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Post by Firehaze on Aug 21, 2016 14:23:36 GMT -5
I added chapter two to my story, could I add that to be edited as well or do I need to fill out the form again for chapter two? It just goes with Chapter one and the Prologue
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 21, 2016 23:23:35 GMT -5
Not a problem! I'll make the change on the waitlist now.
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Aug 22, 2016 12:34:59 GMT -5
Thank you so much, Dew!  I will suggest this place to others. |
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 22, 2016 22:36:13 GMT -5
No problem at all Minty! That actually means a lot. Happy to help.
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 22, 2016 23:30:37 GMT -5
Firehaze -- Here's your style edit, hope it's helpful! Let me know if you have any additional questions, although you hardly had any errors.
Red = spelling/grammar error
Orange = unnecessary word/punctuation
Yellow = explanation
Green = tense error
Teal = missing word/punctuation
Pink = other
PROLOGUE
White flakes fell from the sky in a haze, making it hard to see further than a few feet in front of your nose. Granite boulders rose up on every side of a thin stone path that wove its way through the sparse, gray mountain landscape. The large boulders kept the path mostly clear of the thickly (can't use an adjective to modify an adjective. you need an adverb instead) falling snow, but tall drifts gathered in some places.
The stillness of the bleak landscape was interrupted by a sleek black figure that wove his way through the snow drifts and the boulders, his dark pelt standing out against the snow when he passed by a mound of powdery white and blending into the dark of the granite stones. (long and awkward sentence... I would suggest breaking it up. Try reading it out loud to find the natural breaks you're looking for) In his wake, spatters of red marked the path he traveled. As he carefully padded down the worn stone path he came across a small, gnarled tree that clung to a large boulder that half obscured a cave opening. Its branches were heavy with snow and the black tom slipped through the cave opening right before a mound of snow slid off a branch and fell to the ground with a muted thud.
“Nightvine,” a soft voice came from within the darkness of the cave and the tom waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as a golden tabby she-cat with bright blue eyes padded up to him, a look of worry clouding her pretty features. “It’s Streamstar, it’s time.”
A jolt went through Nightvine at the mention of his sister’s name, and the black tom felt his heart drop as he padded deeper into the cave. With his vision getting better the further he went into the cave, the more destruction he saw. Few cats moved about, and they were like ghosts in the darkness as they carefully moved still, lifeless bodies to the cave walls. Blood stained the cool, smooth granite floor and the black tom had to tear his eyes away from the small pools that had formed where bodies had lain for long periods of time.
When he reached the back of the cave he came to a small waterfall that tumbled from somewhere high near the cave ceiling and tumbled (repetitive. possible alternatives: trickled, flowed. or just remove the second "tumbled" completely) into a small pool. Behind the small ribbon of falling water was a small opening and he pushed his way inside.
“Streamstar,” he (should be lower case. since there's a comma, it's technically still one sentence) mewed softly as he entered, dipping his head respectfully to a form that was curled up near the back of the small chamber.
“Oh enough with the formalities,” a soft voice rasped and green eyes gleamed in the darkness. Streamstar tried to push herself into a sitting position but her legs collapsed under her and she fell back to her nest.
Nightvine leapt ("leapt" is the British English spelling. while technically not wrong, I would suggest changing to "leaped" for the sake of consistency, since you use American English spelling elsewhere) forward and carefully looked his kin over. Her once sleek and agile body looked frail and fragile now, a gaping wound on her chest sapping out what was left of her strength.
“Did you find them?” Streamstar mewed, her green eyes still sharp as she looked up at the black pelted tom.
“Yes,” Nightvine mewed, hanging his head. “They took Blackhawk and Shadesky, there wasn’t anything I could do to stop them.”
Streamstar nodded solemnly. “The mountain is no longer safe,” she mewed quietly. “Once leaf-bare passes, you must take everyone who is left away from here.”
Nightvine blinked, taken aback by his sister’s proclamation. “But this is our home, we can’t just abandon it!” He felt his pelt bristle and his long black tail whipped back and forth. “We will think of something, I can take Smokeleaf, Jaggedwind, and Newtpaw and we can scout their camp and think of something-“
“They were all lost in the raid today,” Streamstar mewed softly, watching as Nightvine’s face fell. He hadn’t looked to see who had been lost when he returned from trying to follow the rogues responsible for terrorizing his Clan.
“Who is left?” Nightvine finally asked after a few moments of silence.
“Not enough,” Streamstar said softly as she let out a heavy, labored sigh. “Honeysky received a prophecy the last half moon before Volor destroyed the entrance to the Star Cave. I’m not sure what it means, but use it to guide you.”
Nightvine nodded and leaned in close, his heart in his throat as Streamstar’s breathing became more labored and she struggled to keep her eyes open and her voice steady.
“Sanctuary lies where the Lark flies free and the Aspen stands strong, here a broken Clan will become great once more.”
“That makes no sense,” Nightvine hissed, his stomach twisting in anguish as he tried to decipher the meaning behind StarClan’s words. “There are no aspen woods near here, a few aspen trees but none strong. Let alone any larks.”
“It’s the only hope we have,” Streamstar mewed, her voice softer now and fading fast. “You must stay strong, Nightvine. You’re the only hope left for BlizzardClan.” Her last words were barely a whisper as her green eyes slid close and her flanks grew still, no longer rapidly rising and falling as she struggled to breathe.
Nightvine hung his head and gently pushed his muzzle into Streamstar’s pelt and sighed, taking in her scent one last time before pulling back, his expression set in steely determination as he looked over his sister. “I promise I’ll get everyone to safety,” he vowed quietly. “I won’t lose another life, even if it costs me my own.”
CHAPTER ONE
A harsh tone woke the small dark brown she-cat from her fitful sleep and she carefully opened her green eyes to look at a large form looming over her. She scowled and curled up in a tighter ball in her nest, ignoring the large tom that loomed in the entrance of the den.
“Lark, it’s your turn for Pass Patrol,” the booming voice returned and the petite she-cat growled in irritation.
“Send Thistle to do it,” she muttered groggily, letting as much bitterness seep into her voice as she could. She heard a rustle and sighed, hoping the tom was gone and nestled into her nest, eager to get a few more moments of sleep when a weight suddenly bowled into her, knocking the air out of her lungs. She leapt ("leaped") to her paws, pelt bristling as her eyes scanned her meager den. She had made her den in an old fox hole under some large gnarled roots. It was large (repetitive. I would suggest deleting the first "large") and spacious with just her in it, though there used to be many that slept in this den with her. Now it was just her, and the little intruder who beamed at her feet.
“Aspen said I’m on Pass Patrol with you today!” an overly cheery voice escaped the light, golden colored she-cat as her brown speckled pelt fluffed up in excitement. She looked up at Lark with large, round blue eyes that were full of excitement.
“Oh did he now?” Lark grumbled as she stretched out her limbs. She may be small, but for her size she had long legs and a rather long tail, making her quick and agile and close to the ground. Out of her little family group, she was the best hunter. Her dark brown, almost black looking pelt with slightly darker tabby markings helped her to blend into the shadows around her. Though, when it snowed she had some difficulty but she managed to still be the main provider during the hard leaf-bare months.
“Pine got to go on the last one, and Thistle went on the first one of the season, it’s my turn now!” The young she-cat jutted her chin up in the air and Lark rolled her eyes.
“Fine, you can come, Spring,” the older she-cat mewed with a heavy sigh. “But, on the way back you have to practice your hunting.”
The young she-cat groaned. Though she was kind hearted and bubbly, she was much better skilled at battling than hunting and she detested the older she-cat’s lessons. Lark huffed and padded past the sulking young she-cat and out of her den into a spacious clearing surrounded by closely growing together trees. A poorly knit together thorn screen surrounded the clearing, offering at least a small defense against the outside. There were small gaps here and there and Lark exhaled with a small huff, making a mental note to have the younger cats take care of some of the larger gaps soon.
As she looked around the clearing she spotted the other two young cats that were under her and Aspen’s care, Thistle and Spring’s brother, Pine. The toms were finishing up the last of her catch yesterday, and she could hear Thistle grumbling about how stale his mouse was. The older she-cat glared at the rust colored tom, flicking her tail irritably. Aspen was looming in the shadow of one large root that made an arc through the air and then buried itself back underground. A small pile of boulders lay to one side of the arc and on the other, Aspen’s den was just beyond a small gap mostly hidden by other roots. When they were younger, and more cats roamed through the clearing their father would stand atop the Root Arc and address everyone with announcements, greeting newcomers that were taking shelter with the residence of the clearing or saying farewell to those that were leaving.
Lark felt a pang in her chest and she quickly shook off the memories. That was before, when visitors were almost always friendly and grateful for the help. Now, most visitors that came through were less than gracious. For whatever reason, Aspen insisted on continuing Pass Patrols. Where one of them usually went out with one or two of the young ones and went along the eastern most border of the forest, looking for any travelers along the way and offering assistance. The petite she-cat was sure he was hoping that at some point, someone will choose to stay and continue the work of the Guardians of the Pass. The name made Lark shake her head, slightly amused. She didn’t know where the name originated from, or how her family came to be called that, but long ago the first group of cats who had settled in this forest and helped traveling rogues and loners across the mountains that loomed above them had become known as the Guardians of the Pass and the name never went away.
“Do you think we will find anyone today?” Spring asked, pulling the dark brown she-cat out of her thoughts as she wiggled her way through a gap in the thorn wall that served as the entrance to the clearing. On the outside, it was obscured by thick ferns that collected at the base of a stump, and could easily be looked over if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
“I don’t think so,” Lark said flatly as the speckled she-cat followed her. “If we haven’t seen anyone yet, I don’t think anyone traveled across the mountain this season.”
Spring looked disappointed for a moment before her smile returned. “While we walk will you tell me the story?” she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
Lark rolled her eyes and gave an amused snort. “Fine,” she mewed. “But only if you promise to catch at least three things to bring home for everyone when we finish the patrol.”
“Deal!” Spring squealed with a happy little bounce.
Lark chuckled softly before clearing her throat. “It was a day like any other in green-leaf, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, it was the perfect sort of day. The perfect day to do a Pass Patrol, and your mother volunteered both of us to go even though I was far more content to stay in the clearing.”
“You always want to stay in the clearing Lark!” Spring mewed with a small giggle.
“Not all the time!” Lark protested. “Sometimes I like to go out!” She shook her head and playfully cuffed the younger she-cat over her ears. “No more interrupting. Anyway, Brook was beside herself, as usual, we had had many who had (that's a lot of "had"s. the sentence still makes sense without the third, so I would remove it) come to stay in the new-leaf, and she was sure we would find someone. My sister was always the optimistic one, and the most trusting. She could get anyone to come back to the clearing with us and even got quite a few to stay when she was younger. Back then, the clearing was at capacity we were always busy! (Awkward sentence. I would split it into two: "...at capacity. We were...") Our mother always had hope that we would find someone, find our mates in the strapping young toms who stayed with us but you know me, no time for that and your mother’s heart never settled on anyone in particular. Though, let me tell you many hearts had their sights set on her. She was an excellent fighter, a fair hunter and very, very pretty.”
As the story went on, Lark’s mind wandered. The story was one she told to the young ones many times over, of the day their mother, Brook, met their father. Sunny had been quite the encounter, bristling at the sight of them at first then melting as Brook calmed him with her words and convinced him to come to the clearing. Lark didn’t know what it had been about the sour-tempered golden tom that had captured her sister’s heart, but Sunny stayed and became a vital part of the group. He got along well with their brother, Aspen, and Lark tolerated him if only for her sister’s sake. After their parent’s and many of the group passed, the four of them were left to guard the forest and help those through and over the pass. It was then that they began to experience less than friendly rogues, and in a scuffle, they lost Sunny. Around the same time, Brook had discovered she was expecting. It had been a hard leaf-bare that season, and Brook never really recovered from the loss of her mate.
That new-leaf they found Thistle, his family gone from a fox attack, and Brook took him in as her own. A few moons later, she had her own kits. For a short while, everything was back to normal. That green-leaf they experienced no visitors, and it was just the three siblings and the young ones who they taught how to hunt and fight as soon as they were old enough. It wasn’t until the past leaf-bare Lark’s world turned upside down. Her sister became ill, and no matter what herbal remedy Lark could remember being taught by their mother, nothing seemed to help her. Before she knew it, Brook had slipped away, leaving just her and their brother Aspen to protect her kits and the forest.
“Are you alright Lark?” Spring suddenly asked and the older she-cat blinked, looking down at the younger she-cat who looked at her with bright blue eyes, full of concern.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Lark mewed as she gave her pelt a good shake. She glanced around and stifled a relieved sigh. They were nearly to the pass, they had one small rise to climb over and then they would reach the smoothed stone path that wound its way through the mountains and to the other side. She opened her mouth to scent the air, curious if there really were any travelers around. The scent she caught instead made her hair stand on end.
“Spring, climb a tree, now (shouldn't be separate sentences),” she hissed, her green eyes darting around as she looked for the source of the stench.
“What? Why? There (should be two sentences) isn’t anything-“ The young she-cat was cut off as a russet pelt streaked out of the bushes and dived right for the golden she-cat. Lark snarled, barreling into Spring and nudging her towards a tree.
“Climb!” She ordered, turning to face the fox and stand between it and her kin. The small she-cat fluffed up her pelt and lashed her tail, baring her teeth in a snarl. She heard the scraping of claws on bark and knew Spring was out of danger. She may be trained to fight but she was nowhere near ready to take on a fox, especially one as desperate looking as this on. It was thin, its pelt ragged and Lark was sure a rotten tooth or two was the reason for its rancid breath that wafted into her face.
She squared off against the fox but before she could even blink the beast had knocked her over. For a decrepit thing, it could still move.
Growling, Lark picked herself back up to her feet and darted forward, clawing at the fox’s sides best she could, but she barely got her claws through its pelt, let alone break the skin. She was the hunter of the family, not the fighter. She and Aspen had a system for foxes, her the distraction because she was quick and could easily dart out of reach and Aspen was the muscle, landing blow after blow until the beast retreated. Now with just her, she was struggling to come up with a good battle plan.
She turned to make another charge at the fox only to come face to face with a snapping muzzle. With a startled yelp she scrambled back, only to have the russet-pelted creature pounce on her, hunger gleaming in its golden eyes as it seemed to grin triumphantly down at her. A sudden cry tore the beast’s focus away from the she-cat as Spring pelted towards them, her golden pelt on end and her face set in determination.
“Spring no!” Lark yowled, struggling to free herself as the fox began to drool, no doubt imagining the feast it would have with the two she-cats. Lark felt her heart twist in her chest. What would Aspen think when they didn’t return? Would he even find anything left of them or just their bones? As she prepared herself for the worst, still fighting to break free of the fox’s grasp as it waited to pounce on Spring, a yowl broke out through the forest and everyone went still. Lark craned her neck to get a glimpse of the cause of the noise and she felt her heart leap into her throat.
Five cats prowled through the trees, each one bigger and more intimidating than the one next to it. Their pelts made them look double what they actually were in size, and were varied shades of grays and browns. Lark recognized them from stories she had heard from travelers, mountain cats with pelts like granite and larger than any forest dwelling cat. Lark had always thought Aspen had been large, like their father who was half mountain cat, but these cats put her assumptions to shame.
As if on some silent cue all five cats sprang forward, a twisting mass of growls and snarls as they wove through the trees and underbrush towards the fox. To its credit, the fox was smart enough to know this was a battle that it couldn’t win. With a defeated snarl, it turned tail. Three of the massive cats followed, their massive paws sounding like rolling thunder on the ground as they swept past Lark and Spring, who watched them in wonder.
“Are you alright, little one?” a voice, thick with a heavy accent that made the words sound sweet as honey, drew Lark’s attention away from the retreating fox and she gazed up into the most dazzling pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. They were like the sky on a clear day with darker shades of sapphire speckled through them. When she realized she had been staring, and the stranger was still expecting an answer, she felt her pelt heat up and she sprang to her paws with a soft growl.
“Who are you calling little one?” she spat, embarrassment fueling her anger. She stood as tall as she could, but this dark stranger easily made her look like a kit. His pelt was the blackest she had ever seen, as dark as a moonless night. His pelt wasn’t as thick as the others but the muscles that rippled under his fur made him look big enough. His tail flicked behind him, long fur brushing across the ground. He glanced between her and Spring, as if comparing them. She was barely bigger than her younger kin, and she was sure that the golden she-cat would soon outgrow her.
“I’m sorry,” the black stranger mewed, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I had only assumed that the two of you were close in age.”
“Listen here you,” Lark growled. “I may be small but that doesn’t make me as incompetent as a yearling.”
“From what I just saw, I’d like to say otherwise,” the black tom mewed, looking down at Lark with a spark of amusement in his mesmerizing blue eyes.
Lark’s eyes flew wide and she felt rage surge through her as she sputtered to say a sharp response.
“I’d say you owe us a heavy thank you,” a dark brown she-cat growled as she came to stand beside the black tom. Her amber colored eyes glared down at Lark coldly, and Lark bristled at the she-cat. She had the same thick accent, and her pelt was thicker than that of the tom’s, but Lark could tell that without it, she was still built rather muscularly.
“Thank you,” Lark muttered, turning to look at Spring and have her show some gratitude to the strangers, but in the blink of an eye, the young she-cat had disappeared without her even realizing it. Panic tore through her and she spun around, her green eyes scanning the forest around her. “Spring?!” she called, her heart racing, but before she had time to imagine every possible scenario, the young she-cat poked her head out of a clump of ferns nearby.
“Lark!” she mewed happily as she skipped out of the ferns, followed by four smaller looking cats who gazed at her in a mixture of awe and curiosity. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the black tom stiffen, and exchange a glance with the dark brown she-cat at his side.
“They’re really real mountain cats!” Spring mewed excitedly as she bounced over to Lark, who looked her over frantically, checking for any wounds. “They even have weird names and weird accents and they smell like the mountain!”
“We’re from BlizzardClan,” the black tom mewed warmly to Spring and Lark whirled around to face him, narrowing her eyes.
He had regarded her so coldly, why now was he so nice to her niece?
“Or at least we were,” he mewed, glancing at the cats around him. “Our Clan had been terrorized by a group of rogues who settled into the mountains about three green-leafs ago, led by a tom named Volor.”
The name sent a jolt through Lark and she blinked in surprise. Years ago, a young tom by that name had come through the forest with just a few followers, saying he was going across the mountain for a fresh start in life. He had stayed through a whole new-leaf season, and it had been the closest thing to love Lark had ever come across. She had adored him, and had nearly left with him, but loyalty to her family and her home kept her in the forest. Could this strange tom really be talking about the same tom?
“He had settled in the forest on the other side of the mountain, but Twolegs drove him and his group out. They moved to the mountains, thinking they could survive there,” the black tom continued with his story and Lark was now listening intently. “As his numbers grew so did his ambition, until he wanted to be the sole leader on the mountain. He gave BlizzardClan a choice, join or leave. We thought we could take him, but he fights like no one has before, without honor or mercy. He found his way to our camp and would send raiding parties to attack us in the dead of night or in the middle of storms. He attacked patrols and hunted in our territory, destroyed places where herbs grew and our sacred sites. This past leaf-bare we were finally forced to leave after the death of our leader, Streamstar. We’re all that is left.” He motioned to the cats now gathered around him, and to the three massive cats that were returning from chasing off the fox. “We’ve been forced to find a new home, and I will not rest until I find it for everyone.”
“You can stay with us!” Spring suddenly blurted and Lark felt her fur stand on end and she glared at the younger she-cat.
“You can’t just invite a bunch of dangerous strangers into our home!” Lark snapped and Spring frowned.
“But we’re the Guardians of the Pass, aren’t we supposed to invite everyone to stay with us?” The young she-cat looked confused and Lark shook her head.
“Guardians of the Pass?” the black tom echoed, looking between Lark and Spring, blinking in confusion. “We’d always heard of the Guardians, but we’d always been raised to think that it was nothing but a blood thirsty group of rogues who guarded the forest. Ages ago a patrol went down the pass to investigate, but they never returned.”
“So that’s where my father got it,” Lark mewed, realization hitting her. “My father was half mountain cat, but his parents were long gone when I was born, and my parents didn’t talk much about the few mountain cats who lived with the group before my time.”
Spring giggled and looked up at the foreign cats. “Do you really think we could be blood-thirsty rogues?”
Lark rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m Lark,” she mewed, finally introducing herself properly. “This is my niece, Spring. The rest of the group is back at our camp. If you do not pose a threat to us and only seek safe passage through the forest then I will be more than happy to guide you to our home and welcome you, and offer you shelter and any assistance that you need.” The words fell off her tongue in a flat, monotone voice that came from saying them over and over and a rehearsed fashion to anyone and everyone they welcomed to their home. She looked up at the black tom and caught him studying her intently, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful.
“I am Nightvine,” he mewed, his voice as he said his name sent a shiver down Lark’s spine and she did her best to conceal it. “Thank you, for welcoming us into your home. We would be forever grateful for your help.”
CHAPTER TWO
Spring’s excited chatter buzzed in Lark’s ears as she led everyone back towards the clearing she called home. The young she-cat was padding happily with two of the younger cats in the group, a gray tabby tom named Boulderpaw and a white and silver she-cat named Frostpaw. The she-cat was just as bubbly as Spring was, and they two were chattering happily as Frostpaw talked about Clan life and Spring explained what it was she and her family did as Guardians of the Pass.
“Aspen is going to be thrilled,” Lark muttered under her breath.
“Who?” Nightvine mewed from where he padded beside Lark. Feeling small compared to her brother was nothing compared to how small she felt compared to the black tom. She was closer to him now, and she felt like a pebble sitting next to a mountain. Muscle rippled under his black pelt and Lark bristled.
“My brother, his name is Aspen. He’s the self-appointed leader of us all, though it’s not saying much since it’s just me and the young ones.” Lark mewed flatly, glancing up at Nightvine who suddenly seemed lost in thought.
“Is he as welcoming as you are?” the hulking dark brown she-cat, who Lark learned was called Hernoncry, sneered.
“That’s enough of that,” Nightvine snapped before Lark could bite back a retort to the sour-tempered she-cat. She gave a soft growl and lashed her tail as she continued to marsh (did you mean "march"?) through the forest.
“Don’t mind her,” a soft voice mewed to the petite she-cat’s other side. She turned to look at a stone gray she-cat with an agile body hidden under her rather fluffy pelt. Lark opened her mouth but paused, unable to remember her name. “Raingaze,” the gray she-cat mewed with a soft purr. “Pay no mind to Heroncry. I’d say she’s bitter because of what has happened to us, but she’s always foul-tempered. We all tend to ignore her.” She gave Lark a wink, her eyes as sky blue as Nightvine’s with darker speckles of sapphire and lighter flecks of storm-cloud gray.
“We’ve all been a little foul tempered,” Lark caught the words mumbled under Nightvine’s breath and she cast him a side-long glance.
Raingaze scoffed and rolled her eyes. “We have not, you and Heroncry have been the worst by far. The kits only get bad when they get hungry.”
At the mention of the kits Lark glanced back at the little fluff balls, each being carried by a hulking tom. Acornkit, a rather sleek looking brown tabby she-kit, was being carried by a cream colored tom with black legs and a black face, who went by the name of Blackdust. Badgerspots, a white tom with black patches and mismatched eyes, carried a white and silver bundle named Stonekit. From Lark’s understanding, they were barely two moons old. Their mother hadn’t made it down the mountain, and their father had been lost in a raid before they were born. Her heart ached for them, and she remembered when they had found Thistle, all alone in the forest, his family gone.
“We’re nearly there,” Lark said softly as she glanced around their surroundings. Soon the stump surrounded by ferns that guarded the entrance to the clearing she called home came into view and she sent Spring in first to find Aspen and alert him to what was going on. She pushed her way through the thorn gap and sat just inside and watched as the Clan cats wiggled their way into the clearing, staying bunched together as they looked around almost nervously. Pine and Thistle had appeared, watching the newcomers with curious eyes. Thistle tried to hide his curiosity behind a look of boredom as he lounged on a root, and Pine let Spring herd him towards Boulderpaw and Frostpaw to be properly introduced. Aspen wasn’t far off from the young she-cat as he came striding over. His thicker pelt and large muscular build made him closer in size to the mountain cats, and Lark found herself wishing they had met him first and not herself.
“Welcome to the home of the bloodthirsty Guardians,” she mewed softly to Nightvine with a small scoff and roll of her eyes. She still couldn’t believe the Clan in the mountains had thought her and her family to be some bloodthirsty group, not letting anyone over the mountain or chasing them towards the perilous path. What had made the Clan cats stay in the forest all those seasons ago, Lark couldn’t say but she was proof as to why at least one cat stayed. Love could make anyone do anything really.
“Welcome,” Aspen mewed, his deep voice rolling off him in a warm purr. He always liked visitors, someone to look over and something to do. “My name is Aspen, I’m in charge of this group here.”
“You like to think you’re in charge you mean,” Lark mewed sharply as she rose to her feet and padded to stand beside her brother, looking at the Clan cats gathered before them. Her heart hammered in her chest as she studied them. If things went south, there was no winning a battle against the mountain cats.
“I am Nightvine,” the black tom mewed and Lark’s eyes snapped to the large tom, his blue eyes already locked on her before sliding over to look at Aspen. “What you see here gathered before you is what is left of BlizzardClan. We used to reside high in the mountain, calling it our home. We have since been exiled by a group of rogues who took over our home, and now we seek sanctuary.” He dipped his head low and respectively, making Aspen puff up a little and Lark rolled her eyes.
“You are more than welcome to stay here,” Aspen mewed with a small dip of his chin. “We will supply you with everything you need, food, water, and herbs for any who are ill or injured. Lark here is a wonder with anything to do with healing.”
Nightvine looked surprised and glanced at Lark, who scowled in return, not enjoying being under the black tom’s scrutinizing gaze. "Thank you,” he mewed as he dipped his chin to Aspen. “We are all very tired, and very sore. The kits have some cracked pads, as well as Raingaze, Blackdust, and myself. The rest are just tired.”
Lark nodded and tilted her head slightly. “If you would like to follow me, I can take you to a place where you can rest and I can take a look at your feet.”
“Thistle, why don’t you and Pine go collect some fresh moss to make nests? And bring some back from the stream so they all have something to drink.” Aspen mewed to Thistle, who scowled but rose to his feet and began to pad towards the entrance.
“Boulderpaw and Frostpaw, why don’t you go with them?” Nightvine mewed and Lark bristled, eyeing the black tom carefully. “If we are going to stay here, we might as well earn our keep.”
Boulderpaw, to his credit, looked about as thrilled as Thistle who scowled and glared at the Clan cats. Frostpaw seemed oblivious to Thistle’s sour look and happily babbled to him as they padded out of camp. She was very much like Spring, and Lark could see the two young she-cats being fast friends if they stayed here for an extended period of time.
“They’re good young ones,” Raingaze’s mew caught Lark off guard and she gave a little startled jump as she looked at the gray she-cat who looked at her warmly. “They’re Blackdust’s kits, their mother was lost not too long ago on the journey down.”
“I’m sorry,” Lark mewed, not sure what else she was to say as she led the Clan cats towards a hollowed out log. One end was covered by a boulder, and the entrance was mostly hidden by thick brambles. Lark held most of the brambles back and let the clan cats file into the den before ducking in after them.
“The nests are old, but they’ll have to do if you want to go ahead and settle in,” Lark mewed as she padded to the back where the boulder was. It was filled with cracks and crevices, big enough to slip a paw through and was where she kept herbs tucked away. She grabbed the two that were best for sore pads and carefully carried them to the waiting clan cats. She laid a small bundle at Raingaze’s paws. “Chew these into a pulp, then carefully lick them onto the kit’s pads. I wouldn’t recommend swallowing anything, it won’t hurt you but it doesn’t taste good. Whatever is left use on your own pads. Use it as sparingly as you can, this is all I have.” The gray she-cat smiled and dipped her head in gratitude as Lark gave the rest of the herbs to Blackdust and Nightvine.
“Where did you gain your knowledge of herbs?” Nightvine asked as Lark laid his herbs at his feet.
“My mother taught me, and her mother before her and so on,” Lark explained as she returned to the boulder to examine her stores. “For as long as we can remember all the she-cats of our family served as healers of sorts to the group and always had knowledge of herbs. I’ve been trying to teach Spring, but she doesn’t hold much interest in herbs.”
“And Spring, she’s your…?” Nightvine mewed around a mouthful of herbs.
“Niece, I don’t have any kits of my own. (should be a ,)” Lark said flatly as she made a mental list of herbs she would need to get to help the Clan cats regain their strength.
“Why?”
The question had Lark whrilling ("whirling"?) around, pelt bristling as she sputtered out a response. “It’s…It’s never been anything I’ve really thought about! (should be a ,)” she mewed, looking at Nightvine with narrowed eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business!”
“I’m just trying to make small talk. (again, should be a ,)” Nightvine snapped, his own pelt bristling slightly as his long tail lashed.
“Well, I don’t want to hear it! Now get that pulp on your pads before you spit it everywhere trying to talk around it!” Lark ordered, huffing and padding towards the den entrance. She caught Raingaze giving Nightvine and her amused looks and she huffed, leaving the insufferable tom behind with his Clanmates and storming towards her den, not caring hunting needed to get done and there were those that needed help and attention. She wasn’t one for crowds anyway, and she ducked in her den ready to hide for just a little while.
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Post by Firehaze on Aug 23, 2016 14:52:13 GMT -5
Thank you so much Dew! I will fix all the corrections when I get home from work, and see if I can catch any other errors I made in the next chapters. I think I'm about five or six chapters ahead of what I posted? I wrote a lot while on vacation (: I just have a few questions!
1.) Is it too cliché?
2.) If it is, how might I change anything or spice it up a tad?
3.) For the most part, do the characters seem to be interesting enough? There is a lot of development to come, but I don't want them to seem too bland starting out.
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 23, 2016 15:06:06 GMT -5
I, personally, don't find it cliche. I really enjoyed reading it because it's original. There are moments of.. predictability, sure, but that shows up in pretty much every story once and a while. Tropes aren't always bad, and I think you're doing a fantastic job so far.
Same goes with the characters. You've managed to make them all unique, and most importantly, consistent. If you keep on your current track, I don't think you'll have a problem at all. Certainly interesting enough to make me want to get to know them more.
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Post by Firehaze on Aug 24, 2016 0:59:05 GMT -5
I think I got all your edits in Dew (: Thank you so much! feel free to continue to edit while you read, if you want me to fill out a form for each chapter that is fine, I enjoy having someone read and critique my work and catch any errors I make. It's all small grammatical errors too haha whoops xD
And I am glad you don't find it cliché. It follows a little along the lines of how my usual stories go, always a start up clan but those are my favorites.
And as far as characters go the only one who appears to be unstable or jump around a lot at times might be Nightvine, but that's just his character and because of that there's a lot of development with him to come. Same with Lark. I usually always write bubbly and happy characters, so having a grumpy, bitter cat as a main is very fun and interesting. I'm hoping everyone enjoys her snarkiness as much as I do xD
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 26, 2016 11:37:48 GMT -5
sorry for my inactivity, getting started on Curse edits now ^^
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 26, 2016 14:27:07 GMT -5
» ѕнαdσω ⚔️ -- here's your Curse edit! sorry for the wait.
Red = spelling/grammar error
Orange = unnecessary word/punctuation
Yellow = explanation
Green = tense error
Teal = missing word/punctuation
Pink = other
PROLOGUE PT1
The hunter waits. She is patient, silent, controlled; a perfectly tuned instrument of death.
She uses the shadows to hide from the eyes of her enemies, her pelt melting into oblivion.
It is a perfect night for a kill; for the moon is hidden away in its own veil of darkness and the stars are too cold and distant to shed their light onto (confused preposition: should just be "on") the mountain side (only one word: "mountainside") below.
Yet, she does not flex her claws against the earth in anticipation, nor feel the rush of blood roaring in her ears.
She is calm, silent, focused.
The only sound that can be heard is the aching creak of the ancient pines as they bend to the will of the wind.
Then, out of the darkness, comes the dim glow of a celestial being wrapped in a swath of stars. A thin halo of pure, pale light outlines her figure as she steps out into the pine needle littered clearing, the soft crunch of her padding across the ground breaking (only one word: "groundbreaking") the tense silence emitting from the huntress.
The starry feline stops once she reaches the center of the circular clearing, her pelt wavering and shifting like a wispy fog caught on a hook, her eyes large and unblinking like an owl's, glowing a bright evergreen.
“I know why you’re here, my dear,” the ghost-like being rasps, her voice scratchy and hoarse as if she had spent a lifetime screaming out to the heavens.
The hunter hesitates briefly, disturbed to have been found out so quickly and effortlessly. Reluctantly, she thrusts herself out of the brush, revealing herself as a young ginger, white, and black she-cat with the same exact evergreen eyes as the ghostly she-cat. “Don’t call me dear. You have no right to call me that,” she growls, her eyes as cold and desolate as the icy tundra.
Sadness and regret pools into the brightly lit she-cat's eyes and she bows her head in submission. “You are right. I will only call you by your name, Jadefox,” she murmurs.
Jadefox does not let her glare waver as the she-cat speaks, instead, (need a comma after an introductory phrase) she locks in her legs, as if bracing for impact. “You know why I’m here, so let’s get it over with. Tell me why; why did you do this to us?”
The she-cat shakes her head slowly, turning her flank away from Jadefox so she can gaze off into the forest without looking into her eyes. “He would have killed you if I hadn’t,” she says bleakly.
Jadefox takes a few steps forward so that she is upon the otherworldly feline. “That’s a lie! You did it to save your own skin!” she spat.
The celestial apparition turns so that she can respond with a fierce retort. “I did not! I did it to save you, my daughter, and to save the many other daughters who will come after you! You will understand once you have kits of your own,” her voice booms, echoing off the trunks of the pines.
Jadefox doesn’t flinch, but now her claws are set deep into the ground, tethering herself in. “That won’t matter now! Don’t you see? This sacrifice that you have made will all be for nothing. You have cursed us all, Shadowhunter! You have doomed us to a life of darkness and death! Like you, we will all die alone!”
Silence meets her words.
Shadowhunter’s evergreen eyes now glint with deep, raw, sorrow. She steps closer to her daughter, her right paw shaking as she brings it up to place it along Jadefox’s cheek bone (one word: "cheekbone") just below her own evergreen eye. She smiles painfully, swallowing thickly as she speaks. “I remember when your eyes were blue… so clear and beautiful… like the sky. They reminded me of your father… so brave and kind he was…"
“Mother… I-”
Shadowhunter shakes her head, moving her paw over Jadefox’s muzzle to silence her. “But now this curse has taken him away from me, all because I made a foolish mistake. I thought I was in love with another… but he was nothing more than a shade, a trickster. He is the one who brought this curse upon us, Jadefox. He is the one who has taken our souls and marked us with the eyes of the cursed. Know this; I sacrificed my happiness so that you may live on. One day, you will have to do the same for your daughter.” As she speaks, her form begins to fade, the trees becoming visible behind her fur.
Jadefox’s whole body now quivers as her tether is broken. Her eyes are no longer cold, but they are sad and filled with longing as she reaches out with her paw to touch her once living mother’s shoulder, only to have her paw pass through completely. “Wait, please! There must be more… there has to be a way to break it, right?”
Shadowhunter’s body is now nothing more than a thin fog, her cursed evergreen eyes shining out into the dark. “The only way to break the curse is to speak its name; know its name, and you will have power over it.” Shadowhunter meows urgently, her gaze becoming fearful as her body slowly evaporates. “Never forget the name! Name her - !” In a flash of blinding light, Shadowhunter is eradicated from the clearing, leaving Jadefox sprawled out on the ground, the blast carrying her off her paws and flinging her against the base of a pine.
Once she comes to, Jadefox is no longer in the dark pine forest, but is instead lying on the smooth surface of a rock jutting over a deep green valley below. She grunts as she sits up, her body weak and trembling as if she had been running for miles, but her evergreen eyes are now flaming with determination. She rests until the darkness clears and the sun begins to rise to the east over the valley, its light warming her cold, soulless body.
She looks up to watch as the last of the stars blinks out, the glow of the sun overwhelming them, its brightness swallowing theirs.
I promise mother, she thinks to herself, imagining Shadowhunter watching her with bright, loving, yellow eyes. My cursed daughters will always defy him, and we will fight for what we have lost.
PROLOGUE PT2
Blood flows like water over the hungry stones of a rushing river, swirling in cadence with the pregnant waters. It fills the shore, expanding like a bed of roses in a garden of kings.
The valley, in the dead of winter, sits in solemn despair as the tormented screeches of its daughter rings out, like the fevered pitch of a blazing fire before a field of wheat, destroying every blade and every small creature in its path.
It is the sound of agony.
Not pain, not sorrow, not despair; just pure agony.
And the forest sits; silent, still, and powerless against the darkness that now infects the screeching victim like a poison.
"Do you see it now, my precious one? Can you see the darkness calling to you?"
Another screech answers the torturer's questions, cut off by the sound of gurgling as the victim is dipped into the river, more blood fleeing into the now tainted pureness of the water.
Once the victim is freed, she is thrown back onto the pebbled shore, landing with a wet, lifeless flop. Blood flows from her closed eyes like bloody tears, her soaked pelt hugging her rounded belly that protects three tiny precious lives; lives that will undoubtedly suffer the same fate as she.
"P-please...understand that I never meant to hurt you...," she feebly pleads, clear liquid running out the side of her jaw and trickling down onto her chest fur.
Her attacker approaches slowly, like a hunter would to its prey, a wicked smile warping his features in an unnatural way. "Of course you meant to hurt me! Why would you have done it otherwise if not to punish me?" he growls, raising one of his paws and striking down on the right side of her face, slicing deep into the fur and sinew there.
She cries out, her eye lids (one word: "eyelids") opening wide with shock and pain; deep, black, blood stained holes occupying where her eyes had once been.
Her attacker laughs with sickening glee as he pushes her to her paws, thrusting her back so that she is backed into the side of a large grey (while technically this is correct, it is the British English spelling. I would recommend changing it to "gray," to be consistent with the American English spelling you use with other words, but you don't have to.) boulder, the right side of her face now unrecognizable.
"Look at how pathetic you are...too weak to fight back...too defeated to stop begging for mercy...in one single day, (need comma after introductory phrase) I have managed to make the most feared and respected warrior queen of the Valley beg for her life like a helpless kit! Where is your courage now, leader of MountainClan?!" He taunts the queen with vicious malice, his pupils wide and crazed.
The queen hisses, hunched over her unborn kits, her fur sticking up in matted clumps. "You may have taken my sight, you may have wounded my body, but you will never taint my soul!" she snarls roughly, her throat sore from screaming.
A terrible glint chills the tom’s gaze, dark humor dancing across his lips, his ears standing to attention at the new prospect of a challenge. "Well...we will see about that, now won't we?" he purrs sardonically. He then slinks away, his paws moving silently over the stony beach that now resembles a colorful painting of mud, snow, and blood. He stops at the edge of the river where two large rocks forms (one rock forms, two rocks form) a tight crevice between them. He looks back over his shoulder, his bright green eyes glittering with a sick glee. "I know your weakness. I know exactly how to break your spirit...," The crazed, green-eyed torturer then reaches inside the crack to take out the battered body of a broad-shouldered tom with unmistakable lynx-like ear tufts.
The queen remains silent as her attacker manages to haul the large, muscular tom up from out of the dark crevice by the scruff of his neck and into the snowy glow of the daylight, a deep groan eliciting from him as he is dragged across the pebbled shore to be laid down only a few tail-lengths away from the she-cat.
At first, the queen is confused as the scent of the nearly unconscious tom becomes tangible on her tongue, but then that confusion is wiped clean from her face as recognition suddenly breaks like a sunrise within the planes of her scarred face. Horror, guilt, astonishment, and pain flicker across her features in a violent torrent of emotion.
“No…no, this-this isn’t real! He is dead! I saw him die!”
The cat that lay in front of the blinded queen was not just any tom, he was the tom.
He was the tom that would break her curse.
Yet, knowing the torturer's (should be possessive, not plural) ways, the she-cat knew her one hope for revival was about to be lost forever.
Death knocked upon the doors to her soul, and she could feel it slowly rot away as her attacker slinked forward like a tiger, her one and only chance of life lying helplessly beneath his fangs…
Her fate was sealed.
CHAPTER ONE
They say that the eyes are windows to the soul, that through them, all your deepest secrets can be revealed.
It is the eyes that can betray you in a moment of need; a spark of defiance, a glimmer of sorrow, a sparkle of happiness, a glint of murderous intent.
Your face may be as chilled as a glacier, and your body may be as immovable as a mountain, but your eyes will always reflect what is inside you.
But what about the eyes that are empty, that are soulless? Is it as easy to see what is inside them as it is to see inside another’s?
What if those eyes, the eyes you thought you knew so well, were not even real?
What if they belonged to someone else… something else?
It is hard to have these questions buzzing around your head like stinging wasps when you’re someone like me, someone who has expectations stacked against them; an example to set for the others.
Even as a young, innocent kit, I knew that my life was ruled by fate.
And fate can be cruel to the innocent, for they don’t see the brutality of the world.
I can still remember the day my fate began… looking back it seems so long ago, as if it was from another life.
. . .
My earliest memories are the memories of waking up.
It was the first time I had seen colors.
After being accustomed to darkness for so long, I had to shut my newly opened eyes, and re-open them, to make sure what I was seeing was real.
I was encompassed by a soft, spongy material that tickled my sensitive muzzle. It was a bright, vibrant color that glowed in the dim light. Looking closer, I could see tiny individual segments that looked like the edges of a feather, but they were tougher, and much more cushioned. Experimentally, I slowly brought my right paw forward to dab at this mysterious substance, which I later found to be called moss, but what truly excited me were the colors of my own small paw.
Most of the top of my paw was a pale color… almost like a blank, like a more vibrant color was missing. Just beyond this void of color, which turned out to be white, was an opposite color, a color so dark that not even darkness could hope to copy it. It was called black, and it was accompanied by splotches of a color that, when staring at it, reminded me of warmth. It was a burnt orange with white stripes.
I was instantly happy to be so colorful; to be so alive.
I took a moment then to tilt my chin up, my eyes widening at the strange ceiling above my head, my mouth opening in a small “o”.
It looked like a tightly packed, tangled mass of mouse tails, except each mouse tail had tiny spikes along their length. It looked deadly, but at the same time very safe as I concluded that those thorny tendrils were there to protect me from whatever was outside.
Outside… what a strange word… yet it inflicted tangible excitement and wonder within me.
Only moments after my visual exploration of my home, a chorus of purrs and exultations of joy echoed in this small mossy space.
“Oh, Cloudspots… they are simply beautiful!”
“Five healthy kits, it’s a blessing from StarClan!”
“Maskstar must be so proud.”
Their voices were quite loud…they echoed in my ears like loud bird calls, causing me to flinch and let out a loud whine of protest.
Another chorus of meows followed, only louder and at a higher pitch this time.
“So cute! She’s a strong one that one.”
I could then feel a tight pressure in my chest, building slowly, a feeling so unfamiliar that it took me a few moments to name it; (should be a ":") annoyance.
A loud rustling then paused the exclamations as another voice made itself known.
“What is this? All of you, out! You’re scaring the kits - no, all the way out Darkestday! Sitting with your head poked in the entrance is not out!”
As the rustling of the bramble walls finally stilled, a warm breath blew across my face, smelling of milk and moss.
“Thank you, Nighthawk. I was afraid I would have to get out of the nest and push them out! I always forget how excited the Clan gets over a birth,” a warm, soft voice meows. Unlike the pitchy meows of the spectators, this cat’s voice was quiet, gentle, and even a bit humorous. It sounded familiar, as if I had listened to it many times before.
The answer to this mystery came in the form of a face.
The cat lowered her head so that her large luminous green eyes were trained on me, their depths glowing with so much love that my whole body tingled from ear-tip to tail-tip with fuzzy warmth. Her face was soft looking, colored black with spots of white. Her fur was wispy, like the vapor of a cloud, and her muzzle was gently narrowed like the corner of a triangle, topped off with a shiny black nose.
I knew without a doubt that this was my mother.
Beyond her sat a very lithe, black she-cat with sharp white markings on her face and chest, her eyes the same exact shade of green as my mothers. This was Nighthawk, the cat that had come earlier to relieve me of the raucous noise of the other cats.
“I heard that you still haven’t given that one a name yet?” questioned Nighthawk, leaning down closer so that her whiskers brushed against my flank, tickling my side and causing me to squirm and bat at her muzzle.
My mother purred, brushing her cloudy tail across my forehead. “Her siblings' names just came to me so easily; Ospreykit, Mintkit, Stormkit, and Blackkit…but this one…every time I think I have one it slips away. None of them feel right, mother,” she sighs, clear distress and worry clouding the tone of her meow.
Nighthawk narrows her eyes as she observes me under her piercing evergreen gaze. “She has quite the unique marking…it’s almost as if it’s a birthmark of some kind, like her father’s.”
“Maskstar noticed that too when she was born, but he thought it would send the wrong message of favoritism if we gave her the name Maskkit. Besides, the black fur only covers the right side of her face…”
Nighthawk sat back then, a tiny hint of shock flittering across her eyes before it was wiped away. “You know, that marking almost reminds me of my grandmother’s scar. It covered the right side of her face…the most peculiar scar…instead of turning a pale pink over time it scarred black, like she had been clawed by claws of fire.”
Cloudspots purred. “You and your stories…I still don’t understand why you talk of (should be either "speak of" or "talk about") the past so much,” she teased her mother.
Nighthawk smiled knowingly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes as they stared into space. “The past is the key to the future, my daughter. Without the past, we will never learn from our mistakes.”
My mother was silent, the sound of a lapping tongue brushing against fur breaking the silence.
“What was your grandmother’s name?”
“Her name was Shadowstar; one of the few great leaders of MountainClan.”
I could feel my mother’s gaze then, looking down at my tiny body curled up against her soft belly fur, surrounded by the bodies of my brother and three sisters.
I wonder, while looking at her innocent, young, daughter, if she ever thought about what might become of her.
“Then her name shall be Shadowkit, my little Shadowkit,” my mother murmured, nuzzling me with her nose.
Unbeknownst to them, they had just sealed my fate by the choosing of my name.
I was no longer innocent, for I could see.
CHAPTER TWO
In this chapter of my life, time seemed to pass seamlessly. No bumps, tears, or road blocks deterred my young spirit, so I was free to explore my new home without having a heavy weight in my chest.
In the four moons that followed my birth, I learned a few basic rules for surviving as a kit in MountainClan:
1. Never, EVER eat alongside the warriors. You will soon be trampled and squashed like a tick on an elder’s pelt. It’s not that their (wrong "their," should be "they're") rude or anything…it’s just that…well, they don’t tend to notice the small things.
2. Always obey your mother. You will find that life will be a lot easier if you do.
3. Don’t even think about going into the medicine den. In fact, don’t even look at it.
4. If you want the elders to tell you a good story, don’t bring your moony-eyed sister along who thinks every story needs romance. The elders will never let you come back.
5. Be an adult. Follow the code.
6. Family is more important than anything else.
As long as I followed these rules, I knew I would be safe and happy. It was that simple.
If only life could be that simplistic…
“Shadowkit! C’mon you’re staring off into space again!”
My ears swiveled to the left in response to the familiar teasing, high pitched squeaking meow of my most annoying sibling; Ospreykit.
Ospreykit was the runt of our liter ("litter"), but for some odd reason, our ancestors decided to bestow upon her the gift of most critical, loud-mouthed, picky, and hyperactive, tattle-tail sister ever.
“Why are you glaring at me like that again? Momma said it wasn’t nice to glare!” She squeaked, her voice scratching away at my already aching ear drums (one word: "eardrums") from her earlier bout of complaints about there not being enough moss in our shared nest.
I growled loudly, swinging my body around to face Ospreykit who was sitting nonchalantly in front of the entrance to the nursery. Crouching low to the ground, I wriggled my hind-quarters in preparation for taking down my prey. Yet, my hunt was interrupted by a fluffy black and white splotched coat and a pair of deep blue eyes blocking my view of my target.
“Cut it out sis; she’s just trying to provoke you into a fight,” came the slightly lower pitched meow of my only level-headed sibling and brother; Stormkit.
Stormkit, unlike Ospreykit, was rather large, but much more quiet and kind. He was the mediator of most of our sibling show-downs.
I sighed and stood, feigning disappointment. “Oh, fine. She wasn’t worth it anyways.”
“Hey!” Ospreykit piped up indignantly, her colorful orange, white, and black spiky fur fluffing up to make her appear like a painted moss ball.
Another black and white spotted figure came into view, this one much more streamlined and fragile looking. This was my sister Mintkit who had lovely minty green eyes; most likely the reason for her bizarre name.
“Momma said that we could be outside in the camp today as long as we don’t cause trouble. Can we please be nice to each other? It’s a lot more fun when we're sweet and considerate,” she meowed quietly, shuffling her paws in the dark pine needle soil of the camp ground (one word: "campground").
I inwardly groaned, but felt grudging (missing article: should be "a grudging") respect for my sister. Mintkit was a bit of a romantic, but as annoying as it was, it was still nice to have at least one cat that had such a positive outlook on life. Especially with what was coming next.
“Hey look, a patrol is coming in!” Ospreykit cried.
All four of us shuffled forward into a huddled group, making sure we gave the protective thorny bramble entrance a wide berth as a storm of fur, claws, and sinew exploded into the cool camp clearing, their strong jaws filled with snow hare, crow, and fish.
My eyes widened in awe as I looked upon the four warriors now depositing their catches into the prey-pile in the center of camp. Each one of them had strong, compact legs and tough wiry shoulders with multiple scars lacing across their bodies. I remember many long nights where the elders would tell us stories of the great mountain cats who dared to live on the peak of the world where the rocks were as sharp as lion’s teeth and the wind was as harsh as a freezing dip in the Siberian River. They told us all warriors of MountainClan wore their scars with pride, for scars were a sign of strength, bravery, and experience.
“Whoa…they look so awesome!” Stormkit meowed appreciatively, his blue eyes glittering with excitement.
Ospreykit for once was silent as she nodded in agreement, her tiny needle-like claws kneading into the dirt.
Mintkit, on the other hand (paw? cx), wrinkled her nose and shied away from the scarred warriors as they walked past. “They look scary to me…why would they want to keep their scars? Did the medicine cat not know how to treat their wounds?” she inquired, looking wide-eyed and deeply concerned for the hunters as they settled down outside the warriors' den which was made out of more brambles and thick moss.
One of the warriors I recognized as Darkestday, a large black tom-cat with stark silver eyes. He was our mother’s brother; our uncle.
“Well, think about it this way Mintkit. If invaders ever try to cross into our lands they will be scared out of their pelts just at the mere sight of us! They wouldn’t want to tussle with us,” I explained matter-of-factly, puffing my chest out with pride for my Clan.
We are the most fearsome Clan in the world! Nothing could tear us down!
The bramble entrance trembled again as another figure stepped in, holding a large, shiny silver trout by its midsection, blood dripping down the toms muzzle and onto his white, orange, and black splotched chest, creating a gruesome and terrifying aura around him.
His flaming amber eyes were identical to my own, and his face was encompassed by a black-furred mask, hence his name; (should be a ":") Maskstar.
He was our leader and our father; a powerful and intimidating combination.
We were all silent, watching him expectantly as he came prowling up to the fresh-kill pile, opening his jaws to let the fish plop down onto the growing pile with a wet splotch.
At that moment I felt a warm pelt press up against me from behind; it’s fur smelling of milk and moss. “You should go ask him to teach us how to fish!” a voice whispered encouragingly, sounding young and bright.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder at my nearly identical twin; Blackkit.
Like me, Blackkit was a tortoiseshell, except she hardly had any white fur on her body besides a small dash on her chest, and her orange fur was just orange, not orange tabby. Her eyes were also amber, but they were lighter, more golden, and they had darker chips of amber surrounding her pupil.
I liked to think that we were born at exactly the same time sense ("since") me and her were so close, and could always tell what the other was thinking, but momma told us that was physically impossible.
I still didn’t get why.
I shivered, turning back to look at our father as he leisurely cleaned the blood from his fur, his large shoulder muscles rippling with the movement.
I swallowed thickly, trying to appear confident when really nervousness ate at my insides. “I-I don’t know…”
Of course, Ospreykit took this moment of indiscretion to ruffle me up. “What? Are you scared of our own father? Don’t be such a chicken. If you won’t do it, I will,” she meowed, her voice laced with sarcasm and a tempting challenge.
It wasn’t that I was scared of my father, it was just that he seemed so…intimidating, so different and out of this world. He rarely came by the nursery, less so than before, and when he did his attention was mostly focused on our mother, Cloudspots.
None of us had ever held a conversation with him.
I growled, standing up and lifting my chin. I refused to let my little sister get the better of me.
“No, I’ll do it. I just wasn’t sure because he probably has better things to do then (wrong "then," should be "than") to talk hunting strategies with some little kit,” I sniffed, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest that the words brought me.
Could he really not want to talk to his own kits?
I could feel Blackkit’s gaze burning into the back of my skull, her concern tangible even without looking directly at her, but I turned away from her and marched over to my father, our leader, determined to impress him and earn his affections.
Upon approaching, one of the warriors from an earlier patrol came up to my father and started conversing with him. My father’s gaze became as still as stone, and his brow creased on his forehead in a clear message of concern and serious thought.
My paws faltered as I came into his shadow, but it was already too late to turn back.
“The patrol picked up more disturbances on the mountain side. It appears as if the snow is weighing down the rocks and the trees dramatically. We found more fallen pines and large broken up boulders from when we checked last,” the she-cat reported, her blue tabby fur sprinkled with snow-flakes from her border run.
Maskstar nodded; (should be a ,) his golden amber eyes attentive. “It’s clear then. We should start taking measures to preserve the mountainside from collapsing. Inform all patrols that they are to stay away from that part of the forest. Also, put up a bramble wall on the main trail. We don’t want anyone or anything going up there and causing an avalanche.”
The blue-tabby warrior dipped her head. “Yes, Maskstar,” she conceded, backing away and padding off toward the other warriors to inform them of their orders.
Maskstar’s gaze then found me; my little form crouched in the pine needle mulch, my amber eyes wide and my fur fluffed up nervously.
He tilted his head, an impatient look coming into his flaming orbs. “Yes? What is it that you want kit?”
I visibly flinched, and anger welled up inside me. I ignored the loud, warning hisses from my siblings on the other side of the clearing. They already knew it was no use trying to stop my response.
“I’m not ‘kit’. My name is Shadowkit, your daughter, for your information,” I replied haughtily.
An amused look quickly flashed over my father’s gaze before it disappeared just as quickly as the morning dew on a blade of grass. “Oh, really?” he rumbled, his mew reverberating in his wide statured chest. “Then what is it that you want, Shadowkit, my daughter?”
I was silent, suddenly forgetting what I was going to ask, and what my purpose was.
He called me by my name! He called me his daughter.
His tail-tip began to twitch and he sighed heavily. “Well?”
I snapped out of my astonished trance and beamed up at him, sitting up straighter and holding my chin up. “Me and my siblings saw the big fish you caught. We were wondering if you could teach us how to catch trout too!” I purred, casting a furtive glance back at my siblings over my shoulder to see them all giving me encouraging looks. Even Ospreykit was on her toes, stretching out to catch what we were saying.
Maskstar looked over my head to stare at the rest of his brood, his gaze suddenly becoming dark and slightly apprehensive. What I didn’t know was that Cloudspots had come out to watch our confrontation, and as I waited for his response the leader and his mate faced off with silent conflicts between them. When he returned his attention to me, he appeared resolved about something, but no emotion could be placed in the cold planes of his face.
“Sorry, but I have more important duties to take care of. Why don’t you go run along and…play with the elders or something, (should be a ?)” he growled, standing and stalking off to go join the warriors.
I stared at the space he had just occupied, rooted to the spot as his shadow fell away from me, exposing me to the cold wintry sunlight filtering through the canopy. I could feel the sympathetic glances from the on-lookers, and I could almost taste the shock and disappointment that soaked through my body like a thick mist from my kin.
Soft footsteps crunching over the pine needles sounded beside me, and a soft, cloudy tail flicked my nose lightly, causing me to look up into the solemn evergreen gaze of my mother. Her voice was grave as she spoke.
“Your father is a very busy tom. He has a whole Clan full of kits (do you mean "cats"?) to watch over, to teach, and to lead. Just because he did not reciprocate this time does not mean he won’t the next. When it starts getting dark, try again. He will be alone in his den away from Clan politics, so he should be more willing to spend time with you then.”
I sniffed, an overwhelming feeling of rejection making it hard to breathe. “You really think so?” I choked out.
She nodded, her soft triangular muzzle caressing the top of my head. “Of course, my love; despite what you may see, deep down, he loves you very much. He wants to get to know you; all of you.”
I breathed in deeply, feeling the cool crisp air cleanse the tight feeling in my chest, making it dissipate. “Ok, momma. I’ll try again.”
. . .
Night fell upon the mountainous valley, the gloomy mist filling every dip and depression it could find. The white vapor quickly dampened all the light, making the air chilling even to the happiest of its victims.
My fur felt damp and heavy as I padded away from the nursery, the fog so thick that I couldn’t even tell where the other side of the camp was. I used the edge of the bramble wall as my guide, following it by sight alone as the nursery was swallowed by the mist behind me.
In the gloom, I could make out a hollowed trunk of a fallen pine that was used as the elders' den. Lichen and mushrooms bloomed in the crevices and grew in the pine mulch, and the smell of rotting wood was prominent over the aroma of freshly applied mouse-bile.
I softened my footsteps as I crept past, not wanting to waken any of the elders, for they would be on me quicker than vultures. But, apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was awake so late on this shrouded night.
“…such a tragic end…she would have…death should never be that way.”
Something foreign tugged at my gut, making it squirm and knot up as I overheard the mysterious words floating from the elders' den. Something in me wanted to know more, something in me wanted to get closer…
I didn’t realize I was at the entrance of the den until I could see a glowing pair of evergreen eyes shining out in the darkness. I halted and crouched low to the ground, pressing my belly into the cold damp earth.
I held my breath as I realized that those eyes belonged to Nighthawk, my grandmother, but she wasn’t the one who had spoken. Another pair of eyes glowed in the dim light of the den; a milky blue. I recognized them instantly as belonging to Riverstep, the oldest cat in MountainClan. He was a thick-haired dark brown tabby tom with distinctive lynx tufts on the tops of his ears. He had gone blind long ago when he first became an elder, his eyes becoming clouded with some rare infection that had evaded our medicine cat. Riverstep was one of the kindest elders I had ever met, and he was a talented story teller (one word: storyteller). He was very popular among the young kits in the Clan. Even the apprentices would come to listen to his grand stories of adventures long past.
He was speaking now in a low raspy meow.
“…yes, she was quite beautiful...very brave, strong, and stubborn, as most of your family is, Nighthawk.”
Who are they talking about? Some long lost kin of mine?
Nighthawk chuckled, shifting in her warm mossy nest. “Yes, she was, wasn’t she? I always looked up to her…I wanted to be just like her.”
Riverstep purred, but the tone of his voice was grave. “Thank the realm of the living that you did not turn out to be like her. Such foolishness would have cost you your life.”
Nighthawk growled protectively, her voice as hard as flint. “Wolfheart was not foolish; she was just lost and depressed. You remember her past, don’t you? Her father, my grandfather, died the day she was born. Her brother was crushed by a rock slide a year after during a hunting assessment. Her sister passed away during child-birth. Her mate, my father, was slaughtered by a pack of wolves before he could see his kits be born into this world. Her own mother died of green cough soon after, and out of her three kits, only one survived,” she meowed, stating the horrifying string of events effortlessly as if they had been repeated many times before.
Riverstep rasped his tongue over his chest before responding. “I know of her tragedies, Nighthawk. I’m talking about after. Instead of moving past those dark memories and raising you normally as a mother should have done, she went haywire, raving on and on about some curse. She claimed that the curse was the reason why she was doomed to die alone, why she said she didn’t think you would live much longer than a couple of months,” he rasped, his voice calm, but sympathetic.
My heart beat rose, the word ‘curse’ pulsing in my mind like a sore pad.
Nighthawk dipped her head curtly to the older tom, her evergreen eyes flashing brightly, almost unnaturally so. “I see what you mean. Yet, one can call that foolishness, while others can call it a desperate cling onto a reality she could no longer take. She paid a high, unfair price for her loss of differing between what was real and what wasn’t…”
“She took her own life, in the end.”
She took her own life…
She took her own life…
She took her own life…
I quickly scrambled away, my head pounding in tune with my heart-beat, my senses becoming scattered by their harmonic beating within my body. I found myself stumbling backwards into the thick fog, the elders' den melting into its clutches. I then slammed face first into a cold rock face glittering with dew, thick strands of moss hanging from a small overhang over my head. The impact managed to help clear my head of the alarming pounding, but that relief was quickly over-shadowed by heart-stopping fear as I realized I was in front of my father’s den.
I can’t do this now! Not after what I just heard! I need to find my way back to the nursery. I need to tell Cloudspots everything, maybe it was just a big misunderstanding, or maybe they were just rehearsing some messed up horror story. Whatever it was, it was more important than-
No.
I promised.
Don’t bow out on me now Shadowkit. You can do this. Remember what Cloudspots said. He loves you, and he wants to talk to you. Remember rule number six; family is more important than anything else.
Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, letting my thoughts, emotions, and my body calm before slipping into the moss covered den.
He was lying on a bed of moss with his back turned to me. You could tell he was still awake by the way his shoulders were tensed up, and the way his tail flicked back and forth over the ground with obvious frustration.
In that moment I felt a little sympathetic towards my father. I could never imagine what it would be like to have the weight of responsibility that he carried on his shoulders. It was hard enough for me to watch over my siblings, I couldn’t even imagine doing the same for an entire Clan.
I took a tentative step forward, swallowing thickly before speaking up. “Fath-uh, Maskstar? Are you alright?” I stammered.
The leader of MountainClan turned to glare at me with detached golden amber eyes, his tail-flicking increasing in tempo.
“What are you doing here Shadowkit? You should be in the nursery with your mother,” he scolded, his eyes beginning to flame up.
I swallowed again, trying to grasp my bearings.
“Actually, momma told me to come here. She said that you were too busy to talk earlier, but when it got dark you would be free to speak with me,” I replied. I was proud that my voice did not waver or shake.
Maskstar narrowed his eyes. “Well, she was wrong I’m afraid,” he snapped. “I don’t want to be bothered with kits at the moment. My job is to take care of a Clan, and yours is to stay by your mother’s side and let the warriors do their work. Now, please leave, and don’t come back.”
A feeling I didn’t recognize welled up inside my small, little body. My legs trembled, and my ears felt like they were burning.
Confused and afraid of this new emotion, I turned away from my fath-no, from my leader, and ran.
I ran until my vision blurred and my breath was coming out in gasps, and I didn’t stop until I reached the nursery. I squeezed inside, the thorns scraping at my sensitive flesh, but I welcomed their stinging pain. I flung myself into the nearest empty nest and curled up against the edge where I could bury my face into the soft bedding, hoping that my whimpers couldn’t be heard in the small dank space.
Something soft and light tickled my nose then, causing me to sneeze and whip my head up to meet the startled blue gaze of a young dark brown tabby tom kit.
Our eyes locked, fiery amber and frosty blue meeting for the first time, fire and ice battling out to see who would break first.
It was him who broke the connection, looking down between us and then looking up again, his gaze as clear as the sky, compassion and outward concern written plainly on his face as he pushed the soft, ticklish object toward me again with his white stained paw.
I looked down then, my chest still aching, my stomach still churning, to see a large, delicate feather resting on the moss nest between us.
It was rather long and sleek, colored a rich dark brown with an ever so light golden tint near its base.
It was beautiful.
I looked back up at this small young kit who simply smiled and nudged the feather toward me again.
“Wh-what is that?” I murmured; my voice raspy and thick with sadness.
He was still smiling as he answered. “It’s an eagle’s feather. I thought you might want it.”
“Why?”
“Because, when you have an eagle’s feather, you can soar higher than the world, away from all its troubles that could ever bring you down; I thought you might need it.”
I smiled then, the feelings of hatred, rejection, and pain melting away as I stared down at that one eagle’s feather, then back up into a frosty sky.
“I’m Eaglekit by the way,” he meowed, a tiny hint of a grin coming through as I smiled back at him. “What’s yours?”
“Shadowkit,” I replied, returning his bright grin. “My name is Shadowkit.”
From that moment on, I knew that no matter what dark things life threw at me, I would always have a friend to show me the light. Rule number seven; when life gets hard, find an eagle’s feather.
CHAPTER THREE
Every time I look back onto this particular day in my life, a feeling of sickness crawls into my gut. Could it have been avoided? Could I have stopped what was to come? These questions I have always pondered; have always struggled to understand the answer…
The answer that is so frustratingly simple that to this day I still refuse to take it as it is.
It was fate. Nothing I could have said or done would have altered my final destination. I could have gone a different way, but as someone I used to know said: all paths head in one direction.
My fate was to be cursed. Cursed like the many she-cats in my family before me. A dark, twisted, and cruel fate it was.
If only I had known…if only someone had told me…
Could I have broken the line of cursed daughters on that day?
If only I hadn’t let myself be so blind…if only I had listened…
If only I had avoided that place high up on a mountain cliff, where the sun would rise in the east and shed a golden light on the valley below…
Many of my kin would still be alive.
. . .
A moon had passed sense ("since") that fateful meeting the night after my father’s rejection. Eaglekit and I became inseparable, so much so that we even formed our own secret group called the Shadowed Wings, though Eaglekit’s mother Sunblaze got pretty enraged when we came into the nursery one day with sloppy black wings painted on our backs with mud.
Yet, despite this new relationship and all its positive attributes, it was not enough to stop me from going over the edge.
Bitter anger and disappointment from Maskstar’s treatment of me and my siblings became like a festering wound. It grew; infecting more and more of my being until it was so overwhelming that I began to go against my father in every possible way…
Which included breaking the code.
“Shadowkit, you need to stop this now.”
I paused, my tongue still hanging out of my mouth mid-way through grooming my fur that was growing quite thick as it got deeper into Leaf-Bare.
I gave an exasperated sigh as I retracted my tongue and licked my cracked lips. “Stop what?”
My sister Blackkit was sitting across from me in the empty nursery. All the residence had gone out to get some fresh air, but my sister had pulled me back, claiming she had something important to talk to me about.
Her honey-like amber gaze was deadly serious as she responded. “Stop acting like this! Stop acting like the rules don’t apply to you! You think you’re the only one who has been hurt by father's-“
“You weren’t there!” I snapped, my fur lifting on my spine. “You didn’t see how he rejected me-rejected us!” My small chest rose and fell at a furious pace, my limbs feeling like they had been torched by liquid flame. “And don’t call him father, Blackkit. He’s anything but,” I spat. With that I stood and stomped out, ignoring her pleas for me to come back.
That was the first time she confronted me.
The second time was outside the medicine den after me and Eaglekit had stolen poppy seeds to help Riverstep get some sleep after complaining of aching joints. The only ones besides my siblings that were angry at me were my father and mother, though I felt that Cloudspots was rooting us on behind Maskstar’s back.
The third crime was hunting a mouse outside the perimeter of the bramble wall of the camp. The mouse was given to a young apprentice who had been suffering from White-cough. This time Eaglekit and I were grounded by Maskstar’s orders, but the Clan praised us for such courage.
And the battle raged on.
Countless times we broke the rules to help those in need, and every time Maskstar became more furious and was constantly on watch for our next rebellion, and the clan began to favor us over his punishments.
That was, until it all went to my head.
“We should venture out of the camp!”
Eaglekit choked, coughing up a bit of a crow’s feather that he had been eating. It was a scrawny little thing; the meat tough and dry. Leaf-bare was in full swing. Snow fell every day, prey kept to their underground nests, and the Siberian River was frozen over, forcing us to travel to the most southern edge of our territory to catch fish in the Lonely Lake.
“But, we’ve already been out of the camp!” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath from his bout of coughing.
I turned my head away from him to peer out into the little looking hole that I had made in the side of the nursery wall. Through it I could see the forest, the trees still thick and green despite the heavy snow weighing the branches down. In the distance the Great Mountain soared high into the sky, the top looking so small that it looked like the top of an ant hill.
“No,” I murmured, still looking up at the mountain peak, “I mean go venture out of camp,” I emphasized, turning to look back into his skeptical icy blue gaze for a response.
He shifted in the moss nest, his face a neutral mask. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
I tilted my head in confusion. Why is he backing down now? After all that we have done together? Is he scared?
”Are you scared?” I taunted him, nudging his small, underdeveloped shoulder.
His expression instantly turned to outrage. “Of course not! It’s just…” he paused, looking over his shoulder to look at his mother Sunblaze lying in the nest across from us, her ginger tabby fur gently rising and falling with each of her breaths. He then turned back to look at me, his blue eyes solemn. “It’s just that it could be dangerous. We’ve never been out of sight of the bramble wall, and Maskstar was furious after-“
“I don’t care what Maskstar thinks!” I hissed, glaring at Eaglekit. ”He’s the reason why we’ve been doing these things. I’m trying to show him that I’m not some little kit he can just toss aside! I’m his daughter, so he should at least notice me,” I growled, setting my jaw in stubbornness.
Eaglekit grinned. “Well, you obviously care about what he thinks if you want him to notice you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and gave a playful swat to his lynx-tufted ear with my right paw, just barely missing as he managed to duck out of the way and counter with a tackle that rolled me onto my back.
I laughed, my own smile plastering my face. ”So, will you come with me?” I panted; a hopeful hint to my voice.
Eaglekit shrugged, but he still kept a grin on his features. ”Of course I will come with you, Shadowkit. Shadowed Wings forever, remember?”
I pushed him off, rolling to my paws and letting out a soft purr. ”Yes, Shadowed Wings forever.”
. . .
We didn’t begin our adventure until the next morning. We waited until the dawn patrol left the camp, and then silently followed through the bramble entrance and out into the forest for the first time.
”I don’t remember the trees being so big!” Eaglekit exclaimed, his breath coming out in frosty white vapor clouds.
I nodded silently, knowing my fiery amber eyes were wide with awe at the sheer majesty of the evergreen trees surrounding us like tall, watchful guardians.
We followed a trail worn down by many generations of MountainClan cats that headed toward the base of the Great Mountain. We kept our senses on high alert, hoping that no one else was following the same trail.
The dirt trail wound through the trees like a viper, snaking its way between enormous fallen boulders and trees. At one point we had to climb over the trunk of a large rotting trunk that had crashed into the middle of the path. Eaglekit’s long legs made it easier for him to get over, but my smaller, more compact body did not have his jumping ability, so he had to drag me up by my scruff, much to my annoyance.
Once over the trunk, we stopped to stare wide-eyed at what lay ahead of us.
The dirt path seemed to run straight into the mountain side ("mountainside"), the sheer grey rock soaring high above our heads until it disappeared into the tree line. On closer inspection, you could see that the path actually made a sharp turn around the edge of the rock face and vanished behind it.
I could feel Eaglekit’s sudden aversion to my plan even before he opened his mouth.
“Shadowkit…I think we should turn back.”
I turned to face him, determination making my voice hard as steel. “Why?”
Eaglekit straightened his shoulders as he faced me down, his face lit up by the cold winter sun high above us. “Think about it. We’ve never been out this far before. It’s one thing to step outside and smell the roses, Shadowkit, but it’s another to pull them out by their roots.”
“Can you drop the cryptic tone and just be straight with me?” I growled, my tail flicking with annoyance.
Eaglekit sighed. “It’s dangerous out here. Yes, sure, I get that you don’t care about breaking the code that prevents us from venturing out of the camp, but it’s there for a good reason. It’s the dead of winter, and we’re only five moons old. Even the best warriors can catch a cold out here, what do you think will happen to us if we keep going?” He urged me, his expression almost pleading.
I laughed.
I wasn’t mouse-brained; I knew that he was right.
I just didn’t care.
“Well, you don’t have to come with me, Eaglekit. You can run back home to your mother and her milk while I’m out here reaping the benefits and getting all the glory. I’m going to gain all the respect I can get from my Clan mates (one word) so that one day Maskstar’s opinion of me won’t matter anymore. I’ll be untouchable.” I spat bitterly, turning and leaping off the log and unto ("onto") the shockingly cold ground that had now given way to stone. I ignored the way my fleshy pads burned against the freezing rock and kept walking, making my way up the path that lead (incorrect verb form: "led") higher up onto ("on") the mountain.
I heard the sound of scrambling paws as Eaglekit rushed up to my side. He was silent, but as I turned to look at him I could see in his eyes that he was sorry, and that no matter what he wasn’t leaving my side.
I felt guilty then. Here was my friend, the one that had brought me up when I fell down, the one that gave me courage when all I could see was darkness, and he was facing this ridiculous quest that could get him hurt or worse, and it was all for me.
But I didn’t smile back or show gratitude, I simply nodded and walked in silence.
The path became rather treacherous, and the temperature dropped as we climbed higher. Yet, Eaglekit and I had made it into a kind of game; our minds moving past our disagreements about the adventure.
For every boulder we climbed, we would tell each other a secret.
“You remember that one day when Stormkit bullied me into a duel and I lost?”
I chuckled at the memory, the air cold but my heart warm as Eaglekit pressed up against my side, pushing me up onto the next grey rock. “Oh, yes! I remember that! Who could forget the epic beating of Eaglekit?” I joked, digging my tiny claws in and hauling my body onto the smooth surface, turning to help Eaglekit up.
Eaglekit gave a playful growl as I hauled him up by his scruff, his long legs easily reaching the distance without much muscle strength from me. “Haha, very funny. Well, do you remember the next morning when Stormkit woke with five ticks attached to his rump? That was…me,” he admitted, his icy eyes sparkling with mischief.
I rolled onto the ground with laughter, my whole body shaking with mirth. “No way? Really?! Haha! That’s hilarious! You better not try that on me,” I purred, rolling back to my paws and nudging his shoulder as he shrugged.
“No promises,” he meowed, padding up to the next ledge and jumping onto it. He then faced me and gestured with his chin. “Your turn.”
I sighed; sifting through all my memories as I scrambled up beside him, hoping that I could find a secret that was better than his.
It then struck me flat in the face.
“You know that night when we first met?” I murmured, pausing to catch my breath as I squatted on the cold stone boulder.
He nodded, squatting beside me with his dark brown tabby fur pressed against my tortoiseshell. “Of course, how can ("could") I forget?” he purred.
I smiled fondly at him, and then continued. ”Well, when I was going to see Maskstar in his den I passed by the elders' den, and I overheard a conversation between Riverstep and Nighthawk. Apparently, they were talking about Nighthawk’s mother, my great grandmother. I think her name was Wolf…Wolfheart? Yes, Wolfheart.”
Eaglekit playfully began snoring, his eyes closed and his mouth gaping.
I laughed and whacked his ear with my paw, protesting with a “Hey!" before he quit and returned his full attention to me.
”Anyways, they were talking about her life…and it was awful. Her whole family died one after another, and all her kits died besides Nighthawk, not to mention her mate also perished…but what was really awful was that she-she killed herself…”
Eaglekit was wide-eyed, his mouth parted in an “o”. ”That-that’s awful Shadowkit…I’m sorry that you had to hear that.”
I shrugged, but my insides were tingling at what I was about to say next. ”It’s alright. The thing that really got to me though, was that according to Riverstep, Wolfheart went crazy in the last part of her life. She kept babbling about some curse that had plagued her, and that it was the reason for all her tragedies,” I meowed quietly, feeling that faint pounding in my head again.
”Whoa,” Eaglekit murmured, (should be a .) ”That’s creepy.”
”Tell me about it. (,)” I muttered, slightly shivering.
He pressed closer to me in a comforting way, a small, brave smile lighting his features. ”That won’t ever happen to you, Shadowkit, I promise.”
I nodded, burying my muzzle into his shoulder briefly before leaping to my paws and shaking the cold from my bones. ”Well, c’mon, we’re almost to the ledge!”
After a few more boulders and secrets we finally made it up onto a large rocky overhang that stretched outward facing towards the eastern horizon. The rock was overgrown by moss, withered vines, and leaves, the wind occasionally picking a few of them up and flinging them over the cliff. There was a lot of snow too, but it was broken up by the plant life.
”This is so cool!” I exclaimed, bounding toward the edge of the cliff.
”Be careful, Shadowkit!” Eaglekit called, though I could tell from the tone of his voice that he too was in awe of the view. Stretched out like an unreal dream was the entire valley; right below us was the Forest which extended for miles to the left and right of us. Ahead in the distance was the glittering shape of the Lonely Lake settled at the base of the sister mountain across from us; more like a lonely pond at this viewpoint. The land was covered by snow, the sun causing it to give off a lovely glittering sheen, as if the valley was glowing with pure light.
I sighed contentedly, slowing my pace as I approached the edge.
Then, about four fox-lengths away from the edge, my paw became frozen to the ground.
I tugged hard, but my left paw refused to come off the stony ground. I growled in annoyance and tried bracing my back legs and forcing my paw to come loose, but then my hind paws also became stuck to the stone.
”Eaglekit! I need some help, I think I’m-“
And then death started crawling up my legs.
There was no other way to describe the bitter, deadly cold that began racing up my legs, into my gut, and up to my skull. It felt like every bone in my body was turning to ice, making me feel fragile and vulnerable.
It was too late to scream.
Total darkness fell over my gaze as the world I knew melted away into the black abyss, the only sound being Eaglekit’s shout of alarm, but even that was fading.
I couldn’t see anything, nor smell anything. I couldn’t even tell what was up and what was down, for I felt like I was floating in a thick black lake, yet I could breathe, and the air way (one word) dry.
Then, a faint glow began to shed some light into this nightmarish dream, but the light still couldn’t penetrate the darkness surrounding me.
It got brighter, and the light was yellow. It was a bright yellow, a happy yellow. It reminded me of the warm sunlight that would penetrate through the trees back home.
Home…where is home?
The yellow light then became a large pair of eyes, glowing so brightly that I could now make out who the eyes belonged to.
The face of this feline took up my entire vision. It was a she-cat, her fur a ghostly pale white, the right side of her face ugly and scarred with three long slashes running from her forehead, across her eye, and down to her chin. Yet, you could tell that she had once been quite beautiful.
A smile came upon the enormous she-cat; it was soft and caring. I couldn’t help but smile back, her warmth being the only thing keeping me from the dark abyss around me.
Then, her gaze became pained, and her jaws strained open in an ear piercing scream, her beautiful yellow eyes rolling into the back of her skull. As I watched the yellow began to melt off her irises, slowly being replaced by a glowing evergreen, the same exact shade of my mother’s and my grandmother’s eyes.
I tried to get away, but my flailing limbs were no use in this dark, frightening world. I yelled out for help, cringing as the screams of the she-cat reached a fever pitch.
And then it went silent.
I gazed back into her unblinking green orbs, my heart racing and head bounding.
Deep as the winter’s glade, clear as the spring’s spades. Out of darkness comes light, only to be purged by blood’s might…
Her voice was deep and ancient, the sound echoing all around me as if we were in a large cave.
Beware the sharp-clawed foe who wears the mask of love, for on the day that life gives, life shall be taken away…
The sound of large crumbling boulders thundered in the distance, and suddenly I could feel the ground beneath my paws, but it was shaking violently.
Only to leave behind a green-eyed soul in it’s wake…
The ground then fell out from under me, plunging me into the chasm. I cried out to the green-eyed being as her evergreen eyes slowly faded away, leaving behind nothing but darkness and cold.
I woke gasping, my body quivering uncontrollably as I collapsed onto my stomach, the ground now feeling almost hot to the touch. The sun above me seemed bigger and brighter from when I last remembered, and I squinted my amber eyes against the glare.
Eaglekit was beside me, his fear scent overwhelming. ”Shadowkit, Shadowkit what happened? Are you ok?!”
That was when my eyes started burning in my skull.
I screeched in agony, getting back to my paws in an attempt to shake the fire out of my head. I was staggering dangerously toward the edge of the cliff, and I felt teeth tug desperately at my neck fur, trying to haul me back to safety, but my momentum was too great, and I fell off the overhang, screaming in pain as I plummeted.
Eaglekit crying out my name above me was the last thing I heard as I hit the ground.
CHAPTER FOUR
Deep as the winter’s glade, clear as the spring’s spades.
Out of darkness comes light, only to be purged by blood's might.
Beware the sharp-clawed foe who wears the mask of love, for on the day that life gives, life shall be taken away…
Only to leave behind a green-eyed soul in its wake.
. . .
I didn’t feel the pain. In fact, I didn’t feel anything as my free-falling body collided with the ground.
It was just darkness, and fire.
Fire was eating away my eyes, my skull, and my chest.
That was all there was.
Once in a while, I felt like I would be coming to; I caught a glimpse of snow weighing down the evergreen tree’s branches, the sun shining coldly in the sky, and the occasional white-tipped tail that would flash into my peripheral view.
Then at one point I felt thorns scraping my side, and I swore I heard my mother’s panicked voice over the roar of the fire that was now concentrated in my eye sockets. I heard more commotion and more panicked and stricken meows and wails as I was picked up by my scruff.
Why was there so much alarm?
That was when I realized I was screaming.
I could feel my throat, sore, and dry; contract over and over again. My ears were still ringing from my fall, and my senses still mixed up and confused. I still wasn’t fully aware of my body either, yet for some reason I could scream.
I tried to clamp my mouth shut, but I had no control over the loud piercing screeches that came out of my mouth.
Then I felt a weird sensation start at the base of my spine and crawl up, leaving a tingling trail of nerves along my whole spine which spread down into my legs.
I could feel again.
I gasped as I was bombarded by sight, feel, smell, and taste all at one time.
The pungent smell of herbs struck me first, making my head spin and my nose twitch. This was followed by a smell that was almost…metallic?
My screams were cut short as a couple of seeds were shoved into my gaping jaws. It tasted bitter and had a smooth texture. In that moment I could feel a warm pelt pressed up behind me, sheltering my body with theirs. The smell of my mother washed away the revolting iron-like smell, and I felt calmer, more at peace.
“Shhh, my love, you have to stop screaming and thrashing. It’s ok. Moonfern is going to do everything she can to help you.”
I could then feel myself becoming drowsy, my limbs becoming heavy and numb.
But it was long enough for me to see the pool of blood surrounding my front legs.
The blood was oozing out of my right front leg, soaking into the green moss nest that I had been placed on top of. I could see a pair of pale, silver tabby paws furiously working to stop the bleeding with cobwebs, but that seemed to be the least of my problems.
Sticking out of the side of my front leg was a long, gleaming white stick that was broken badly on the end. That seemed to be where most of the blood was coming from.
Before I could ask my mother what the stick was doing in my leg, I blacked out, my consciousness floating away into the darkness once more.
. . .
“Please tell me what I saw in there was just a trick of the light!”
“You knew this day would come, Cloudspots. The curse-”
“No! No, don’t you start with me about that crazy curse talk, Nighthawk! You told me that the medicine cat dubbed my eyes turning green as some genetic anomaly in our family!”
“You are a blind, foolish she-cat, Cloudspots! Did you really think your eyes’ turning green was a ‘genetic anomaly’? Do you not remember how the fire burned in your skull, in your chest, in your soul?”
“That was ju-j-…ugh! I’m not the one we should be focusing on, Nighthawk! This is Shadowkit. My daughter, your granddaughter! Besides, if this-this…thing really is a curse, then why did Shadowkit’s eyes change color so early? Why now? Why didn’t it happen to any of my other kits?”
“The curse is like a virus, Cloudspots. It’s always changing, evolving, adapting. For each generation the curse will inflict different ‘symptoms’, and for each generation it will pick a new target, a new approach to inflict pain on our family.”
“…If what you say is true, mother…if this ‘curse’ really exists…what happens now?”
“Death.”
. . .
I awoke screaming at the top of my lungs, my head throbbing, my injured leg burning, and my throat ragged and sore.
Instantly I was rushed by our medicine cat, Moonfern, who pushed her paw to my small chest, lowering me back down into my nest as I slowly gasped for breath, my heart beating wildly out of control.
“There, there now. You’re safe. Your family is here with you,” she murmured gently, picking up a damp ball of moss and carefully dabbing my head with it.
I stretched my muzzle up and around to look over toward the medicine den entrance where I was greeted by six silhouettes.
My brother, Stormkit, was standing with his black and white head anxiously stretched forward in my direction, his face haggard and sad, his nose twitching as he sniffed over and over again.
My youngest sister, Ospreykit, was sitting next to him with her jaws gaping in a small, high-pitched wail. Her colorful pelt was messed, and I thought I could see a spot of blood on her muzzle.
Next to Ospreykit with her long black spotted tail wrapped around Ospreykit’s shoulders was my other sister, Mintkit, her soft mint green eyes gazing at me with relief, her legs trembling slightly as she tried her hardest to stay strong.
Standing a little ways from them was my oldest sister, Blackkit, her tortoiseshell fur covered with little splotches of blood. She looked exhausted, her shoulders sagging and her honey amber eyes glazed over. Her black nose was dry and cracked, but she looked at me with a huge grin plastered to her face, mouthing; ‘you’re in so much trouble’.
Then, standing behind my siblings like tall foreboding pine trees, were my parents.
Cloudspots looked like she hadn’t slept in days, her evergreen eyes unnaturally bright, her usually beautiful coat caked with moss and pine needles. She looked at me with pure love in her eyes, no hint of anger or betrayal in them.
Then I looked at my father.
He was standing, his thick tail resting on my mother’s flank, his fiery amber eyes wide and frightened as he gazed at me. His fur was bristled up, his claws outstretched like he was bracing for a fight, but once my eyes landed on him he visibly relaxed, his eyes glistening over with so much relief and love that it made my chest ache.
I love you too, father.
“H-hey guys…” I meowed quietly, wincing as I heard my voice for the first time.
It sounded like my vocal chords were taken out, ripped up, and then put back in.
Instantly all four of my siblings scrambled forward and burrowed themselves into my nest, laughing and purring. They were gentle and gave my right front leg a wide berth, but I honestly couldn’t care at the moment.
Our little reunion was interrupted by three more shapes that pushed themselves into the already crowded place. It was Eaglekit, with his parents, Sunblaze and his father Hawkshade, who was a dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes.
Hawkshade nudged Eaglekit forward with one of his massive paws, a small smile on his face.
Eaglekit glared back at his father, sticking his chin out stubbornly. Then my best friend walked forward and faced my parents.
“I-I just wanted to apologize! Um, apologize for…letting Shadowkit venture out of the camp…and not forcing her to come back to camp when it got dangerous…and for not-not trying harder to keep her from falling…off-off a huge, scary cliff…”
My siblings giggled, my sister Blackkit nudging me as I purred loudly.
My father grunted; his amber eyes amused by Eaglekit’s rather awkward apology, but my mother, on the other hand, leaned down and scooped Eaglekit to her side with her paw, nuzzling the little dark brown tabby kit affectionately.
“There is no need to apologize, Eaglekit. If it wasn’t for you, my daughter would have died. You saved her,” she assured him, releasing him with a lick to his forehead.
Eaglekit’s ear tips were bright red as he smiled, his icy blue gaze looking over at me with happiness.
I look back on this moment fondly…it’s one of my most precious memories.
Voices suddenly began screeching outside the den, a sound like thunder making the ground quake beneath our paws. Maskstar’s deputy, Hiddenheart, came crashing into the den, panting heavily.
“Maskstar! Something has disrupted the mountain! It’s an avalanche, and it’s heading straight toward us!”
The rest was a blur of chaos.
I remember my father giving my mother a furtive glance, one that was full of understanding between them, before he quickly slipped out of the den, yowling orders to the warriors to get everyone out of camp.
My mother ran over to me, scooping me up by my scruff. Stormkit came up beside her, refusing to leave my side as he helped keep my injured leg from getting jostled.
Sunblaze managed to pick up Eaglekit and Blackkit in one swoop, her long legs carrying them out of the den, their forms disappearing outside.
Hawkshade picked up Mintkit, quickly following his mate out, while Moonfern abandoned her herbs and went for my sister Ospreykit instead who was wailing loudly.
My mother waited for everyone to go before she followed, making sure all her kits were in safe paws.
I remember getting a quick glance of ("at") the sky, for it was curiously dark and dim, the camp empty of nearly everyone besides Maskstar who was waiting for us at the entrance.
I remember my mother’s heavy panting and my brother Stormkit’s determined meow of encouragement telling me to stay calm and to not look back.
My father rushed forward to take me from my mother, leaving her jaws free to pick up Stormkit.
I remember the speed at which my father ran, as if a Clan of badgers were chasing his tail, and the sound of tree’s groaning and cracking behind us. The ground shook and rocks went tumbling ahead of us along with icy chunks of clumped snow. Maskstar twisted and turned to avoid the debris as it chased him. My broken leg was waving wildly, the cobwebs, marigold, and dock leaves peeling off in the wind. My blood was pounding too loudly for me to feel any of the pain.
He didn’t stop till we reached a clearing where the rest of MountainClan had taken refuge, far enough away from the hillside where the avalanche could come to a full stop...
Once there, we were instantly surrounded by our clan-mates, their wails and cries drowning out almost every one of my five senses. They called out to each other, looking for their kin and friends, their mates and companions.
I was put down, and once my father sat next to me everyone became silent, their eyes trained on us expectantly.
My siblings squirmed forward in the crowd, their eyes wide and frightened.
“Sh-Shadowkit? Where are momma and Stormkit?” Squeaked Ospreykit, her fiery scarlet orange gaze dampened by fear.
I was confused, hadn’t they been following us?
But when my father and I turned around, no one was there.
Only a big pile of snow, rock, and ice was left.
“Cl-Cloudspot’s…Stormkit?” Maskstar murmured, leaping to his paws and rushing over to the pile of melting ice, his paws digging furiously at the snow. Pieces of rock and ice clattered downwards onto him, but he paid them no mind.
“Cloudspots? Stormkit! Can you hear me?” He cried, using his shoulders to push over a large boulder, accidentally cutting himself on the sharp surface, blood trickling down his shoulder.
Nighthawk stepped forward hesitantly and went to him; her black pelt being buffeted by the harsh, cold wind now coming in from the west, following the newly (should be an adverb instead of an adjective, since it's altering the adjective "cleared," not the noun "path.") cleared path through the tree’s made by the avalanche.
“Maskstar…Maskstar. Stop. Their ("Their" is posessive. You mean "they're" as in "they are") gone,” she murmured gently, nudging him back from the pile of rubble.
Horror washed through me, my ears roaring with blood and despair.
“Momma? S-stormkit?”
A tail attempted to comfort me, but I shoved it away, standing and stumbling over into the snow, my broken leg crumbling underneath me, unable to control my cries and my screams as I dragged myself toward the pile of ice.
The pile of ice that was now my brother’s and mother’s tomb.
“Shadowkit, stop, you’re going to re-injure yourself-”
“No! Get away from me! They’re not dead. They can’t be dead!” I wailed, my voice echoing in the silence, my throat so raw it felt like it was bleeding on the inside.
They’re not dead, they’re not dead, they’re not dead…
“No! Mother! Stormkit!”
My screams reached out to the sky, to an entry to a realm on a mountain cliff…
To a long line of green-eyed she-cats, their heads bowed solemnly, my cries echoing around them as another member joined their cursed ranks.
NOTES
PLOT -- Let me just start out by saying: there's a reason Curse is the most popular fanfic on the forums. The story is unique, it's intriguing, and most importantly, it's GOOD. There isn't much more that can be said.
CHARACTERS -- The best part about your characters is how real they feel. They have flaws, and those flaws actually show up in your writing. This is much rarer than you think. Even your minor characters have a life of their own. The reader really gets the chance to get to know them, and to connect with them. That, I believe, is what keeps people so hooked into your writing. They feel the things your character feels. The rollercoaster of emotions that Shadowface is forced through? They experience it right along with her. Your depictions of emotions are thrilling and accurate.
DESCRIPTION -- All I have to say is: Wow. Excellent. There are a few moments when you start to go overboard, but it never becomes too overwhelming. The reader really experiences the story. Your use of vocabulary impresses me without fail. You use big, descriptive words and you do it well. Not to mention your metaphors. They are beautiful every time.
MISC -- Your style is very distinctive, which is very important for a writer. Be careful with your semi-colons, though: you use them a lot, and not always correctly. (I couldn't really fix all of those either because semi-colons are complicated; I don't really know all of the rules.) As a rule of thumb, don't use a semi-colon unless both sides of the semi-colon could be a sentence on its own. Often times, it's easier (and safer) to use periods or commas. There are a few times where you use really winded sentences or repeat words in back-to-back sentences, but I didn't correct them because they were pretty minor in comparison to ones I've seen. I would suggest reading your writing out loud if possible so you can hear if it starts getting winded. Overall, as expected, Curse is amazing. Grateful to have a reason to read its entirety, since I've been meaning to get back to it for a long time now.
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Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Aug 26, 2016 16:24:09 GMT -5
Wow, thank you so much Dewy! I'm honestly impressed with myself with how little you had to correct me. I've been editing this story all on my own for years and have had to re-learn a lot of grammar that I had previously forgotten. I've been told my grammar is my weak point, but honestly I blame that on the fact that I write my chapters late at night for the most part lol. x'D
Thank you for the detailed feedback. I greatly appreciate it. The semi-colons have always been a thing I struggle with. I'll keep that in mind when I go back over my chapters! I'm really glad you think so highly of my writing style and characters. Characters especially because I have put a lot of work into them. <3 Thank you so much!
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 26, 2016 16:28:24 GMT -5
Any time! Honestly, it was a pleasure. There were a few times that I had to go back and re-read because I got so sucked into the story I forgot I needed to be editing it cx
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Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Aug 26, 2016 17:43:47 GMT -5
Haha oh my gosh that's great. x'D I'm glad you enjoyed yourself!
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 28, 2016 10:29:46 GMT -5
most definitely
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 30, 2016 14:07:52 GMT -5
bump, I guess?
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Aug 30, 2016 14:26:09 GMT -5
Once I get chapter 10 up I come again.
Would you mind very much if I put a link to here in my siggy?
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 30, 2016 14:28:21 GMT -5
Not at all! Thanks for asking first. That would be awesome, actually.
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Aug 30, 2016 14:49:37 GMT -5
I'll go add it now. |
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Post by Dewstripe on Aug 30, 2016 15:24:39 GMT -5
looks great c:
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Post by Dewstripe on Sept 10, 2016 11:37:23 GMT -5
Added to the waitlist! I'll get to it ASAP c:
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Post by FåwnFrøst on Sept 18, 2016 21:11:51 GMT -5
I was wondering if you'd want to edit a fanfic of mine. I haven't actually written it yet. I would edit it myself, I just don't have the time and I want another person's input.
Username: FawnFrost
Package: Advanced
Length of Request: Chapter at a time?
Request: A fanfiction I'm going to be working on - I'll just post it here to be edited when it's done?
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Post by Dewstripe on Oct 3, 2016 20:08:40 GMT -5
Sorry for my inactivity everyone ^^' Razz, I have your grammatical edits done but it's gonna take a little longer for your "critiques." I should have it up by the end of the week though.
Fawn, that's perfectly fine, you'll just have to post a form when you have something ready for me to edit.
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Post by Dewstripe on Oct 10, 2016 16:22:16 GMT -5
Razz -- every time I was finally able to work on this something else would come up lol. sorry for the wait, but I'm finally done! sorry that the notes are brief, I didn't want to keep you waiting. let me know if you have any questions.
Red = spelling/grammar error
Orange = unnecessary word/punctuation
Yellow = explanation
Green = tense error
Teal = missing word/punctuation
Pink = other
PROLOGUE
As a warrior of PineClan, my duty is simple: Serve, Obey, Trust. This means that I should serve my Clan until my dying breath, be it by telling stories to entertain kits while their mothers are away as an elder, or fighting in battles to protect the Clan, by feeding them, or killing for them. It means that I should blindly obey my leaders. If one tells me to kill someone, they should be dead before the command is finished being given. It also means that if someone is a leader, no matter what they say, I must trust that they are right, and trust that they are doing it for the good of the Clan.
But this is not always the case.
Even when your duty is something as simple as the one we are given, there are always the rebels, the avenging creatures who think that they know better than those granted the wisdom of the stars.
This is the story that they tell us about my father.
But I was told a different story. It was told to me when I was young, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
I was told that as a warrior of PineClan, my duties are simple. They are to die for the Clan, obey the leaders like lowly dogs to their masters, and trust in the lies we are fed. I was told that this means that I have to throw myself into any situation the leaders tell me to without a second thought, and give it all that I’ve got.
I was told that there are sometimes brave warriors who dare to think differently. That there are brave cats like my father who dare to fight the system, who dare to kill and fight for what they believe in.
I was told this by my father.
You can see how hard it is for me to decide who told the truth, and who lied.
My name is Ashblaze. To the outsiders of the Clan, my name is Grimm. To those in the Clan even, I am called Grimm from time to time. I didn’t give myself the name, it was a rogue that I chased from the territory one too many times that nicknamed me it, and I just never refuted it.
Sometimes, names have power. And when a loner or a rogue hears that Grimm is patrolling, sometimes they don’t stick around. It makes my job a star’s distance easier.
It means that there are less bodies to send on their way to the sky in hidden bonfires, it means that I have less to hide, and less to weigh in on my soul when I finally head for the stars.
I believe that PineClan was once normal, once like the old stories say that they still are. I believe that when our warriors die, they head up to the stars, and are able to see their family again. I believe that PineClan can be what it once was again, if only our leaders change, and our warriors believe just as I do.
And yet, what I believe is against everything that our leaders have fought to build.
This is why I am dangerous to them, and this is why they never believe me when I say that I am as loyal to my Clan as anyone. As a kit born to a renegade black warrior whose name we are forbidden to speak, and a striking white warrior named Finchstep that died in labor, I’m caught in the grey of our world.
And a cat stuck in the grey is a cat that’s a ticking bomb that could land on either side of the line, and blow up in their faces.
CHAPTER ONE
Morning has come yet again.
The faint light of dawn dapples the inside of the warrior's (should be "warriors'" because it's the possessive of a plural) den in a pattern that I've grown to love and fear at the same time.
For in some ways, the pattern reminds me that another day has begun, and another day is another breath for me. But in others, it hints at the sheer agony my Clan is about to cause today.
I don't know why the stupid loners and rogues keep coming near the borders. They know of (redundant preposition) the dangers; if my alias has spread that far, then certainly the dangers of my Clan will have carried even further.
And yet, with each coming dawn, there are too many cats. Too many that we are given the orders to kill in cold blood, and leave past the borders for the crows.
As the dappled light in the den begins to shift before my eyes, I pull myself to my paws, and force myself from the throng of cats all beginning to wake up. I ignore the hissed insults from all around me as I bump cats out of my way, but this dawn I’m in no mood for dilly-dallying.
I’m supposed to be patrolling in a moment here, and I’d rather not get chewed out by the leaders for being late to patrol duty again. Stars knows (incorrect verb form for a plural subject) that it’d be easier to just avoid our leaders completely try to dodge their wrath.
Not like it’d work. Our King and Queen, Timberstar and Fennelstar, rely on their deputies to do their dirty work, and there’s always one in my group. They’re quite obvious about the fact that they’re watching me.
Today, it appears to be Jaystep that they’re assigning to my patrol. Only his mottled grey pelt is apparent amongst the few bodies up and moving this dawn.
And good stars, they’re assigning Ratclaw to the patrol. This is building up to a brilliant day so far. Who assigns a warrior who’s expectant mate is just days away from kitting? It was probably Timberstar’s idea. Something along the lines of ‘the quicker he returns, the sooner he can stay with his mates. That means he’ll be efficient’. (quotation marks always go after punctuation: should be efficient.')
Ha.
Joke’s on him.
It means that Ratclaw will be deadly efficient, or terribly inefficient as he tries to finish quickly.
Jaystep stands then, and Ratclaw’s pitch black form rises next to him, his body tense. I stride towards them, surveying them with my hard grey eyes. Habit hardens me to the point of unfeeling when I’m on patrols, or in a place where I can’t say my true feelings.
“Are we moving?” I ask, sitting down to watch them with a tired look. Jaystep stands, his dark blue eyes pinning me with a fierce look, and tips his head at Ratclaw, who stands as well, his dark shoulders braced near his shoulders.
The deputy gives me an irritated look, and I shoot it right back. Probably not my best course of action, but it’s running basically parallel to the one I’ve taken every since my father disappeared.
Simply, keep your head high and ignore the snide comments about traitor blood. It’s not something I can change, and I’m still reserving my opinions on my father. I knew him as I grew, though he left just after I became an apprentice. Orphaned as I was then, I learned to deal with my life, and respect the pampered one that I’d had before he left.
Nowadays, a kit with both parents alive and breathing is a rare occurrence. With the amount of fighting that goes on, we lose warriors every moon. Though our numbers dwindle, the leaders refuse to listen to any advisor who suggests a change in diplomatic techniques.
Jaystep lifts his scarred muzzle, and growls in a deep, raspy voice that doesn’t fit his small frame, “We have to wait for the last one.”
“Really?” I ask, and I know that I should stop before getting myself into trouble, “Planning on sending Hawkwhisper out so that we can have two litters of fatherless kits?”
Before I finish my sentence, Jaystep has pinned me down on my back, his unforgiving, cold blue eyes locked on my face. “Learn respect, kit!” he snarls, his saliva spraying my face and flecking my muzzle. As an extra bit of warning, he digs his claws into my sides before letting go and stepping off of me.
I roll onto my side, coughing from the weight of the deputy that was squarely on my chest for a few moments. I look up, my face empty of emotion, but my chest roiling (did you mean "boiling"?) with fury, and catch sight of Ratclaw, looking stricken beside Jaystep, who’s licking his claws to clean them of my fur and blood.
I force air from my wheezing lungs, and force myself onto my paws, head lowered to allow myself to breathe better. My dark eyes catch sight of Ryefrost racing towards us, her feathery pelt rippling in the breeze she creates.
“Sorry!” she gasps, her voice as high and tinkly as normal. It irritates me, but I say nothing. I’ve caused enough damage for one dawn.
Jaystep jerks his head towards the exit to our camp, a dark tunnel made from brambles that scratch and catch on your pelt if you’re not careful. I’m the first to move, forcing myself past the tendrils that have fallen in the night, letting the pricking of the thorns against my skin focus me again. I can sense Jaystep just a pawstep behind me, and I smooth my bristling hackles.
He has no right to follow me so closely. Even if I’m a bit disobedient and insubordinate at times, I’ve done nothing to make them suspect me as a traitor.
That was all my father.
One of the many things that I have to thank him for.
As I break through the final bit of the tunnel, I squint in the bright light of the small bit of open field before the tree line. My paws touch the dry grass, and I leap forwards, moving rapidly towards our border.
Jaystep shoves himself in front of me, his longer legs letting him take longer leaps. I muffle the growl that rises up in my throat, and force my legs to move faster, trying to keep up with the bigger tom. I can hear Ratclaw’s paws thrumming on the ground steadily at my heels, and then there’s the small complanitive (complaintive) yelps coming from Ryefrost who’s in the very back.
It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve added her to my patrol. Timberstar knows that she infuriates me more than most with her sugarcoated attitude and hour long grooming sessions.
We race along for a good while before we reach the border for real. Imminent dread sets in, and I brace my shoulders, glancing at the slowly rising sun. We haven’t been out too long, and there’s still a long stretch of border to patrol, remark, and rid of ‘pests’.
My stance is one of wary indifference as we begin to quietly walk along the stretch of the border we’ve been set to patrol, from the Fallen Stump to Split Rock. Jaystep marks the first few places, Ratclaw reinforcing the stench with his own. Ryefrost looks content to just waltz along a few pawsteps behind Jaystep’s scarred hindquarters, and nearly parallel to Ratclaw. I take up the rear now, thoroughly unnerved at the border. We’ve killed enough of the rogues and loners about here for them to launch an attack back at a senseless border patrol.
My ears prick at the sound of a twig snapping, and I stop dead in my tracks, hackles rising. When nothing else enforces my jumpiness, no scents, sights, or extra sounds, I continue to walk after the rest of the patrol, picking up my pace a bit with uncertainty. I sure as stars didn’t want to be eaten by a fox or something after putting up with these fools for so long. I’d rather die in the company of someone who at least tolerates me.
Ryefrost marks the next location, and when I go to enforce it, Jaystep shoves me out of the way.
So I'm not allowed to mark anymore? Then why to all stars do they put me on border patrols?
I hiss at him, and he glares at me, dark blue eyes cold and steady. “Move along, kit,” he snarls, and I return the glare before stepping forwards.
My dark grey eyes are pinned on the next location to mark when I hear a soft, mocking voice from above.
“Why, if it isn’t Grimm!”
My claws unsheathe the second that I hear my infamous nickname, my entire form freezing within seconds. I can hear Jaystep issuing hushed orders to Ryefrost and Ratclaw behind me, and I ignore him entirely.
I know exactly how to fight these cats. I have since I was an apprentice. I was trained like a rogue, like a loner, like a warrior. I know what I can do, and how to do it. With these cats on the border, there is no code of honor.
“Come and face your death, little rogue!” I snarl up at the trees where I know that whoever it is would be concealing themselves. It wasn’t hard to tell when the voice came from above.
“Did you hear that, boys?” comes the familiar cackle, and I tense when three cats leap from the branches of the pines in front of me.
We all know the ringleader of their little gang. The black and grey feline is the only she-cat in their band, and has introduced herself as Juno. The two toms she’s with, I can only guess that they are her siblings or close family. The smallest tom is nearly her exact replica, but with amber eyes, and the bigger tom is dark grey, which is parallel to her own pelt. Behind them is yet another black tom, who’s about average in size.
“Hello there, Grimm!” Juno purrs, stepping towards me, her tail waving in the air hauntingly.
I say nothing, deeming that the safest course of action, and just tense my body in case they attack. I’ll need to be ready, because even though we’re trained to fight, they have the advantage of knowing one another closely, and working together better than we ever will.
“Oh,” Juno’s voice feigns hurt, “Not speaking to me?” She stops in her tracks, blinking blue eyes at me with mock sadness. “Why isn’t an old acquaintance speaking to her old pal?”
Within seconds of her statement, her tail drops, and her eyes shift to cold, hard slits as she leaps for me.
“I find that insulting. You must be taught a lesson,” she hisses as she rams into me, and I twist with her, arching my lithe grey body so that we twist around and two of my paws are still planted. I spin, eyes dark with anger, and she simply purrs at me.
I can see her three partners racing for Ryefrost and Ratclaw, but Jaystep has vanished. Has that coward left us to die? I spit with fury, leaping at Juno and digging my claws into her shoulders, though she ducks to avoid the majority of my wrath.
She rolls deftly, slamming me into the ground below her, and she twists out of my grasp, arching her body to pin me. I can see her droplets of blood spinning through the air as she moves, putting me into a bad situation.
My best choice at this moment is to use my hindlegs (two words: hind legs), and so I draw them up, kicking her hard in the stomach, and raking my thorn sharp claws downwards.
She snarls, and locks her own long claws into my shoulders, and through my hiss of pain, I can feel her blood dampening my stomach. I violently twist to the left then, knocking Juno’s balance, and she trips to the side, allowing me to stand.
I leap for her while she’s still off balance, and grab at her scruff, biting down hard to stop her from moving. I lock my jaws around her throat while she’s distracted, and she stops moving entirely then. She knows that she’s caught.
I’m about to end it, when the body of her black counterpart rams into my side, sending me flying into the base of a nearby tree. I snarl in pain, struggling back to my paws. Side by side, the pair watches me with haunting eyes, faces peeled into identical expressions of victory.
But one thing that they’ve forgotten about me in the time since I last battled them. They call me Grimm for a reason.
I leap at them both, using the tree to spring off of, and I catch her black counterpart in the worst position. My claws rake through his side as I sprint past, though Juno barely gets a glancing smack to the ears. I hear the tom give a wail of pain, and he whirls to face me.
I tip my head, and purr, before shutting myself up. I need to be silent, and focus. This is who Grimm is, or at least who the rumors say that Grimm is.
To the cats around here, my name is not Ashblaze, kit of a traitor, it is Grimm, silent killer, deadly force. To them, I am also something that I am not.
This is how my life has been since my father departed. I am never seen for who I am, but rather what those around me think that I am. And to survive in a land where this is what I am, I must live up to it.
The black tom lunges at me again, and I step to the side deftly, spinning to face him as he flies past. I know that this leaves me open to an attack from Juno, but I need to be more wary of the tom, given that he’s more furious than thinking straight. At least Juno is predictable.
The tom rears back, and tries to slap me with his claws unsheathed, but I duck, and ram myself into his chest while he’s still off balance. He gives a cry of shock, falling backwards, and I take that time to pin him down, my paws weighing heavy on his shoulders.
I hear Juno give a desperate cry from behind me, and as I’m bending to finish the job on the black tom, my eyes catch on the battles going on in front of me.
Ratclaw and Ryefrost are struggling badly. Where I only have a few nicks and scratches, Ratclaw has a massive cut down the front of his face, which is bleeding into his eyes and impairing his vision. Ryefrost is pinned below the larger tom, and I can barely discern her normally cream and white pelt from the rich scarlet of blood.
I have to help them, or risk facing the wrath of Jaystep and my King and Queen.
I snarl, digging my claws into the black tom’s sides, before lunging forwards to bat the larger tom off of Ryefrost. He whirls around to face me, his back arching as he hisses, and I narrow my eyes, ramming my paw into the side of his head. Ryefrost scrambles to her paws, panting hard, and I can see that she’s dark with blood.
I hear a heartbroken shriek raise up from behind me, and then Juno is wailing commands at her crew. “Rick, Troye, retreat, retreat!” she cries, her voice sounding cracked and full of grief.
The tom in front of me stops, his eyes wide with shock, before he whips around and races across the border. The smaller tom follows him without question, and I see Juno racing after them with a desperate look.
I turn around to see what has happened, and Jaystep is lifting his head from the broken and mangled body of the black tom. His dark blue eyes watch me indifferently, and I shake slightly at the sight of the body.
“Bring him across the border for the crows,” Jaystep orders, and I bow my head without question for once, leaping for the body of the dark tom.
Jaystep walks over to Ryefrost and Ratclaw, and turns to me for half a second. “Meet us back at camp,” he orders, shoving a shoulder underneath Ryefrost to support her. He places the tip of his tail on Ratclaw to help guide him, and they begin to walk away.
I shove my shoulder underneath the body of the broken tom, wiggling myself so that I’m eventually placed below him, and I can stand. My heart is heavy at the useless murder that took place today. Though I was about to kill this same tom, now that his body is limp and empty, I can see only that he wasn’t very old. He wasn’t as big as he looked, either. His body is angular and skinny on my shoulders, and I bow my head as I walk.
When I’m across the border far enough that I can’t see the border markers, or scent the warning signals nearly as much, I slide the tom from my back, letting him rest on the ground. Pity stabs my chest, and I crouch beside him, using my paws to tuck him up, like he was sleeping peacefully. He almost could have been, if not for the scratches marring his form, and the gaping hole in his throat where Jaystep finished him off.
I turn and walk a few steps away, before turning and racing back. “Juno!” I bellow, “Your loss stands here!”
I can’t leave the small tom to be eaten by scavengers. If he was loved, Juno will return with her remaining cats to move him, bury him.
I turn and race away then, closing my mouth so that I don’t breathe in the scent of the tom’s blood and fear any longer.
If I can just make it to the camp, then I can get the medical things that I need from Nutfall, and maybe his little apprentice. I let my paws carry me onwards, and my mind begins to wander. I let it, I have no strength left to reel it back in.
Maybe if I let it wander, the weight of my crimes against other cats won’t feel so heavy.
CHAPTER TWO
It doesn’t take long to return to camp, even with my bloodied sides. When I arrive, Nutfall is racing around, his runny green eyes hassled and tired as he calls orders to his young but experienced apprentice, Deerpaw. I can see flashes of her brown and white dappled pelt as she runs to and from the medicine den, her jaws full of herbs.
Nutfall has a full-time job as PineClan’s medicine cat. It’s almost every day that someone turns up bloodied and bruised from some border skirmish that needn’t have happened.
That is one of the biggest faults of my Clan, because we are trained to fight, we can never talk. I know that if we just spoke to the strangers like they were actual cats instead of mindless beings that are out to take over our Clan, then they might actually listen to us.
Ryefrost is lying on her side, panting as Nutfall works over her hurriedly, pressing moss to wounds that I cannot see, and draping cleaned injuries with cobwebs to keep them from bleeding more. Deerpaw returns with another jawful ("jaw full") of herbs, and I can see her chestnut mentor jerk his head at Ratclaw.
I push myself all the way through the thorny barrier, this time avoiding the stabbing weapons that claw at me as I walk. It’s once I actually make it all the way in that I really feel how exhausted I am, and begin to register the stabbing pain in my sides.
I assume that it was the adrenaline that was keeping the pain at bay, but I give a hiss of pain, turning my eyes to the deep, but not large wounds. Juno’s claws may be sharp, but she doesn’t rip at you like most rogues.
Deerpaw has apparently finished with Ratclaw, because she catches sight of me, and comes racing over. Her massive eyes remind me just of what she was named after, big and brown like a doe’s.
“Where are you hurt?” she asks, holding one paw up as she hops over. I catch sight of the silver cobwebs wrapped around the paw, but I don’t really register it all that much.
“Sides,” is all I can manage against the sharp pains, turning so that she can see my wounds more clearly. Her face twists with focus, and she hops over to her mentor’s side, fetching a mouthful of moss before returning at the same hobbling pace.
She pulls the cobwebs from her paw deftly, holding them out to me. “Use one paw,” she requests, though it’s less of a question, and more of a statement. I do as I’m told, holding the one paw off the ground as she begins to explain her procedures to me.
“I’ll have to clean the injury site with moss, and stop any extra bleeding before I can apply cobwebs,” she meows, before placing the moss on my side and beginning to scrub against my wounds firmly, but with enough tenderness that I don’t want to claw her nearly as much. It stings, far worse than I was expecting. I hadn’t braced for that.
It takes her longer than I expected to finish the job, removing the cobwebs from my paws, and using them to bind my injuries. She steps away from me hurriedly, and glances at Nutfall for confirmation on her work.
Her mentor is just finishing up with Ryefrost. The pretty she-cat has sunk into a sleep as he worked, which allows her to avoid the pain of her many wounds. He nods at her when he looks up to see me thoroughly dealt with.
She smiles slightly, and bounds over to him, watching him intently as he begins to explain some of the things that she could adjust in her work. It’s some random medicinal mumbo jumbo, and it loses my attention quickly.
I see Ratclaw disappear into the nursery, slipping away before anyone can tell him not to. He must be off to see his mate, Greytalon. It’s not yet sunhigh, but the camp is mostly empty. The other patrols were sent out right after ours, I assume, and will probably return soon with their own scratches and wounds to lick.
I push myself into a standing position, though my head stays lower than normal. I’m truly exhausted after such a long battle. It was deadly for us all, and when Jaystep left us like he did, it could have turned deadly for us very quickly. It looks like it almost did for Ryefrost.
I walk slowly for the warrior’s den when I hear a growl from behind me. I flatten my ears, and turn to look at Jaystep, who’s ("whose") eyes are hostile.
“What were you thinking, foolish kit?” he snarls, his hackles rising, “You should have killed the tom then and there! You nearly let him escape!”
I can feel my own fur beginning to bristle in response. “You’re one to talk, leaving us to fend for ourselves! We were outnumbered, Jaystep!” I spit, voice heated and growing more angry as I speak, “Ryefrost would have been dead if I didn’t help them right then and there!”
Jaystep smacks the side of my head with his paw. It’s a heavy blow, but his claws are still sheathed. “Insolent kit!” he snarls, his paw hanging in the air, “Ratclaw and Ryefrost knew exactly what I was doing the entire time! If you’d killed the stupid tom, then I could have rescued who you wasted your time on, and the death count would be two them and none us!”
I blink in confusion. They had (incorrect word order for a question: should be "had they") been testing me? Or was this just a cruel joke?
“What do you mean, they knew?” I hiss, my dark grey eyes smoldering with anger.
“I mean,” hisses Jaystep through locked jaws, “That you were too busy pretending that you were leading the patrol to hear my orders.”
I flatten my ears, glaring at him furiously. “Why would I have been listening when I was busy distracting the leader?” I growl back, my neck fur bristling.
Jaystep shakes his head angrily, and then uses one paw to knock my paws out from under me. I hit the ground hard, not having expected to move, and begin to cough and whimper from the impact on my wounds.
“Learn from this experience, kit. You’re not helping anyone to trust you any more (should be one word: anymore),” he hisses at me, crouching down to get close to my ear. Once he’s said his part, he stands, and walks away from me.
I’m still lying on my side, and my fur flattens with exhaustion quite quickly. It’s often that I wonder what I’m doing here still.
No one in PineClan likes me, they don’t trust me, and they judge me on my father. It makes me think quite often that I should just leave. I can’t see anything tethering me here, and yet I don’t have the will to leave.
Maybe it’s because I’m weak.
I know that I am, for if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t be such a coward. I’d face the murders that I’ve committed solely because I was told to, and for no other reason. I’d dare to follow my father’s pawsteps, or I’d dare to forget him entirely.
And yet I can do nothing.
I don’t know why I cannot forget my father. It should be easy, I was terribly small when he left. Barely an apprentice. His name isn’t ever spoken aloud either, which makes it all the more easy for me to just let go and forget.
Yet, there’s some part of me that clings to the idea that maybe he had the right ideas, even if they weren’t executed in the right manner.
I cannot blame him for something that I don’t fully understand, I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s the traitor that my leaders have always called him. I didn’t know him long, but the father that I knew was loving, steady, and calm. He told me lots, probably more than he should have given the fact that he off and disappeared, which left me to deal with the wrath of his actions with no guidance.
That is all I can truly blame him for.
I continue to lie on the ground for a few seconds, before twisting myself into a position where I’m not lying on my injuries so much. I watch Jaystep pick up his pace as he moves for the leader’s den, and slides into the hollow rock where they make their home.
Smoldering anger rises in my chest a bit, but I force it back down. My tongue and temper will one day be the death of me. If I really get myself into trouble, it’ll be from being unable to clamp my jaws closed for once, and my temper will keep me there to fight instead of running.
Heart sinking with defeat, I stand up, shaking myself weakly to disperse the dust that clings to my grey pelt, and I keep my head low, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. I’ve done that too much already. I slide to the edges of the camp, concealing myself as best I can in the shadows of the walls.
I probably won’t be able to do much else today, my injuries are just bad enough that it would make them worse for me to do anything too strenuous. Instead, I’ll just lay about and listen to the gossip about who likes who this moon, and when Greytalon’s kits will be born. Bluekit, Briarkit, and Dovekit are only about two moons from being apprenticed, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear a bit of discussion about who everyone thinks will be their mentors.
I lay in the shadows resting until dusk, watching tiredly as the patrols come back one by one. There’s only one other patrol that fought today, a blessing given the severity of our battle. It was them jumping a cat as well, and only Frogpaw, an inexperienced apprentice, has any injuries.
The dusk creeps across camp, deepening the shadows, and I am grateful. Exhaustion has pulled at my legs since the battle today, but I cannot sleep until the darkness fully encapsulates the camp. Otherwise, I will not sleep through the night.
Nothing awakens me, other than my brain telling me that I have slept all that I should, and that the day has already begun. It’s a habit that I learned when I was an apprentice with a mentor who didn’t want to wake me, and would be angry if I didn’t make it on time.
I watch the setting sun with minimal interest. The sky is fire, many shades of red and gold. It appears to dye the dark blue night with little tongues of flame.
My father told me when I was younger that my mother named me before she perished from blood loss. He said that my pelt looked like the aftermath of the fire to her, given that I was lying against her, and there was all of the red blood around at the time. Ashkit.
Even now my name means residue, left behind, eclipsed in the wake of something brighter.
That’s a weight on my shoulders that I never asked for. I lift my head to the sky, watching as the last dying flickers of flame disappear over the skyline.
It’s time for me to head in.
I stand tiredly, walking to the warriors' den, and slipping through the entrance like a fish. I step carefully over each of the cats, dodging tails and paws that hang like limp fish over the edges of nests, making my way carefully to the far back corner of the den.
My nest is scrappy like normal, thrown together quickly, and always nudged out of the way when others are walking around. I curl myself down into the nest, tucking my nose below my tail with exhaustion. Cool air blows across my spine from the patchy wall of our nest, and I know that they keep me at the edges of the nesting area not because of my age, and lack of seniority, but rather because they shun me still.
It doesn’t bother me. It’s warm enough that I can sleep still.
The blackness slowly overtakes me, and I let it. Sleep is a blessing when daytime serves as only a constant ache.
NOTES
PLOT -- Hard to critique with so little to go off of, but so far the story is original. The fact that I don't have any idea where the story will go yet is a good sign. Try not to get too repetitive with mentions of Ashblaze's father, though.
CHARACTERS -- Again, without much to go on this is hard to judge, but I can say that your minor characters are very well defined. Even through short mentions, they are easy to keep apart and are really brought to life. Ashblaze's opinions are conflicting, which is extremely intriguing.
DESCRIPTION -- It's not often that I see simple descriptions used effectively, but you do it fantastically. You use the right amount of details (more at times, less than others) when necessary. Keep up the good work.
MISC -- Although you have mistakes, they are few and unimportant enough to not detract from the story. The only thing I noticed repetitively is that you need to watch your commas: you use them a lot more than necessary. Luckily, that is probably the best mistake to make: most people can't tell when commas are incorrect.
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steelstar
Writers block... I shall smite thee!
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Post by steelstar on Jan 11, 2017 18:12:33 GMT -5
Username: Steelstar Package: Advanced Length of Request: 1 chapter (Prologue) Notes: This is all I've written so far (besides the part I'm working on). If you could take a look at it, that would be amazing.  Request: Prologue: ----{ Leafpelt }---- Among the snowfall of Leaf-Bare, the cats of Lightclan slept peacefully, the Queens and Kits slept soundly in the Nursery. The Apprentices dreamed of greater glory in their den and the Warriors on night patrol stood vigilantly for their families and friends. The stream near the camp was frozen over, and the forest became a maze of bare trees, snow piled around the trunks and icicles hung from the branches. The clans were at a time of peace, and the aggression between them near extinguished, the three groups of Light, Dark, and Sun flourished under the guidance of Moonclan. The Medicine cat, Leafpelt of Lightclan, wandered the forest trying the ease the uneasy feeling in his stomach. The brown tom padded into a clearing near the heart of the woods and looked up toward the Silverpelt, the spirits of the Moonclan cats shone brightly against the dark backdrop of the sky. He looked to his left with his emerald eyes, to see a black she-cat rush out of the bushes. "Quick! I need to see Steelstar!" She panted, "Ivytail? What's going on? I thought you were with the Oracle..." He replied, his confusion evident in his eyes. "I was, but she told me to get Steelstar! Now come on!" She said, becoming frantic. "What?!" He exclaimed as he started running beside her. "I know she's from our clan, but this hasn't happened for generations!" "I know! Most of the time she's fun to be around, but I've never seen her give me such a... absolute order. And she keeps 'spacing out' I guess." "'spacing out'?" Leafpelt asked, slightly confused on what his friend meant. "She just becomes... Distant, always having those thousand-mile stares. It seems what ever's going on's got Moonclan worried." "Alright, let's get Steelstar. He'll know what to do." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---{ Nightstorm }--- "Drawn the short straw, huh?" A husky voice asked from behind the Deputy. Looking over his shoulder Nightstorm could identify the voice as Bramblescar, the greyed Tom was looking out to the forest next to him. "Seems so," Nightstorm said, his ice blue eyes displaying a flicker of surprise. "Why are you up here? I thought you were complaining about being tired." The aged elder chuckled at his dark-furred friend's expense, "It doesn't take a genius to know you miss her," Bramblescar said, a solemn look in his teal eyes. "What keeps you here? What stops you from following her?" "I'm the deputy; I can't just drop everything and-" He was interrupted by two cats, one black, one brown, rushing out of the forest and towards the camp. He identified them as the she-cat Ivytail and the medicine cat Leafpelt. He jumped down from his perch and intercepted them, "what's going on?" He turned to Ivytail, "is there a message from Farsight?" He said with a hint of sarcasm. But to his surprise, Ivytail replied with, "Yes! We need to see Steelstar!" After stumbling a bit at the news, Nightstorm returned to his stoic diameter, "Alright, Wolflegs! Prepare the camp! We've got a code 16!" He motioned Ivytail to follow him and turned to Leafpelt, "head back to your den, I'll handle it from here." With a nod of confirmation, Leafpelt headed off, and the two cats sprinted over to a large wall of rock at one other end of the camp. Once they made their way to the wall, they found a sizable cavern that was sectioned off by a certain of moss and vines; Nightstorm turned to the she-cat, "Alright, I'll stay here and keep watch. You need to tell Steelstar whatever Farsight said. Alright?" Ivytail nodded her head and entered the den. Entering the sanctum Ivytail takes note of the large moss bed taking up one of the corners of the cavern, and the pool of water, fed by a small trickle from higher up. Laying near the basin, a large grey Tom was eyeing the intruder of his private sanctuary, scars from conflicts long gone married his fur, one cut across the bridge of his nose, and another across his side. Ivytail hesitated for a moment, even with his benevolent reign, Steelstar has intimidating, to say the least, "Ivytail; I assume something happened?" He asked, his steel-like eyes displaying next to no emotion. "Y-yes Steelstar, t-the Oracle wishes to speak with you." She stammered. Surprise flashed across Steelstar's eyes as he processed the new information. "Alright, I'll see to it immediately. Tell Nightstorm to take care of the camp while I'm away." The leader rose and started walking towards the exit. He stopped just three feet short of the entry "Also, send word to the other clans, we can't be accused of keeping secrets now, can we?" "Of course not Steelstar." And with that, he slipped out of the opening and into the camp. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Time skip.... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ---{ Steelstar }--- Steelstar was walking across a vast barren plain; bare trees littered the edge. Near the middle was a cave entrance with an eerie blue glow emanating from further inside. The grey Tom walked this path alone, only the biting wind was his companion for this journey. Too soon was he, at the entrance to the hollow, taking a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves the entered the cave. The walls of the cave help moss and vines, showing off its age, stalagmites hanged from the ceiling. Further in Steelstar found himself at a large pool that gave off the eerie glow he saw, the water was surprisingly clear, and he could see spots of the silver pelt seemingly reflected through the roof. Turning to his right, he saw a small she-cat hunched over the pool, her pelt in disarray, matted in places and missing in others. Her sightless eyes beholding more than one could imagine. This husk of a cat was what Farsight had been reduced to. Or what he had known her as before she became the Oracle, Summerbreeze. He doubted there was anything left of his old friend. "Ah my friend, I thought I told you to stop thinking about me in that way." She said, smiling slightly. "I heard you needed to see me?" Steelstar told her, ignoring her comment. "Killjoy. Alright, we can get to business." She said with a pout, "I have received a prophecy from Moonclan." Her previous teasing all but erased. "A shadow spreading through the clans, with blood red eyes in the mist. And the water polluted with dark blood." "Is that all?" Steelstar replied unsteadily. "Yes, I'm not sure what it means, but that is all I saw. I hope it helps." "Alright... I'll figure it out, I always have." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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Post by Owlmoon on Jan 13, 2017 12:03:19 GMT -5
Hey,
Next time you have some time could you review my fanfic?
It's in the signature...
Thanks!
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Post by Dewstripe on Jun 24, 2017 12:08:43 GMT -5
I'm officially back and with more free time than ever, so send me your requests! (Since it's been so long, please fill out a new form if you still want an edit that I didn't do previously, because I don't want to edit stuff for people that are no longer interested or even on the forums for that matter)
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I will suggest this place to others.
