan, and Hawkstar of Rapierclan. All are older than all the cats of their clans put together.
Looking back at Anstar I see his claws are unsheathed, and his gaze is focused on the kit in front of me. Nudging it with my head I push the kit towards him, then step back into my place to watch.
Some of the other cats have come out of their dens to also witness this.
Antstar flips the kit over with a flick of his paw, and plants his paw on the base of the newborns tail to stop it from righting itself. It’s eyes are still closed and it wails from the pain of a full grown cat standing on its tail.
Antstar ignores it and raises his other paw up and off to the side. He moves it down and across, slitting the newborns throat and silencing its wails, almost severing its head from its body in the process. He kicks the lifeless body away to be buried by the warriors and apprentices later.
Each newborn in turn is given the same treatment.
Finally Anstar steps up to the three bodies, and us kits retreat back towards the nursery.
“The weakness of a mother attached to her kits, “ Anstar yowls, “and a kit attached to its mother, has once more been removed from Winterclan!”
My clanmates around me raise their voices in yowls of approval. I let my voice join them, praising the joys of the strong and ruthless clan that Starclan has given us.
Chapter 2
Hawkpaw
I’m woken by the squeals of kits, and remember a queen looked ready to give birth the day before. She must have just had her kits. I look towards the entrance of the den to see the softly falling snow, and reflect that the kits were lucky this time. There were many births when I was a kit where the wind was blowing so hard it whipped the snow into my nose, eyes, and ears, and almost blew a newborn off your back and into the drifts, if it did’t freeze them solid first.
I yawn, and stretch, wincing slightly as I straighten my back hock. I quickly look around, but, thankfully, all the other nests are empty.
Once outside the apprentices den, I sit back in the snow, relishing the cold against my sore hock, while I look around for my mentor, Firenight. I spot her over near the kill pile.
Seeing me, she narrows her amber eyes.
My ears flat against my head, I walk over to her, careful not to limp, knowing I’ll get a scolding for oversleeping. Reaching her I sit up straight and meet her gaze.
She watches me for a moment. Without warning, she flicks out a paw, claws unsheathed and rakes it across my ear.
I grit my teeth, and dig my claws into the snow.
“Come,” Firenight meows, swishing her tail for me to follow her out of camp.
Outside the camp we head down towards the plain. Elders tell stories of how the plain was once a lake long ago, but now it is hard, hot rock, which can scorch your paws if you touch it.
Firenight leads me to a clearing with a sheet of ice in the centre.
Across the clearing I see Scratchpaw, and her mentor Tornsmoke. Scratchpaw is standing right next to the ice ready for our fight. She’s one of the oldest apprentices, and I don’t look forward to fighting her when I’ve had so little ice combat training, but I know this is part of Firenight’s punishment for me.
I step carefully out onto the ice, stopping myself from slipping out of control by sliding out my claws to create some sort of grip on the smooth surface.
Scratchpaw shows her teeth, and swishes her tail, managing to look playful and menacing at the same time. She steps out onto the ice as if she were still on solid ground, her claw tips only just showing.
I have no time to notice her slight crouch before she leaps at me, claws fully extended. This time, thank Starclan, my lack of training actually helps. My sore leg collapses under me and Scratchpaw sails harmlessly over my body, flat against the ice. I almost smile at the look of shock on her face.
Regaining my balance I shake my head, my face burning from cold, and look up.
Firenight is smirking, but I’m not sure if it’s at me falling, or Scratchpaw missing.
Scratchpaw growls from the edge and makes a move to get back on the ice, but Firenight holds her back.
It seems my punishment is over for now. As I move off the ice, I see Scratchpaw watching me struggle with my weakened back leg. Please don’t let her see I’m hurt!
Boulderpaw
I can’t believe I’m an apprentice finally. I’m standing before Tigerstar with the other new apprentices in the correct stance to show we’re ready: Our paws are splayed to stop us sinking into soft sand, our legs bent for a massive spring, and our necks stretched high to keep our noses clear.
The camp is in a deep valley, where the sand is packed hard, but there are few places like this out in the forest. Even the slope leading out of the camp is made of very soft sand, which, if you don’t know how to walk on, you can sink in so deep you can’t move.
Shadowscourge pads up to touch noses with me. I’m in shock as we step apart. Shadowscourge was named by Tigerstar after a great warrior from long ago, in honour of his lethal abilities. I can’t believe he was chosen to be my mentor.
I don’t hear the other mentors named in the ceremony. Afterwards I raise my head and tail high, and trot off to meet my new mentor.
Shadowscourge is talking to Tigerstar, so I wait near the nursery. Inside I can hear squeaking, presumably the kits practicing fighting.
A small she-kit hurtles out squealing and bumps into my side. She falls silent and looks up. A long scratch runs from between her ears, across one side of her nose, and down her left cheek. It’s bleeding badly.
I look over to the deathcat’s den, but thankfully they’re nowhere in sight.
“Go back inside,” I hiss at the she-kit.
She blinks at me, not moving.
I hear my name, and see Shadowscourge is beckoning me. I begin to make my way over, but hear little paws pattering after me. Turning I see the she-kit is following me. I try to shoo her with a paw, but she just pounces on it, biting down with her little teeth. Shaking her off I spot one of the other apprentices and beckon them over. “Get her back in the nursery,” I meow, “and don’t let anyone see.”
The apprentice nods and leads the kit away.
I give a last quick look around, and scamper over to join Shadowscourge.
“What took you so long?” he growls. He’s sitting completely still, which somehow seems even more scary than him hissing and spitting, whilst lashing his tail.
“I…uh…sorry,” I meowed, “I thought I saw something.”
“Something?”
“It-it was nothing. It’s fine.”
“Well in future I expect you to be more punctual, and not get distracted by ‘nothing’. Otherwise I might need to talk to Tigerstar about you.” He brings his face right in close to mine, baring his teeth, and I can hear him sliding out his claws.
I step back, gulping, and nod vigorously. “Of course Shadowscourge. It will never happen again. I promise.”
Shadowscourge doesn’t reply, just giving me a hard stare before leading the way out of the camp.
Foxpaw
Walking across camp I pass Deathscourge at the entrance, carrying a dried leaf-wrap to his den. He scowls at me as I pass, and I hurry over to the elders den.
Our Deathcat scares most of the clan. I’ve even seen his apprentice Shudderpaw jump, when he saw him before.
Most of our elders are out, looking for dead prey and such, but a few are curled in their nests.
I start gathering the old, dry, prickly grass out of the other nests.
I can hear Deathscourge nearby, muttering. I can imagine him in his den, unrolling the leaf wrap, and revealing death berries or the like. He’d paw through his other supplies especially the foxglove seeds which he always has plenty of.
I shake off the thoughts and move out with the old grass. I take the grass a fair way from the camp and drop it. Most of the dirt in our territory as too hard and dry to dig in so instead I push the grass over the side of a gorge. Moving away form the edge, I start searching around for some longer clumps, tearing the leaves off with my claws, and laying them flat on top of each other. I made the mistake of using my teeth when I was young and stung my eyes on the other leaves sharp tips, and edges. There was no scratching or bleeding however, and I was spared a trip to the Deathcat’s den.
Soon I have a substantial pile. Briefly I check my pads for scratches and lick a few drops of blood off them. Then I carefully pack my pile under my chin, and carry some of the longer strands in my mouth.
I head back to camp the long way, wanting to avoid another confrontation with Deathscourge. Once I’m sure that I’ve given him enough time to finish sorting and go out again if he was planning to I walk back into camp.
I head back into the elders den and start doling the grass out into the sparser of the nests.
One of the elders inside is awake and washing. They watch me from the corner of their eye for a few moments. “Hope that scratch isn’t bad,” she mews quietly.
I look at her, startled. Then I notice some of the grass I placed in the last nest is stained with blood. I hold up a paw, pretending to be unconcerned. The cut isn't deep, but it’s long, going all the way across my centre pad and one toe. “It’s nothing,” I reply flicking my tail and going back to work.
The she-cat’s silent for a moment. Coming over to me she says “Once. You wouldn’t have had to hide it.” She look over her shoulder at the entrance to the den and spits. “Deathcats,” she mutters heading back to her nest and curling up, her back to me.
Tigerpaw
I stretch in my nest. I had been sent to rest after working till sunhigh, and I’m starting to get restless. I did sleep for a bit, but after the last kill patrol got back the whole clan hasn’t stopped talking. Getting up I shake grass out of my pelt, disgusted. I haven’t had a chance to change it for a while. Seeing as I can’t sleep I may as well go get some fresh bedding.
I step out of the den into camp and stop, my eyes wide. Now I know why no one’s stopped talking.
In the centre of camp one of our warriors sits with scratches all over his body and missing lumps of fur. Worst yet, he has a nasty bite mark on one cheek, which has started crusting over. Judging by what’s on the kill pile his prey must have been a fox.
I stare. Why hasn’t the Deathcat killed him yet? If any other cat comes into camp with wounds half this bad the Deathcat would kill him straight away.
I then see another apprentice rush into the camp carrying a well wrapped bundle in his jaws. He hurries over to the Deathcats den oblivious to those around him. Barely a moment passes before he shoots back out and crouches wide eyed at the other end of the clearing.
The Deathcat emerges from the den and glares at the late apprentice, a low growl coming from his throat. He flicks his tail at two of the warriors edging the clearing, and they rush forward to hold the injured warrior still. The Deathcat steps forward with the herb bundle the apprentice had been carrying. Unwrapping it he reveals water hemlock.
The injured warrior begins struggling.
I’ve heard of water hemlock being used on cats before, but I’ve never actually seen it. Elders describe it as one of the most painful deaths a cat can endure!
The Deathcat forces the struggling warriors mouth open and pushes the water hemlock to the back of the throat before clamping his jaws shut.
The warriors eyes stretch wide as the herb slides down his throat. The other warriors step back as foam forms at his jaws, and he starts writhing on the ground, gasping. It’s is a horrific scene to watch.
Unable to bear it anymore I scamper over to the elders den, and lay panting for a few moments just inside.
“Hard to watch isn’t it,” One of them rasps to me.
I nod, shaking.
“You know it wasn’t always like this.” I get up and pad over. “What do you mean?” I ask, “Water hemlock didn’t kill us?”
The old cat shakes her head, “Deathcats didn’t kill those who were injured.”
I stared at her. Sitting down before her, I curled my tail over my paws, eager to learn more.
“Well, this was long before I was born. Moons and moons before any cat besides our leaders, and other cats of Starclan can remember. There were no Deathcats in those times. The cats who dealt with herbs were called Medicinecats, and they healed any cat that got injured.”
“What happened?”
“The clans who's sick survived became weak. They lost every battle, and could not hunt enough food to survive. Starclan knew something must be done. The weak of the clan shouldn't survive to have kits, only those that were strong. They would pass on good fighting skills onto the next generation so the clan could survive.”
“So that’s why the Medicinecats became Deathcats?”
The elder nodded, “Now they kill the weak so our clan remains strong.”
