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Post by mothsnap on Jan 11, 2018 22:41:10 GMT -5
Welcome to my Warriors fanfiction series! I plan on making 6 full length (or longish) novels based on my fan clans. I've just started so forgive me if do some rewrites or am slow updating. Feel free to comment on this thread with critiques.
Basic Info
This series will be about my fan clans, MistClan, IceClan, StoneClan and TideClan. They live in a place that's similar to Alaska. These clans are different from the canon clans. Each are made up of 200-300 cats and the warrior code has far fewer rules. Clans can cross territories and the stronger clans are encouraged to expand their land. Borders are constantly changing and clans rise and fall, sometimes in a matter of seasons. MistClan and IceClan are the only ones who have existed since the beginning and they are almost constantly at war.
Alliegances
Redclaw- A true cynic and impeccably well-spoken, her attitude causes most of her clanmates to view her as an arrogant menace, despite being the daughter of the clan deputy.
Wolfstripe- An amiable tom with little ambition. He is well like among his clanmates and wants nothing more than to help his friends out however he can and end each day with a filling meal.
Sootfeather- A young warrior and herb runner with a mother compassionate paired with a fiery ambition to make a mark in her clan. She's Wolfstripe's kithood friend.
Pricklenose- A mischievous and charismatic natural leader with a firm sense of duty. He's Redclaw's older brother and littermate and one of Wolfstripe's closest friends.
Pinespur- A strong, but silent tom who, despite his size is rather soft spoken. He is Pricklenose's best friend and dreams of catching the eye of the serious minded she-cat, Crowhop.
Book One: Forest of Mist (links to chapters)
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Post by mothsnap on Jan 11, 2018 22:44:40 GMT -5
Chapter One
It was a while past sunhigh by the time Wolfstripe woke, or, more accurately, was violently shaken, from a deep slumber. His branch was trembling so vigorously, it was a wonder he hadn't already fallen off. He presently wrapped his paws around its width to avoid being tossed over the edge by the prolonged vibrations.
Once the initial shock of his predicament had worn off, he was able to observe, standing over him, the source of the tremors, a molly he'd known for some moons who's ashen fur grew in long, wispy tuffs that stood up on end along her spine.
"With how much you sleep, one would think you'd already joined the elders," Sootfeather remarked cordially. "You're worse than Timberfoot, you know?"
"I was on patrol until mistfall," the above grumbled at the sound of his name. "I should think I deserve at least a moment of SILENCE." Sootfeather offered her brother little sympathy.
"Then tell Wolfstripe to hurry and get up," she said rolling her eyes at the adjacent branch.
"Wolfstripe, get up or I will shove a gorse bush up your muzzle."
At this Wolfstripe leapt whole tail length off his branch. Over most matters, Timberfoot was about as even headed as they came, but where sleep and fresh-kill were concerned, everyone in MistClan knew he was not to be trifled with.
"That's the spirit!" Sootfeather said, dropping to ground. "I picked out a mouse for you earlier. Lucky too. If I had waited for you to get your own food, you'd have gone hungry until the next patrol got back."
Wolfstripe glanced at the fresh-kill pile and saw that his kithood friend was right. The tree stump that was usually reserved for the clan's prey was, at the moment bare, and his stomach was roaring with hunger, having not eaten since sometime early the day before.
"Thanks," he said, gratefully gobbling down the mouse. It was cold and a bit tough, likely a leftover from the night before, but he didn't complain. Though Sootfeather was only a half moon older than he was, she'd always gone out of her way to be considerate of him.
Since the former's warrior ceremony, they had seen little of each other, Sootfeather having new duties to attend to, while Wolfstripe was still cleaning out bedding in the elders' den, not something he was opposed to doing, but nevertheless a juvenile's task.
He was an adult now, a MistClan warrior at last. His vigil last night had gone without an owl's hoot. Now he could go into the forest when he pleased and hunt where he liked. The first thing he would do was be sure he found a fat rabbit to repay his friend with.
Sootfeather was fond of rabbits. When they were young, she would sometimes dress herself scraps of their pelt. She thought the clumps of white fur, dyed with blood, made her look like a tortoiseshell, like her mother.
"Have you seen Copperbird?" he asked as he finished his meal.
If there was one thing Wolfstripe would miss about being an apprentice, it was the long days spent training with his sister and littermate. Now that they were both adults, he suspected they'd each go their separate ways and see less of one another. Both walked in different circles within the clan and, aside from the ones they'd had since kithood, shared few mutual friends.
"No, but I suspect she's out hunting or something," Sootfeather said, gesturing towards the gap in the bramble thicket that was the camp entrance with a wave of her tail. "She'll be back by nightfall I suspect, and we can share tongues before the moon-high patrols." They were just getting ready to squeeze through the barrier when a voice halted them.
"Sootfeather, do a fellow herb runner a favor will you?"
The speaker was Fogwhisker whom Wolfstripe knew only by name. A white she-cat with the occasional gray splotch, especially concentrated about the face, and green eyes that lent color to her features. Her pelt was somewhat unkempt and she looked as if she'd just finished a vigil of her own. She had emerged from the medicine den, an enormous hollowed out tree with insides stuffed in a mass of lichen that concealed the strong musk of herbs from inside.
"If you happen to see Pigeonear out there, drag her back here by her scruff. And maybe deliver one or two to the head. It'll get that mouse-brain of hers to start functioning!"
"Is something the matter?"
"I'd say! Mother is close to kitting. She's a bit delirious and for some reason she started asking for the company of that blight upon StarClan," Fogwhisker grumbled. "Who's no doubt in the forest trying to break her neck or something."
The herb runner retreated into her den, and the two warriors, after exchanging a troubled glance, slid out into the forest. Overhead, dark pines shielded the ground from sunlight. When the cool night air fell upon the forest, so would the mist that had earned Wolfstripe's clan its name.
"Before I forget, you should think about what you're going to do if Nettlewhisker puts you in charge of one," the charcoal she-cat said.
"In charge of one what?" Wolfstripe said, he had allowed his mind to wander, trying to pick up the scent of any small creatures lurking about. Suddenly hearing her speak, jolted him back into focus.
"A moon-high patrol. What I was talking about before," Sootfeather said. "He always has new warriors lead a patrol. Says it's good experience. You better decided ahead of time where you plan to take everyone or else they'll start giving you looks." The she-cat demonstrated, one of her eyebrows rising so high, Wolfstripe thought it might shoot off the top of her face.
"Did you get looks?"
"No, Pigeonear warned me about it before my vigil," she replied. "She said the first time she led a patrol, Ravenheart glared at her as if she were a pile of fox droppings." Wolfstripe laughed out loud as he pictured the scene.
"I'd give half a day's fresh-kill to see that," he chuckled.
"Not when it's directed at you," Sootfeather pointed out. "Pigeonear said she was sure he would dangle her from a tree by her little claw. She took them to the first place she could think of, the Outlands, since it was the first place she'd hunted when she was an apprentice."
"And?"
"No one caught a thing."
"Well that wasn't really her fault, was it?" Wolfstripe said. "If there wasn't prey, there wasn't prey."
"Yes, but what both you and she forget, was that it was mid-frost season." Her meaning dawned on Wolfstripe.
"And the Outlands were completely barren," he finished. "A kit's brain in the body of a warrior is what that molly is." He shook his head, still giving an amused sniff.
"She can be serious when she needs to be," Sootfeather said in her friend's defense. "I think she's more capable than most think."
"Hmm…" Wolfstripe considered this. "You know her best I suppose," he said at last. "But I think I'll take a patrol to the Boulder Colony. Plenty of undergrowth, no shortage of prey." Sootfeather brightened.
"Why don't we check now?" she suggested. "We can go and get a couple of shrews, leave the best prey for tonight. And if we don't manage to get anything, we'll know it's a bad idea and you can think up something else."
"That's smart. Did you think of that?"
"Yes, why wouldn't I have?"
"I didn't mean anything by it," he said quickly. "But it's the kind of scheme Copperbird would think up." He spoke with an air of wistfulness before checking himself.
It was only first day being a warrior! No time for getting sappy about littermates. A warrior only depended on himself and his clan. There would be no room for sisters in the mix.
"Well I can be clever too." Sootfeather puffed out her chest.
"You can." Wolfstripe nodded fervently.
The only problem with the plan, Wolfstripe realized once they began journeying to their destination, was that the Boulder Colony was such a long way away from camp. All the way at the far end of the territory by the StoneClan border as a matter of fact. By the time the MistClan warriors spotted the first of the massive boulders that earned the spot its name, the sun had already begun its descent.
Wolfstripe was starting to regret their quest. The cold mouse he'd eaten had not been enough to quench his appetite and he was already starting to feel a bit hungry again, though he did not say as much for fear of offending his companion.
"Hey, what are you planning to do about Pigeonear?"
"I'm sure she's alright. She usually is," Sootfeather said. "Besides, there's no use trying to find her. It's starting to get dark and we don't have much time to hunt before we have to get back. Pigeonear'll find her own way once the sun sets."
"If you're sure," Wolfstripe said. "I just don't want Fogwhisker to be upset if we go back empty-pawed."
"You worry too much."
The two parted briefly as they each pursued their own prey scents. Wolfstripe wiggled his broad shoulders into a tangle of gorse, his brown stripes helping to hide his body in the bush. Having masked his scent with those of the yellow flowers, he slid the tip of his muzzle back out to taste the air.
Not far in the distance, he spotted a robin pecking at the dirt. Feeling confident, he marched out of the gorse bush and darted several tail lengths, snapping the bird's spine as it attempted to flee.
"You're quick today," Sootfeather remarked. Wolfstripe turned around to find the she-cat with a squirrel in her jaws.
"You're still faster," he chuckled. "I think there's enough prey here for a good hunt, but it might be better if I tried somewhere closer to camp for the patrol. The cats won't thank me if I drag them halfway across the territory."
"Fair." They had just started to make their way back when a faint cry caused Wolfstripe's ears to perk up.
"Something the matter?"
"I think so."
"Some animal?"
"A cat."
"One of ours?"
"I don't know."
Wolfstripe rushed off towards the sound, abandoning his prey as Sootfeather paused to dig a hole for both their catches. As he ran towards the noise, he realized he was upwind of his target. If there was an enemy present, it would already be aware of his presence.
The terrain around the Boulder Colony was rough to navigate, made up of sudden rises and dips in the ground between the hulking stones that dotted the land. This slowed him down considerably, but eventually he arrived at a shallow valley which, according to the senior warriors, had at one point been a river. Now, Wolfstripe seemed to recall being able to detect a faint trickle on a good day. The present was not one of those occasions and the bottom of the ditch was instead clogged with a layer of auburn colored leaves.
"Wolfstripe? Is that you?" The warrior recognized the voice of Pigeonear, and a moment later spotted the young molly lying, paws sprawled in the ditch.
"No!" the she-cat screamed as he motioned to pull her out. "Don't come any closer."
"What should I do?" he cried, helplessly. His gaze darted back and forth across the horizon, convinced the beast that'd attacked his clanmate would reveal itself and come at him.
"Come down, but slowly," Pigeonear grimaced. "Don't touch the leaves. Free my leg… P-pull me out." As she spoke, her body writhed in pain and Wolfstripe noticed something around the she-cat's hindleg that glistened among the dull leaves.
"Pigeonear!" Wolfstripe halted Sootfeather just before she could dive into the trench. He repeated Pigeonear's advice.
"I'll pull her leg out of whatever it's stuck on," he said. "And when I've freed her, you can pull her up."
"Ok."
Unsheathing his claws to slow his descend, and make sure he didn't accidentally slip into the bottom of the trench, Wolfstripe slowly inched himself down to where Pigeonear lay.
Brushing aside the leaves that surrounded her, he revealed a strange instrument crafted out of the odd, dark, ice-like material that was a well-known mark of a stick-hunter's handiwork. The thing clamped Pigeonear's foot tightly inside but didn't seem to have drawn blood.
Using all his strength, he attempted to pry the thing open, but it wouldn't budge. After a bit of exploration, he discovered that applying his weight to the corners caused the jaws to twitch slightly. He shared this trick with Sootfeather who positioned herself on the other side of the thing, adding her weight to it. This opened the jaw enough for Pigeonear to slide her foot out on her own.
Sootfeather yanked her out of the trench by the scruff and laid her out on the grass a few tail lengths away. The part of her foot that had been clamped had been scraped raw of fur, exposing the fleshy pink underneath.
"Ahh…" Pigeonear winced. "I suppose you're wondering what I was doing."
"Not until I fix your leg, you hollow-headed log brain!" Sootfeather spluttered as she dashed off to find herbs.
"Catching squirrels is so tricky sometimes," Pigeonear mused. Wolfstripe wondered if she realized Sootfeather was far out of earshot. Seeing as how her eyes were closed, he considered her obliviousness a distinct possibility. "They can scramble up a tree in a heartbeat," she continued. "And before you know it, they're gone."
Wolfstripe wasn't sure if she was addressing him or simply rambling to herself so he only half listened as his gaze fixed in the direction Sootfeather had disappeared off to.
"Did you know that cats always landed on their feet?" Pigeonear said. Wolfstripe was confused over this sudden shift in the conversation and for a moment he wondered if he hadn't missed a few sentences while his attention had been diverted.
"Y-yes," he replied. "I think everyone knows that."
"Yes, but we so rarely take advantage of it," Pigeonear said, making a sound like someone who'd just had a refreshing sip of water. "For example, have you ever tried climbing a tree?"
"I think we've all climbed trees. Even just to sleep."
"I meant while hunting squirrels."
"No, they climb too quickly. You said so yourself just now."
"I did, but here's where my clever thinking has come into play. If you were to corner a squirrel on one of the branches-"
"It would run along the tip and leap across to the next tree, leaving you in the dust," Wolfstripe finished.
"Ha!" she ha'ed as if she'd just discover some secret weakness of his. "That's the thinking of the narrow minded, Wolfstripe. What's to stop us from simply leaping off from the base of the branch after it?" Wolfstripe furrowed his brow, unable to follow her twisted line of thought.
"The ground." Pigeonear shook her head wearily.
"Do not despair, Wolfstripe," she said. "What you lack in brain, you make up in plenty of stuff where it counts." She indicated towards her chest. "Very well, I'll connect the dots for you. If cats always land on their feet, then-"
"You don't mean you've been jumping out of trees, do you?"
"Well not yet at least," Pigeonear replied. "I was in the trench trying to collect leaves. No good having me drop the thing once I killed it. Squirrel accompanied by dirt and mud is definitely not appetizing."
"So, you thought you'd build a cushion for your fall?" Wolfstripe muttered slowly.
"The squirrel's fall. Keep up."
"Right…"
It was presently that Sootfeather returned with a mouthful of leaves and a swab of moss dripping with water. After the wound had been washed, she wrapped it in leaves which easily stuck to the wet spot.
As they trudged back to camp, Pigeonear repeated her story. Wolfstripe expected Sootfeather to cut her off and tell her she was being a mouse-brain, but he was left hanging. After a while, he became doubtful of whether she perceived the anecdote at all.
Fogwhisker who had likely been tasting the air for the moment their scents wafted back into camp, stormed up to them as they pushed through the bramble wall. Her tone was severe in reprimanding her littermate until Sootfeather assigned herself mediator in the feud.
"You say there was a stick hunter trap?" Wolfstripe's eyes wiggled forwards in their sockets as the clan deputy stepped in.
He dipped his head in respect towards the gray tabby before, in his own way, going through the events that had transpired while Sootfeather handled things on Fogwhisker's end.
Nettlewhisker rolled his eyes thoughtfully before speaking. The deputy always smothered his emotions behind a well trained veil. Wolfstripe supposed all good deputies were alike in this way. He knew the StoneClan deputy to be just as lacking in expression at Gatherings, even on occasions when lesser cats got rowdy.
"The stick hunters often set up such traps for foxes and wolves. A sensible strategy," Nettlewhisker remarked. "Patrols will stay away from the StoneClan border trenches." He raised his voice as he addressed the rest of the clan. "Keep an eye out for vermin wandering about. Spread the news to StoneClan if you run across them."
"They probably already know," Buckstripe said with a flick of her tail. "If there are stick hunters around, they're probably crawling all over StoneClan territory."
Wolfstripe was nodding rhythmically at his former mentor's words when some instinct caused the fur on his neck to rise. At first, he wasn't privy to why, but he soon became acutely aware of the scent of fear that emanated from somewhere in the trees. The rest of the clan seemed to sense it too and for a moment the entire camp fell silent.
The stillness was ended as a chestnut colored cat burst into the clearing. His paws stained with blood.
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Post by mothsnap on Jan 12, 2018 14:45:21 GMT -5
Chapter Two
There was a long silence as the messenger caught his breath. The whole of the clan watched him intently. Wolfstripe thought he must have gone on patrol with him once or twice before, but at the moment names seemed to escape his memory.
Once the tom had rested sufficiently, a wizen faced cat with a shaggy white coat stepped out among the spectators. He trotted authoritatively up to the messenger and cleared the air with a wave of his tail.
"Cloudstar," the chestnut tabby breathed, pointing his muzzle at his leader's feet. "We were ambushed by foxes near the IceClan border."
Wolfstripe could feel his clanmates collectively tense up at this revelation, but any expression Cloudstar might have relinquished was hidden beneath the abundance fur that grew around his eyes and mouth.
"How many?"
"At least three," he said. "I don't know what became of the others. We were led by Whiteleaf and called to retreat, but we fled in different directions. To avoid leading them back to camp."
Wolfstripe glanced at the tom's form. He was short haired and slender with long limbs, a talented runner no doubt. It wouldn't be too much to assume he had simply outrun the rest of his party and they would be trotting along behind him momentarily. If Cloudstar knew this, he was unwilling to take the chance.
"Nettlewhisker," he addressed his deputy. "Assemble a search party immediately. Brambletooth, stand by and ready your herbs."
"C-Cloudstar," the tom interrupted. Something seemed to boil in his eyes. "There were pigeons by the IceClan border. Six or seven of them. Dead. Reeking with IceClan scent underneath the fox." Cloudstar must have narrowed his eyes at that moment for they vanished between two blocks of fur.
"Thank you for informing me," Cloudstar said. "We will further discuss the matter once your patrol has been retrieved." The tom dipped his head again and retreated.
"Yes, Cloudstar."
Wolfstripe felt Sootfeather press up against his side. He turned to see that her eyes had lit up. He knew his friend well enough to know that whatever she plotted would not suit his easy temperament.
"This is our chance," she whispered.
"What are you talking about?"
"Where's your ambitious spirit? You think Wildheart or Buckstripe got to be as popular as they are in MistClan by just doing the daily grind? You've got to exert yourself if you want to get anywhere, and this is our shot."
She slid past him and crowded around Nettlewhisker who stood atop the patrol stump, busy listing off names for the search party.
"Wildheart, Mudstep, Pricklenose…"
Wolfstripe's ears twitched at the mention of his friend's name. He spotted the tom sitting nearby, the hint of a smile on his lips. His dark pelt mixed with shadows as they crept from out from the trees surrounding the clearing. Catching his eye, Wolfstripe proceeded to swim over.
"Wolfie! Never thought I'd catch you scavenging with the rest of us," he said, hazel eyes alight with his usual agility. Wolfstripe momentarily ignored his much disliked nickname and got right down to it.
"Sootfeather is eager to get a spot in the rescue party," he said. "Do you think you could-"
"Say no more, my friend," Pricklenose interrupted giving him a wink. "And I'll make sure she knows who to thank."
"Ah…" he replied, not really grasping his meaning.
Pricklenose turned back to Nettlewhisker and waved his tail discreetly in the deputy's line of sight before swaying it in Sootfeather's direction.
"Grassbelly and Sootfeather," Nettlewhisker finished. Directly the crowd dispersed, though many still looked understandably uneasy.
"Sorry I couldn't pull you both in," Pricklenose said. "But father isn't too keen on me doing these things. Still I suspect it will suffice."
"Definitely," Wolfstripe nodded. "I owe you one." His friend let out a good-natured, 'blah' and shifted his gaze to Sootfeather.
"Wait here."
Wolfstripe watched his Pricklenose stroll across to the she-cat. He suspected it was to discuss protocol or something. This pattern of events slowly became less likely as Sootfeather suddenly turned to him with unsubdued shock, Pricklenose subsequently flashing a grin his way before padding back with a good deal of self-satisfaction.
"What did you say?" Wolfstripe hissed.
"Only that you're too shy to tell how madly in love you are with her," he chuckled. "Oh, and that you were the one who got her into the patrol."
Wolfstripe's blood frozen as his jaw hung a whole paw's width down from his face. Before he could summon the necessary words, Nettlewhisker hollered something from the bramble tunnel and Pricklenose trotted off.
"Catch up with you later, Wolfie!"
Wolfstripe looked around wildly, hoping to correct Sootfeather's impression before she left, but the she-cat had already disappeared. With nothing left to do, he planted himself where he was and watched the departing patrol with blank stupor.
"Don't worry. There'll be other opportunities." A coarse haired tom padded up from behind and placed himself beside Wolfstripe.
"Pinespur," he greeted quietly. "Shouldn't you be with Pricklenose?"
"No, I scratched myself up a bit on our last patrol, so he told me to take the day off."
"Really? That's very liberal minded of him," Wolfstripe commented. Pinespur shuffled his paws uncomfortably.
"Yes, he said his father would throw a fit if he found out," he said. "Did you see where he went? It'll be best if I stayed out of his way. At least until the rescue patrol gets back."
"You could hide in one of the spare nurseries," Wolfstripe suggested. He quickly led his friend to the base of one of the trees surrounding the clearing and shoved him inside.
The hole was stuffed with dried moss and crinkled leaves but was still quite cozy. In the bloom season, when the kit population of the clan ballooned, all the nurseries would be in operation, but for now, many nests were cold.
"Why'd you agree to stay behind anyways?" Wolfstripe asked once Pinespur had been settled in. "It seems a little unlike you." The tom's eyes shifted back and forth in their sockets. He looked as if he'd snuck one or two mice early from the pile.
"See, the truth is, I was hoping to get some time alone..." he mewed quietly. "With Crowhop." Wolfstripe wilted. After the incident with Pricklenose, he was no mood for mushiness of any kind.
"Not you too," he muttered, indignantly. "Save if for the bloom season." Pinespur didn't seem to hear. He stared off into the distance and let out a pitiful whimper.
Wolfstripe narrowed his eyes. Even before he turned around, he could already sense who he'd see. An enormous she-cat had just slid in through the bramble tunnel accompanied by her equally ample senior.
Crowhop was the younger, not one of those dainty, light pawed she-cat's but Wolfstripe supposed she was pretty in her own way. Any marks he would have given for her appearance however was presently hampered by the blood cascading from her forehead. The she-cat seemed to react only mildly to the wound. Instead, a cheeky grin plastered on her face as her elder supported her into the clearing.
"Victory has smiled upon us today!" the older cat hollered, rousing the camp. As Wolfstripe got a better angle, he recognized her as Maggotbounce, a queen as popular in the nursery as she was on the battlefield, as well as Pinespur's mother.
The rest of the patrol she led began to file into the camp and Wolfstripe could see nearly all of them lugged around enormous masses of meat in their mouths.
"Caribou all 'round!" Maggotbounce declared. She pointed at one of the warriors who'd returned with her. "Take that to the medicine cat's den."
"What happened?" Nettlewhisker asked gesturing towards Crowhop.
"This is a good one," Maggotbounce laughed, giving the bleeding she-cat an affectionate prod. "Took a kick to the head and barely blinked. Tell Brambletooth to take good care of her."
"Its hoof barely gazed me," Crowhop admitted, still grinning.
"Nonsense," one of her clanmates cried, rising onto his hindlegs. "Three cheers for, Crowhop! The toughest warrior in the forest!"
"Crowhop! Crowhop! Crowhop!" the clan sang, their spirits temporarily elevated from the troubles that lurked outside.
"Isn't she magnificent?" Pinespur purred. "Isn't she the most wonderful she-cat you've ever seen?"
"If I said yes, I don't think you'd like it," Wolfstripe snorted teasingly. "But I'm sure your father will be pleased. Maybe she's not much to look at, but she's one of the ripest hunters around."
"This has nothing to do with Wildheart," his friend insisted. "If we're to be mates it won't be for political reasons. I would rather see her with someone else than be her mate if she doesn't love me."
"So, you haven't talked to her yet."
"I reckon she doesn't even know I exist," Pinespur sighed. "We've been on a few patrols together, but we've never spoken. We walk in different circles, Wolfie." Wolfstripe flattened his lips into an unconvincing smile to remind Pinespur of his resentment of the name, but the coarse tom's attentions were elsewhere. "She's a glittering star in the mist while I'm-"
"Just the son of the best fighter in MistClan."
"Crowhop won't love a tom who'd rides of his predecessor's achievements," Pinespur said. "Don't you ever dream of doing something fantastic that'll make the whole clan look at you in awe?"
Wolfstripe shrugged. Just about every clan apprentice dreamed of become a legend, or at the least clan leader, but he'd since contented himself with smaller pursuits, as his parents had done. He suspected neither of them would be remember after their family and close acquaintances passed on, but they had both had happy lives in each other's company. Like them, he saw himself as a fairly simple cat. As long as he had prey in his belly at the end of the day, he didn't feel he needed much else.
"Not particularly."
Just then a shrill voice rang through the clearing, drowning out the cheers.
"What's wrong with you all?" the queen Cinderspots wailed. Her mate Ravenheart padded up to her side and pressed his flank affectionately against hers, doing his best to ease her nerves. "Our children are out there, StarClan forbid, hurt and all you can do is think about gorging yourselves once we have a few less clanmates to feed!"
An uncomfortable silence fell over the clan as they fell back into their previous moodiness. A few went over to console the ailing mother. Pinespur stuck his head out of the tree, his brow wrinkled with concern. Wolfstripe brushed his tail over his friend's face.
"You're meant to be laying low."
"Yes, right," Pinespur said, shrinking into the den. "I'm meant to be sharing tongues with her now. Everyone else is starting to pick their prey."
Wolfstripe frowned. Despite his current unfavorable situation, he felt sympathy for his friend. He quickly scanned the camp and found that Nettlewhisker had temporarily vanished.
"Say."
"Do you have a plan?" Pinespur said, as if he had been anticipating such a development.
"Crowhop will be in the medicine cat's den," he said. "If you run over to her with a ripe mouse, it'll be sure to lift you a bit in her eyes."
"Brilliant," Pinespur said. "But you'll make sure Nettlewhisker doesn't find me?"
"I seemed to have lost him for the moment, but I'm sure he won't be at a vantage point to reprimand you." Pinespur nodded has he emerged from the den.
"Then I shall run as I never have before," he declared.
"Think," Wolfstripe hissed. "If you run, it will cause a disturbance. One which is bound to travel to Nettlewhisker's ear sooner or later."
"Smart," Pinespur said. "Then I shall behave naturally." He shook his pelt out, loosening his muscles as well as a hive of wrinkled mosses that had clung to his fur.
"I'll find Nettlewhisker and keep him out of your way," Wolfstripe offered as his friend tottered off.
It took a while before Wolfstripe was able to pick up even a hint of the deputy's scent, so obscure was it among the hundreds of other cats who resided in the clearing. Finally, he was able to follow it to the far edge of camp where it seemed to drift freshly from just beyond the borders of camp.
Wolfstripe didn't consider himself one to sneak about. He was generally open about his activities, and he considered the MistClan deputy to have approximately the same mindset. Therefore, it surprised him to find a well-maintained hole which seemed to lead outside camp.
With some hesitation, he pressed himself against the dirt and slid out through the gap which had been dug for a slender figure, but which he was able to pass without much damage to his whiskers.
Once outside, he spotted the deputy almost immediately. The gray tabby was padding along purposefully, his muzzle elevated towards the treetops. Wolfstripe wasn't sure whether it would be appropriate to make the deputy aware of his presence. Though he found Nettlewhisker's behavior odd, he somehow felt his witnessing of it was in itself a bit intrusive. Whatever the deputy was doing, Wolfstripe doubted it would be something that required the sounding of alarms.
Presently, the plot revealed itself as Nettlewhisker halted underneath one of the trees.
"Redclaw!" he roared. "What do you think you're doing?" If Redclaw replied Wolfstripe did not hear it. "There is work to be done at camp," the deputy snapped. "You can not simply pop in for a mouse whenever you please. You have an obligation to do duty by your clan."
This time Wolfstripe was sure the tortoiseshell hadn't spoken. He had crept closer and could see her perched on a branch several tail lengths over her father. He continued to watch the pair with interest, despite himself. The tales of the young tortoiseshell's infamy were well broadcasted throughout the clan. From the early days of his apprenticehood, Wolfstripe had heard the warriors complain of her impudence.
Even whilst being the son of the clan deputy, Pricklenose had done a good deal of mixing with the other apprentices in the days of their youth. But his sister seemed to prefer to lurk. Wolfstripe couldn't recall ever having seen her share tongues, or even go on an official patrol since becoming a warrior. Being generally disliked among her clanmates, this was an inevitable phenomenon.
"Redclaw, if you do not descend this branch I will make it so you sleep on the ground in the mud for a moon. And if I even catch you touching bark, I'll double the sentence."
Redclaw narrowed her eyes, but still didn't speak. After a few brief moments with her eyes stubbornly locked against her father's, she got up and slid down the trunk, landing nimbly at Nettlewhisker's side.
"How long has it been since you've been on hunting patrol?" Nettlewhisker demanded.
"Two days," Redclaw muttered.
"Then you will be doing three tomorrow and one tonight," her father decreed. "And you will bring back a blackbird, or the equivalent on each. Understood?"
"And who should I be hunting with?" the she-cat asked briskly. "Surely, you wouldn't have me mauled by the foxes?"
"If the tom in the bushes can tear himself away from his eavesdropping, I'm sure he'd be delighted." Wolfstripe crept out and showered his apologies.
"I was looking for you, deputy. I didn't mean to act inappropriately." Nettlewhisker gave a dismissive wave of his tail.
"Nevermind," he said, assuredly. "You did well returning Pigeonear back to camp safely, but all the same the clan must be fed, especially now with predators roaming the territory."
"Yes, Nettlewhisker," Wolfstripe said. He wasn't sure if his legs were visibly shaking, but he felt as if the slightest gust of wind would be enough to topple him. "Sootfeather and I both made catches before we discovered Pigeonear."
"Then you better retrieve your kill before the foxes catch the scent," Nettlewhisker said. "Travel by tree and do not engage," he warned. "I'd rather you come back empty-pawed than dead."
"Y-yes, Nettlewhisker." He had to gather his nerves to say more. "I've only had a very small mouse since yesterday. Can I have another bite before we set out?"
Nettlewhisker dipped his head and wordlessly padded back to camp, leaving Wolfstripe alone with the impatient looking molly. Under her gaze, Wolfstripe wasn't sure whether to start ahead and let her follow him back to camp or wait for her to take the lead.
Once her father was out of sight, she bounded straight back up her tree, resuming her former position. Wolfstripe, who had begun to think it pointless to delay any longer started heading back towards the bramble barrier. Once he had taken a few steps, Redclaw finally spoke.
"Try to get back in some semblance of reasonable time. I would like to be able to sleep before sunrise."
Wolfstripe grumbled under his breath. If it weren't for her disagreeable nature, neither of them would have to be going out at all. He sighed and reminded himself that he had already caught something earlier. All he had to do was collect his and Sootfeather's previous efforts and his obligation to the clan would be fulfilled. Whether or not Redclaw had managed to catch anything by that time would be no business of his and he'd be allowed to return to camp without a stain on his character.
He squeezed his way back through the hole and made a beeline for the fresh-kill pile. The sight of it jolted his mind back to his former narrative. He was supposed to be keeping Pinespur and Nettlewhisker apart.
His gaze flitted across camp, surprised to find Sootfeather standing just outside the medicine den, her tail lashing impatiently. Despite her presence, Wolfstripe detected neither Nettlewhisker, nor Pricklenose.
"I didn't think you'd be back so soon," he said as he padded up to her. "Where's Pricklenose?"
"Still out," she said, not without a hint of jealously. "We found Scorchtail. He has a few scratches on him so Wildheart wanted me to take him back." She paused, then realizing she'd forgotten her manners, added quickly. "N-not that I don't appreciate you convincing him to pull me in on the patrol, but umm…"
Wolfstripe decided that he would have to be the guiding force of the conversation. There would be time to sort out whatever was between them at a latter date. For now, there were more dire set ups that needed sorting out.
"Have you seen Nettlewhisker?"
"He should be along any moment to see-"
Not lingering long enough to hear the rest, Wolfstripe charged into the hollow tree. He'd taken but a few steps inside before he spotted Crowhop lying on the ground, flicking the remains of a robin between her claws. Standing over her was Brambletooth, the clan medicine cat, with a paw pressed against Crowhop's wound, a layer of leaves oozing it's juices onto the warrior's dark fur.
Wolfstripe fought back a shudder as the medicine cat turned to him. The two protruding canines that grew out of either side of the Brambletooth's lower jaw had always made him a bit uneasy. Several tail length's away, Pinespur sat alone, feebly watching the proceedings.
"What are you doing?"
"Ah, well there was an unforeseen difficulty," Pinespur said. "When I came to her with a robin, she looked on me as a messenger. The prey delivery service. She just said, 'thank you' and that was that. Funny isn't it?" he added, with good humor.
"Nevermind all that now," Wolfstripe said. "Nettlewhisker will be here any minute. You'll have to hide."
"Right." Pinespur was about to step out into the clearing when Wolfstripe yanking him back by the ear. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"
"He might have the medicine den in his sights right now," the brown tabby reminded him. "If you leave, he'll spot you in a heartbeat."
"Right," Pinespur said again. He dove deeper into the hollowed tree where Fogwhisker was busy washing Scorchtail's wounds. Pigeonear sat nearby, muzzle resting obediently beside he's mother's who appeared to be asleep.
"This way," Wolfstripe hissed as he spotted the dip in the ground in which the medicine folk of the clan used to store rainwater. The hole was deep enough so that the bottom wouldn't be visible to anyone who stood more than a few tail lengths from the edge.
He shoved Pinespur into the water and turned in case Nettlewhisker happened to walk in at that moment. He did not. Instead, Fogwhisker stormed up to him, her expression as if she'd just heard a wolf meow.
"What in StarClan-" Wolfstripe hushed her desperately.
"I'm not an eccentric cat, Fogwhisker. I know you don't know me well, but you at least owe me a little after Pigeonear. Please?"
"Not until you tell me why you did that!" the herb runner snarled, trying to push past him, presumably to drag Pinespur out of her pool.
Just then Nettlewhisker popped in from behind the lichen wall and any words found themselves clogged in Wolfstripe's mouth. His entrance seemed to tie the narrative in Fogwhisker's head.
"You better hope he's clean," she hissed before turning to the clan deputy. Wolfstripe let out a sigh and shifted his gaze to his friend who gargled occasionally in the water but was otherwise silent.
"And what are you doing here?" Wolfstripe turned to the deputy, blinking for a moment at his accusatory tone. Had he spotted Pinespur? "You told me you wished to eat," he continued. "I expected you to do so and subsequently, hunt. You are a warrior now. You have more freedoms, yes, but I expect you to be mature enough not to waste time."
Wolfstripe thought that now was the ideal time for the brain to start exerting itself.
"I heard the patrol found Scorchtail," he said. "H-he's a very dear friend of mine and I wanted to make sure he would be alright." He patted Scorchtail's paw awkwardly as the ginger tom narrowed his eyes, disdainful.
"Bring me a mouse."
"Sure thing, pal of mine." He forced a smile.
If Nettlewhisker saw through this deception, he didn't indicate so and Wolfstripe hurried out before any further dialogue was exchanged. He hoped he could count on Fogwhisker to protect Pinespur's position until Nettlewhisker left, his own problems were already in no shortage.
As he stepped out of then den, he nearly bumped muzzles with Cinderspots, who looked distraught, her sleek grey pelt somewhat disheveled.
"Where are they?!" she demanded.
Though the remark was not addressed at him, he dipped his head respectfully and excused himself. He made his way back to the fresh-kill pile and quickly gulfed down another mouse, thankful that this one was still warm.
Just as he finished and was about to retrace his steps back to the hole, he became aware of a disturbance at the camp entrance. A glance told him that Pricklenose and the others had returned. He hurried up to his friend who was waving aside the crowd of their clanmates that had gathering to greet their homecoming comrades.
"Don't go into the medicine den, your father's in there with Pinespur," Wolfstripe warned. He'd thought the news would at least rattle his friend, but Pricklenose only gave the mildest acknowledgement.
It didn't take a wise cat to read the expression on his face, or glance up as the rest of the patrol pushed through the bramble thicket. Before he could fully comprehend what he saw, the fur on Wolfstripe's neck had already inflated. Spread across the shoulders of Wildheart and Whiteleaf were the bodies of two raven colored toms.
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Post by mothsnap on Mar 31, 2018 19:39:04 GMT -5
Chapter Three
Wolfstripe's gaze froze on the bodies for a moment before a flash of pink flesh and jutted bone tore him away. His breath quickened as the overpowering odor of fox that radiated from their broken bodies filled his senses. The water that welled in his eyes blinded him and he felt a sickening churning in his stomach. In another moment, the remains of the mouse he'd consumed were strew before him as a malodorous goo.
"Wolfstripe!" Pricklenose pressed against his friend's side in case the tabby's limbs gave way.
"I'm fine, I-"
"Should I get one of the herb runners?"
Wolfstripe shook his head, feeling ashamed to have caused so much of a stir when there were bigger issues at hand. Weakly, he turned back to Wildheart and Whiteleaf who had marched up to the medicine den. Instead of waiting for her patients to come to her, Brambletooth had busted out of the den as soon as the patrol had returned to examine both her patients. She now shouted the names of half a dozen herbs aloud which the herb runners, now mobilizing, scurried off to prepare.
"Come on," Pricklenose said, pulling him away from the scene. He led Wolfstripe to a shaded area where they both stood, eyeing the entrance to the medicine den with anticipation.
"Who were they?" Wolfstripe asked.
"Nightwhisker and Blacktooth," Pricklenose whispered, turning away from the hollowed tree. "Cinderspots and Ravenheart's kits."
Wolfstripe forced down a rough swallow. Cinderspots had shown so much worry after the rescue patrol and set off, and now her worst fears had come true.
"What happened to them?"
"Don't think about it," Pricklenose urged. "It won't do you any good knowing."
Wolfstripe's heart pounded violently in his chest, forcing its way up, probably along with the mouse he'd had earlier in the day. His stomach felt hollow again, but he knew whatever he ate now would just come up again.
"The foxes got to them. They tore them apart like prey." His whole body gave an uncontrollable jolt.
"Stop looking," Pricklenose insisted, planting himself between the tabby and the giant tree. "Focus on something else."
"Where's Copperbird?" Wolfstripe's heart raced as the thought that his sister might have also been with the patrol crossed his mind.
"She should be somewhere," Pricklenose said. "I saw her sharing tongues with Deerspirit a while ago. She wasn't on the patrol," he added reading his mind.
There was a momentary lapse in the conversation as Wolfstripe let out a sigh of relief. His legs deflated, and he curled himself on against the ground. Pricklenose sat himself next to him and began meditatively grooming his friend's pelt. Neither seemed to notice a deeply drenched Pinespur padding up them until he shook the water from his sagging pelt. The giant tabby let out a sneeze that shook Wolfstripe's eardrums before joining his companions.
"How goes it, old friend?" Pricklenose chirped. "You weren't caught, were you?" Pinespur shook his head.
"Nettlewhisker stepped out for a moment when you got back, and I managed to slip out after him."
"Sorry about that," Wolfstripe said as he began trying the dry the water left in the tom's thick fur. Pinespur gave a faint murmur of acknowledgement.
After another brief lapse, Wolfstripe perceived Nettlewhisker approaching from the distance. He quickly scrambled to his feet.
"I've stopped further patrols leaving camp for the rest of the day," he announced, getting straight to the point. "We have enough prey to last us through the night, but it is still vital that you and Redclaw retrieve what you and Sootfeather buried at the Boulder Colony," he said. "We don't want to leave anything about that will entice those beasts to prolong their residency here."
"Yes, Nettlewhisker. I understand, Nettlewhisker," Wolfstripe dipped his head.
"How are Nightwhisker and Blacktooth?" Wolfstripe retreated to the background of the conversation as son turned his gaze towards father.
"Brambletooth's looking after them," Nettlewhisker reported. "She says they're stable, but I can't see them lasting the night. They're breathing, but they haven't spoken or even opened their eyes."
"And how's Cinderspots taking it all?"
"As any mother would," the deputy replied, curtly. Then he flicked his tail and dismissed himself, Pricklenose watching as he went to report to Cloudstar.
The elderly MistClan leader seemed to have distanced himself from the whole affair. Being advanced in age, it was not uncommon, especially in recent moons, for him to leave most tasks to his seasoned deputy who preformed his duties with unrivaled finesse. At present, most of the clan knew, though few would have put it into words, their elderly leader was little more than a camp decoration and the brains of the entire operation were not his brains, but the brains of his one-time apprentice, coupled occasionally with the brains of his future heir.
"What did he mean about you and Redclaw?" the future heir asked, turning curiously in his direction.
Wolfstripe preceded to lay out the situation. From pure word of mouth, he knew he and Redclaw would be about as far from a chummy pair as one could get, and his earlier taste of the tortoiseshell's embittered disposition had done nothing to sweeten the broth. Although he'd had, had little interest at the prospect of having to spend any length of time in collaboration with the molly, and even now was able to see few upsides to the gloomy situation, he had since come to feel resigned towards the whole issue.
He would have been contented at that moment to have gone out and returned, enduring whatever fowl talk that was to be hurled at him. If Redclaw wished to be disagreeable, let her. He would simply point his chin at her, self-worth and dignity firmly attached.
"Everyone's always so tough on her," Pricklenose sighed. "When you've shared a nest with her since before either of you could mew, she's a sweetheart, really." He gave Pinespur an indicating nudge. The burly tom had known the littermates for nearly as long as they'd known each other.
"No."
"No?"
"Not at all," Pinespur reiterated. "She's horrible."
"Pinespur, am I hearing you right, old ferret?"
"I'm sorry, but it's the truth," he said, assertively, though his expression was that of an apprentice who'd been caught looting the fresh-kill pile out of turn. "I once brought her a rabbit and she complained about it being too scrawny and wet. She found no more than a speck of dirt at its nose and asked if I'd dragged it through the mud before being it to her." Pricklenose let out a hoot of laughter.
"Yes, that does sound like her I suppose. Still," Pricklenose pondered a beat, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. "If only someone could approach her in the right way. Like stalking a rabbit…"
"Like stalking a badger, you mean?"
Wolfstripe's treemate padded up to them with a shrew in his jaws and situated himself comfortably among the toms.
"Not you too, Timberfoot."
"Pricklenose, when it comes to that molly you'd mistake a bear for kitten-fluff," the dark tom stated matter-of-factly. He stuck out his neck and called for a familiar pair of passersby. "Cloudeyes, tell Pricklenose his sister is a foxheart."
"Your sister is a foxheart," the snowy tom muttered, his pale blue eyes staring blankly.
"That's not fair!" Pricklenose yapped. "You've never even been on patrol with her."
"If I had, I'd probably be calling her a lot worse."
The dainty golden she-cat standing on his side, who's fur had been prickly throughout the exchange quickly stepped between the two toms, her tail stuck up in the air as if she was throwing herself amidst a flurry of claws.
"Please stop it!" she cried. "We shouldn't be fighting like this. Not after something so terrible happened."
"Dawnsong is right," Wolfstripe said, trying to ease the flustered molly. "It's disrespectful to argue about something so frivolous right now."
The group nodded and collectively fell into restful poses. Wolfstripe dug into a crow Wildheart had fetched for him, his stomach finally feeling sufficiently relieved after a few bites.
"Nettlewhisker put me on one of tomorrow's dawn patrols," Dawnsong murmured once they'd all had time to nourish themselves. "I'm so scared, I can't stand it. What if I run into them?"
"The whole clan has their guards up," Pricklenose reassured her. "If you do, you'll be protected."
"You've always been a touch too naïve about these things," Timberfoot muttered. "I doubt Blacktooth and Nightwhisker went throwing themselves at foxes. Whatever precautious we take, whoever'll be going out tomorrow will be taking a risk."
"I used to think the worst that could happen was happening upon a few uncouth rogues," the she-cat continued in a whisper. "I never thought… on our own territory…"
"I'll tell Nettlewhisker to pull you out," Cloudeyes assured her with a quiet growl. "And if he doesn't, I'll go with you. Maybe I can't see, but I'll be able to smell them within ten treelengths." He wrapped his tail protectively around his mate's hindquarters. Dawnsong pressed her cheek against his fluffy collar, purring softly.
"I wonder how Sootfeather's doing," Wolfstripe said. The black haired she-cat typically joined them for meals.
"She'll be cooped up in the medicine den for a while," Timberfoot sighed. "She's been relying on her and Fogwhisker a lot these last few moons. I wonder if she'll be making one of them her official apprentice soon."
"Neither of them dreams of StarClan, so I doubt it."
"Dreams of StarClan needn't start from kithood," Cloudeyes added, wisely. "An elder has as much chance as a troublemaking apprentice. StarClan will speak to whom they chose, when they feel the time is right."
"I hear IceClan has three medicine cats," Timberfoot huffed. "We'd be fools to start anything with them."
"Right now, they're the ones starting things with us," Pricklenose said.
"What do you mean?" Dawnsong asked.
"They planted dead pigeons on our territory, you don't think they were trying to lure predators? What if we'd be set upon by vultures," he shook. "I wouldn't put it beyond them." The rest of the party nodded in agreement.
"One thing's for sure," Timberfoot said. "Wolfstripe and Copperbird's warrior ceremony will be far from the highlight of the next Gathering. No offense."
"None taken." Wolfstripe preferred not to draw too much attention either way.
After their meal and another brief round of sharing tongues, the company concluded their night's activities and retired to their respective trees for a restless evening of little respite. Wolfstripe woke early the next morning, dragging his paws a bit, but after a bite of a shrew, he was none the worse for wear.
"Mornin' Wolfie," Pricklenose cried as he sharpened his claws on a trunk.
"How are Blacktooth and Nightwhisker?"
"Brambletooth was up with them all night I hear. So were Cinderspots and Ravenheart. The old bird's one of the best and brightest in the clan so Nettlewhisker's a bit out of sorts today. Speak of, I suppose you'll be off to do the daily grind? With Redclaw unless I'm mistaken."
"You're not."
"Expanding upon what I said last night," he started. "You know, that stuff about stalking the rabbit."
"What?"
"Approaching her," he reiterated. "If you use the right strategy, I think you'll find you'll get better results than the rest of the ho-hum. And as a personal friend on mine, I'll be more than happy to divulge the tricks of the trade."
"Ready to receive!"
"The most important thing to remember is not stay anything at all," he instructed. "Not a word. She's very particular. Just be humble and do whatever she tells you to do." Wolfstripe's brow furrowed at his friend's questionable strategy.
"Is that what you do?"
"Of course not. But you must do it if you want to make a sound impression on her."
"Right."
"She's slithered off to the forest at daybreak, so you'll find her somewhere in the general area," Pricklenose informed. "She'll probably find you before you find her so just step out and wait a bit." Wolfstripe dipped his head in solemn thanks.
He let out a breath, then, gathering all his masculine courage, stiffened his jaw and marched back out into the forest. The grass was still wet from the morning dew and the air fairly moist, though not enough for the mists to make their daily pilgrimage down among the trees. This allowed him to view the contents of the treetops quite clearly. Momentarily, he spotted the shape of the tortoiseshell molly hopping from tree to tree until she rested above him.
He was just about to pry open his jaws when the molly spoke first. Her words came, one after the other so that Wolfstripe found himself unable to fit a word in. The chief issue with situations like the one he presently found himself in was that the longer one dwelled on what was to be done, the fewer options there are for doing. The being that, though he entered the scene, wrought with fiery passion, the flames withered with each other the tortoiseshell shot out.
"I suppose I should offer you a good morning," she said. "I personally find it a frivolous habit. No doubt you've already had the line recited to you an uncountable quantity of occasions in your career." Here she paused, but as she had left Wolfstripe without a lead to continue the conversation on, he found himself at a loss for words. "You should have come out by tree. Your scent trail will lead any creature with a brain straight into the camp."
A hollow, "Oh," was all he was able to excrete, and it was a noise which he came to regret almost instantly.
Redclaw didn't say anything at first, but the particular way she had of averting her gaze from him made him feel like an apprentice whose mentor and witnessed hunting in a patch of poison ivy the sunrise after the conclusion of botany lessons.
"Is it your intention to bask there long or are you going to come up?"
"Y-yes, yes."
She waved her tail, a gesture for him to climb up alongside her and he ascended meekly. When he was half way up the trunk, she sprung from her perch, landing on the adjacent tree with effortless grace.
He quickened his own pace to keep up, springing onto a branch and transferring himself onto the next one, gaining momentum until he moved at a speed that frightened him. He had to make several stops to pull himself back into an erect position and avoid plummeting.
"Nettlewhisker said we should just collect the stuff Sootfeather and I caught," Wolfstripe said, for he considered it vital information. "He doesn't want us hunting until the foxes have been dealt with."
"I have no objection to that." Wolfstripe pursed his lips, gaining confidence.
"We buried it by the Boulder Colony."
"Yes, I heard when you brought Pigeon-brain back to camp," Redclaw muttered. "Though why you thought it a good idea to cross half of MistClan territory for couple of shrews will forever be a mystery."
"It was a robin and squirrel actually," Wolfstripe said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh? Well that changes the matter entirely."
Wolfstripe fumed on this point for a while, but by the time he'd come up with what he thought was a biting response, he realized that the moment had long passed. They reached their destination not long after, their mode of travel making a great different to the ground they were able to cover.
Once the famed boulders at last came into view, Redclaw dipped her tail towards the ground, gesturing for Wolfstripe to lead the way to where the prey had been buried. Wolfstripe quickly tasted the air, but only detected the minty air that always lingered among the pine nettles. He leapt down, retracing his steps for several tree lengths until he came to the spot he'd been before he and Sootfeather had darted off after Pigeonear's cries.
Though Wolfstripe had not been the one to bury the prey, the freshly unturned soil made it obvious where Sootfeather had hidden their catch. He pawed the ground until he observed the fluffy tail of the squirrel. He dragged it out of the dirt and a moment later, Redclaw uncovered the robin.
"I was preparing for when Nettlewhisker would assign me to lead a patrol," he said finally. "I didn't want to have to lead them to somewhere, where they'd come back empty pawed."
"No, instead they would have returned sore and peevish," Redclaw remarked. "Foresight is something you and most in my brother's company seem to lack. It is not something that can be taught. Rather, it is birthed through sense and frankly I haven't a clue how all you lot get on with so little of it."
"Perhaps it is through kindness," Wolfstripe snapped. "Maybe through out simplicity we've risen about lounging in the forest like some rogue."
"Oh? You've met some pretty comfortably situated rogues in your time, have you?" she purred. "Well I'd be delighted to be introduced. At your convenience." She scooped up the robin in her teeth and bounded up the tree.
It was just then that the wind changed, and the air was filled with the scent of wild garlic. Wolfstripe blinked. He couldn't remember observing any of the tearful vegetable dotting the land on his previous ventures. Shaking the thought from his mind, he discovered that Redclaw was waiting for him on a perched branch, the robin in her mouth graciously keeping her quiet.
As he gripped the trunk with his forepaws, he gazed up to see Redclaw do something that nearly made his jaw drop and would have were it not for the fact that he would have dropped the squirrel he'd been caringly. The silly molly had flung the robin he'd caught out of her mouth and across the terrain, landing somewhere out of sight.
He whirled around so as to discern the exact location when a flash of a ginger pelt sent a jolt of fear down his throat and all the way through to the tip of his tail, causing his fur to stick out like the quills of a porcupine. The frightful sight was accompanied by the malodorous smell of the previously indicated herb, stronger than ever now.
He hauled himself onto the first branch, his tail withdrawing between his legs. He was prepared to abandon the squirrel for the cause if it came to that. Luckily it didn't and a moment later he found himself, safely out of range, looking down at a sea of foxes as they torn the robin to bare bones.
These were the creatures who had his clan's blood on their paws. For a moment, something in him urged him to jump down and confront the brutes, but he suppressed it, putting himself in the place of the robin. Its sacrifice had been a noble one, and it wouldn't be sporting of him to allow it to be wasted.
Redclaw stood a few branches above him, still brooding over her lost prey. As Wolfstripe looked up at her, she seemed to sense his gaze and stared down at him.
"A perfectly good robin."
Wolfstripe was about the remind her that she hadn't even been the one to catch it when he remembered his mouth was still full of squirrel. Redclaw leaped in the direction of the camp and Wolfstripe tottered after her. Ordinarily, it would have been Wolfstripe's custom to show his gratitude towards cat who had more or less just saved his life, but with Redclaw it seemed nearer to some great feat. He imagined she would turn on him and sneer with pinched eyes.
By the time they had returned to camp however, his attitude had shifted. He had come to realize the time he was to be confided to Redclaw's company was nearly at an end and that very soon they would part, never to speak again, if he could help it. This softened his mood a little and after he had dropped the squirrel off at the fresh kill pile, he caught up to Redclaw and thanked her, adding in a slight dip of the head. His parents had brought him up to be amiable if nothing else and it was his duty to honor that, even if the other party did not.
Redclaw just gave a tired nod, snatching a shrew up from the fresh kill pile and disappearing into the bushes to eat alone.
"Very good," the deputy said as he appeared from behind him.
"Will you be needing me for anything else?" The deputy nodded.
"Have a short rest for now. I'll be sending out a patrol to track the foxes later in the day, keep them away from the camp and, if all goes well, extract them from the territory. Redclaw told me you two had a brief run in with them when you were out. The two of you and Whiteleaf are the only ones who have seen them and are in fighting condition. Whiteleaf will lead the patrol and you will assist him however you can. Though brief, I trust you've seen from your time together that my daughter is quite unsuitable for the task. I will be counting on you. It will be good experience and it will keep you from polluting Brambletooth's pool."
"You noticed that," Wolfstripe chuckled nervously.
"I notice everything that goes on in this camp," the deputy assured him. "It's my job. And believe me I will be having a firm talk with Pricklenose and my son once this has all cooled down."
"Y-yes," Wolfstripe's ears flattened apologetically. "I won't let you down again."
Nettlewhisker gave a blink of acknowledgement and departed. Rather than taking the deputy's suggesting of resting, Wolfstripe decided there was a quick stop he had to make first.
He selected a mouse from the fresh kill pile and headed for the medicine den. Laying on the path directly outside the entrance was something which at first seemed to resemble a slab of tree bark, but upon closer inspection, possessed a tail and all the rest of the necessary pieces.
"You shan't go in," the wrinkled tom creaked, flipped himself over and onto his stomach, for he had been gazing up at the stars until Wolfstripe approached. "You'd be disturbing Brambletooth."
"Do you know how Nightwhisker and Blackfoot are doing?" The elderly tom turned to the opening of the tree but said nothing.
"Lightningspots?" Wolfstripe prompted.
"She's wasting her time," her spat. "There's no hope for those two."
A deep sense of dread clenched at Wolfstripe's chest. If that was the former medicine cat's assessment, there would be little chance of an alternate outcome.
"Will they at least be able to eat?" he asked, pushing the mouse forward.
"That's a kind thought, tommy, but they haven't opened their eyes since they were brought back. In a few days, they'll both starve even if Brambletooth foolishly insists on dragging this on." He stared at the mouse a moment longer before he whirled around and stormed into the den.
"Brambletooth!" he shouted, disregarding his own advice. Wolfstripe padded in meekly, keeping a respectful few steps behind him.
The young medicine cat's gaze remained fixed on her patients. Beside her sat Cinderspots. The mother's tired eyes were bathed in shadow and weary with desperation.
"I won't quit," Brambletooth muttered softly. "Whatever you say." Wolfstripe shut his eyes. His earlier glimpse of the littermates' broken bodies had done little to numb him to seeing them now.
"You are putting the rest of your clan at risk, you stupid molly," Lightningspots spat. "What do you think MistClan would do if they were forced to go without their medicine cat? You are jeopardizing your own health for two cats who should have joined StarClan the moment they were brought back to camp!"
"Shut up!" Cinderspots roared. "They are my kits. Don't you dare speak of their lives so lightly."
"I do not," Lightningspots insisted, undeterred. "I merely state facts. Have you considered, my dear, the lives of your clanmates? A medicine cat's task is the view all lives as equals, not favor some above others." A brief look of uncertainty came into Brambletooth's eyes.
"Your facts mean nothing to me. Don't speak as if you can understand what it is to lose a kit. I promised myself I would never lose another." Something in the gray she-cat's eyes trembled. "Not again."
Lightningspots held her gaze calmly, his face betraying none of the emotions that had runs so volatile so soon before. Wolfstripe found himself siding with the spotted tom, though he didn't say as much. He felt as though it would have been hardly his place. No matter who he thought was right, he couldn't tell a grieving mother to let her kits die.
It seemed Lightningspots couldn't quite either, for he finally dipped his head at the she-cat and padded outside to resume his position. Uncertain what else to do, Wolfstripe picked up the mouse he'd gotten from the fresh kill pile and laid it down in front of the two she-cats.
"You both should at least eat something." Both gave a small nod, though neither motioned towards the prey.
Deciding to leave the companion in peace, Wolfstripe exited the hollowed tree and lay himself under the shade with a heavy sigh. He hadn't sat for more than a few moments when Sootfeather padded up to him. Bits of greenery sticking out from her disheveled pelt. Wolfstripe started to rise and motioned towards the fresh kill pile to fetch nourishment, but she stopped him with a flick on her tail.
"Sit," she said. "I just wanted to talk."
"Sure," Wolfstripe nodded fervently. "It's just that I thought you'd be tired. You must have been up all night."
"Nearly. Brambletooth says she can manage it on her own now. And the rest of the patrol doesn't have more than a few nicks here and there. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
Wolfstripe nodded again, feeling as though he knew what her selected topic would be.
"What Pricklenose said yesterday," he began. "You know he was just kidding. I asked him to get you onto the patrol and he just wanted to mess with me a little. You know how he is."
"O-oh, oh I see," she seemed startled for a moment, then pursed her lips. "So, you're not really…"
"No, no," Wolfstripe said quickly, letting out a weak chuckle. Sootfeather was quiet for a moment and the silence was enough to make Wolfstripe want to kick himself. He had already gotten the sense he'd said the wrong thing.
"I've said the wrong thing, haven't I?"
"No, no," Sootfeather smiled. "It's just that. I think I might be wanting something to eat after all."
"I'll get it for you," Wolfstripe said, urging her to stay seated. "What do you want?"
Sootfeather made a selection and the tom quickly tottered off to pluck the indicated piece from the lot.
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Post by mothsnap on Apr 16, 2018 19:03:57 GMT -5
Chapter Four
Wolfstripe couldn’t help but shrink a little under the gaze of his patrol. Even with Pricklenose and Pinespur by his side there were about half a dozen cats he’d never seen or only vaguely recognized around camp. He was the youngest among them and they were all on the high end of the skilled fighters and trackers in the clan. Yet the would be looking to him as an authority, just because he’d been the one to see the things.
“The dep just brought you along to fill the ranks up a bit,” Pricklenose assured him. “No one is going to expect anything from you when you haven’t even been a warrior a quarter moon. Aside from me, everyone here’s old enough to be your mentor.”
“One of them is,” Wolfstripe muttered as he spotted Buckstripe seat herself beside the patrol’s leader, Whiteleaf.
“Ah, the battle of the egos. Observe, young Wolfstripe. No matter how our confrontation with the foxes go, you will never witness anything as capable of tearing down a patrol than a little something called narcissism.”
“Wolfstripe can do without your philosophical reflections,” Whiteleaf coughed. “I think everyone in this patrol is mature enough not to squabble like kits.”
“Well… mostly,” Buckstripe purred as she planted herself beside him. Whiteleaf shot her a bug-eyed look, as if expecting her to start declaring foreign allegiances right then. Wolfstripe thought that if the tom turned any white, he’d become transparent.
“You really are a humorless, old stick, aren’t you?” Pricklenose let out a big laugh and rubbed carelessly against the tom’s shoulder.
Wolfstripe was shocked to see Buckstripe let out a little giggle as well. It was something he felt she would have never dreamed of doing in front of him during their days as mentor and apprentice. It had never occurred to him that so much of it had come from pure professionalism.
Hoping to join in on the cordial mood of his companions, he drew himself up and marched where the three were clustered.
“I heard a funny story the other day involving a mud puddle and a dead rabbit,” he began already starting to giggle a bit.
He was cut short as Whiteleaf stuck his tail in the air, garnering silence from the rest of the patrol. Putting his rabbit story on hold he shuffled to the back of the patrol with Pricklenose and Pinesprr. After he had made certain that all necessary members were present, Whiteleaf led the group out into the forest.
Unlike the day before, the mist was heavy and thick. So much so that if all the cats in the patrol stood in a line, Wolfstripe suspected those bringing up the rear would quickly lose sight of their leader. The foxes would be unlikely to catch their scent on accident, and even less likely to catch sight of them.
Whiteleaf led the group up a sturdy pine. They ascended the tree until they were high above the mists and could get a better view of what lay below them. Wolfstripe shut his eyes and winced as he accidentally kicked over an empty bird’s nest.
Above the mid-morning sun beamed against the tops of the trees, its warmth stolen by the chilly air around them. The wet season was well underway. In a few moons, the forests would be covered with the remnants of blizzards that caused branches to droop.
Wolfstripe shifted on his branch to allow Pinespur to pull himself up. The heavy-set tom had considerable difficultly climbing when compared to his clanmates, as did the majority of cats with his physique. He being on the lower end of this spectrum, still managed it after a few more moments breath catching. His father, on the other hand, was forced to confine himself to the lower and thicker branches. Wolfstripe spot Wildheart skirting from tree to tree a few tail lengths below, his massive frame partly submerged in the mist.
“How did your mission with Redclaw go?” Pinespur asked, though his pitying tone told Wolfstripe a narrative had already been formed inside his head. Pricklenose’s ear twitched at the mention of his sister, though he made no attempt to join in on the conversation.
“About as well as anyone would expect.”
“Sorry to hear that. Pricklenose’s advice didn’t work then?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “I sort of lost it and started talking. In my defense though, she’s infuriating.”
“Yes, that’s the general consensus.”
“But the foxes would have definitely got me if she hadn’t tossed her robin at them.”
“I guess even badgers must have hearts,” Pinespur said, sounding cautiously optimistic. “You won’t catch me trying to talk to her again though,” he added as if to reaffirm it to himself. “Not with a tree-length stick.”
“Quietly,” Whiteleaf commanded. The group had traveled quite a way from camp now. Far enough so that the foxes wouldn’t be able to trace their trail back to the clearing, but still quite a way from their destination.
It came like a bolt of lightning, except rather than turning him into a pile of cinders, it caused a thought to spawn in his brain. It was the sort of revelation that only came once in seven seasons, when all the stars of Silverpelt aligned just so.
“Wolfstripe?”
The tabby warrior’s bulging gaze met with the leader of his patrol. In his excitement, he’d let out an inadvertent squeak that make him sound like a kit that’d just tumbled out of the nursery. He felt has if he could float off the branch and up into the atmosphere. Instead he climbed over Pricklenose and landed on a branch adjacent to Whiteleaf.
“When I saw the foxes this morning, they were at the Boulder Colony,” he said. “There was also the scent of garlic. But garlic doesn’t grow at the Boulder Colony.”
Whiteleaf raised an eyebrow. The senior warrior had already read into the core of the narrative. After another heartbeat, a flurry of excited murmurs came from his clanmates.
“The Deep Mists,” Pinespur murmured as if to echo what they’d all already been thinking.
There were only two places garlic did grow on MistClan territory. The Deep Mists and the Outlands. But whereas the Outlands were sky lengths away, the Boulder Colony and Deep Mists were practically a hop and skip’s distance from one another.
“Well done, my friend,” Pricklenose said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. Wolfstripe’s paws tinged with anticipation, something they didn’t often do.
Every apprentice itched to enter the Deep Mists but were barred from setting foot within until the “paw” had been stripped from his name. The patch of swamp located at the center, was widely known to be one of the ripest spots for hunting, provided you didn’t get hopelessly lost on the way. A senior warrior with a sturdy memory, of which the patrol contained several, wouldn’t have much trouble navigating. Not that Wolfstripe thought there would be a need.
Delving into fox psychology for a moment, he realized that the troop had likely only gone as far as a few tail lengths into the Mists, so as to musk their scent in the heavy air and had settled into dens near where the garlic patches grew. Having only recently come to the territory, they were unlike to have risked getting lost in the Mists by wandering any deeper.
“The Deep Mists is no place to charge into without a strategy,” Buckstripe said. “Especially where foxes are concerned. Wildheart nodded in agreement and shut his eyes in order to collect his thoughts.
“Do we know how many there are?” he asked.
“I remember counting at least three,” Whiteleaf said.
“I remember seeing three as well,” Wolfstripe nodded.
“Well that doesn’t tell us much,” Pricklenose pointed out. “Who’s to say your three is the same as your three We might be dealing with six. Maybe more.”
That was a good point. Wolfstripe was confident that their patrol would be able to handle three foxes, but six would be another story.
“Nonsense,” Buckstripe scoffed. “These are foxes, Pricklenose, not cats. Whoever heard of foxes traveling in such large groups. Wildheart?”
“I do not know how they’ve come by these facts, but every StoneClan cat I have ever spoken to has said that queens will travel with her kits.”
“No alternate formulas?” Pricklenose inquired. “Mates won’t travel together for example? Nor friends?” Wildheart shook his head. They all agreed that three would be more likely before Whiteleaf waved his tail for silence.
“Wildheart will lead half the patrol to lure them out of their dens,” he said. “The rest of us will jump down from the trees and split them up.”
Wolfstripe nodded. If the foxes were broken up, they wouldn’t be able to defend one another and be exposed for flank attacks.
“I should lead the ground patrol,” Buckstripe argued. Wolfstripe’s old mentor had a stout and sturdy frame, but was much smaller than the legendary warrior, something she seemed well aware of. “I am quicker than Wildheart. I can dodge their attacks more easily while the tree patrol gets into position.”
“True, but if they surround you, they will hurt you badly. You will try to flee, but that will cause them to chase you. We need a cat who can control their movements,” Whiteleaf said. “Do you think you can take a few blows if needed, Wildheart?”
“I endeavor to serve.”
Whiteleaf made light work of shuffling the patrol into two teams. He seemed to know the strengths and weaknesses of each cat. Aside from Wildheart, the senior warrior was old enough to have known each member of the group from kithood, it was true, but Wolfstripe couldn’t recall having gone on more than a border patrol or two with the snowy tom back in the early days of his apprenticeship.
Wolfstripe found himself placed on the ground patrol along with Pinespur, while Pricklenose stayed in the trees. The burly tom had been finicky about the assignment at first, but Pricklenose assured him would not be needing protection as he waited in the trees. The patrol continued to travel together until the reached the edge of the Mists.
Even from their attitude among the upper branches, the thick fog that coated the forest ahead of the seemed to envelop the trees from top to bottom, blotting out the sky and sun. Wolfstripe cautiously descended the trunk, careful to hook his claws firmly before taking the next step. His chest was tight with anxiety up to the moment his hindpaw touched grass beneath it.
Scooting away from the trunk so as to not block the route for those proceeding him, he started to tune his finer senses to his surroundings. Having lived his whole life in such moist environment, he was almost numb to the scent of humid air. He and the rest of his clanmates had been trained to distinguish even the subtlest scents that were concealed from everyone else. This was the strength of the MistClan warrior.
“I smell garlic,” he whispered. One of his clanmates, Wolfstripe guessed it was Wildheart, laid a tail on his shoulder as he slid by. He felt Buckstripe brush up against him on his other flank.
“Stay put," she said, some of the old mentorly firmness back in her voice. Wolfstripe wrapped his tail around his hindquarters as he felt the rest of his patrol huddling behind him.
They sat in wait so long that Wolfstripe's backside began to grow hot and impatient. The tip of his tail had worked up an itch that he longed to scratch, but was too afraid of disturbing the orchestrated silence around him. He stiffened his tail, hoping the urge to bite it off would go away, but it didn't.
Just when he thought he would let out a scream, despite himself, the stillness of the Mists was broken by Wildheart’s battle cry, followed by the foxes’ shrieks of alarm. There was a chorus of hisses from both parties followed by the hollers of the rest of the patrol as the fell from the branches above.
“Go!” Buckstripe shouted, shoving again Wolfstripe’s shoulder and pulling herself out into the forefront of the action.
Wolfstripe sprinted after her, not wanting his inexperience to make stick out as the loose end. He found himself nearly charging into the back legs of a young fox. He reeled up on his hindlegs and promptly bit the base of the animal’s tail. Pricklenose who had been attacking on the other end landed another blow on its cheek.
The fox started to back away but didn’t flee. Instead, it opened its mouth, gnashing its ugly teeth and spraying the scent of its musty breath at the two cats. The two toms brushed shoulders and glanced at one another, each seeming to read the other’s thoughts. Pricklenose was the one who sprung forward first, aiming slightly off center as he lunged towards the fox. A heartbeat later, Wolfstripe followed.
In attempt to intercept Pricklenose’s attack, the fox twisted its neck around and snapped at the black tom, who fell limp to the ground just in time and rolled away, unharmed. Wolfstripe, who was not nearly upon the creature, unsheathed his claws and put all his strength into a well-aimed blow to it shoulder.
The fox howled in pain and collapsed to one side, giving the two toms enough tom to claw at it mercilessly. By the time it got to its feet, it fled with a limb in one foot and its tail between its legs.
“Don’t be getting too confident,” Pricklenose said, noticing the grin on Wolfstripe’s face. “That was just a cub, and a pretty small one too by the looks of it.”
“The runt of the little you think?” Wolfstripe asked, who couldn’t recall seeing such a small animal when he’d been with Redclaw earlier.
“I should hope so. If the rest of them are like that, I’d be forced to take a very dim view of Whiteleaf’s patrol being outdone so easily.”
“We should join the others. They'll be- LOOK OUT!”
He had spotted a flash of red over Pricklenose’s shoulder and dove towards the tom in an effort to shove him out of the way, but before he could get to him, what felt like decapitated trunk rammed down on Wolfstripe’s throat, knocking the wind out of him. He let out a strangled gasp as his brain rattled around like an acorn inside his head. When the weight was elevated off his chest, he felt something wet drip onto his nose.
“Pricklenose!” Pinespur voice yowled as the young tom’s pawsteps shot across the clearing.
“Oh StarClan, no, please.”
He took off in the direction of his cries, leaving wound on the fox’s flank that would last many sunrises. Buckstripe entered from one side, knocking the cub off its feet as she hurled her body forwards. Wolfstripe whipped his body around as Buckstripe wrestled with her larger opponent. Though the fox was temporarily winded by her initial blow, it did not take long for it to regain strength for a retaliation.
Before it could get to its feet Wolfstripe plunged his jaws into its neck. His teeth grazing against hard bone. There was no breaking, but Wolfstripe’s grip remained firm and eventually the fox’s struggling ceased.
“Pinespur?” he choked, prying his jaws from the fox’s damp neck.
Wolfstripe’s mind emptied as his body took a step forward. He felt a warm wetness underneath his pads. Just then, a ray of sun flittered through the trees and the veil before their eyes was dispelled.
The taste inside his mouth curdled. The vacant stare his eyes were met with when he looked down caused him to recoil. Pricklenose’s body lay at his paws, the tom’s neck twisted into an impossible position.
“StarClan, no…”
Pinespur let out a ear shattering scream, anguish contorting his features as his head dropped limply at his late companion’s paws. Wildheart padded up to his son, followed by the rest of the patrol. Wolfstripe spotted the body of the mother fox laying motionlessly in the place where his clanmates had been just moments before. The battle had been won, but not without consequence.
Wildheart laid a sympathetic tail on his son's trembling shoulders. The gesture seemed to do nothing to comfort the young tom who by now was nearly in hysterics. Wolfstripe felt his paws weaken between him, but shock fixed his tears in place for the moment. The same could not be said for Pinespur.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" he wailed, his body quivering. "I lost sight of him in the Mists. I'm so, so, sorry, Pricklenose!"
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