Post by phantomstar57 on Oct 4, 2018 14:38:24 GMT -5
NEW BLOOD - POT LUCK
PART ONE
Gentleoak, one of ThunderClan’s four medicine cats, moved along the lakeshore, searching for herbs for his stores. The sun sparkled the wind-driven waves, as he navigated the rocky shore, checking each thicket and stretches of lush Green Leaf vegetation. He carefully extracted numerous plants, and his piles grew. He carefully kept the tansy, borage, comfrey, coltsfoot, feverfew, marigold, and catmint in their own piles. He searched each morning after the dew dried in the winds, taking advantage of the flourishing herbs this Green Leaf. Alternating days of cool rains and warm sun produced a bounty across the territory. He grumbled, disliking the idea of carrying these to the Medicine cat den and returning for more. He feared something stealing or eating the precious plants. He looked up at the sky, which told him sunhigh passed while he worked.
“I should have taken Twigpaw with me to carry bundles,” he mumbled. With a capitulating sigh, he wrapped the herb batches in big long leaves, and picked them up, reluctance in his step. He decided to move along a short distance more before turning back. His large, furry, tan black-striped paws moved carefully among the rocks, and he slanted back his tall black-tufted ears, wishing he did not have to return to pick all the herbs he spotted ahead up the shore.
“There must be a better way,” the brown tabby Maine Coon growled to himself. He broke into a trot, heading to a promising clump of vegetation, when a flash in the water caught his eye. Intrigued, he walked up to the water’s edge, and saw three round two-leg objects halfway in the water, nestled in each other. They reflected the after-sunhigh rays through the waves. Cautiously Gentleoak approached, placing his bundles down, then marched into the shallows and inspected the objects. Thin attachments stuck up out of the water, and Gentleoak sniffed them, curling his lip at the faint twoleg smell on the weathered metallic surface. Curiosity drove him forward, and grasping the curved metal stick in his jaws, he pulled, his muscles rippling under his pelt. All three objects lifted clear of the water, and they swung from his jaws, sloshing water onto his chest and ruff. A flash of insight bristled his entire coat with sudden joy.
“Excellent! I can carry my herbs in this,” he mewed around the metal, and trotted back to his bundles, absently shaking his big paws. With delight, he placed his bundles in the object, and realized he could collect the rest of those herbs on the bank, and carry them all home in this odd two-leg object. He worked, quickly filling his new possession with a wonderful store of herbs. He picked up the contraption, herbs bristling out of it, and trotted back to camp, thoroughly pleased with himself. He moved through the undergrowth back to camp, tail raised in his trademark furry hook, and glided through the entrance, past Cloudtail.
“What in StarClan is that?” the sentry exclaimed, alarm in his voice.
Gentleoak merely nodded to him, and headed for the medicine cat den. His joy shattered when cats surrounded him, stopping his progress, bristling with outrage and outright terror. He stopped, gazing quizzically at all of them. His tail drooped with sudden dismay.
“It’s a twoleg thing!” Hollytuft cried out. “Gentleoak, what have you done?”
“It's dangerous! Twoleg things kill!” roared Berrynose, his cream pelt rising with fear.
“Remember what happened at our old home with twoleg stuff?” Thornclaw yowled.
“No,” Gentleoak muttered, flattening his ears into his ruff.
“Someone died!” Greystripe retorted, exiting the Elder’s den.
“Take it away!” Brightwing wailed.
“Oh, mousedung,” Hawkwing’s voice interjected. “Not all twoleg things are killers.”
“How do you know?” Snowbush shrieked.
“Many of our Day warriors lived with twolegs at night, and never died from eating out of bowls or pots like those,” Sparrowtail scoffed.
“What in StarClan is going on here?” Bramblestar’s voice drowned out the rest of the protests, as ThunderClan’s leader pushed his way through the throng of agitated cats. The broad-shouldered brown tabby tom halted abruptly, his amber eyes widening.
“What menace have you brought here?”
“Get rid of them now!” Squirrelflight snarled, pushing past her mate. “They could be tainted with poison!”
“Calm down,” Kyemama’s voice interrupted, rippling with mirth. She pushed past everyone, her gravid belly, swollen with kits, hanging low, and Demonpoppa moved at her side. Gentleoak sagged inwardly with relief as his parents walked up to him, no fear in their demeanor. “These are just pots. Camping pots some twolegs lost. They don’t contain poison.”
“Pots?” Gentleoak asked, while many of the gathered Clan yowled and growled in hysteria.
“Yes. Put them down, Son. Everyone, watch this.” Kyemama bent over, and, carefully separating the curved metal sticks, she lifted the small pot overflowing with herbs out, leaving two there with water in the bottom. She then lifted the middle one out and set it in between the large one and the smallest. Her long red tabby coat rippled down her body, her ears canting back against the yowls and shrieks of upset cats. “It’s a twoleg camping pot set, dinged, banged up, and stained, but the handles are secure and strong. We are lucky they didn’t separate in the storms.”
“No need to be afraid of them,” Demonpoppa remarked, his gold eyes calm, his black smoke and white pelt flat. Born into ThunderClan, Gentleoak often forgot his parents, Kyestorm and Demonstone, of pure Maine Coon stock, once lived as kittypets. In that moment, he thanked StarClan for their origins, and for their stoic confidence and lack of fear.
“I agree,” Leafstar spoke up, shouldering her way to stand beside Bramblestar. “They’re just metal bowls with handles. Why are you all so afraid?”
ThunderClan, including the medicine cats, drew back, eyes wide in terror, ignoring Leafstar, Kyemama and Demonpoppa. Jayfeather scented the air, his nostrils flaring, but his expression looked more thoughtful than terrified. Only Gentleoak’s parents and brothers remained calm and unperturbed. SkyClan cats shifted nervously, but showed more curiosity than fear. Gentleoak touched the small one with his paw, spreading his long toes. Black toe tufts ruffled in the breeze as he tapped it with a massive claw tip.
“I brought home more herbs in this than I could ever carry otherwise. They are useful, not scary,” Gentleoak insisted, in a soft quiet voice.
“I agree,” Kyemama said, then her voice disappeared in raucous screeching of hysterical dread from their clanmates. Kyemama glared at all of them.
“You don’t trust my judgement after all this time?” she yowled in exasperation.
“They’re twoleg things. They’re dangerous,” Squirrelflight retorted in a hiss.
“I’m not getting rid of them,” Gentleoak argued, but even Bramblestar, usually so level-headed, reacted with dread and fury.
“Get them out of here,” he snarled at Gentleoak. “Twoleg items are never good. I don’t want them in camp.”
“Fine,” Gentleoak snapped, stopping an angry retort from his fiery red tabby dam, and glanced at the sun, which sank toward the horizon. “I’m going to the Moonpool to commune with StarClan over this. Look at how much I carried home in one trip.”
“I don’t care,” Squirrelflight snapped. “Just get rid of them.”
“Jayfeather? Leafpool?” Gentleoak implored his former mentors, taking a step toward the medicine den.
“Sorry,” Leafpool lowered her head. Jayfeather remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Mousedung,”Gentleoak swore, annoyed at the irrational reactions of his Clanmates. “You’re all acting like these pots carry the Dark Forest itself. If StarClan blesses them, I’ll keep them. I don’t care what you think.”
Growling with uncharacteristic anger, Gentleoak nestled the pots, and carried his herbs in them to the medicine den. Leafpool blocked the entrance. Alderheart stood behind her, eyes down, tail flicking. Jayfeather twitched his ears, his expression turning stoic.
“I can’t let you bring those in here,” Leafpool meowed, ears down in silent apology. Gentleoak stood for a long moment, feeling befuddled, until a familiar gravelly voice whispered in his head.
“Fight or what you believe.” the voice admonished him. Jayfeather flicked his ears, and mumbled to himself. Gentleoak flattened his ears, his anger flaring again. He set the pots down, and, with one of his huge paws, tossed the bundles of herbs at Leafpool.
“Take these,” he growled. “You’re all being fools. These aren’t from the Dark Forest for StarClan’s sake.”
“We’ve had terrible experiences with twoleg things,” Leafpool said n soft tones. “I agree with your communing with Starclan in this matter. They do look very useful to me, but, I have my reservations.”
“I agree, they sound very useful,” Jayfeather spoke up, retrieving a traveling herb packet, and dropped it in the pots. “Good luck.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Give Yellowfang my greetings.”
Gentleoak nodded curtly, and, picking up the pots, trotted out of camp, scowling at his frightened clan members, Only SkyClan, his parents and brothers regarded him with no fear, and showed support in tail salutes. He waved his bushy tail back, and left camp. He headed up the familiar trail to the Moonpool, his ground-eating trot pushing him swiftly toward his destination. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky darkened, revealing a three-quarter moon. Gentleoak lashed his tail.
“It’s past the half moon. I hope StarClan talks to me,” he muttered around the metal handle. The path rose steadily, growing steep. Gentleoak’s tufted large paws handled the rugged terrain well, and he traveled easily. A cool wind moaned over the rocks, and Gentleoak scented the air, confident the weather would not be a problem this night. He crossed the stream, rockhopping with ease, briefly remembering when a blizzard trapped him and his fellow medicine cats at the Moonpool on the most important night in his life. He shook himself, and hurried up the path.
After many many foxlegths, he trotted past the trail head into a small clearing. The Moonpool shimmered, as the wind blew across its surface, causing ripples in the water. Familiar rocky cliffs rose up behind the pool, and he stopped on small sandy spot beneath the cliff. He faced the pool, and padded to the shore.
He placed his huge golden-brown paws with the black toe tufts in the water, and lay on his belly, placing the dented, stained, dull metal pots between his feet. He dropped his muzzle to the water, and closed his eyes. His mind quickly drifted. After a moment of dark, Gentleoak’s vision cleared, and he stood up, glancing around, familiar awe filling his mind and heart. Reverence filled his soul.
The Moonpool shone, reflecting Silverpelt, the three-quarter moon and hundreds of starry figures poised on the stones and craggy cliffs. Gentleoak recognized Firestar, Bluestar, Blackstar and Tallstar. Another cat joined them, a grey she-cat with a messy unkept coat and amber eyes. Gentleoak reacted with recognition as Yellowfang’s face crinkled in a feline smile. An ancient cat joined them, his features full of delight, and stars sparkled through his translucent body, pulsing with new energy.
“Greetings, Gentleoak. I’m Cloudstar, from SkyClan.”
“Greetings,” Gentleoak dipped his head. “We’re all happy you found your way here.”
“As are we.” Cloudstar glanced back at a group of cats not there a couple of moons ago. Cloudstar pointed at the pots with his tail. “Those metal bowls will be of great benefit to you.”
“That is how I feel, too,” Gentleoak agreed. “But my clan is terrified.”
Firestar flicked his tail, and led the StarClan cats to Gentleoak. All of them looked down at his feet, where the three pots glittered like ice, refracting light into pastel colors.
“We know why you’ve come,” Firestar said, approval in his green eyes. “You are always welcome here, at any time.”
“Why do my Clanmates hate these? Kyemama says they are twoleg pots.” Gentleoak hurried on. “They’re useful, not deadly. Why can’t they see that?”
“You’re right, and I think your fellow medicine cats know it. Jayfeather sure does.” Yellowfang broke in, annoyance rasping her voice. “Your Clan is being overcautious, if not downright bee-brained.”
“I know. I don’t understand why Jayfeather won’t fight on my side. He usually has no problem chastising anyone in the Clan,” Gentleoak grumbled. “Jayfeather sends greetings.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Yellowfang held Gentleoak’s gaze. “And he knows these pots are harmless, but even he can’t override hysteria.”
“We should always be wary of twoleg objects,” Firestar admondished. “Most of them are dangerous, however, these are not.”
The StarClan cats crowded forward, murmuring amongst themselves. Firestar gazed at the pots.
“Perhaps it is the twoleg smell,” he said, sniffing the pots, then turned his head. “Do we all agree to bless these containers?”
“Yes,” from Bluestar.
“Absolutely,” from Yellowfang.
“Sure,” Tallstar responded.
No doubt, yes,” Cloudstar purred.
Yes,” Blackstar agreed, after a short moment of hesitation.
The rest all murmured affirmatives and bright stars filled the air, as each StarClan cat approached, lowering their heads to lick the pots. Gentleoak watched in complete awe and astonishment, as the pots glowed and glittered from within, like illuminated crystal. Last in the long line, Firestar licked all three pots, then placed a paw on them.
“I, Firestar, of StarClan, now bless these pots, with assurances they pose no danger. May they serve you well,” he called out, then eyed Gentleoak. “Make good use of them, Medicine Cat. Do not fret. We shall inform your fellow medicine cats of this. Fare well.”
“I will,” Gentleoak promised. In a swirl of silver and gold stars the StarClan cats vanished, and he abrupty woke up. He blinked, feeling sleepy and groggy. The pots still sat between his paws, but unlike the grimy, black, green, and rust stained pieces of twoleg flotsam he arrived with, they shone a clean, clear deep silver, reflecting the moon and stars of Silverpelt. Gentleoak stared at his reflection in the bottom of them, marveling at the change. Jayfeather’s packet lay untouched in the small pot. Gerntleoak unwrapped the bundle, and ate the herbs. Energy and strength flashed through his young body, wiping away the desire to nap. He glanced around the Moonpool, then, with delight rippling his pelt, Gentleoak picked the pots up, and traveled the long journey home.
“Excellent! I can carry my herbs in this,” he mewed around the metal, and trotted back to his bundles, absently shaking his big paws. With delight, he placed his bundles in the object, and realized he could collect the rest of those herbs on the bank, and carry them all home in this odd two-leg object. He worked, quickly filling his new possession with a wonderful store of herbs. He picked up the contraption, herbs bristling out of it, and trotted back to camp, thoroughly pleased with himself. He moved through the undergrowth back to camp, tail raised in his trademark furry hook, and glided through the entrance, past Cloudtail.
“What in StarClan is that?” the sentry exclaimed, alarm in his voice.
Gentleoak merely nodded to him, and headed for the medicine cat den. His joy shattered when cats surrounded him, stopping his progress, bristling with outrage and outright terror. He stopped, gazing quizzically at all of them. His tail drooped with sudden dismay.
“It’s a twoleg thing!” Hollytuft cried out. “Gentleoak, what have you done?”
“It's dangerous! Twoleg things kill!” roared Berrynose, his cream pelt rising with fear.
“Remember what happened at our old home with twoleg stuff?” Thornclaw yowled.
“No,” Gentleoak muttered, flattening his ears into his ruff.
“Someone died!” Greystripe retorted, exiting the Elder’s den.
“Take it away!” Brightwing wailed.
“Oh, mousedung,” Hawkwing’s voice interjected. “Not all twoleg things are killers.”
“How do you know?” Snowbush shrieked.
“Many of our Day warriors lived with twolegs at night, and never died from eating out of bowls or pots like those,” Sparrowtail scoffed.
“What in StarClan is going on here?” Bramblestar’s voice drowned out the rest of the protests, as ThunderClan’s leader pushed his way through the throng of agitated cats. The broad-shouldered brown tabby tom halted abruptly, his amber eyes widening.
“What menace have you brought here?”
“Get rid of them now!” Squirrelflight snarled, pushing past her mate. “They could be tainted with poison!”
“Calm down,” Kyemama’s voice interrupted, rippling with mirth. She pushed past everyone, her gravid belly, swollen with kits, hanging low, and Demonpoppa moved at her side. Gentleoak sagged inwardly with relief as his parents walked up to him, no fear in their demeanor. “These are just pots. Camping pots some twolegs lost. They don’t contain poison.”
“Pots?” Gentleoak asked, while many of the gathered Clan yowled and growled in hysteria.
“Yes. Put them down, Son. Everyone, watch this.” Kyemama bent over, and, carefully separating the curved metal sticks, she lifted the small pot overflowing with herbs out, leaving two there with water in the bottom. She then lifted the middle one out and set it in between the large one and the smallest. Her long red tabby coat rippled down her body, her ears canting back against the yowls and shrieks of upset cats. “It’s a twoleg camping pot set, dinged, banged up, and stained, but the handles are secure and strong. We are lucky they didn’t separate in the storms.”
“No need to be afraid of them,” Demonpoppa remarked, his gold eyes calm, his black smoke and white pelt flat. Born into ThunderClan, Gentleoak often forgot his parents, Kyestorm and Demonstone, of pure Maine Coon stock, once lived as kittypets. In that moment, he thanked StarClan for their origins, and for their stoic confidence and lack of fear.
“I agree,” Leafstar spoke up, shouldering her way to stand beside Bramblestar. “They’re just metal bowls with handles. Why are you all so afraid?”
ThunderClan, including the medicine cats, drew back, eyes wide in terror, ignoring Leafstar, Kyemama and Demonpoppa. Jayfeather scented the air, his nostrils flaring, but his expression looked more thoughtful than terrified. Only Gentleoak’s parents and brothers remained calm and unperturbed. SkyClan cats shifted nervously, but showed more curiosity than fear. Gentleoak touched the small one with his paw, spreading his long toes. Black toe tufts ruffled in the breeze as he tapped it with a massive claw tip.
“I brought home more herbs in this than I could ever carry otherwise. They are useful, not scary,” Gentleoak insisted, in a soft quiet voice.
“I agree,” Kyemama said, then her voice disappeared in raucous screeching of hysterical dread from their clanmates. Kyemama glared at all of them.
“You don’t trust my judgement after all this time?” she yowled in exasperation.
“They’re twoleg things. They’re dangerous,” Squirrelflight retorted in a hiss.
“I’m not getting rid of them,” Gentleoak argued, but even Bramblestar, usually so level-headed, reacted with dread and fury.
“Get them out of here,” he snarled at Gentleoak. “Twoleg items are never good. I don’t want them in camp.”
“Fine,” Gentleoak snapped, stopping an angry retort from his fiery red tabby dam, and glanced at the sun, which sank toward the horizon. “I’m going to the Moonpool to commune with StarClan over this. Look at how much I carried home in one trip.”
“I don’t care,” Squirrelflight snapped. “Just get rid of them.”
“Jayfeather? Leafpool?” Gentleoak implored his former mentors, taking a step toward the medicine den.
“Sorry,” Leafpool lowered her head. Jayfeather remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Mousedung,”Gentleoak swore, annoyed at the irrational reactions of his Clanmates. “You’re all acting like these pots carry the Dark Forest itself. If StarClan blesses them, I’ll keep them. I don’t care what you think.”
Growling with uncharacteristic anger, Gentleoak nestled the pots, and carried his herbs in them to the medicine den. Leafpool blocked the entrance. Alderheart stood behind her, eyes down, tail flicking. Jayfeather twitched his ears, his expression turning stoic.
“I can’t let you bring those in here,” Leafpool meowed, ears down in silent apology. Gentleoak stood for a long moment, feeling befuddled, until a familiar gravelly voice whispered in his head.
“Fight or what you believe.” the voice admonished him. Jayfeather flicked his ears, and mumbled to himself. Gentleoak flattened his ears, his anger flaring again. He set the pots down, and, with one of his huge paws, tossed the bundles of herbs at Leafpool.
“Take these,” he growled. “You’re all being fools. These aren’t from the Dark Forest for StarClan’s sake.”
“We’ve had terrible experiences with twoleg things,” Leafpool said n soft tones. “I agree with your communing with Starclan in this matter. They do look very useful to me, but, I have my reservations.”
“I agree, they sound very useful,” Jayfeather spoke up, retrieving a traveling herb packet, and dropped it in the pots. “Good luck.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Give Yellowfang my greetings.”
Gentleoak nodded curtly, and, picking up the pots, trotted out of camp, scowling at his frightened clan members, Only SkyClan, his parents and brothers regarded him with no fear, and showed support in tail salutes. He waved his bushy tail back, and left camp. He headed up the familiar trail to the Moonpool, his ground-eating trot pushing him swiftly toward his destination. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky darkened, revealing a three-quarter moon. Gentleoak lashed his tail.
“It’s past the half moon. I hope StarClan talks to me,” he muttered around the metal handle. The path rose steadily, growing steep. Gentleoak’s tufted large paws handled the rugged terrain well, and he traveled easily. A cool wind moaned over the rocks, and Gentleoak scented the air, confident the weather would not be a problem this night. He crossed the stream, rockhopping with ease, briefly remembering when a blizzard trapped him and his fellow medicine cats at the Moonpool on the most important night in his life. He shook himself, and hurried up the path.
After many many foxlegths, he trotted past the trail head into a small clearing. The Moonpool shimmered, as the wind blew across its surface, causing ripples in the water. Familiar rocky cliffs rose up behind the pool, and he stopped on small sandy spot beneath the cliff. He faced the pool, and padded to the shore.
He placed his huge golden-brown paws with the black toe tufts in the water, and lay on his belly, placing the dented, stained, dull metal pots between his feet. He dropped his muzzle to the water, and closed his eyes. His mind quickly drifted. After a moment of dark, Gentleoak’s vision cleared, and he stood up, glancing around, familiar awe filling his mind and heart. Reverence filled his soul.
The Moonpool shone, reflecting Silverpelt, the three-quarter moon and hundreds of starry figures poised on the stones and craggy cliffs. Gentleoak recognized Firestar, Bluestar, Blackstar and Tallstar. Another cat joined them, a grey she-cat with a messy unkept coat and amber eyes. Gentleoak reacted with recognition as Yellowfang’s face crinkled in a feline smile. An ancient cat joined them, his features full of delight, and stars sparkled through his translucent body, pulsing with new energy.
“Greetings, Gentleoak. I’m Cloudstar, from SkyClan.”
“Greetings,” Gentleoak dipped his head. “We’re all happy you found your way here.”
“As are we.” Cloudstar glanced back at a group of cats not there a couple of moons ago. Cloudstar pointed at the pots with his tail. “Those metal bowls will be of great benefit to you.”
“That is how I feel, too,” Gentleoak agreed. “But my clan is terrified.”
Firestar flicked his tail, and led the StarClan cats to Gentleoak. All of them looked down at his feet, where the three pots glittered like ice, refracting light into pastel colors.
“We know why you’ve come,” Firestar said, approval in his green eyes. “You are always welcome here, at any time.”
“Why do my Clanmates hate these? Kyemama says they are twoleg pots.” Gentleoak hurried on. “They’re useful, not deadly. Why can’t they see that?”
“You’re right, and I think your fellow medicine cats know it. Jayfeather sure does.” Yellowfang broke in, annoyance rasping her voice. “Your Clan is being overcautious, if not downright bee-brained.”
“I know. I don’t understand why Jayfeather won’t fight on my side. He usually has no problem chastising anyone in the Clan,” Gentleoak grumbled. “Jayfeather sends greetings.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Yellowfang held Gentleoak’s gaze. “And he knows these pots are harmless, but even he can’t override hysteria.”
“We should always be wary of twoleg objects,” Firestar admondished. “Most of them are dangerous, however, these are not.”
The StarClan cats crowded forward, murmuring amongst themselves. Firestar gazed at the pots.
“Perhaps it is the twoleg smell,” he said, sniffing the pots, then turned his head. “Do we all agree to bless these containers?”
“Yes,” from Bluestar.
“Absolutely,” from Yellowfang.
“Sure,” Tallstar responded.
No doubt, yes,” Cloudstar purred.
Yes,” Blackstar agreed, after a short moment of hesitation.
The rest all murmured affirmatives and bright stars filled the air, as each StarClan cat approached, lowering their heads to lick the pots. Gentleoak watched in complete awe and astonishment, as the pots glowed and glittered from within, like illuminated crystal. Last in the long line, Firestar licked all three pots, then placed a paw on them.
“I, Firestar, of StarClan, now bless these pots, with assurances they pose no danger. May they serve you well,” he called out, then eyed Gentleoak. “Make good use of them, Medicine Cat. Do not fret. We shall inform your fellow medicine cats of this. Fare well.”
“I will,” Gentleoak promised. In a swirl of silver and gold stars the StarClan cats vanished, and he abrupty woke up. He blinked, feeling sleepy and groggy. The pots still sat between his paws, but unlike the grimy, black, green, and rust stained pieces of twoleg flotsam he arrived with, they shone a clean, clear deep silver, reflecting the moon and stars of Silverpelt. Gentleoak stared at his reflection in the bottom of them, marveling at the change. Jayfeather’s packet lay untouched in the small pot. Gerntleoak unwrapped the bundle, and ate the herbs. Energy and strength flashed through his young body, wiping away the desire to nap. He glanced around the Moonpool, then, with delight rippling his pelt, Gentleoak picked the pots up, and traveled the long journey home.
Beautiful banner by Shadowface!
Gentleoak boldly walked into camp, close to moonset, past Birchfall who stood sentry duty. To the east, light heralded the approaching dawn. Birchfall gazed at the sparkling pots, and then nodded. Gentleoak marched to the Medicine cat den and walked in, heading straight to the small pool in the back. Leafpool, Alderheart, and Jayfeather sat silent, watching as he took the smallest pot, placed it under the trickle, and waited. It filled with clean cool water. Gentleoak picked up the full pot, carrying it with care, and set it in front of Jayfeather.
“Much better than moss,” he purred. “StarClam blessed these pots. They won’t endanger us.”
“Agreed,” Jayfeather finally spoke, his voice gruff. “StarClan sent a clear message to us.”
“How will we convince the Clan?” Gentleoak asked. “They fear them.”
“Well.” Jayfeather rose to his feet. “Shall we deliver a drink of cold clean water to our leader?”
Jayfeather bent over, and took the handle, and with effort, lifted the pot of water. He stepped forward and sloshed water all over his chest. With an exasperated growl, he set the pot down.
“Please take it,” Jayfeather grumbled. “I’ll accompany you to Bramblestar’s den.”
Gentleoak picked up the pot, and moved out of the den. Jayfeather trotted ahead of him as they sauntered across camp, and the shining pot attracted attention from several cats who still moved around the sleeping camp. Berrynose hissed from his spot near the fresh kill pile, where his hunting patrol deposited the results of the first hunt of the morning. Hollytuft growled, bristling in fear.
“Let’s not wake the camp for nothing,” Jayfeather responded irritably. “StarCan gave its blessings”
Gentleoak merely waved his tail, following Jayfeather.
“Can you carry that up to the den?” Jayfeather asked, as they reached the fot of Highledge.
“Yes,” Genleoak answered, even as his neck muscles ached from the effort. He resolved to strengthen himself so this became easy. Jayfeather surged ahead, and paused at the door of the den.
“Bramblestar?”
“What is it?” ThunderClans leader responded after several moments. “It’s barely dawn yet.”
“We have StarClan’s answer to the pots.”
“You brought them back?” Bramblestar snapped, barreling out of the den, Squirrelflight at his flank. Leafstar and Hawkwing emerged from their dens, exchanging glances.
“Yes. StarClan blessed them,” Jayfeather answered irritably. Gentleoak eased past Jayfeather, ignoring the bristling pelts and baleful glares, and set the pot down.
“Enjoy some water,” Gentleoak insisted. “I did go to the Moonpool and StarClan approved the pots.”
Bramblestar eyed the pot, and his eyes widened with surprise, as waning moonlight shimmered off its surface. He crept up, and sniffed the water, ignoring his deputy’s warnings.
“It doesn’t smell like twoleg stuff anymore, and looks so pristine,” he muttered, then leveled his amber gaze on Gentleoak. “What happened to them? They looked covered with twoleg poison before this.”
“StarClan changed them,”Gentleoak answered, flopping his tail from side to side, his voice calm. “I don’t understand how, but they glittered like ice in the sun. Then I woke, they sat, shining like this.
“Hmm. It does look like they came from Silverpelt itself,”Bramblestar meowed, then lapped the water. “It is good.”
“Fresh from the Medicine cat den stream,” Gentleoak said, hoping his leader used his brains over emotions. Bramblestar relaxed visibly, and blinked at Gentleoak.
“If StarClan approves, who am I to refuse? Tomorrow, I shall call a meeting to allay any further fears. Bring the water to the nursery” He took a few laps, and encouraged Squirrelflight to do so. She hesitated, scowling, until she scented the pots and water. She took a few tongue fulls.
“I’ll go with you to the nursery,” the deputy announced.
“So will I,” Bramblestar concurred.
“I’m glad you all came to your senses,” Leafstar mumbled. Bramblestar ignored her, but he flicked his tail.
Gentleoak picked up the pot and walked to the nursery. Squirrelflight and Bramblestar led the way. Carefully they entered, and, to Gentleoak’s surprise, Kyemama, who expected he litter very soon, lay awake, a knowing look in her copper-gold eyes. The other queens hissed in shock, and Daisy opened her mouth, her eyes wide with amazement, but Kyemama silenced them with a flick of her bushy red tail.
“Oh stop,” she growled. “Look what he carries with that pot, which sparkles like Silverpelt. StarClan obviously blessed them and approves. I always hated trying to drink water from moss. Son, please set that here.”
Gentleoak obliged with purrs, and watched with delight as his mother lapped up the cool water with gusto. She stopped, and eyed all the other queens.
“Try it,” she insisted. Gentleoak took the cue, and moved the pot to Rosepetal, who recoiled with a hiss. She sniffed the air, then moved closer, scented the water, and took a lick. Her expression changed in a millisecond, and she lapped greedily.
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “So clean and fresh! No mossy taste or bits of dirt.”
Gentleoak moved the pot to Blosomfall, Poppyfrost, Sparkfire, Cherryfall, Tinycloud, and by time Daisy took the last drink from the pot, the queens clamored for more water. Daisy licked her lips, eyes shining.
“I’ve been here so long I forgot bowls can be so very nice,”
“I don’t think we’ll have any further trouble from our clanmates when they see this” Bramblestar meowed with a hearty chuckle. “Take it and refill it, but don’t return until sunrise.”
“Yes,, Brambllestar.” Getleoak nodded, picked up the pot and left the nursery. Jayfeather followed.
“Fill all three, and bring them when Bramblestar calls for you,” he said. “Ask your brothers to help.”
Jayfeather sauntered into the medicine den, and Gentleoak veered over to the Warrior’s den.
“Demonstreak, Phantomstrike?”
The two enormous Maine Coons stepped out of the den. Demonstreak touched the pot wth his white muzzle, his gold eyes shining from a black mask. Phantomstrike’s sea green eyes gleamed, and he shook his dark silver tabby pelt.
“Interesting,” Phantomstrike purred, and Gentleoak saw his brother’s mind racing in the scowl creasing his brow and quivering his tall ears. “You had water in here.” Phantomstrike’s expression turned to one of amazed delight. “No need to carry water in moss any more.”
“True. I have three of these, and Bramblestar wants them all, full of water, at the next meeting which will be at sunrise. I can’t carry them all.”
“Of course we’ll help.” Demonstreak reached out a polydactl paw and grasped the handle of the empty pot. He lifted it to his face and licked the last drops of water clinging to the burnished interior. He then grasped the handle in his jaws. “Lead on, brother.”
“Thanks,” Gentleoak mewed, and led his brothers into the medicine den, past his plush nest, and to the stream and pool. They filled the pots with water, and waited, watching dawn lighten the sky outside. As the sun’s rays touched the upper boughs of the forest, Bramblestar’s voice rang out.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here!” Bramblestar’s yowl reverberated through camp. Leafstar repeated the call. Startled meows and yowls echoed off the cliffs as cats from both Clans rushed to obey their Leaders.
“Come on.” Gentleoak picked up the small pot, allowing his larger brothers to take the heavier pots. They glided across camp toward Highledge, water sloshing from the pots. The Clans gathered, and after several moments of protesting and arguing hisses, snarls and yowls, everyone watched in silence as Gentleoak and his brothers carried the pots of water to Highledge. The queens all sat beside his mother, eyes shining with anticipation, while many warriors stared with baleful glares. Gentleoak set his down and sat beside it, ready to guard it with tooth and claw His brothers copied him. Movement in the Elders group caught his attention.
“I reckon yer all findin’ yer brains about now,” Purdy spoke up, breaking ranks with wary Elders. He padded over to Gentleoak, and brazenly dipped his head to take a long drink of the cold spring water. “Ahh, tis refreshin’ an’ better’n moss. Oh, much better. Tis one thing I missed, a bowl of fresh water. Yer all fools to fear these lucky blessed pots.”
Cats exchanged glances, and in ones and twos broke rank, and approached the pots. As they drank, purring and exclaiming in delight, chaos broke out. Cats rushed the rock, wanting a turn, and hissing and snarling echoed under Highledge. Claws flashed and fur flew, as cats of all ranks tried to beat each other to the clear sparkling water. Gentleoak struggled not to laugh, but his brothers found no amusement in the sudden turn of violent acceptance. Both lowered their heads, ruffs mantling as they hissed warnings, but before they needed to use their wicked claws against their clanmates, the leader of ThunderClan reacted.
“STOP!” Bramblestar’s command thundered from his chest. Everyone froze, and looked up. “Please returnto order”
Cats hurried back to their spots, and Bramblestar glared down at them. Many groomed themselves with shame, while others stared at the ground.
“Yesterday you feared these as if the Dark Forest cats themselves resided in them,” Bramblestar yowled. “Now your greed makes you behave just like them.”
“They didn’t understand,” Brackenfur, seated next to Demonstone, spoke up. “I think we all do now.”
“Good,” Bramblestar raised his voice. “I, Bramblestar, Leader of ThunderClan, accept these pots into camp as a gift from StarClan.”
Gentleoak bristled suddenly, ready to blurt out a protest, but his Leader’s next words mollified him.
“These belong to Gentleoak, who found them, and had them blessed. He shall decide when, how and with whom these pots are used.” Bramblestar gazed down at Gentleoak. “I trust you’ll use these wisely.”
“I promise,” Gentleoak replied, happiness filling him.
“Excellent,” Bramblestar meowed. “Now in an orderly fashion, elders first, followed by queens, medicine cats, senior warriors, warrior and apprentices, take water from these pots. With that, we shall fear them no more.”
Gentleoak sat, tail curled around his massive paws as his clanmates formed three lines, and took their turn. Kyemama took a lap, then looked up at him as she walked away.
“Good work, my son,” she purred with pride.
“Always follow your instincts,” Demonpoppa mewed, eyes sparkling.
Everyone greeted and praised him, and at long last Bramblestar took his share. ThunderClan’s leader met his gaze.
“You should go rest. You did very well with this. I must apologize for my illogical behavior.”
“Thank you,” Gentleoak replied, dipping his head. He moved to gather the precious pots just as the sun’s rays reached into camp, striking the shining, StarClan-touched metal. The sunlight refracted off the glossy surfaces, shooting stars of light all over camp. They shimmered on the rocks, trees, stones and Highledge.
“An’ StarClan gives blessin’,” Purdy remarked, stretching out in patch of sun.
“Fine, fine,”Squirrleflight blurted out. “Its a miracle. We have tasks and chores to do, right? Let’s get to it”
The meeting broke up, and Gentleoak nested the pots together and picked them up. He trotted across camp, and as the pots swung in his jaws, reflected light bounced and shimmered all over camp, until he entered the medicine cat den. Jayfeather, Alderheart and Leafpool bustled with activity, sorting and preparing the herbs he brought home the previous day. He set the pots by his nest, and moved to help.
“No. You get in that nest and take a good nap,” Leafpool admonished him.
“But. . .”
“Don’t be a mousebrain,” Alderheart added. “You didn’t sleep all night. Go to bed.”
“Well,” Gentleoak uttered protest, then yawned, feeling weariness in every muscle. He sank into his nest, and curled up, nose to his precious pots. He opened one eye.
“You know all of you can use these,” he murmured.
“We know,” Jayfeather retorted.”Go to sleep.”
“But. . .” Gentleoak mumbled, and his eyes closed. He found himself standing in a howling snowstorm, and ahead twin golden lights hurried towards him. Out of the swirling storm, a grey wraith appeared, and Gentleoak trotted forward to meet the familiar figure, his mind going back to that kithood dream so many seasons ago.
“Hello, Yellowfang.”
“Greetings, Youngin’,” she answered in that gravelly voice he knew all his life. She stopped, and at her feet, the three pots gleamed, bright in the darkness.
“Why are we here?” Gentleoak asked.
“No reason, except to praise you for a job well done.” Yellowfang slapped the pots with her ragged paw. As one, they flew up into the snow, and Gentleoak leaped up to catch the big handle neatly in his jaws. “Take care of those. They shall serve you well in the seasons to come.”
“I will,” Gentleoak replied with conviction. “I was lucky to find these, and I’ll treasure them forever.”
“Lucky?” Yellowfang cackled as she spun away, and faded into the blizzard. “The pots are lucky, the clan is lucky, because you have sharp eyes, and a quick mind.”
The blizzard faded into a mundane dream, after which Gentleoak awoke, The pots still sat in front of his nose. He blinked and purred. full of delight at his good fortune, imagining many uses for his precious shining pots. As he drifted back into slumber, he mumbled. “I’ve been StarClan blessed with Pot Luck.”
PART TWO
Gentleoak boldly walked into camp, close to moonset, past Birchfall who stood sentry duty. To the east, light heralded the approaching dawn. Birchfall gazed at the sparkling pots, and then nodded. Gentleoak marched to the Medicine cat den and walked in, heading straight to the small pool in the back. Leafpool, Alderheart, and Jayfeather sat silent, watching as he took the smallest pot, placed it under the trickle, and waited. It filled with clean cool water. Gentleoak picked up the full pot, carrying it with care, and set it in front of Jayfeather.
“Much better than moss,” he purred. “StarClam blessed these pots. They won’t endanger us.”
“Agreed,” Jayfeather finally spoke, his voice gruff. “StarClan sent a clear message to us.”
“How will we convince the Clan?” Gentleoak asked. “They fear them.”
“Well.” Jayfeather rose to his feet. “Shall we deliver a drink of cold clean water to our leader?”
Jayfeather bent over, and took the handle, and with effort, lifted the pot of water. He stepped forward and sloshed water all over his chest. With an exasperated growl, he set the pot down.
“Please take it,” Jayfeather grumbled. “I’ll accompany you to Bramblestar’s den.”
Gentleoak picked up the pot, and moved out of the den. Jayfeather trotted ahead of him as they sauntered across camp, and the shining pot attracted attention from several cats who still moved around the sleeping camp. Berrynose hissed from his spot near the fresh kill pile, where his hunting patrol deposited the results of the first hunt of the morning. Hollytuft growled, bristling in fear.
“Let’s not wake the camp for nothing,” Jayfeather responded irritably. “StarCan gave its blessings”
Gentleoak merely waved his tail, following Jayfeather.
“Can you carry that up to the den?” Jayfeather asked, as they reached the fot of Highledge.
“Yes,” Genleoak answered, even as his neck muscles ached from the effort. He resolved to strengthen himself so this became easy. Jayfeather surged ahead, and paused at the door of the den.
“Bramblestar?”
“What is it?” ThunderClans leader responded after several moments. “It’s barely dawn yet.”
“We have StarClan’s answer to the pots.”
“You brought them back?” Bramblestar snapped, barreling out of the den, Squirrelflight at his flank. Leafstar and Hawkwing emerged from their dens, exchanging glances.
“Yes. StarClan blessed them,” Jayfeather answered irritably. Gentleoak eased past Jayfeather, ignoring the bristling pelts and baleful glares, and set the pot down.
“Enjoy some water,” Gentleoak insisted. “I did go to the Moonpool and StarClan approved the pots.”
Bramblestar eyed the pot, and his eyes widened with surprise, as waning moonlight shimmered off its surface. He crept up, and sniffed the water, ignoring his deputy’s warnings.
“It doesn’t smell like twoleg stuff anymore, and looks so pristine,” he muttered, then leveled his amber gaze on Gentleoak. “What happened to them? They looked covered with twoleg poison before this.”
“StarClan changed them,”Gentleoak answered, flopping his tail from side to side, his voice calm. “I don’t understand how, but they glittered like ice in the sun. Then I woke, they sat, shining like this.
“Hmm. It does look like they came from Silverpelt itself,”Bramblestar meowed, then lapped the water. “It is good.”
“Fresh from the Medicine cat den stream,” Gentleoak said, hoping his leader used his brains over emotions. Bramblestar relaxed visibly, and blinked at Gentleoak.
“If StarClan approves, who am I to refuse? Tomorrow, I shall call a meeting to allay any further fears. Bring the water to the nursery” He took a few laps, and encouraged Squirrelflight to do so. She hesitated, scowling, until she scented the pots and water. She took a few tongue fulls.
“I’ll go with you to the nursery,” the deputy announced.
“So will I,” Bramblestar concurred.
“I’m glad you all came to your senses,” Leafstar mumbled. Bramblestar ignored her, but he flicked his tail.
Gentleoak picked up the pot and walked to the nursery. Squirrelflight and Bramblestar led the way. Carefully they entered, and, to Gentleoak’s surprise, Kyemama, who expected he litter very soon, lay awake, a knowing look in her copper-gold eyes. The other queens hissed in shock, and Daisy opened her mouth, her eyes wide with amazement, but Kyemama silenced them with a flick of her bushy red tail.
“Oh stop,” she growled. “Look what he carries with that pot, which sparkles like Silverpelt. StarClan obviously blessed them and approves. I always hated trying to drink water from moss. Son, please set that here.”
Gentleoak obliged with purrs, and watched with delight as his mother lapped up the cool water with gusto. She stopped, and eyed all the other queens.
“Try it,” she insisted. Gentleoak took the cue, and moved the pot to Rosepetal, who recoiled with a hiss. She sniffed the air, then moved closer, scented the water, and took a lick. Her expression changed in a millisecond, and she lapped greedily.
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “So clean and fresh! No mossy taste or bits of dirt.”
Gentleoak moved the pot to Blosomfall, Poppyfrost, Sparkfire, Cherryfall, Tinycloud, and by time Daisy took the last drink from the pot, the queens clamored for more water. Daisy licked her lips, eyes shining.
“I’ve been here so long I forgot bowls can be so very nice,”
“I don’t think we’ll have any further trouble from our clanmates when they see this” Bramblestar meowed with a hearty chuckle. “Take it and refill it, but don’t return until sunrise.”
“Yes,, Brambllestar.” Getleoak nodded, picked up the pot and left the nursery. Jayfeather followed.
“Fill all three, and bring them when Bramblestar calls for you,” he said. “Ask your brothers to help.”
Jayfeather sauntered into the medicine den, and Gentleoak veered over to the Warrior’s den.
“Demonstreak, Phantomstrike?”
The two enormous Maine Coons stepped out of the den. Demonstreak touched the pot wth his white muzzle, his gold eyes shining from a black mask. Phantomstrike’s sea green eyes gleamed, and he shook his dark silver tabby pelt.
“Interesting,” Phantomstrike purred, and Gentleoak saw his brother’s mind racing in the scowl creasing his brow and quivering his tall ears. “You had water in here.” Phantomstrike’s expression turned to one of amazed delight. “No need to carry water in moss any more.”
“True. I have three of these, and Bramblestar wants them all, full of water, at the next meeting which will be at sunrise. I can’t carry them all.”
“Of course we’ll help.” Demonstreak reached out a polydactl paw and grasped the handle of the empty pot. He lifted it to his face and licked the last drops of water clinging to the burnished interior. He then grasped the handle in his jaws. “Lead on, brother.”
“Thanks,” Gentleoak mewed, and led his brothers into the medicine den, past his plush nest, and to the stream and pool. They filled the pots with water, and waited, watching dawn lighten the sky outside. As the sun’s rays touched the upper boughs of the forest, Bramblestar’s voice rang out.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here!” Bramblestar’s yowl reverberated through camp. Leafstar repeated the call. Startled meows and yowls echoed off the cliffs as cats from both Clans rushed to obey their Leaders.
“Come on.” Gentleoak picked up the small pot, allowing his larger brothers to take the heavier pots. They glided across camp toward Highledge, water sloshing from the pots. The Clans gathered, and after several moments of protesting and arguing hisses, snarls and yowls, everyone watched in silence as Gentleoak and his brothers carried the pots of water to Highledge. The queens all sat beside his mother, eyes shining with anticipation, while many warriors stared with baleful glares. Gentleoak set his down and sat beside it, ready to guard it with tooth and claw His brothers copied him. Movement in the Elders group caught his attention.
“I reckon yer all findin’ yer brains about now,” Purdy spoke up, breaking ranks with wary Elders. He padded over to Gentleoak, and brazenly dipped his head to take a long drink of the cold spring water. “Ahh, tis refreshin’ an’ better’n moss. Oh, much better. Tis one thing I missed, a bowl of fresh water. Yer all fools to fear these lucky blessed pots.”
Cats exchanged glances, and in ones and twos broke rank, and approached the pots. As they drank, purring and exclaiming in delight, chaos broke out. Cats rushed the rock, wanting a turn, and hissing and snarling echoed under Highledge. Claws flashed and fur flew, as cats of all ranks tried to beat each other to the clear sparkling water. Gentleoak struggled not to laugh, but his brothers found no amusement in the sudden turn of violent acceptance. Both lowered their heads, ruffs mantling as they hissed warnings, but before they needed to use their wicked claws against their clanmates, the leader of ThunderClan reacted.
“STOP!” Bramblestar’s command thundered from his chest. Everyone froze, and looked up. “Please returnto order”
Cats hurried back to their spots, and Bramblestar glared down at them. Many groomed themselves with shame, while others stared at the ground.
“Yesterday you feared these as if the Dark Forest cats themselves resided in them,” Bramblestar yowled. “Now your greed makes you behave just like them.”
“They didn’t understand,” Brackenfur, seated next to Demonstone, spoke up. “I think we all do now.”
“Good,” Bramblestar raised his voice. “I, Bramblestar, Leader of ThunderClan, accept these pots into camp as a gift from StarClan.”
Gentleoak bristled suddenly, ready to blurt out a protest, but his Leader’s next words mollified him.
“These belong to Gentleoak, who found them, and had them blessed. He shall decide when, how and with whom these pots are used.” Bramblestar gazed down at Gentleoak. “I trust you’ll use these wisely.”
“I promise,” Gentleoak replied, happiness filling him.
“Excellent,” Bramblestar meowed. “Now in an orderly fashion, elders first, followed by queens, medicine cats, senior warriors, warrior and apprentices, take water from these pots. With that, we shall fear them no more.”
Gentleoak sat, tail curled around his massive paws as his clanmates formed three lines, and took their turn. Kyemama took a lap, then looked up at him as she walked away.
“Good work, my son,” she purred with pride.
“Always follow your instincts,” Demonpoppa mewed, eyes sparkling.
Everyone greeted and praised him, and at long last Bramblestar took his share. ThunderClan’s leader met his gaze.
“You should go rest. You did very well with this. I must apologize for my illogical behavior.”
“Thank you,” Gentleoak replied, dipping his head. He moved to gather the precious pots just as the sun’s rays reached into camp, striking the shining, StarClan-touched metal. The sunlight refracted off the glossy surfaces, shooting stars of light all over camp. They shimmered on the rocks, trees, stones and Highledge.
“An’ StarClan gives blessin’,” Purdy remarked, stretching out in patch of sun.
“Fine, fine,”Squirrleflight blurted out. “Its a miracle. We have tasks and chores to do, right? Let’s get to it”
The meeting broke up, and Gentleoak nested the pots together and picked them up. He trotted across camp, and as the pots swung in his jaws, reflected light bounced and shimmered all over camp, until he entered the medicine cat den. Jayfeather, Alderheart and Leafpool bustled with activity, sorting and preparing the herbs he brought home the previous day. He set the pots by his nest, and moved to help.
“No. You get in that nest and take a good nap,” Leafpool admonished him.
“But. . .”
“Don’t be a mousebrain,” Alderheart added. “You didn’t sleep all night. Go to bed.”
“Well,” Gentleoak uttered protest, then yawned, feeling weariness in every muscle. He sank into his nest, and curled up, nose to his precious pots. He opened one eye.
“You know all of you can use these,” he murmured.
“We know,” Jayfeather retorted.”Go to sleep.”
“But. . .” Gentleoak mumbled, and his eyes closed. He found himself standing in a howling snowstorm, and ahead twin golden lights hurried towards him. Out of the swirling storm, a grey wraith appeared, and Gentleoak trotted forward to meet the familiar figure, his mind going back to that kithood dream so many seasons ago.
“Hello, Yellowfang.”
“Greetings, Youngin’,” she answered in that gravelly voice he knew all his life. She stopped, and at her feet, the three pots gleamed, bright in the darkness.
“Why are we here?” Gentleoak asked.
“No reason, except to praise you for a job well done.” Yellowfang slapped the pots with her ragged paw. As one, they flew up into the snow, and Gentleoak leaped up to catch the big handle neatly in his jaws. “Take care of those. They shall serve you well in the seasons to come.”
“I will,” Gentleoak replied with conviction. “I was lucky to find these, and I’ll treasure them forever.”
“Lucky?” Yellowfang cackled as she spun away, and faded into the blizzard. “The pots are lucky, the clan is lucky, because you have sharp eyes, and a quick mind.”
The blizzard faded into a mundane dream, after which Gentleoak awoke, The pots still sat in front of his nose. He blinked and purred. full of delight at his good fortune, imagining many uses for his precious shining pots. As he drifted back into slumber, he mumbled. “I’ve been StarClan blessed with Pot Luck.”