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Post by Dingoleap on Dec 1, 2018 2:55:06 GMT -5
Sacrilege > Wolfpaw It is Wolfpaw, Seer-To-Be, who discovers the body.
He makes his morning rounds as he always does, slowly, deliberately, every movement calculated. He walks the camp, pauses to converse with each cat, to enquirer about their health, their thoughts, their dreams.
This morning, this black morning, rain threatens. The sky hangs low and heavy, mourning something not yet lost. The lake, ever-still, gleams like polished slate. The air is thick, heavy with the weight of the incoming storm.
Wolfpaw gathers the dreams of others with careful tact. Some things carry weight. Others are feather-light. He notes the ones worth noting and carries them back to the den.
It is there that he finds the blood.
This is not an accidental killing. The bloodshed is too deliberate, too precise, to be anything but what it is.
An execution.
Strangely enough, it is not the murder that scares Wolfpaw. Each of the eight full moons he has lived as shown him some fresh horror. He was born in blood. He lives in blood. He will die in it, too. It is why he must be Seer.
No, the blood doesnβt scare him. He is terrified, however, the prey in the path of a hunter kind of terrified, of the Shrine. It is hollow. Empty. Gone.
Gone.
The bones of the Mother Goddess are gone.
He runs.
The Clan returned to Firstcamp almost a moon ago, when the eye of the Mother Goddess was little more than a claw-scratch. They spread out along it now, huddled close in family groups, but Wolfpaw doesnβt see. He saw only the blood, arcing through the shrine-cave, dripping like rain from Whitethroatβs body.
βDarkstar!β He screams. The sound tears itself from his throat like something living, something wounded.
The Clan skips backwards as he passes, their noses wrinkling at the fear-scent that pours from his body. They peer at him suspiciously, their tails twitching, but not yet afraid because the Firstcamp is supposed to be safe.
They donβt yet know that itβs not true.
Wolfpaw finds his leader seated with her council. The Clan will be moving on, soon, once the eye of the Mother Goddess is wide open and the scouts can see that paths She chooses for them. Darkstar wants to go east, as far east as they can before the road runs out and the world goes dark. The Seer-To-Be knows she wonβt dare risk it now, wonβt dare move the Clan now that Whitethroat as dead.
βDarkstar!β He cries again, a kit seeking comfort.
Darkstar, Clan-Mother, the first of all cats, listens patiently to his report. She is grave-still, eyes gleaming, tail wrapped around her dainty paws. Wolfpaw catches the silver half-moons of her claws as she kneads them into the dust. It is the only sign she gives that she is worried, terrified beyond all comprehension.
Wolfpawβs breath is ragged and skips unevenly through his lungs. The young tom hunches, every muscle shivering. He tries, oh how he tries, to maintain his composure. After all, he is the Seer now, and he must be strong.
Darkstar waits until he has stopped dry-heaving to speak. βYou have done well, Wolfpaw.β A note of sympathy slinks into her voice. She extends one paw, rests it daintily on his shoulder. The gesture is minuscule and comforting. Wolfpaw straightens at her touch, forces himself to be brave.
βThank you, Darkstar.β This time, when he speaks, the words to not shake.
He is invited to sit with the council, to sit with cats he is less than, while they talk. Owlnose looks winter-sky-pale, her mouth hanging open. Wolfpaw can see every one of her thorn teeth. Coppertail sits stonily beside her, his broad face impassive. The First of Warriors radiates calm, and Wolfpaw tries to drink it in.
βI think you will all agree that this complicates things.β Darkstar says. She flexes her claws - the only sign she gives that she is nervous.
Owlnose inclines her head. βYou must not move the Clan.β She meows.
βI concur,β Coppertail agrees. βI also find we have a new priority. The bones must be recovered.β
Must, because without them, the Clan is lost. They shall receive no guidance, no recognition from their Goddess until they have been recovered.
Darkstar is silent. The she-cat examines her claws and looks the way she does whenever there are hard things to consider. Itβs in the way she sits, her shoulders angled forward and her ears tilted back. The Clan-Mother nibbles on her whiskers for a long moment; Wolfpaw can sense her uncertainty. The desire to move the Clan away from such a sight of sacrilege wars with the fear of travelling without the oversight of the Seer.
βDarkstar,β he meows, βwhatever you need of me, I am ready to do it.β
The black she-cat offers a wry smile. βIt is comforting to hear, Wolfpaw.β
The young tom cannot help but puff his chest. All of a sudden, he feels grown-up and important. It is a good way to feel, he rationalises, because now Darkstar will rely on him as she once relied on Whitethroat. He must prove to her that he is worthy of the task.
Darkstar waits a long moment before she speaks again. Her slitted pupils dart from side to side as she thinks. βWe will continue with the ritual. The Oathbreaker must not go unpunished. When it is finished, we shall discuss the retrieval of the bones.β
The council murmurs in quiet agreement. Even Wolfpaw gives his consent, despite the fact that the Oathbreaker is his Smokepaw, his sister. Their status within the Clan FarDriving has been damaged by her actions - it has become dangerous to associate with her, lest he become guilty by association, but blood is thicker than water. It is hard to distance himself from her. Of all their siblings, he loved her the most. It will hurt to see her maimed, yet it is as Darkstar says. The Oathbreaker must be punished.
The council calls it the taking. The Clan has other names for it. The payback. The consequence. Sacrilege.
It takes place at sunset, when all the colours of the day bleed into the ground and the eye of the Mother Goddess is rising. The Goddessβs lunar ocular is only half open. Wolfpaw thinks that perhaps, the Goddess has narrowed her eye in displeasure. Foreboding nestles in his belly like another organ.
βDarkstar,β he murmurs as the Clan gathers. βThis feels wrong.β
The black she-cat drapes her tail over his narrow shoulders in a silent gesture of comfort. βThe law must be upheld, Wolfpaw.β She says gently.
βI know. Itβs just...β Wolfpaw hesitates. For nine moons now, he has been plagued with bad dreams and gut feelings. His apprenticeship to Whitethroat had helped to hone his hunches into something tangible, but there were still many things he could not name. The intense foreboding coursing through his bloodstream was one of them.
The Clan-Mother fixes him with her familiar stare. βAre you worried for the bones or your sister?β Her voice is simple. Matter-of-fact. It cuts straight to the point.
It takes the young apprentice a moment to decide. βBoth.β Smokepaw and the bones are connected. He knows it, just as he knows the sun rises in the east and rain falls from the sky. There is a part of him that worries that if they cripple Smokepaw, they will not be able to recover the bones. Quietly, hurriedly, he explains his concerns to his leader.
Darkstar, to her credit, listens to every word.
Outside, the Clan gathers. Ordinarily, the ritual would take place before the Shrine. Before the bones. This time, however, Darkstar has decreed that the the taking shall be performed in the heart of the Firstcamp. The Clan FarDriving arranges themselves in a loose half-circle. When each member of the Clan is present, Darkstar leads the Council from the den. One at a time, they follow. Wolfpaw, the youngest, goes last. The Council completes the circle, so that it as open as the full moon.
The Clan is silent.
Darkstar steps forward. She times it perfectly, so that she steps into a ray of fading sunlight and her fur glows a dusty red. βClanmates,β she calls. βWe gather here in the sight of Silverpelt, the Mother Goddess, to speak our words and share our news.β
βPraise the Mother!β The Clan echoes, their many voices as one.
It is custom, when the Clan gathers, to offer tribute to the Goddess. Each cat offers something they found, whether it be prey or herbs or an interesting stone. It is custom to lay each offering at the foot of the Shrine, but today they meet in open air and that makes the Clan uneasy. Darkstar does her best to calm their fears. She answers each question in turn.
Yes, the Oathbreaker will be punished.
Yes, the Seer is dead.
Yes, the bones have been stolen.
Yes, by the Goddess, yes; she will make it right.
Her righteousness seems to calm the Clan. They settle into silence as, one by one, they bring their offerings forward and place them before their leader. Wolfpaw keeps a careful eye on the objects and suppresses a shiver. A crowβs feather. The skull of a small bird. A pinecone, split by the elements. All the signs for trouble are there, and he is the only one who knows it.
Wolfpaw swallows.
He feels cold.
_ _ _ _
> Sunpaw The council decides to take her eye. Sunpaw watches as they escort her across the camp and wonders if it will hurt.
It is not as bad as it could have been. As it should have been. The punishment for oathbreaking, Sunpaw knows, is blindness. Permanent. Inescapable. But Smokepaw, she knows, is Godborn. The council, she thinks, will not risk the Mother Goddesses wrath by crippling her vessel.
They have no Seer, so it is Wolfpaw who holds holds her down, one paw on each shoulder. Darkstar stands before her and speaks the incantations. The clan gathers, afraid and fascinated. Sunpaw doesnβt look away as the leaders paw flashes down.
Smokepaw, to her credit, does not scream. Her legs spasm. Her back arches. Her jaws open in a soundless wail. But she does not cry.
Blood dribbles from the hole in her face and pools on the dusty ground below. The fight leavesβs Smokepawβs body like snow melting before the sun. She lies, slumped on the ground and bleeding. Around her, the Clan mutters. The gathered cats had remained silent throughout the ritual; only not that it was over do they give voice to their doubts.
Sunpaw sits behind the ranks of better-born cats. She can see Smokepawβs hunched form through the gap between Willowstep and Swifthawk. She, like every other member of the Clan FarDriving, makes no move to comfort the grey she-cat.
Instead, Sunpaw tilts her head to one side and listens.
βThe punishment for Oathbreaking is inescapable.β Swifthawk argues.
Beside her, the Den-Mother shuffles her paws. Willowstep is nervous, Sunpaw notes. Worried about repercussions. βShe is the vessel of the Mother Goddess!β Willowstepβs concerns are well-founded. Never before has the mortal mouthpiece been so irreversibly crippled. The Clan has every right to be anxious.
Swifthawk tilts her head up in defiance. βBlindness is the Goddessβs own punishment. Silverpelt cannot be displeased.β
Sunpaw has heard enough. She doesnβt like the way Clan whispers behind Darkstarβs back; the leader cannot lead without the guidance of her Seer. The black she-cat simply does the best she can for the Clan. She slides easily to her paws and stretches, looks around for her mentor. She does not expect to train today, but her mentor usually has some small task to keep her busy. Sunpaw slides through the crowd unnoticed; she is smaller than most of her Clanmates, with thin shoulders and slender legs, so she finds it easy to pass unnoticed. Halfway across the clearing, she stops. The movement is sudden, as if she has been hit.
Darkstar stands, deep in conversation with her mentor. Their voices are quiet, their ears flat. Her mentor, Quickfoot, looks concerned. Sunpaw flinches, ducks into a knot of Clanmates as her mentor straightens and looks around the camp searching, no doubt, for her.
Sheβs not proud to admit it, but she panics. Sunpaw ducks into the nearest knot of cats. She knows that look. Sheβs seen it on too many of her Clanmateβs faces and today of all days, she cannot bear to face it. And so she hides. She finds herself seated between two other apprentices. Hickorypaw and Yewpaw glance at each other and then at her.
βHello, Sunpaw.β Hickorypaw sounds faintly shocked.
The fawn she-cat dips her head in a polite greeting and pretends not to notice as Yewpaw turns away. Hickorypaw looks awkward, his thick fur prickling. He doesnβt know, not really, how to respond to the rudeness of his littermate. Sunpaw wants to tell him that she doesnβt mind, that sheβs used to the sneers and stares of her Clanmates. Itβs no secret that very few of them like her.
βSo,β Hickorypaw says awkwardly. He twitches his thick tail to where Smokepaw lies, destitute, in the middle of the clearing. The young she-cat has not moved. Instead, she waits, curled in on herself, for something to happen. βWhat do you think?β
Sunpaw shakes her head. She doesnβt think much of it. In hindsight, she finds she agrees with Willowstep. Such actions will only anger the Mother Goddess.
βYeah,β Hickorypaw meows. βThe Goddess cannot be pleased.β The grey tom sounds unhappy. The unsettled slope of his shoulders reminds Sunpaw that Smokepaw is his sibling.
It hurts, no doubt, to see her lying there unmoving.
Sunpaw wonders what itβs like to have a littermate to care for.
She was born a second child and an only child, the daughter of a rogue and an Oathbreaker. Perhaps that is why it pains her so much, to see Smokepaw lying prone. It is the same fate that should have befallen her mother. Sunpaw wishes Mothkit had lived. If her brother had lived, perhaps her mother would have stayed.
βDo you think Sheβll punish us?β Hickorypaw sounds worried.
Sunpaw sits back on her haunches, turns her pads skyward and moves both paws up and down. Unsure.
Hickorypaw chews his whiskers, worried. The grey apprenticeβs gaze slides sideways and Sunpaw hunches over. She canβt help but feel like he doesnβt want to be there. It was awfully kind of the young tom to sit beside her and talk, but her Clanmateβs tolerance can only stretch so far. Hickorypaw is kinder than most cats, but he enjoys talking and Sunpaw is a poor conversation partner. βWell,β he meows plainly. βI suppose weβll find out.β
Sunpaw smiles encouragingly and tries to think positive. Itβs a small thing, but itβs the only thing she can do.
The silence that follows is awkward. Sunpaw wishes she could break it, but starting conversations has always been difficult. She is much better at responses, provided they are short.
She cannot decide, as the silence is broken, if the Goddess pities her or not.
βHickorypaw!β Yewpaw yells. The black she-cat stands several paces away, her tail kinked over her back. Thereβs venom in her voice, a lethality she doesnβt try to conceal. βLetβs go!β
βWhere?β The grey tom yells back.
βHunting practice.β Yewpaw twitches one ear towards the exit, where their mentors wait.
Hickorypaw shoots her an apologetic look. He looks genuinely sorry, but Sunpaw is sure she can see impatience twitching in his paws. She waves him away with a flick of her dainty forepaw. The grey tom is instantly on his feet. βSee you later, Sunpaw.β He turns and scampers over to the little patrol. Not once does he look back.
Some part of Sunpaw deflates.
She hates how badly she wants them to like her.
She watches, as silent as a dream, as the two warrior apprentices follow their mentors out into the forest. Already, Hickorypaw seems happier and chats aimlessly to his sister. In that moment, Sunpaw feels her loneliness keenly; she is the only scout apprentice in the entirety of the Clan FarDriving. She eats alone. She trains alone. She lives alone.
Behind her, pawsteps scrape against the sandy floor. She knows, immediately, that Quickstep stands close by. Her position in the Clan has honed her senses. In a desperate bid not to be seen as less, she worked tirelessly until she knew her Clanmates in a way no other did; by their distinctive gaits, by the rasp of their voices, by the subtle changes in their scent. It was the very thing that made her different. It was the very thing that made her a thief.
A thief of knowledge.
A thief of secrets.
Quickstep clears his throat. βDonβt mind them,β her mentor says pointedly. βThey havenβt seen the best of you yet.β His words are heavy with certainty. Sunpaw hunches over and presses her paws against her chest. Sheβs not sure what the best of her is.
She doesnβt bow her head in greeting, but her mentor is used to her silences. The black and white tom sits beside her, his movements gentle. βStop it.β He says sternly.
Without looking up, Sunpaw touches one paw to her nose, then to her chest. Sorry.
Quickstep sighs. βItβs not your fault, Sunpaw.β
The fawn apprentice glances up. Her mentor could be referring to any number of things. There is a lot that the Clan considers to be her fault. There is a lot that Sunpaw considers to be her fault.
She swallos and finds her courage, asks her mentor why Darkstar was talking to him. The signs she makes are hesitant and clumsy, slurred by her anxiety. The heavy look Quickstep gives her does not ease the frantic beating of her heart.
βI think,β he says slowly. βThat itβs better if you hear it from her.β
Reluctantly, more than a little afraid, Sunpaw climbs to her paws and follows her mentor as he steps across the camp. Around them, the Clan FarDriving settles into something resembling their routine. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Smokepaw, slumped in the middle of the clearing. The grey apprentice has not moved. Instead, the Clan steps around her. Each one ignores the Oathbreaker, as if she is dirt beneath their feet. For a brief moment, Sunpaw almost feels sorry for her.
Across the camp, Darkstar sits in conversation with the Council. Wolfpaw, who will be Seer, now that Whitethroat is dead β it is one of the many things that Sunpaw knows, well before her time to know them β looks out of place between the senior warriors. He still has the fuzz of kitten fur around his ears.
Quickfoot announces their presence with a quiet meow. Darkstar glances up and immediately dismisses her companions. Something in Sunpaw is uneasy; the situation must be dire indeed in Darkstar would rather talk to her than her advisors. Her mentor gives her a brief nod of encouragement, then leaves her alone with the Mother of Cats.
βSunpaw,β Darkstar purrs, and Sunpaw canβt help but puff her chest. Darkstar has always spoken kindly to her, despite the unfortunate circumstances of her birth. βHow are you today?β
Sunpaw smiles. She raises one paw and tilts it from side to side. So-so. Not bad. Have been better.
βWell,β Darkstar meows, βconsidering the circumstances, I think not bad is pretty good. Quickfoot tells me your training is progressing well.β
Sunpaw blinks. Itβs an abrupt change in topic, one she did not expect. Sheβs unsure why Darkstar has summoned her, or why the leader has shown a sudden interest in her training. She touches one paw to her chin and gestures outwards in a single, smooth swipe. Thank you.
Darkstar looks troubled. The she-cat heaves a deep breath and letβs it out slowly. βI have a hard thing to ask of you, Sunpaw.β
The fawn apprentice shifts anxiously. She wonders, firstly, if Darkstar knows sheβs been eavesdropping. Secondly, she rationalises that, if she were to be punished, the Council would no doubt be present. Hesitantly, she raises one forepaw, unsheathes a single claw and waves it back and forth. What? It is hardly the politest way to address her leader, but it is the only way she knows.
βYou must promise to keep it to yourself.β Darkstar says. It is only then that Sunpaw realises that something is catastrophically wrong. She nods. It is all she can do.
βThe bones of the Mother Goddess have been stolen,β Darkstar admits. βThe Clan cannot be without them. Their safe return is of the utmost importance.β
Sunpaw sits quietly and watches Darkstar think. The Clan-Mother paces, already second-guessing herself. It is then that Sunpaw understands that this is a poorly thought out plan. A wild plan. A desperate plan. It is then that she knows exactly what Darkstar wants. She puts one paw against her chest, slides it away from her in a single smooth movement, then points towards herself. Why me?
Darkstar leans forward, her face earnest. βBecause you are the only scout apprentice, and I dare not send a warrior. The Clan will panic.β Darkstar makes two neat, compelling arguments. Sunpaw can see the sense in her words, even if it makes her uncomfortable. Darkstar, it seems, intends to send her - young, undersized, inexperienced Sunpaw - after the bones alone.
Me? She touches one paw to her chest.
βYou.β
By myself?
βOf course not. Smokepaw shall accompany you.β Darkstar explains. It sounds like something sheβs only just decided.
Smokepaw? There is no true way for her to sign the grey apprenticeβs name. Instead, she raises one paw slowly, lets it drift from side to side, then sets it on top of her other forepaw. A name, spoken in two parts. She does not want Smokepaw to accompany her - the warrior apprentice is mean and haughty and cannot be trusted.
She wants to tell Darkstar that it is an absolutely foolish plan. That Smokepaw will in no way agree. That the grey apprentice has already broken one oath, and will surely break another. Sunpaw does not want to exist in a space where Smokepaw is the only cat she can rely on. But she keeps silent. She doesnβt have it in her to deny her leader. Darkstarβs word is law.
The bones must be recovered, she knows.
The Goddess has chosen her to do so, it seems.
Sunpaw doesnβt pretend to understand the workings of the Mother Goddess, but without the bones, the Clan FarDriving will be lost. Without the bones to worship, Wolfpaw cannot communicate with their ancestors. Without the bones to anchor them, those same ancestors will be lost, scattered across the sky. Sunpaw feels lightheaded. She has no idea who took the bones, or where they might have gone. Darkstar is right; this is an impossible thing. She tries to tell herself that things will be fine - both Darkstar and Quickfoot seem to have immeasurable faith in her - but sheβs unsure. Insecure.
βSunpaw,β Darkstar says quietly. The black she-cat places one paw beneath the apprenticeβs chin and tilts her face up until their eyes meet. βYou can do this.β
The contact is soft. Gentle. Sunpaw wants to lean into the touch, but she fears it would be inappropriate. She steps back and thanks Darkstar once more.
It takes Darkstar a long time to convince her, but in the end, Sunpaw agrees. It will be hard. Impossible, even. She does not know if they will be able to find the bones. more importantly, she does not know if Smokepaw will tolerate her presence long enough for them to make headway. Still, she knows she must try. The fate of her Clan hangs in the balance - mores, if she succeeds, perhaps her Clanmates will no longer treat her as if she were worthless.
Sunpaw, the pathfinder, the lowborn, the thief, summons her courage. She looks her leader dead in the eye. And she accepts the challenge.
_ _ _ _
> Smokepaw Everything hurts. Agony blooms like a flower inside her skull. A dull ache radiated down her neck, across her shoulders. She can smell nothing but blood, can hear nothing but the irregular beat of her heart.
Smokepaw stays on the ground, motionless. Curled into a tight ball, protecting her stripped-bare face. When she opens her eyes, she sees half the world. Itβs fuzzy and unfocused, all the dull colours bleeding into one. Her missing eye sees only darkness, as if she is staring into the emptiness of a moonless night.
She twists one way and then the other, tries to take in the camp with the eye that theyβve left her. The movements are subtle, pained, and donβt seem to accomplish anything beyond grinding her cheek into the dust.
It is this twisted position, one ear pressed to the ground, that allows her to hear the clanmate as they approach. She feels the vibration of footsteps in her whiskers, her muscles, her empty eye socket.
βSmokepaw. Darkstar wishes to speak with you.β Even half-blind, she recognises Mudskipperβs voice. It is heavy with resignation. Not mad, just disappointed.
βWhat does she want?β The grey apprentice mumbles. It is not polite to speak about the Clan-Mother in such a way, but Smokepaw considers herself the dark she-catβs equal. The apprentice is God-Born, after all. Crafted in the image of the Mother Goddess herself. They share the same silver eyes, the same many-toed paws. Darkstar, by comparison, is just a cat.
Her mentor twitches his thick tail. βI wouldnβt know.β
Smokepaw uncurls, slowly sits up. She blinks to try and clear her vision, but only half her muscles work. She wants to think of something scalding to say, but she doesnβt know what. βFine.β She mutters and allows the brown tabby to lead her across the camp.
Darkstar is waiting in the shadow of her den. Mudskipper bows his head in greeting. Smokepaw does not.
βYou wanted to see me, Clan-Mother.β She says stiffly.
Darkstar dismisses Mudskipper with a flick of her tail and turns towards the dark apprentice. Smokepaw flattens her ears - itβs hard not to feel scolded under the weight of the leaderβs piercing stare. βThe day you were born, the Clan rejoiced,β the dark she-cat turns and leads the way into her den. The sandy hollow, hidden beneath the arching roots of an old oak tree, is surprisingly roomy. Smokepaw, unsure of what else she can do, follows. She thinks about the Council, sitting here as they decided her fate. βYou were the first Godborn kit to be born in generations. Surely, your birth was a sign that the Clanβs luck was changing.β
Smokepaw scowls and drags her paws through the coarse grains of sand. βIβve heard this before.β She mutters.
Darkstar whirls, her eyes blazing and her claws unsheathed. βYou will be silent!β She roars. βI have not given you permission to speak!β
Smokepaw starts. She has never seen Darkstar so angry. She is so full of it that it spills over and pools at her feet. The young apprentice steps backwards and flattens her ears. She tries to shrink in on herself, to bite the words back, but it is too late. Too much resentment sits between them. βIβm sorry, mother.β She whispers.
βAs you should be,β Darkstar snaps. βNever once have you acted like part of this Clan. Instead, you prance around, acting like you are better than everyone else.β
βBecause I am!β Smokepaw argues. Her fire is returning, now that the shock of her motherβs anger is fading.
Darkstar closes the distance between them in a matter of strides. βBecause of this?β She hisses. She steps on one of Smokepawβs forefeet, puts all her weight behind it. The apprentice hisses. Almost instinctively, she flexes, spreads all six of her toes.
βI am as you said.β Smokepaw spits through gritted teeth.
Darkstar turns away, her teeth bared in disgust. Her tail twitches, as it does when she does not wish to voice her displeasure. βYou think yourself better than you are. You may have been forged in the image of the Mother Goddess, but your heart is impure. It has been, from the moment you learned what you were.β
Smokepaw scowls. She flexes her forepaw, tries to stretch the ache from it. Her outside toe, her extra toe, is cramping. βIf you have something to say, simply tell me.β
Her dark-furred mother shakes her head. For a moment, she looks sad. Looks old beyond her years. βYou dishonoured us all the day you broke your Oath. Fortunately for you, I may have found a way for you to redeem yourself.β
Smokepaw pricks her ears. Hope weasels its way into her chest. She had tried to tell herself that she didnβt care what her Clanmates thought. She would live and die as she always planned to, regardless of their opinions. And yet now that she has felt the agony of her punishment and endured the fury of her Clanmateβs withering gazes, she is not sure sheβs angry enough to remain uncaring. Redemption sounds tempting.
βYouβre sending me after the bones.β Smokepaw kneads the ground in readiness.
Darkstar blinks. Her demeanour is icy cold. Smokepaw has never felt less like her daughter. βIβm not sending you. Iβm sending Sunpaw. Youβre to escort her.β
Sunpaw. Her mother is sending Sunpaw, rather than her own wellborn daughter. To add insult to injury, Smokepaw is little more than an a glorified babysitter. She bristles furiously. βWhy her?β
βYou may find it hard to believe, but she has skills even you lack, my darling Godborn daughter.β Darkstarβs voice drips irony. Itβs as smooth as honey, as inescapable as rain.
βSunpaw can go by herself, then.β Smokepaw can sense that arguing is futile, yet she is as stubborn as the day is long.
Her mother blinks. Darkstar bares her teeth, utterly silent. Smokepaw raises her head in defiance; her words cannot be unsaid, her actions cannot be undone. Everything has been leading up to this. She can feel it, crackling in the air like lightning. The young she-cat holds her ground, despite the storm of Darkstarβs bitterness.
When Darkstar finally speaks, it is nothing like what Smokepaw expected. βYou would condemn another Clanmate to death.β It is not a question.
The part of Smokepaw that wants redemption is horrified. βI never said that!β She protests. She lashes her tail. Once. Twice.
βYou didnβt need to. You know as well as I that Sunpaw lacks the skill to defend herself, nor does she have the ability to communicate with cats outside of the Clan.β
Darkstar speaks a simple, poisonous truth. Sunpaw is a scout apprentice; she has been trained to run, to find pathways other cats cannot, to remember each of the lands the Clan has crossed. She has been trained to read the land, to recognise the warning signs of natural disaster, to tell which territories are inhabited and which are not. She has not been trained to fight. Not the way a warrior is. Smokepaw, however, excelled at combat from the day she was old enough to pounce. It is the Goddessβs own gift, in the form of the unmatched ability to defend her Clanmates. Smokepaw - hotheaded, irresponsible, selfish - considers her motherβs words.
Do it, the part of her that wanted redemption whispered.
Stuff this, her rebellious soul snapped.
βFine,β she says icily. βBut I want certain guarantees.β
Across the den, Darkstar inclines her head. βName your price.β
Pursuit > Sunpaw βLetβs get this straight,β Smokepaw meows. βIf weβre going to do this, you do what I say, when I say it.β
The grey apprentice stands before her, silver eyes gleaming and tail twitching. Sunpaw frowns. Smokepaw looks better this morning, despite the rawness of her face. Someone had cleaned the blood from her ruined eye socket, had licked herbs into the wound until they were all Sunpaw could smell. She ducks her head and nods.
It makes perfect sense for Smokepaw to be in charge; she is older, stronger, far more experienced, the most promising fighter of all the warrior apprentices. She will be better at this than Sunpaw will. It is the undeniable truth of things.
The Oatherbreakerβs pale eyes narrow. Thereβs something haughty about the way she stands, with her ears slicked backwards and her bony shoulders straight. βIβm glad you see it my way.β Thereβs a cadence to her voice that suggests thereβs no other way for Sunpaw to see it.
She turns without another word and Sunpaw feels herself deflate. Already, she wishes she never accepted this mission. Smokepaw is unbearable at the best of times, but now she seems prickly. Jagged. Broken. Like Darkstarβs claws ripped away more than just her eye.
The fawn apprentice rubs one paw across her eyes. She flexes her toes, presses them against her eyes until stars dance across the closed lids. Sheβs already exhausted.
βHey, Sunpaw!β
She snaps her eyes open as Wolfpaw calls her name. The grey tom forges his way across the camp. Thereβs a distinct sense of purpose to his stride; Wolfpaw has always been serious beyond his moons, but in the hours since Whitethroatβs death something inside him has changed.
Sunpaw raises one paw in greeting, then places unsheathed claws against her muzzle, caging her nose. She moves her paw outwards, touches the tips of her claws together, then rests it on top of her other forepaw. Hello, Wolfpaw.
He looks tired, too. Deep shadows, like tabby stripes, mar his face.
The Seer-to-be sits before her and drops a bundle of herbs at her feet. Sunpaw wrinkles her nose at their bitterness.
βI know, I know,β Wolfpaw sighs. βAnd believe me, they taste worse than they smell.β
Sunpaw stares, incredulous. Itβs difficult to imagine the slightly wilted leaves tasting any worse than they smell.
βTravelling herbs,β Wolfpaw explains. βSmokepaw wants to leave at dawn. These are for you to eat, just before you go. Theyβll give you strength.β
Sunpaw nods. Sheβs no stranger to travelling herbs; itβs common for the Seer to divvy them up amongst the Clan during the colder months, when their travels are long and the days are short, when prey is scarce and they struggle to feed themselves. She reaches out drags the herbs towards her. Wolfpaw has added something unfamiliar to the mix, something she doesnβt recognise.
Wolfpaw canβt keep her company for long, not now that heβs shouldering duties far beyond his years. He nods once, then turns and skitters across the camp. He has a way of moving that reminds her of a spider. Slow and purposeful, until he has to hurry. Sunpaw picks the bundle up, tucks it beneath her chin. She stashes it in the apprenticeβs den, hidden beneath her mossy nest. Sheβs not entirely sure as to why she hides it - perhaps because old habits donβt die easily. Surely none of her denmates would steal travelling herbs, but she doesnβt entirely trust Yewpaw not to be that cruel.
Thereβs venom in her heart, as well as in her name.
Sunpaw nibbles at the fur between her claws, the way she does when she gets nervous. Her heartbeat is rain, rapidly quickening.
She doesnβt know where to start. Doesnβt know how to dismantle this impossible task she has been given.
She takes a deep breath and thinks about her mentor. Maybe, just maybe, she knows where to start. She trots quickly from the den, into the early morning. The sun has not yet risen; instead, the sky is a pale, frosty blue. Itβs a soft colour, one that reminds her of the misty blue of the moors and the delicate sound of creeks and rivers. She shakes out her dawn pelt and bristles against the morning chill.
She goes to the Shrine. At Darkstarβs order, it had been left untouched, save for the removal of Whitethroatβs body. Her heart trembled. Blood darkened the sandy floor and arced across the stone walls. What had it been like, she wondered, to see it freshly done.
Sunpaw stepped around the largest of the bloodstains. Although she didnβt wish it to, her mind began to conjure images of death. Of the Seer, sprawled on the sand, jaws open and throat torn.
If ghosts existed beyond the Darkwood, Whitethroatβs was here. She thought of a hurried prayer and repeated it to herself, a silent mantra.
Doing her best to ignore the not-yet-faded scent of blood, the lowered herself to the floor and inhaled. The air tasted of many things. The most prominent was the hot, familiar scent of the Clan FarDriving. Wolfpaw. Darkstar. Whitethroat.
She smells sand and blood and rock.
She smells the bitter tang of herbs and the starlight scent of bones.
Beneath it all, she smells something black and rotten. It was a subtle smell, and yet it was so rich in malevolence she wondered how sheβd missed it.
As a scout apprentice, she had been trained to do remarkable things. She had studied the scents of the forest until she could identify them all. She had learned to match them to ideas, to thoughts, to behaviours, for scent was the strongest tie to memory. Once she found a scent, she could follow it for days until she found what she was looking for. It was the ability Darkstar had praised, the ability that was so highly prized amongst her kind.
If only it had not tempted her into impurity.
Sunpaw straightens and stretches each leg in turn. Her spine has cramped. When she emerges from the shallow cave, there is a part of her that feels sick and there is a part of her that feels hopeful, because now she knows one thing that she didnβt before.
The scent reminds her of water, the way it meanders across the camp. Beneath the kaleidoscope of her Clanmateβs scents, it is only just there, but she finds it. Once, by the warriors den. Twice, by the camp entrance.
The place they call the Firstcamp is well-protected. The only way in is through a hollow log. The log itself is hidden deep within a snare of brambles and is often guarded. The night the bones were stolen, Snaretooth kept guard, and Sunpaw cannot fathom how an intruder snuck past the russet tom. It is a strange thing, a very strange thing, indeed. For a reason she canβt understand, it makes her inexplicably nervous. Outside the bramble thicket that protects the camp, thick forest tangles. Birch and oak and rowan cluster close together and whisper secrets. This close to the edge of the moor, the gaps between copses are vast. There is enough space to see the world. One or two late flowers bloom amongst the grasses.
Satisfied, she ducks back inside. Her paws are twitching. She wants to run. Her heart is still beating too quickly, but it is exhilaration, not fear, that makes it skip a beat. The scent is faint, but itβs there.
She knows where to go.
She just wishes the scent didnβt lead in that direction. Plenty of time for it to veer away, she reasons. Plenty of time for it to veer away. She ducks back inside and sits by the entrance, where she watches Smokepaw say goodbye to her siblings.
No-one has gathered to see her off. Not even her mentor. She lies down, rests her chin on her paws and tries to keep her misery from spilling over.
She doesnβt succeed. - - - -
> Smokepaw They leave at dawn, when the camp is bathed in pale, frosty light the same colour as Sunpawβs fur. The little fawn cat is silent, waiting by the entrance as Smokepaw instructed.
Only her siblings are watching her departure. Wolfpaw and Hickorypaw sit side by side, so close their twin pelts bleed into one another. Yewpaw sprawls behind them, her yellow eyes narrowed. Smokepaw doesnβt know if sheβs pleased or upset. Yewpaw, with her sharp muzzle and small ears, has always been difficult to read. Out of all the littermates, she is the one most like their mother.
βBe safe.β Hickorypaw meows. Despite the concern in the grey tomβs eyes, he makes no move to slide closer. Itβs as if heβs worried her Oathbreaker status will bleed over and taint the rest of them, too.
Smokepaw doesnβt bother with a verbal response. She simply nods. Sheβs unsure if she imagines the hurt in Hickorypawβs eyes.
Around them, the Clan is waking up. Feathersong slides from the warriors den, then ducks back inside, her eyes wide. Brightface and Coppertail skulk around the camp walls; the dawn patrol, eager to leave before the apprenticeβs do.
Thy want no part of this ritual. Most are still eager to see her other eye taken. Smokepaw bares her teeth in anger, in defiance.
βWeβll miss you.β Wolfpaw chimes in. He wraps his thick tail around his paws. Smokepaw hisses; she has not yet forgotten the feeling of his paws braced against her shoulders.
Seated beside their brother, Yewpaw hisses back. βMaybe youβll die out there, Smokepaw.β
βOr maybe Iβll succeed,β she bites back. βYouβd hate that, wouldnβt you?β
Yewpaw sniffs delicately and stalks away. Smokepaw suppresses a smirk, because itβs the truth. Without another word, she turns and stalks towards the camp entrance.
Despite the animosity between her and her siblings, between her and her Clan, Smokepaw finds it harder then expected to tear away. The Clan FarDriving is all she has ever known. She doesnβt know, not really, how she will cope without the warmth of the apprenticeβs den, without the hawk eyes of her mentor, without the warm press of bodies as the Clan settles down to eat.
Now, she has only Sunpaw.
The smaller she-cat is waiting, her eyes slitted against the rising sun. She looks fragile, like a blade of grass, easily crushed underfoot.
Maybe itβs a good thing sheβs got me to protect her, Smokepaw thought bitterly. Sheβd never last a day on her own.
βCome on, then,β she says out loud and she stalks past her companion. βWe havenβt got all day.β
A tree-length into the forest, she pauses. Itβs bright with sound, rich with scent. Sunpaw trots after her, pauses at her side, then tilts her head to the left. Smokepaw follows the gesture and feels her throat constrict. She knows what lies in that direction, where the forest thickens and darkens and no light pierces the canopy. βNo.β She says emphatically.
Sunpaw has the nerve to look reproachful. She touches one paw to her nose, then gestures left, her movements sharp. The scent. That way.
Smokepaw tries to stare her down. Sunpaw flinches away, drops her eyes to the ground, but her forepaw remains pointed towards all Smokepawβs fears. Smokepaw considers herself a warrior. βNo.β She says again, the fur along her spine bristling.
Sunpaw shrugs and turns away, her tail curled over her back in an uncharacteristic display of self-confidence. Heading left. Always left. Smokepaw is left slack-jawed. She shakes herself - pull yourself together, Godborn - and hates after the smaller she-cat. βYouβre sure?β She says sceptically, desperate to keep the fear from her voice.
βAlright,β the grey she-cat says. βWeβre really going into the Darkwood.β
Sunpaw doesnβt respond.
βWhat about the Shadowkind?β She presses. Itβs foolish, perhaps, to be so afraid of a legend, but kits of the Clan FarDriving are fed on stories as well as milk. She knows the story of the Shadowkind, of the lost and wicked souls unable to find their way to the stars. Doomed to live in the Darkwood, driven mad by their list and their greed. No longer alive and barely feline, straying from their forest only to snatch kits from their nests.
They were the same brand of legend as the Old Gods, as Silverpelt. The same brand of legend that carried just enough substance to possibly be true.
The fawn apprentice glances over her shoulder as Smokepaw catches up, then points towards her. Thereβs knowledge in her eyes. A kind of confidence. Not in herself, but in Smokepaw. Itβs a little bit humbling and a little bit frightening and so sudden that she stops. βReally?β She says blankly.
Sunpaw flashes a shy smile and nods once again.
βOh, Goddess,β Smokepaw moans. βDarkstar was right. You are hopelessly lacking.β
And then the moment is gone and Sunpaw is Sunpaw again. She turns away, her ears flat against her head. She slumps her shoulders in a soundless sigh. Smokepaw twitches the tip of her tail, then forges ahead. She leaves Sunpaw somewhere behind her. She doesnβt look back.
The younger she-cat hares after her and falls into step just behind her. Smokepaw thinks about apologising. Her words sit awkwardly between them, they way they never did when she had an entire Clan to loose herself in. She really doesnβt want to be here; the promise of redemption seems hollow now that Sunpaw wants to lead her into the Darkwood. Even if, by some miracle, she earns her pardon, she wants to live long enough to revel in it.
A feather-light paw touches her shoulder. Smokepaw turns. βWhat, Sunpaw?β
The petite she-cat touches one paw to her nose. The scent.
βWhat about it?β
Agonisingly slowly, Sunpaw touches one paw to her belly and slides it sideways. Gone. The single stroke is slow. Painful. Thereβs agony in Sunpawβs eyes and Smokepaw knows that she can hardly bear to admit it.
Smokepaw bristles. It feels like the ground has dipped uncontrollably beneath her paws. βYou lost it?β Thereβs a shrillness to her voice, the kind that only comes from a deep, instinctive fear.
Sunpaw nods hesitantly and Smokepaw doesnβt understand why sheβs so afraid. Perhaps because scentβs donβt simply vanish. Perhaps because anything physical enough to leave a trace should not have been able to walk unchallenged into their camp, murder their Seer and carry the bones out without being challenged.
Ever since Sunpaw took the time to explain it to her, she hasnβt been able to understand it.
There are 230 bones in the feline body.
That means, in theory, whoever it was made many dozen undetected trips into the Camp. And now, whoever it is has vanished.
Smokepaw licks her lips. βCan you find it again?β She hates the way her voice trembles. It was easier moments ago, before Sunpaw revealed that a scent that should be there isnβt. Itβs more than a little inexplicable.
Sunpaw tilts one paw from side to side. Maybe. Her heartbeat is quick with fear. - - - -
> Sunpaw Itβs cold in the forest. Shadows dapple the ground. Sunpaw tries to step into the sunlight, but no matter how she stands, shadows fall across her face.
She can smell Smokepawβs fear.
She wonders if she smells the same. She, however, is not afraid of the Darkwood. There are many things that make her uneasy, but stories are not one of them. Darkstar had assured her Smokepaw would protect her, and for a moment, Sunpaw had believed her.
She knows now - or perhaps that she had always known - that Smokepaw is a selfish creature.
She is afraid, though, that sheβs not going to succeed. Anxiety creeps closer. It flutters like wings deep inside her belly. Brambles ensnare her heart.
Theyβve walked most of the morning. Now, Smokepaw has decided to stop and hunt. The dark she-cat stalks through the undergrowth with all the patience of a river. Sunpaw considers the starling lying at her paws. A single feather beneath its wing is bent. She unsheathes a single claw and tears the feather away.
She feels a little bit like somethingβs lost.
She canβt believe she lost the scent. She digs her claws into the mossy ground and twists until her bones hurt. She jerks back. The moment is sudden enough to wrench her claws.
She feels too sick to eat. She abandons the starling, kicks leaf litter over the patterned feathers. Smokepaw has been gone for a considerable amount of time now. Sunpawβs coat is prickling; the feeling that something is profoundly wrong is back. Itβs an echo of her heartbeat, resonating through her chest.
Smokepaw? The thought is a rock lodged deep in her throat. She wants to call out, but even with her mouth hanging open she cannot make a sound.
The air is still rich with her scent. Sunpaw takes a step towards the fern bank sheβd disappeared into.
Smokepaw? Thereβs the faint scent of something else in the air, too. Something warm and coppery and not unlike blood. Slowly, Sunpaw steps into the ferns. They bend under her weight, but they do not break.
She finds Smokepawβs own meal on the other side of the green tangle. Blood drenches the leaf litter. Very little of it belongs to the squirrel.
Oh, Goddess.
A single tuft of Smokepawβs fur drifts aimlessly in the breeze.
Clamour It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Darkwood It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Divinity It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Elsewhere It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Bargain It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Heritage It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Regained It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
Homeward It is Wolfpaw, the Seer-To-Be, who finds the body.
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