Post by 🍁Searipple101🍁 on Nov 6, 2019 21:07:53 GMT -5
Banner by me
Warning: Contains a strong theme, death, and blood.
Halfmoon wandered over a brook, the wooden bridge upon which he walked sitting steady underneath. The brook sang to him as its water tumbled elegantly over stone worn smooth. He glanced down over the edge and into the water, his reflection nothing more than a broken mesh of colors among the crystal liquid. In his head, the awful heritage of hate from which he stemmed played over in his mind just as his parents had told him, before their tragic deaths.
For countless generations, StripeClan and PatchClan participated in an endless war against one and other. Why? Because each clan, every cat among their respective ranks, believed that their pelt patterns made them superior.
StripeClan of the meadows boasted tabby markings in each of its members, while PatchClan of the forest had the opposite of spots and patches of color. Any cat not fitting these criteria were not welcome and had either the choice to leave or die. But any outside cat to wander into the correct territory, given their fur, was welcomed. Due to this, each clan’s kits were born only with either stripes or patches with outside patterns never arising.
Because of their arrogance and pride, the clans plunged themselves into their endless war. Battles raged often where the forest met grass land. That line signified where each territory ended, but it also was a blood-soaked battlefield. Both clans, however, had large numbers despite the fighting, so it never seemed to cease.
Halfmoon’s expression drooped as he remembered his parents. They had been so brave. Despite what their clans believed, they had still managed to overcome differences, overcome what they had been taught, and find each other. He recalled their story next.
His father was a handsome tom with a pelt of pure snow, only marked by several patches of stone. Even with the white of his pelt, Swiftspot had been an incredible hunter for PatchClan. When he wanted to hide, only his eyes of deep amber could be spotted among the forest’s foliage. The fact of his slender form aided in his hunting ability with light and swift paws.
His mother, Reedfur, on the contrast, had been a beautiful tabby she-cat. Her ginger fur shone in the sunlight like blazing fire with only her white chest and underbelly quenching it and stopping the blaze from consuming her entire being. Even her eyes of green looked like the lushest of catmint. StripeClan had been proud to have her as a Warrior and were excited to learn of her upcoming kitting, even if the father was largely unknown.
The entirety of StripeClan surrounded the Nursery, Reedfur would tell Halfmoon, as she went into labor. Each cat was excited for the new Warriors in which she would bring them. However, the kitting was hard. Because of this, the first two kits to be born hadn’t been able to make it. A little orange tabby like her and a tiny gray tabby with white feet were taken away. Then, came Halfmoon himself, the last of the kits. He alone survived, but the clan instantly wished he hadn’t, upon seeing him.
Halfmoon sighed at the thought and jumped down from the bridge, onto the brook’s bank instead. He turned towards shore and crouched to drink. A shallow pool caught and created by a single, long stone revealed his face to him.
Staring back at him was a dashing tom with only half a life. One side of his face showed orange tabby colors with light stripes and a bold eye of green. But, cut directly down the middle, the other side boasted a gray void which only stopped at the dividing line and where a single, white spot encircled his amber eye.
He stared down at himself, wondering how a whole group of cats could hate him for what he looked like. Turning his side to the water, he watched as his colors turned to white with a large patch on his back of gray mixed with orange, and within that amalgamation sat darker gray, tabby essence. Along his body, smaller patches dotted and boasted the same stripes within. He sat, and he pondered.
His mother told him of how the clan gasped in shock at his birth. His healthy body wriggled, but the Medicine Cat at the time had refused to touch him. So, Reedfur had to the rest herself and allowed him to suckle. However, she knew what the kit meant for her.
Clear to the clan that he had conspired to ruin their pure, superior blood, the Leader came to her. She stared down at Halfkit with such hateful eyes – a look that could kill a venomous snake, Reedfur later told her son – and gave her the choice of either having her only surviving kit killed or leaving the clan. Jumpstar called him an abomination and called her a traitor, but she was willing to forgive his mother if she chose to separate herself with her child.
Reedfur, of course, refused. Instead, she opted to leave the clan with her newborn and never return. So, she did. As she walked through the crowd with an exhausted body and Halfkit in her jaws, she later told him, the crowd parted widely. None of them wanted to touch a traitor, to not get too close to something so impure. And each cat looked on with such disgust and disdain it knotted her belly. Yet she held her head high as she left her home, determined to give her only child a life he could enjoy, a life without judgement.
Word of Reedfur’s exile quickly spread, and, upon hearing of it through the grapevine, Swiftspot left his clan in the middle of the night, without a word. It was then correctly assumed he was the treacherous father of such unholy offspring. But he did not care, and he searched for his family. After finding them, he and his forbidden mate lived together, outside of both clans, and raised their son among the twoleg buildings.
Life was tough for clan cats without a clan, but they managed. Metal bins provided food, as well as the occasional mouse also scavenging. Dogs were always a problem, as well as some cruel twolegs. But others were friendly and gave scraps of food to the abandoned cats.
And, as he grew, Halfmoon was told stories of his ancestors on both sides and how the wars continue to rage on. He was told of how his parents met during a battle. Swiftspot had been very injured and should have been killed like every other cat, but Reedfur, for some reason, felt pity for him and left him to flee. The next battle they met, tables were turned, and Reedfur was the one to die at Swiftspot’s claws, but he spared her just as she had done to him.
Eventually, they started to meet in secret, and Halfmoon was conceived and brought into the life he knew of twoleg thunderpaths and scavenging like rats each day. But it was a life he had loved, even if it was the only one he’d ever known. It was a life he never questioned much until his parents were ripped from him at once by a speeding monster.
Now, Halfmoon stared down at his reflection once more, wondering what was so wrong with him. No. He wondered what was so wrong with everyone else in those clans to hate the others purely for the markings on their fur. He had to know why.
So, the mish-mashed tom set off again on his journey. As day turned to dusk, he finally came to his final destination. Before him, green meadow stretched out wide on one side, and vast trees adorned the other. The ground at his paws was stained with the lifeforce of countless felines. Even some lifeless soldiers still remained, having yet to be laid to rest by their peers. And, further in the distance, he saw masses of color colliding in arrogance. Screeches of fear and cries of agony pierced his ears. The sight sickened him, as did the sound of such needless death.
Halfmoon bounded forward, towards the chaotic fray. A boulder directly in the middle of the territories, overlooking it all, ended up being his platform. Atop this stone, he dug deep into himself and inhaled then let out a yowl so loud and booming, for a moment, the fighting stopped. Each cat below still able to, looked up at him in astonishment. Who was he? Why had he done that? His pelt made them, from each clan, gasp.
Halfmoon gazed down at the stunned felines, rage burning within his mismatched eyes. “You are all sick,” he called down to them. “Sick with the virus of superiority.” He turned so his side was to them all, showing off more of what put such a sour taste in their mouths. “But my parents overcame that.” He turned back to face them all, disapproval coming from the crowd, but he only mirrored it.
“It seems that the only things you can all agree on is your hatred for me now and that you loath the other clan. But for what reasons? The patterns of their pelt? Do we not all have souls within our bodies? Look around, all of you,” he demanded of them. “Look at the fallen, those you have all senselessly killed. Do they not all bleed red, despite their fur? If you were to swipe at me, do you not think that I would also bleed that same red as you all? Have any of you ever stopped to question what you’re fighting for?” he yowled out. “Or do you all blindly follow what authority tells you, simply because they rank higher than you?”
Thunder suddenly rang out above as storm clouds crowded the sky. In an instant, heavy rains began to spill like the blood of battle. Some cats shrieked from being battered by it, some scrambled for shelter, but Halfmoon stood tall atop his stone podium. “The sky agrees! It is angry with your insolence and blind faith! Your sins cause nothing but senseless bloodshed, and now the rain comes to wash it all away, but only for the moment. Only you all, not as StripeClan and PatchClan, but as cats, can stop this unnecessary violence. But that can only happen when we stop to question what you are truly fighting for and realize that the battles are for nothing. Peace has no pattern!”
Silence fell over the crowd. Nobody had a thing to say, or they were too afraid to while still among their own clans. For a few heartbeats, Halfmoon relished the audible silence but vastly enjoyed the mental processes going on inside each cat’s head as they, for that short time, pondered their actions and existence. But it was not to last long.
Lightning flashed from the heavens and struck Halfmoon upon his perch. He was killed instantly, but his words somehow echoed with the booming thunder and roaring rains. ‘Peace has no pattern.’ Perhaps because of the raging storm, or perhaps because of Halfmoon’s words, the fighting ceased for that day. The clans retreated back to their nests and laid restlessly for the night, but those words never left their ears. At least, for the rest of that day and upcoming night, the fighting had stopped.