Life & Death (Chapter 1.2 Out Now!)
Oct 29, 2020 22:22:16 GMT -5
Katanaheart, mintedstar/fur🦇, and 3 more like this
Post by Sundance on Oct 29, 2020 22:22:16 GMT -5
Oh goodness-its been years since I've written Warriors fanfiction. But, hey, I've been wanting to get back into the swing of things for awhile, and these characters will NOT leave my head. They are positively haunting me. 😛 So in a very real sense I feel forced to tell their tale. Enjoy!!
Dedicated to Hazelfur and Birchwing ❤️
Prologue: Eyes Wide Open
Chapter 1: Deep Down Below
(Part 1)
(Part 2)
(Part 3)
Three parts to one chapter? Gah, I know! It's crazy! There was only meant to be two parts, but I'm too busy with schoolwork to finish Chapter 1 anytime soon, least I crank out gibberish. Hence, I wanted to post what I have done so far in the meantime.
Dedicated to Hazelfur and Birchwing ❤️
Prologue: Eyes Wide Open
Death had been summoned.
Which was awfully inconvenient for him, as he had other, much better, plans for the night. Like lying in the dirt and dissociating from reality for hours.
Since he was incapable of sleeping, Death found solstice from a day’s work by staring up at the midnight blue sky of , with its bruise colored clouds and incessant fog, and letting his mind slip away.
If only temporarily.
Even after Death’s chest began to throb, he lied there.
buh-bum-buh-bum-buh-bump
Staring into the infinity of space.
buh-bum-buh-bum-buh-bump
A jolt of electricity shot through him suddenly, the force strong enough to send him careening to his feet.
“Give me a minute, why don’t you,” he grumbled, rubbing at his sore side. It felt like he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.
Another jolt coursed through his body in response. He flinched.
Point taken.
Death materialized in the center of RiverClan’s camp. It was a hub of activity during the day, but rendered mute at night.
Quiet as a graveyard, really.
Instantly, Death’s nose was assaulted by the putrid smell of dog. “Ah, right on cue,” he mumbled, seconds before five jet-black hounds burst from the ground. With mangy fur and slobber perpetually dripping from their muzzles, they raced around camp in a mad, mindless dash.
These were no ordinary dogs.
One’s jaw was completely unhinged, while another’s eyeballs kept popping out of their sockets with a wet plop before being sloppily shoved back into place with the hound’s flaky, perforated tongue.
Suddenly, a shrill mew sounded by the elders’ den.
All of the hound’s heads snapped in the direction of the noise at once. They took off running.
Death followed in hot pursuit. With each step, his paw pads left no impression underfoot, and the throbbing in his chest persisted like the beat of a second heart, growing more thunderous with time.
Before long, they were all peering down at the raggedy, listless body of an old tomcat.
The hound’s let out a volley of barks. One snapped at the elder’s bedraggled face with it’s rotting yellow canines, while a second smeared thick, viscid slobber down the tomcat’s flank.
The elder in question took one look at the hounds and let out a shriek. “What in the world-” he spluttered. “What are those things?” He tried to stand, to run, but his body betrayed him and he crumbled back to the ground, gravity shoving his face into the dirt.
“They’re called HellHounds,” Death said. “And they thrive off your fear. Calm down and they will disappear.”
The largest HellHound-the one giving the mortified elder a tongue bath- took a step back. Right as its head toppled from its shoulders.
“I’ve named that one Harold.”
“I don’t care what they’re called, just get them away from me!” the elder cried, trying, in vain, to fend off their advances. “And for the love of StarClan, don’t just stand there. Get the medicine cat! Please, help me, I-”
“You can’t breathe,” Death noted, a touch of sympathy in his voice. “I know. You got up to use the dirtplace when a terrible pain overcame you. You fell down. And you will never get up again.”
The elder really looked at Death for the first time, and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold the HellHound regained his head, and licked his chops.
“That’s why they’re here.”
“No, no.” The elder shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know who you are, but, please, don’t hurt me! I have a family!”
“I am your family, silly goose.”
The elder’s eyes widened. Standing in front of him, suddenly, was his mate. “Lilybear … is that you?” he sobbed.
She had passed away six moons prior from a terrible batch of greencough. At the time, she had looked so frail, so weak. With a sunken face and sallow skin. But now … “You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” the elder purred, staring up at his star-kissed mate in wonder.
Luscious tawny curls framed Lilybear’s face as she bent down to touch noses with him. “I’m here to help you, my love. It’s time for you to move on.”
Death didn’t think of what to say while wearing other cat’s faces so much as he inexplicably knew. Like they were speaking through him.
I suppose consuming their souls in days past does that to you.
The elder’s expression softened like honey. “Oh, my dear, I am so, so-” he spoke in between labored breaths,”-happy. To see you again.”
The HellHounds stood a distance away now, hazy specters against the moon’s dreamy glow.
Death-Lilybear-laughed.
Laughed like they were kids again, chasing fireflies by the creekside. Sneaking kisses in between hunting patrols. Daring each other to swim through the dirty lagoon outside RiverClan’s border. “Remember when you jumped on a lily pad, thinking it would hold your weight?”
“I was trying to catch a frog,” the elder snorted. Blood trickled down his lip. “Trying so hard … to impress you.”
“Yes, exactly,” Lilybear sighed.
Then she clamped a paw over his mouth.
The elder’s eyes bulged in alarm.
In a flash, Death stood before the elder again. He kept his paw firmly pressed against the elder’s mouth, even as the old tom began to flail madly, spittle soaking the soft fur under Death’s toes.
“You know how the stars appear in the sky every night? Even though, technically, they are always up there. Watching over us.”
The elder silently screamed, his muscles beginning to convulse.
Death did not let go.
“Well, you could say I’m like that, if you want to be poetic. Always up there, watching.”
He would not let go until it was over.
“Though you only have to see me once rather than every night, thank goodness.”
When Death next glanced down at the elderly tomcat, his body was slack. Eyes, already lifeless. “Oh.”
A glowing orb silently slipped from the elder’s mouth. It hovered in the air for a breathspan, looking like a small, contained pool of fire, before Death consumed it with a single inhale.
In a flash, Death was overcome with a sea of thoughts and feelings and memories, crashing over him one after another in monstrous waves. Snapshots of a life not his own suspended in his mind. Ripping, tearing through him. Fusing with the essence of his being. Death’s colorless eyes flashed a reddish-orange before the rapid shots firing through his head subsidized, and his mind belonged solely to him again.
He let out a shaky breath. Never does get easier.
The HellHounds paraded around triumphantly - another successful reaping! - before they quickly lost interest and faded from view.
While Death lingered.
His job was not done yet.
“I didn’t have to do that, you know,” Death whispered, curling his tail around the elder’s body. “I could have let you die naturally, but that would have taken hours.”
“You were late. Again.”
Death whipped around to see a bright, luminescent she-cat stalking up to him.
Life-his counterpart, his equal. Her pelt shimmered as if it was laced with a thousand stars, as if it pulsed with electricity. Its brilliance was almost blinding.
“What can I say?” Death shrugged. “I slept in. Blame my lousy alarm.”
“Death-”
“Why does it matter, anyway? I got here on time. I did my job.”
“You know-”
“Don’t lecture me!” Death turned on Life, hackles raised. “You have no right. None.” He seethed, the shadows that composed his body shaking in agitation.
Life shook her head. “You may be off parole, but that doesn’t mean the Celestial’s aren’t watching you still. Just … be careful.”
Death glared at her so intensely, he was almost surprised laser beams didn’t shoot out of his eyes and bore a hole into her head. “Is that the only reason you stopped by, to tell me that?” He spoke between gritted teeth.
Life shot him a withering look and turned to leave. “No, it’s not the only reason.” Her voice never wavered, not once. Yet she refused to meet his gaze. “I came to let you know that a new litter was born in WindClan yesterday, and they are all healthy.
Don’t touch them.”
He blinked, and she was gone.
Death took deep, labored breaths, anything to quell his racing heart. Brief as their conversation may have been, it rattled him.
Gosh, Life just makes my blood boil. I can’t believe-
“Ugh, where am I?”
Death turned around to see a young tomcat, pelt interlaced with stars, standing before him. Gobsmacked.
“About time you rose from the dead, Mintfur,” Death grumbled, shoving the bad blood between him & Life to the recesses of his mind. To be revisited another time. “Where we are now doesn’t matter anymore. You have a long journey ahead of you, but you’ll be happy about your destination. Not everyone is as lucky.”
Death cast a cheeky grin in Mintfur’s direction and took off in the direction of RiverClan’s camp entrance. “Follow me.”
Mintfur--the once dying elder, newly transformed into a spiffy young warrior-reeled at the sight of his own body, lying limp & lifeless on the ground in front of him. Then Mintfur picked his jaw up off the floor and hurried after the phantom figure beckoning him forward. “W-who even are you?”
“I’m Death”- the shadowy tom dipped his head in greeting-”though you ought to have guessed that already.”
Which was awfully inconvenient for him, as he had other, much better, plans for the night. Like lying in the dirt and dissociating from reality for hours.
Since he was incapable of sleeping, Death found solstice from a day’s work by staring up at the midnight blue sky of , with its bruise colored clouds and incessant fog, and letting his mind slip away.
If only temporarily.
Even after Death’s chest began to throb, he lied there.
buh-bum-buh-bum-buh-bump
Staring into the infinity of space.
buh-bum-buh-bum-buh-bump
A jolt of electricity shot through him suddenly, the force strong enough to send him careening to his feet.
“Give me a minute, why don’t you,” he grumbled, rubbing at his sore side. It felt like he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.
Another jolt coursed through his body in response. He flinched.
Point taken.
Death materialized in the center of RiverClan’s camp. It was a hub of activity during the day, but rendered mute at night.
Quiet as a graveyard, really.
Instantly, Death’s nose was assaulted by the putrid smell of dog. “Ah, right on cue,” he mumbled, seconds before five jet-black hounds burst from the ground. With mangy fur and slobber perpetually dripping from their muzzles, they raced around camp in a mad, mindless dash.
These were no ordinary dogs.
One’s jaw was completely unhinged, while another’s eyeballs kept popping out of their sockets with a wet plop before being sloppily shoved back into place with the hound’s flaky, perforated tongue.
Suddenly, a shrill mew sounded by the elders’ den.
All of the hound’s heads snapped in the direction of the noise at once. They took off running.
Death followed in hot pursuit. With each step, his paw pads left no impression underfoot, and the throbbing in his chest persisted like the beat of a second heart, growing more thunderous with time.
Before long, they were all peering down at the raggedy, listless body of an old tomcat.
The hound’s let out a volley of barks. One snapped at the elder’s bedraggled face with it’s rotting yellow canines, while a second smeared thick, viscid slobber down the tomcat’s flank.
The elder in question took one look at the hounds and let out a shriek. “What in the world-” he spluttered. “What are those things?” He tried to stand, to run, but his body betrayed him and he crumbled back to the ground, gravity shoving his face into the dirt.
“They’re called HellHounds,” Death said. “And they thrive off your fear. Calm down and they will disappear.”
The largest HellHound-the one giving the mortified elder a tongue bath- took a step back. Right as its head toppled from its shoulders.
“I’ve named that one Harold.”
“I don’t care what they’re called, just get them away from me!” the elder cried, trying, in vain, to fend off their advances. “And for the love of StarClan, don’t just stand there. Get the medicine cat! Please, help me, I-”
“You can’t breathe,” Death noted, a touch of sympathy in his voice. “I know. You got up to use the dirtplace when a terrible pain overcame you. You fell down. And you will never get up again.”
The elder really looked at Death for the first time, and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold the HellHound regained his head, and licked his chops.
“That’s why they’re here.”
“No, no.” The elder shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know who you are, but, please, don’t hurt me! I have a family!”
“I am your family, silly goose.”
The elder’s eyes widened. Standing in front of him, suddenly, was his mate. “Lilybear … is that you?” he sobbed.
She had passed away six moons prior from a terrible batch of greencough. At the time, she had looked so frail, so weak. With a sunken face and sallow skin. But now … “You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” the elder purred, staring up at his star-kissed mate in wonder.
Luscious tawny curls framed Lilybear’s face as she bent down to touch noses with him. “I’m here to help you, my love. It’s time for you to move on.”
Death didn’t think of what to say while wearing other cat’s faces so much as he inexplicably knew. Like they were speaking through him.
I suppose consuming their souls in days past does that to you.
The elder’s expression softened like honey. “Oh, my dear, I am so, so-” he spoke in between labored breaths,”-happy. To see you again.”
The HellHounds stood a distance away now, hazy specters against the moon’s dreamy glow.
Death-Lilybear-laughed.
Laughed like they were kids again, chasing fireflies by the creekside. Sneaking kisses in between hunting patrols. Daring each other to swim through the dirty lagoon outside RiverClan’s border. “Remember when you jumped on a lily pad, thinking it would hold your weight?”
“I was trying to catch a frog,” the elder snorted. Blood trickled down his lip. “Trying so hard … to impress you.”
“Yes, exactly,” Lilybear sighed.
Then she clamped a paw over his mouth.
The elder’s eyes bulged in alarm.
In a flash, Death stood before the elder again. He kept his paw firmly pressed against the elder’s mouth, even as the old tom began to flail madly, spittle soaking the soft fur under Death’s toes.
“You know how the stars appear in the sky every night? Even though, technically, they are always up there. Watching over us.”
The elder silently screamed, his muscles beginning to convulse.
Death did not let go.
“Well, you could say I’m like that, if you want to be poetic. Always up there, watching.”
He would not let go until it was over.
“Though you only have to see me once rather than every night, thank goodness.”
When Death next glanced down at the elderly tomcat, his body was slack. Eyes, already lifeless. “Oh.”
A glowing orb silently slipped from the elder’s mouth. It hovered in the air for a breathspan, looking like a small, contained pool of fire, before Death consumed it with a single inhale.
In a flash, Death was overcome with a sea of thoughts and feelings and memories, crashing over him one after another in monstrous waves. Snapshots of a life not his own suspended in his mind. Ripping, tearing through him. Fusing with the essence of his being. Death’s colorless eyes flashed a reddish-orange before the rapid shots firing through his head subsidized, and his mind belonged solely to him again.
He let out a shaky breath. Never does get easier.
The HellHounds paraded around triumphantly - another successful reaping! - before they quickly lost interest and faded from view.
While Death lingered.
His job was not done yet.
“I didn’t have to do that, you know,” Death whispered, curling his tail around the elder’s body. “I could have let you die naturally, but that would have taken hours.”
“You were late. Again.”
Death whipped around to see a bright, luminescent she-cat stalking up to him.
Life-his counterpart, his equal. Her pelt shimmered as if it was laced with a thousand stars, as if it pulsed with electricity. Its brilliance was almost blinding.
“What can I say?” Death shrugged. “I slept in. Blame my lousy alarm.”
“Death-”
“Why does it matter, anyway? I got here on time. I did my job.”
“You know-”
“Don’t lecture me!” Death turned on Life, hackles raised. “You have no right. None.” He seethed, the shadows that composed his body shaking in agitation.
Life shook her head. “You may be off parole, but that doesn’t mean the Celestial’s aren’t watching you still. Just … be careful.”
Death glared at her so intensely, he was almost surprised laser beams didn’t shoot out of his eyes and bore a hole into her head. “Is that the only reason you stopped by, to tell me that?” He spoke between gritted teeth.
Life shot him a withering look and turned to leave. “No, it’s not the only reason.” Her voice never wavered, not once. Yet she refused to meet his gaze. “I came to let you know that a new litter was born in WindClan yesterday, and they are all healthy.
Don’t touch them.”
He blinked, and she was gone.
Death took deep, labored breaths, anything to quell his racing heart. Brief as their conversation may have been, it rattled him.
Gosh, Life just makes my blood boil. I can’t believe-
“Ugh, where am I?”
Death turned around to see a young tomcat, pelt interlaced with stars, standing before him. Gobsmacked.
“About time you rose from the dead, Mintfur,” Death grumbled, shoving the bad blood between him & Life to the recesses of his mind. To be revisited another time. “Where we are now doesn’t matter anymore. You have a long journey ahead of you, but you’ll be happy about your destination. Not everyone is as lucky.”
Death cast a cheeky grin in Mintfur’s direction and took off in the direction of RiverClan’s camp entrance. “Follow me.”
Mintfur--the once dying elder, newly transformed into a spiffy young warrior-reeled at the sight of his own body, lying limp & lifeless on the ground in front of him. Then Mintfur picked his jaw up off the floor and hurried after the phantom figure beckoning him forward. “W-who even are you?”
“I’m Death”- the shadowy tom dipped his head in greeting-”though you ought to have guessed that already.”
Chapter 1: Deep Down Below
(Part 1)
“What is this place?”
Mintfur eyed the discolored sky above them wearily. Like any second a monster would reach down from its murky depths and grab him.
“We’re in ,” Death said, amicably. “The land beyond Starclan’s borders.”
They trudged on through the flat, barren wasteland that was . Having crossed through the Ethereal Divide minutes before, they now had a short jaunt remaining to StarClan’s gates.
“StarClan, that’s where I’m going, right? To be with my Lilybear?”
“Mhm, yes.” As a dense fog descended over the valley they were walking through, Death nudged Mintfur out of its path. “Stay clear of the fog. It will swallow you up if you let it.”
Mintfur gave the fog a wider birth than was necessary. “Has anyone ever gotten lost in it before?”
“Yes,” Death admitted, casting his eyes skyward. “We call those cats flyaway souls.”
“And do you always find them later?”
Death was silent.
“Why are we even passing through here?” Mintfur asked. “Why can’t you just teleport me straight to StarClan?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Only warriors truly good at heart can enter StarClan. If you aren’t worthy, you will be rebuffed by the infallible wall of light surrounding StarClan.”
“Oh my,” Mintfur gulped. “And what if I’m not allowed in, what will you do? Drag me to the Dark Forest?“
“No. If StarClan rejects you, you will become a wayward soul. Forced to wander Nowhere, alone, until you’ve recovered enough humanity in your emotionally-deprived wraith of a heart to join StarClan, or you commit yourself to the Dark Forest. Or you’re driven mad by indecision, in which case will dispose of you. You will fade away, forever.”
Mintfur’s face went pallid. “That sounds horrible.”
“It is. I suppose that’s why you must walk through before you can reach StarClan’s gates. To see what will await you if you fail your entrance exam,” Death said. “And so when you get tired of that Lilybear, you’ll know there’s no one better waiting for you outside StarClan.” Death waggled his eyebrows.
“Not funny.”
“But you shouldn’t have to worry about that, Mintfur.” Death’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Unless you were a very covert murderer, or engaged in other, equally nefarious acts when I wasn’t looking, with an invisibility charm that I don’t know about, you’ll be welcomed into StarClan’s ranks.”
“What are you saying, that you’ve been watching me my entire life?”
“I have very few pastimes to choose from here.” Death shrugged. “Though I stopped keeping an eye on you once you joined the elders’ den. So if you’ve berated a few apprentices lately and want to confess before, you know,” Death gestured at the wall of light they were fast approaching. “Too late.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mintfur snorted, kicking a stone in his path. It skittered a few feet away.
Mintfur’s eyes suddenly softened and, in that moment, Death knew he must be thinking of Lilybear. They used to skip stones over the lake together.
Death’s heart throbbed at a memory that wasn’t his.
“If your job isn’t to listen to warriors' deathbed conditions, then what is it, exactly? To kill every elder having an asthma attack?” Mintfur teased. “Don’t think I forgot the paw you shoved down my throat earlier.”
Death shook his head. “I put you out of your misery, but it was not necessary for me to do. You would have died either way. Granted, I may occasionally speed up the natural process, with the HellHounds’ help. But my only real job is to consume your soul, solidifying your transition to the afterlife, and then deliver your spirit to your respective resting place.”
Mintfur’s mouth swung open at the sight of StarClan in the distance. The chilly bite of began to dissipate as they approached, the air crisping to a pleasant midsummer glow. Withering wild grasses and thistles cushioned their path, at odds with the rugged, arid soil that dusted their paw pads moments before. A grayscale lens still cloaked their vision, save for the rich greenish-purple hues of the sky above.
“Look, we’re almost there!” Mintfur took off running for StarClan’s gates, smooth, robust muscles flexing under his silver pelt. Mid-step, he glanced down at his youthful body, awe melting across his face. What a far cry it was from the withered old tomcat he had been hours before! With skin so saggy a kit could get lost in its folds, and bones so brittle he feared they would splinter every time he made the laborious journey to the dirtplace, it was a surprise he had lasted so long in RiverClan.
Death stood on the cusp of , electing to watch Mintfur’s final steps from a distance. “I’m flying!” the old tom hooted, his voice carrying over the divide between them. It was the last thing Death heard before Mintfur collided with the wall of light. The tom graciously glided through it, and was gone. Just like that.
StarClan’s wall of light was opaque- everything on the other side of it was hazy, out-of-focus. Death felt like he was peering through ten feet of murky water to catch a glimpse of Mintfur greeting his family.
A frigid breeze pierced Death’s side then; was beckoning him away. Time to leave, I suppose, Death reluctantly stood up and turned away.
Unless . . . His eyes flickered back to StarClan’s gates like a mouse to sickly-sweet poison. There were multiple silhouettes encircling Mintfur now, all vying for the chance to say hello. One in particular was so small, they could hardly be six moons.
Death hesitated before walking up to the wall of light. Up close, it’s heat was intense, sparks of electricity shooting off it. And it shimmered, rapidly, like a live wire. Still, Death pressed his face closer to it. Even as sparks streaked across his skin, sizzling against the shadows that made up his body like flames meeting water, he kept his eyes locked in place.
Gazing in on a world he could never be a part of.
This close, it was clear that the littlest silhouette was not a kit after all, but a small, ginger apprentice. Mintfur’s daughter, the one who had been killed by a badger two years prior.
Right. Of course.
Death abruptly pulled away from the wall of light and stalked off. His tail whipped back and forth in the dirt like a sidewinder, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
A new litter was born in WindClan yesterday. They are all healthy. His jaw clenched at the reminder of what Life said earlier. How could he possibly forget it?
Don’t touch them.
Death collapsed outside of the halo of warmth StarClan’s border cast, firmly entrenched in ’s jaws once more.
Mintfur’s last words rose to mind next. How the old tomcat spoke them with such glee. I’m flying!
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, as a phantom pain spread over his shoulder blades and he fell into a far-flung memory.
-----------------------------
“I bet three larks that it won’t work.”
“I’ll pluck my whiskers if it does!”
Death rested in the center of WindClan’s camp, eavesdropping on a gaggle of apprentices. One thought rubbing rabbit urine on themselves would make hunting easier -the others weren’t so convinced.
“Watch, it’s going to make every rabbit this side of the moor fall madly in love with me!”
“I don’t know … what if it, like, gets in your system and you grow buck teeth and a cottontail?”
“I’d still look better than you!”
Just then, the gorse bushes lining WindClan’s nursery rustled, and a queen burst out. “Someone, come quick, my kit is dying!” she cried before darting back into the nursery.
Death raised his eyebrow. When a cat was in their final death throes, he felt a tug on his chest, like an invisible string binding them together was pulled taut.
He felt nothing now.
Still, Death trailed behind the medicine cat and into the nursery. Instantly, he was struck by the sweet smell of milk, interlaced with the subtle scent of new moss and warm, wriggling newborn kits, clinging to their mothers’ sides like leaf buds.
“See, he’s not moving!” Death peered over the hysterical queen’s shoulder to where a little kit lay. With rheumy eyes and saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, he didn’t look good. Death’s lips curled.
“Now, now, that doesn’t mean he’s dead,” the medicine cat chided, gently nudging the little kit. “Wake up, chickadee, before you give your mother a heart attack.”
The little kit curled in on himself like a wilted flower, tucking his face behind a cotton-ball sized forepaw before letting out a soft, stifled mew.
“Come, no need to hide,” Death cooed, reaching forward to brush a paw against the little kit’s forehead. If only to confirm his suspicion that the little kit had a fever. Not because he had a sudden, irresistible urge to comfort the little kit. To see if the little kit’s fur felt like peach fuzz.
He nudged the little kit’s button nose next. Now that, he could not justify.
The little kit sneezed in response, his eyes snapping open in unison.
“Look, he’s awake!” The queen shrieked.
Death reeled back in alarm, so violently his head almost crashed through the walls of the nursery. Because the little kit was staring straight at him. He sees me. Oh StarClan, he sees me! As if on cue, an all-too-familiar orb glowed in the little kit’s throat, and Death felt a pang in his chest.
“What’s wrong with him? Will he survive?”
The little kit blinked up at Death with big, bashful eyes. “Who are you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a cough, nothing serious.”
Death smiled.
-----------------------------
“Where have you been all day? When you were gone, Woolytail played hide-and-seek with me, but he kept giggling and giving himself away! It was no fun! Can you believe that?” The little kit, who Death had taken to calling, simply, Little Kit, whined.
“I can believe that,” Death said, sprinkling some gorse flowers from the nursery’s entrance onto Little Kit’s head like confetti. Little Kit squealed and batted at it, forgetting all about his previous question, Where have you been all day?
Truth was, Death had been reaping the soul of a ThunderClan warrior unfortunate enough to get his tail trapped in a fox trap. The poor tom had managed to rip himself free of its iron jaws -parting ways with his tail in the process- before collapsing from blood loss. When Death arrived, Harold the HellHound already had the tom’s soul in his mouth like a squeaky toy.
It dropped to Death’s feet with a solid thunk, oozing in slobber.
But that was not worth telling Little Kit.
Despite Death’s penchant for reaping souls, he did not revel in being a thief of joy in every sense of the word.
And some things . . . you just don’t tell little kits.
Little Kit dropped into a crouch and stalked towards Death’s tail, his butt skyhigh and wiggling in pent up excitement. At the last minute, Death shifted his tail into shadows, sending Little Kit tumbling into his mother.
“Hey, no fair!” Little Kit whined, jutting his chin out in righteous indignation. The look only lasted for a second before he burst into giggles. Sprawled onto his back, feet flailing in the air, he resembled an upside down turtle.
“That’s enough roughhousing in here, mister.” Little Kit’s mother gave him a pointed look. “If you want to keep playing with your imaginary friend, take it outside.”
Death nudged Little Kit rightside up-in a way that would look inconspicuous to the outside observer. “You heard your mom, time to go outside.”
Little Kit looked ready to complain when, suddenly, his eyes lit up. Uh oh. Death gulped. That could only mean one thing. “Let’s go fly!” Little Kit squealed, and took off running for the nursery’s entrance before Death could interject.
Little Kit’s gait was slow, legs shaky. It looked more like he was bunny hopping than running away. Death watched with a touch of concern.
It had been half a moon since Little Kit was diagnosed with white cough.
A half moon since Death felt the telltale pull on his chest that meant the grains of sand in Little Kit’s hourglass were running low.
But when Death went to reap Little Kit’s soul, it didn’t budge from his throat. It remained visible, yet firmly rooted in place. Signaling that, maybe, Little Kit had time to spare after all.
And over the days, Little Kit’s health had improved. He wheezed when he spoke and got easily winded, but he was no longer a limp vegetable-there was a spark in his eyes, a pep in his step.
Yet Little Kit could still see Death, and Death didn’t know why.
Little Kit burst into WindClan’s clearing and immediately rounded on Death before his eyes had even adjusted to the light outside of the nursery’s protective cocoon. “Up, up!” he begged, clamoring to get onto Death’s back.
Death was tempted to melt into shadows, sending Little Kit toppling through him again. But he knew it frightened Little Kit to see him in that way, so he remained as solidified as possible, a tangle of smokey black fur.
Which meant he had to fend off Little Kit’s advances the mortal way- by pushing him away.
“Not today, Little Kit,” Death chuckled. “What would your clanmates say if they saw you floating in midair? Best case scenario, they think you’re blessed by StarClan and force you into becoming a medicine cat.”
“But I don’t want to be a medicine cat!” Little Kit gasped, eyes wide in horror at the very thought. “I’ll be the best warrior WindClan has ever seen, just watch this.” Little Kit turned to make sure Death was watching, then he launched himself onto a nearby gorse flower. “Ka-Pow!”
“Very good,” Death purred.
“Thanks, Dad, I-” Little Kit abruptly cut off, his chubby cheeks flaring. “I mean-” He wheezed.
Death’s eyes widened in horror like any single, middle-aged warrior who had just accidentally been called Dad. “It’s okay,” he spluttered. “You know-”
“Hey, what’s that on your leg?” While Death was busy being flustered, Little Kit’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, as easily as a cat switches channels in a stream. He narrowed in on a drop of blood on Death’s paw.
“Oh. That.” Death noticed the drop of blood for the first time. Must be from my last reaping. “It’s nothing,” he sweat.
Little Kit wasn't satisfied by that answer. “It looks like blood.”
“It’s not blood. In fact, it’s . . . cherry water. A very special type of water, only found in the tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. It’s sweeter than honey and, legend says, a single drop of it will give you the strength of ten warriors!”
“Well, I want some then!”
Death cringed. “It’s only for adults.”
“Not fair!” Little Kit pouted.
“Look, it’s gone,” Death hastily whipped his paw in the dirt, removing any trace of blood. “Now let’s head back inside the nursery. It’s getting late and I heard your mother plans to finish the bedtime story she started yesterday.” And Death felt a pressure suddenly forming around his heart, barbed wires cinching tight. Someone was dying in ShadowClan, and they needed him now.
“But I still want to fly,” Little Kit whined, digging his heels into the ground. “I know you can!”
“I know,” Death grimaced, the pain in his chest intensifying. “But I already told you, Little Kit, people will see,” he sighed. “And that can’t happen. It just … can’t.”
“Then we can go behind the nursery!” Little Kit would not give up. “No one will notice us there.”
“Fine,” Death relented. “But not today. Tomorrow, okay?”
Little Kit hesitated. “Okay, if you promise.”
“I promise.” Death hastily touched his nose to Little Kit’s, then winked out of sight.
-----------------------------
Death returned to the nursery after sunfall, his energy spent from another successful reaping. Perhaps he should be in , his true home, but he felt drawn to the nursery.
And not because an involuntary string around his heart pulled him towards it.
Death breathed in the sweet scent of milk and marigolds -something WindClan queens enjoyed lining their nests with- as he weaved his way to Little Kit’s sleeping form.
Death did not know that queens tensed when he neared, cradling their kits closer to them. That they whispered of an ominous presence when he wasn’t around to hear about it.
And if Death did know, maybe it would change his feelings about the nursery.
But as it was, he loved the place.
Little Kit’s right eye peeked open; he wasn’t asleep after all. “You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Little Kit inched closer to his mother, leaving an empty space in their nest. “Come cuddle.”
Death raised a brow. “Who taught you that word?”
Little Kit buried his face in the bedding lining their nest. “Woolytail.”
“I’ll have to have a word with Woolytail then.”
“His feet are really ticklish,” Little Kit mumbled behind a mouthful of moss.
“Oh yeah?” Death’s eyebrow raised. “Really, really ticklish?”
Little Kit burst into giggles as Death tickled his stomach. “Yeah!” He shivered then. “Your paw’s cold.”
Death jerked away.
“No, in a nice way.” Little Kit grasped Death’s paw, and marveled for a moment at how it dwarfed his own. Then he yawned and let his eyes slip shut. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Death stared down at Little Kit, his jaw clenched, face pained. A battle waging in his heart. He should go back to , but he …. didn’t want to.
Death sighed and settled down in the nest, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Little Kit in some semblance of an embrace.
Death couldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.
For a moment, a warm glow filled the nursery.
It looked like the light from a rising moon. But it was not.
And Death should have known that. But he did not.
Mintfur eyed the discolored sky above them wearily. Like any second a monster would reach down from its murky depths and grab him.
“We’re in ,” Death said, amicably. “The land beyond Starclan’s borders.”
They trudged on through the flat, barren wasteland that was . Having crossed through the Ethereal Divide minutes before, they now had a short jaunt remaining to StarClan’s gates.
“StarClan, that’s where I’m going, right? To be with my Lilybear?”
“Mhm, yes.” As a dense fog descended over the valley they were walking through, Death nudged Mintfur out of its path. “Stay clear of the fog. It will swallow you up if you let it.”
Mintfur gave the fog a wider birth than was necessary. “Has anyone ever gotten lost in it before?”
“Yes,” Death admitted, casting his eyes skyward. “We call those cats flyaway souls.”
“And do you always find them later?”
Death was silent.
“Why are we even passing through here?” Mintfur asked. “Why can’t you just teleport me straight to StarClan?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Only warriors truly good at heart can enter StarClan. If you aren’t worthy, you will be rebuffed by the infallible wall of light surrounding StarClan.”
“Oh my,” Mintfur gulped. “And what if I’m not allowed in, what will you do? Drag me to the Dark Forest?“
“No. If StarClan rejects you, you will become a wayward soul. Forced to wander Nowhere, alone, until you’ve recovered enough humanity in your emotionally-deprived wraith of a heart to join StarClan, or you commit yourself to the Dark Forest. Or you’re driven mad by indecision, in which case will dispose of you. You will fade away, forever.”
Mintfur’s face went pallid. “That sounds horrible.”
“It is. I suppose that’s why you must walk through before you can reach StarClan’s gates. To see what will await you if you fail your entrance exam,” Death said. “And so when you get tired of that Lilybear, you’ll know there’s no one better waiting for you outside StarClan.” Death waggled his eyebrows.
“Not funny.”
“But you shouldn’t have to worry about that, Mintfur.” Death’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Unless you were a very covert murderer, or engaged in other, equally nefarious acts when I wasn’t looking, with an invisibility charm that I don’t know about, you’ll be welcomed into StarClan’s ranks.”
“What are you saying, that you’ve been watching me my entire life?”
“I have very few pastimes to choose from here.” Death shrugged. “Though I stopped keeping an eye on you once you joined the elders’ den. So if you’ve berated a few apprentices lately and want to confess before, you know,” Death gestured at the wall of light they were fast approaching. “Too late.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mintfur snorted, kicking a stone in his path. It skittered a few feet away.
Mintfur’s eyes suddenly softened and, in that moment, Death knew he must be thinking of Lilybear. They used to skip stones over the lake together.
Death’s heart throbbed at a memory that wasn’t his.
“If your job isn’t to listen to warriors' deathbed conditions, then what is it, exactly? To kill every elder having an asthma attack?” Mintfur teased. “Don’t think I forgot the paw you shoved down my throat earlier.”
Death shook his head. “I put you out of your misery, but it was not necessary for me to do. You would have died either way. Granted, I may occasionally speed up the natural process, with the HellHounds’ help. But my only real job is to consume your soul, solidifying your transition to the afterlife, and then deliver your spirit to your respective resting place.”
Mintfur’s mouth swung open at the sight of StarClan in the distance. The chilly bite of began to dissipate as they approached, the air crisping to a pleasant midsummer glow. Withering wild grasses and thistles cushioned their path, at odds with the rugged, arid soil that dusted their paw pads moments before. A grayscale lens still cloaked their vision, save for the rich greenish-purple hues of the sky above.
“Look, we’re almost there!” Mintfur took off running for StarClan’s gates, smooth, robust muscles flexing under his silver pelt. Mid-step, he glanced down at his youthful body, awe melting across his face. What a far cry it was from the withered old tomcat he had been hours before! With skin so saggy a kit could get lost in its folds, and bones so brittle he feared they would splinter every time he made the laborious journey to the dirtplace, it was a surprise he had lasted so long in RiverClan.
Death stood on the cusp of , electing to watch Mintfur’s final steps from a distance. “I’m flying!” the old tom hooted, his voice carrying over the divide between them. It was the last thing Death heard before Mintfur collided with the wall of light. The tom graciously glided through it, and was gone. Just like that.
StarClan’s wall of light was opaque- everything on the other side of it was hazy, out-of-focus. Death felt like he was peering through ten feet of murky water to catch a glimpse of Mintfur greeting his family.
A frigid breeze pierced Death’s side then; was beckoning him away. Time to leave, I suppose, Death reluctantly stood up and turned away.
Unless . . . His eyes flickered back to StarClan’s gates like a mouse to sickly-sweet poison. There were multiple silhouettes encircling Mintfur now, all vying for the chance to say hello. One in particular was so small, they could hardly be six moons.
Death hesitated before walking up to the wall of light. Up close, it’s heat was intense, sparks of electricity shooting off it. And it shimmered, rapidly, like a live wire. Still, Death pressed his face closer to it. Even as sparks streaked across his skin, sizzling against the shadows that made up his body like flames meeting water, he kept his eyes locked in place.
Gazing in on a world he could never be a part of.
This close, it was clear that the littlest silhouette was not a kit after all, but a small, ginger apprentice. Mintfur’s daughter, the one who had been killed by a badger two years prior.
Right. Of course.
Death abruptly pulled away from the wall of light and stalked off. His tail whipped back and forth in the dirt like a sidewinder, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
A new litter was born in WindClan yesterday. They are all healthy. His jaw clenched at the reminder of what Life said earlier. How could he possibly forget it?
Don’t touch them.
Death collapsed outside of the halo of warmth StarClan’s border cast, firmly entrenched in ’s jaws once more.
Mintfur’s last words rose to mind next. How the old tomcat spoke them with such glee. I’m flying!
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, as a phantom pain spread over his shoulder blades and he fell into a far-flung memory.
-----------------------------
“I bet three larks that it won’t work.”
“I’ll pluck my whiskers if it does!”
Death rested in the center of WindClan’s camp, eavesdropping on a gaggle of apprentices. One thought rubbing rabbit urine on themselves would make hunting easier -the others weren’t so convinced.
“Watch, it’s going to make every rabbit this side of the moor fall madly in love with me!”
“I don’t know … what if it, like, gets in your system and you grow buck teeth and a cottontail?”
“I’d still look better than you!”
Just then, the gorse bushes lining WindClan’s nursery rustled, and a queen burst out. “Someone, come quick, my kit is dying!” she cried before darting back into the nursery.
Death raised his eyebrow. When a cat was in their final death throes, he felt a tug on his chest, like an invisible string binding them together was pulled taut.
He felt nothing now.
Still, Death trailed behind the medicine cat and into the nursery. Instantly, he was struck by the sweet smell of milk, interlaced with the subtle scent of new moss and warm, wriggling newborn kits, clinging to their mothers’ sides like leaf buds.
“See, he’s not moving!” Death peered over the hysterical queen’s shoulder to where a little kit lay. With rheumy eyes and saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, he didn’t look good. Death’s lips curled.
“Now, now, that doesn’t mean he’s dead,” the medicine cat chided, gently nudging the little kit. “Wake up, chickadee, before you give your mother a heart attack.”
The little kit curled in on himself like a wilted flower, tucking his face behind a cotton-ball sized forepaw before letting out a soft, stifled mew.
“Come, no need to hide,” Death cooed, reaching forward to brush a paw against the little kit’s forehead. If only to confirm his suspicion that the little kit had a fever. Not because he had a sudden, irresistible urge to comfort the little kit. To see if the little kit’s fur felt like peach fuzz.
He nudged the little kit’s button nose next. Now that, he could not justify.
The little kit sneezed in response, his eyes snapping open in unison.
“Look, he’s awake!” The queen shrieked.
Death reeled back in alarm, so violently his head almost crashed through the walls of the nursery. Because the little kit was staring straight at him. He sees me. Oh StarClan, he sees me! As if on cue, an all-too-familiar orb glowed in the little kit’s throat, and Death felt a pang in his chest.
“What’s wrong with him? Will he survive?”
The little kit blinked up at Death with big, bashful eyes. “Who are you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a cough, nothing serious.”
Death smiled.
-----------------------------
“Where have you been all day? When you were gone, Woolytail played hide-and-seek with me, but he kept giggling and giving himself away! It was no fun! Can you believe that?” The little kit, who Death had taken to calling, simply, Little Kit, whined.
“I can believe that,” Death said, sprinkling some gorse flowers from the nursery’s entrance onto Little Kit’s head like confetti. Little Kit squealed and batted at it, forgetting all about his previous question, Where have you been all day?
Truth was, Death had been reaping the soul of a ThunderClan warrior unfortunate enough to get his tail trapped in a fox trap. The poor tom had managed to rip himself free of its iron jaws -parting ways with his tail in the process- before collapsing from blood loss. When Death arrived, Harold the HellHound already had the tom’s soul in his mouth like a squeaky toy.
It dropped to Death’s feet with a solid thunk, oozing in slobber.
But that was not worth telling Little Kit.
Despite Death’s penchant for reaping souls, he did not revel in being a thief of joy in every sense of the word.
And some things . . . you just don’t tell little kits.
Little Kit dropped into a crouch and stalked towards Death’s tail, his butt skyhigh and wiggling in pent up excitement. At the last minute, Death shifted his tail into shadows, sending Little Kit tumbling into his mother.
“Hey, no fair!” Little Kit whined, jutting his chin out in righteous indignation. The look only lasted for a second before he burst into giggles. Sprawled onto his back, feet flailing in the air, he resembled an upside down turtle.
“That’s enough roughhousing in here, mister.” Little Kit’s mother gave him a pointed look. “If you want to keep playing with your imaginary friend, take it outside.”
Death nudged Little Kit rightside up-in a way that would look inconspicuous to the outside observer. “You heard your mom, time to go outside.”
Little Kit looked ready to complain when, suddenly, his eyes lit up. Uh oh. Death gulped. That could only mean one thing. “Let’s go fly!” Little Kit squealed, and took off running for the nursery’s entrance before Death could interject.
Little Kit’s gait was slow, legs shaky. It looked more like he was bunny hopping than running away. Death watched with a touch of concern.
It had been half a moon since Little Kit was diagnosed with white cough.
A half moon since Death felt the telltale pull on his chest that meant the grains of sand in Little Kit’s hourglass were running low.
But when Death went to reap Little Kit’s soul, it didn’t budge from his throat. It remained visible, yet firmly rooted in place. Signaling that, maybe, Little Kit had time to spare after all.
And over the days, Little Kit’s health had improved. He wheezed when he spoke and got easily winded, but he was no longer a limp vegetable-there was a spark in his eyes, a pep in his step.
Yet Little Kit could still see Death, and Death didn’t know why.
Little Kit burst into WindClan’s clearing and immediately rounded on Death before his eyes had even adjusted to the light outside of the nursery’s protective cocoon. “Up, up!” he begged, clamoring to get onto Death’s back.
Death was tempted to melt into shadows, sending Little Kit toppling through him again. But he knew it frightened Little Kit to see him in that way, so he remained as solidified as possible, a tangle of smokey black fur.
Which meant he had to fend off Little Kit’s advances the mortal way- by pushing him away.
“Not today, Little Kit,” Death chuckled. “What would your clanmates say if they saw you floating in midair? Best case scenario, they think you’re blessed by StarClan and force you into becoming a medicine cat.”
“But I don’t want to be a medicine cat!” Little Kit gasped, eyes wide in horror at the very thought. “I’ll be the best warrior WindClan has ever seen, just watch this.” Little Kit turned to make sure Death was watching, then he launched himself onto a nearby gorse flower. “Ka-Pow!”
“Very good,” Death purred.
“Thanks, Dad, I-” Little Kit abruptly cut off, his chubby cheeks flaring. “I mean-” He wheezed.
Death’s eyes widened in horror like any single, middle-aged warrior who had just accidentally been called Dad. “It’s okay,” he spluttered. “You know-”
“Hey, what’s that on your leg?” While Death was busy being flustered, Little Kit’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, as easily as a cat switches channels in a stream. He narrowed in on a drop of blood on Death’s paw.
“Oh. That.” Death noticed the drop of blood for the first time. Must be from my last reaping. “It’s nothing,” he sweat.
Little Kit wasn't satisfied by that answer. “It looks like blood.”
“It’s not blood. In fact, it’s . . . cherry water. A very special type of water, only found in the tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. It’s sweeter than honey and, legend says, a single drop of it will give you the strength of ten warriors!”
“Well, I want some then!”
Death cringed. “It’s only for adults.”
“Not fair!” Little Kit pouted.
“Look, it’s gone,” Death hastily whipped his paw in the dirt, removing any trace of blood. “Now let’s head back inside the nursery. It’s getting late and I heard your mother plans to finish the bedtime story she started yesterday.” And Death felt a pressure suddenly forming around his heart, barbed wires cinching tight. Someone was dying in ShadowClan, and they needed him now.
“But I still want to fly,” Little Kit whined, digging his heels into the ground. “I know you can!”
“I know,” Death grimaced, the pain in his chest intensifying. “But I already told you, Little Kit, people will see,” he sighed. “And that can’t happen. It just … can’t.”
“Then we can go behind the nursery!” Little Kit would not give up. “No one will notice us there.”
“Fine,” Death relented. “But not today. Tomorrow, okay?”
Little Kit hesitated. “Okay, if you promise.”
“I promise.” Death hastily touched his nose to Little Kit’s, then winked out of sight.
-----------------------------
Death returned to the nursery after sunfall, his energy spent from another successful reaping. Perhaps he should be in , his true home, but he felt drawn to the nursery.
And not because an involuntary string around his heart pulled him towards it.
Death breathed in the sweet scent of milk and marigolds -something WindClan queens enjoyed lining their nests with- as he weaved his way to Little Kit’s sleeping form.
Death did not know that queens tensed when he neared, cradling their kits closer to them. That they whispered of an ominous presence when he wasn’t around to hear about it.
And if Death did know, maybe it would change his feelings about the nursery.
But as it was, he loved the place.
Little Kit’s right eye peeked open; he wasn’t asleep after all. “You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Little Kit inched closer to his mother, leaving an empty space in their nest. “Come cuddle.”
Death raised a brow. “Who taught you that word?”
Little Kit buried his face in the bedding lining their nest. “Woolytail.”
“I’ll have to have a word with Woolytail then.”
“His feet are really ticklish,” Little Kit mumbled behind a mouthful of moss.
“Oh yeah?” Death’s eyebrow raised. “Really, really ticklish?”
Little Kit burst into giggles as Death tickled his stomach. “Yeah!” He shivered then. “Your paw’s cold.”
Death jerked away.
“No, in a nice way.” Little Kit grasped Death’s paw, and marveled for a moment at how it dwarfed his own. Then he yawned and let his eyes slip shut. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Death stared down at Little Kit, his jaw clenched, face pained. A battle waging in his heart. He should go back to , but he …. didn’t want to.
Death sighed and settled down in the nest, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Little Kit in some semblance of an embrace.
Death couldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.
For a moment, a warm glow filled the nursery.
It looked like the light from a rising moon. But it was not.
And Death should have known that. But he did not.
(Part 2)
Before the sun could crest WindClan’s valley, a sharp scream sliced through the air. Death’s eyes jolted open, as if on a hairline trigger.
A moment before, he’d been floating, peacefully, on a cloud in his mind. In that fragile state between wakefulness and sleep. But now- the sudden sensation of falling consumed him and he shot up, gasping for breath. Tranquility shattered. His head whipped from side to side, intent on finding the source of the scream.
Little Kit’s mother let out a howl of pain that simpered to a quiet weep as she cradled a limp form to her side and rocked back and forth, back and forth. Like how one would comfort a fussy newborn.
“Mom, Mom! Look at me! Mom!” Little Kit stood at the base of their nest, frantically pulling on his mother’s fur. A wild, desperate glint in his eye.
She ignored him completely, as if he were a particle of dust floating through the air. As if he were nothing. “MOM!!” Little Kit screeched at the top of his lungs and threw his head back before madly sinking his teeth into her tail, hard enough to draw blood.
Only, no blood rose to the surface of her skin.
Death stared at the chaos unfurling before him in confusion, his rumpled bedhead of fur shifting into shadows as he fought to understand what was going on. Why won’t she-
His eyes snagged on what the hysterical queen was cradling in her arms.
Little Kit’s body.
No. Death dropped to his knees. It felt, suddenly, like a pit of darkness was tearing open his stomach, threatening to ravage him from the inside out. It felt like, like-
“MOM!” Little Kit’s spirit continued to scream senselessly as he climbed onto his mother’s back and wriggled his way up to her face.
Death lowered his forehead, achingly slow, to the earth.
Little Kit grasped his mother’s face in his paws and shook. Willing her to look at him. Begging- “Please, mom, please! Why won’t you look at me?”
Death’s eyes kissed the cold dirt.
“Mommy, I-” Words slipped away from Little Kit as he saw, for the first time, his motionless body still nestled in his mother’s arms. It was like looking at his reflection in a pool of water, except this version of himself was all wrong. It was empty-eyed and slack-jawed. Flesh and bone and mangled fur that already had a sickly smell and Little Kit didn’t know why and it scared him. “Mommy?” he whispered, as waves of emotion crashed over his face. Shock. Horror. Confusion. Then-
Death was in front of Little Kit, grabbing him by the scruff and forcibly pulling him away from the body.
“What’s going on?” Little Kit squirmed in Death’s grasp before managing to wrench himself free, landing in front of his mother once more. He turned on Death, legs quaking in fear. “Who even are you?”
“It’s okay, Little Kit, it’ll be okay,” Death stammered, struggling to find the magic words to stop Little Kit from looking at him like that. Like he’s scared of me.
Death reached out a paw to console Little Kit, but his nerves were running too high. One of the shadows composing his body wildly slashed across Little Kit’s face.
Little Kit reeled back in alarm, falling through his mother and violently crashing into the walls of the nursery. A thorn sliced clean through his cheek, blood splattering onto the marigolds.
“Little Kit!” Death cried, rushing over. He concentrated-hard- a bead of sweat trickling down his face as his left paw condensed into a solid form to stroke Little Kit’s cheek. For real this time. “Listen, please, you’ll be OK. You just have to come with me.”
“Leave me alone!” Little Kit shrieked, lashing out at Death’s face.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Death winced as one of Little Kit’s feeble, yet fierce, blows landed, his shadows whipping themselves into a frenzy again, swirling around the two of them like a black tornado. “Just listen to me!”
“No, you’re not my mom!”
Death staggered backwards then. He took two deep breaths, trying to quell the flurry of shadows shooting from him. He needed to calm down. He needed to- his train of thought trailed away as he saw how Little Kit was staring at him.
In pure terror.
“StarClan, what have I don-”
The HellHounds burst through the walls of the nursery. In a flash of teeth, Harold’s jaws locked around Little Kit’s head. Death’s eyes widened in horror as Little Kit was lifted into the air by his throat, his feet thrashing uncontrollably, before being flung across the clearing like a ragdoll.
The second Little Kit landed, the other hounds descended on him in a whirl of snapping, snarling maws. Little Kit screamed as Harold cackled, his left eye popping out in all the excitement. He hastily pushed it back into place with a touch of his slobbery tongue.
“Stop!” Death yelled. “Stop! He’s already dead, you idiots!"
All the HellHound’s swung around to face Death, their warped excitement giving way to uncertainty, and, underneath that, a rippling current of fear at the sound of Death’s voice. A second later, they registered Little Kit’s body, still neatly hidden in his mother’s arms, and snapped to attention, ever the obedient whelps.
Harold’s back went ramrod straight as his jaw, containing Little Kit’s writhing body, fell open. Little Kit slammed into the ground with a hard thud and, instantly, bolted out of the nursery through an opening between the HellHounds’ legs.
Death’s world slowed to a standstill in that moment, his mind suspended in a sludge of disbelief.
He saw the HellHounds, their bloodshot eyes boring into him as they waited for their next command. They couldn’t stand still-their bodies dancing in place, feverishly, betraying their lust for fear with each step.
Except they shouldn’t be acting so zealous. They were supposed to feed off the terror of the living and Little Kit was already dead.
Death’s stomach rolled at the image of Harold throwing Little Kit through the air. He had never seen them act so viciously, either. Even to warriors in their final death throes, mad with fear. It is forbidden. “What is wrong with you guys?” he snapped.
The HellHounds whimpered in response, flattening their ears and lowering their heads in submission. Death sneered in disgust at them before swiveling to look at Little Kit’s mother. She remained tucked in bed, oblivious to the scene unfolding before her. All her attention focused on Little Kit’s slack body. “My baby,” she cried, clutching him closer, “my poor baby.”
Death ripped his eyes away, to the nursery’s entrance. Where he could see Little Kit’s fastly retreating form. Already, he was so far away. He was getting away.
I can’t let him get away.
“Get him,” Death said numbly.
The HellHounds needed no further instruction. They shot out of the nursery, frothing at the mouth. Their eyes locking in on Little Kit like he were a plump rabbit they dreamed of gobbling up. Harold threw his head back and let out a shrill howl.
The hunt was on.
The second Death stepped out of the nursery, he was pierced by the light of morning. Followed by a stream of warriors who plowed straight through him, headed for the heartbroken queen left in his wake.
What have I done, Death thought, crumbling to his knees again, and how can I ever fix this?
Shadowy wings erupted out of Death’s back. In two steady beats, he took flight, hovering on the horizon’s edge. The rising sun was at his back, the warmth of it at odds with the chill he felt in his veins. Then, Death took off after the HellHounds. Hurtling through the air until Little Kit transformed from a speck in the distance-as hazy as a hundred mile high star-to close enough for Death to reach out and grab-
Almost.
Argh! Death snarled as he missed Little Kit’s scruff by a hair length.
The HellHounds weren’t far behind. Harold picked up a burst of speed, spurred on by Death’s arrival, his breath close enough to scold the back of Little Kit’s heels.
Little Kit glanced back in terror, his own breath coming out in ragged gasps, as he fought to outrun them. “Please!” he wailed, his voice abruptly cutting off as his foot caught on a loose stone.
Harold laughed, his addled fangs snapping around Little Kit’s flank, ripping into a tuft of star-speckled fur. Little Kit kicked out with his hindlegs to dislodge the HellHound’s hold, just as he managed to save himself from a nasty fall.
Harold huffed, spitting out the fur ball in his mouth.
Death swooped down again, the winds of the open moor whipping across his face in a flurry. It felt like invisible hands were trying to push him back, shove him away. He gritted his teeth and fought against them. “It’ll be OK, Little Kit!” He extended a shaky paw forward, wings beating furiously. There was only an inch of space between the two of them now. “You just have to come with me, Little Kit, and I-”
“That’s not my name!” Little Kit wailed.
Right before he vanished into thin air.
Death’s outstretched paw clenched around nothing. His eyes widened in shock as he frantically tried to pull back, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop his forward momentum, not now. Death crashed headfirst into one of the HellHounds, his vision tumbling as he lost all control of his body. Oh, fu- Death slammed into the moorside, his head jutting against a rock before he managed to wrap his wings around himself, sheltering him from worse blows. Still- he skid ten feet across the moor, a searing pain ripping through his shoulder from the impact.
Death immediately jumped to his feet after, cursing himself for not having the foresight to melt into shadows before the fall. He then surged towards the HellHounds. “Where is he?” Death barked. “Where did he go?”
The HellHounds all pranced around a hole in the ground, taking turns kneading at the loose soil.
The tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. Of course.
“Move,” Death shoved Harold’s head out of the hole and descended, his wings vanishing to fit in the tight quarters. Instantly, he was pitched into darkness, with no sense of where to go, what tunnel to follow. He blindly ran down one, then another.
Death stopped in his tracks to call out “Little Kit!” but all he heard was his own voice, echoing back.
And why should he respond to that? It’s not his real name. Death’s heart twisted at the thought. Because it was true, and he wished it weren’t. And because, I don’t know his real name. And I wish I could.
Death shook his head and continued to search for Little Kit. He winded his way through each dank tunnel, descending to chambers so deep the worms dare not go. Once, he thought he heard footsteps, only to find that the source of the noise was, really, water dripping onto a gnarled tree root.
Death snarled in frustration. Every minute that passed without a sign of Little Kit, he became more frantic. Dashing, disoriented, through the underground labyrinth. Entering areas that seemed both vaguely familiar and brand new. It all looked the same.
Still, he pressed on.
Until the hours ticked on too long, and his store of hope dwindled too low, and he surfaced for good.
-----------------------------
“What have you done?” Life was sitting outside WindClan’s nursery when Death returned to camp, accusations plastered across her face.
“The littlest kit in the nursery, the one born four moons ago. He-” Death faltered, casting his gaze towards the sky, where stars were already beginning to peek through the curtain of blue. Where a new one ought to be by now. “We lost him.”
“You killed him.” Life’s face was ashen.
“No,” Death choked. “I didn’t- I don’t know what happened.”
“It was you.” Life hastily backed away from Death, her fur on end. “You did this. He was healthy. He wasn’t supposed to die.” She shook her head vigorously. “The Celestials are going to hear about this. They will know.” Her voice dropped to a hush then, as if she were too afraid to raise it any louder. “They already do, Death.”
The HellHounds vanished.
One second, they were slinking behind Death, heads hung low, and the next, they were gone.
Death blanched. “What did you do, Life? Did you tell them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Life said. “They were going to get involved in this either way.”
“Not if I found the kit first!” Death snarled. “Then they would have had no reason to!” He rushed towards the entrance of camp, determined as ever. “I’m going to find him, I have to-”
“Just stop,” Life sobbed, her eyes glistening with tears. “There is nowhere to run.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit with me before they come.”
“No,” Death spat back, putting on a burst of speed right as an invisible force clenched around his heart, slamming him backwards. He hit the ground, hard, his claws scraping against the dirt till they chipped as he fought, tirelessly, to remain in place.
Like a mortal warrior, who doesn’t know when he’s lost.
Death was dragged to .
A moment before, he’d been floating, peacefully, on a cloud in his mind. In that fragile state between wakefulness and sleep. But now- the sudden sensation of falling consumed him and he shot up, gasping for breath. Tranquility shattered. His head whipped from side to side, intent on finding the source of the scream.
Little Kit’s mother let out a howl of pain that simpered to a quiet weep as she cradled a limp form to her side and rocked back and forth, back and forth. Like how one would comfort a fussy newborn.
“Mom, Mom! Look at me! Mom!” Little Kit stood at the base of their nest, frantically pulling on his mother’s fur. A wild, desperate glint in his eye.
She ignored him completely, as if he were a particle of dust floating through the air. As if he were nothing. “MOM!!” Little Kit screeched at the top of his lungs and threw his head back before madly sinking his teeth into her tail, hard enough to draw blood.
Only, no blood rose to the surface of her skin.
Death stared at the chaos unfurling before him in confusion, his rumpled bedhead of fur shifting into shadows as he fought to understand what was going on. Why won’t she-
His eyes snagged on what the hysterical queen was cradling in her arms.
Little Kit’s body.
No. Death dropped to his knees. It felt, suddenly, like a pit of darkness was tearing open his stomach, threatening to ravage him from the inside out. It felt like, like-
“MOM!” Little Kit’s spirit continued to scream senselessly as he climbed onto his mother’s back and wriggled his way up to her face.
Death lowered his forehead, achingly slow, to the earth.
Little Kit grasped his mother’s face in his paws and shook. Willing her to look at him. Begging- “Please, mom, please! Why won’t you look at me?”
Death’s eyes kissed the cold dirt.
“Mommy, I-” Words slipped away from Little Kit as he saw, for the first time, his motionless body still nestled in his mother’s arms. It was like looking at his reflection in a pool of water, except this version of himself was all wrong. It was empty-eyed and slack-jawed. Flesh and bone and mangled fur that already had a sickly smell and Little Kit didn’t know why and it scared him. “Mommy?” he whispered, as waves of emotion crashed over his face. Shock. Horror. Confusion. Then-
Death was in front of Little Kit, grabbing him by the scruff and forcibly pulling him away from the body.
“What’s going on?” Little Kit squirmed in Death’s grasp before managing to wrench himself free, landing in front of his mother once more. He turned on Death, legs quaking in fear. “Who even are you?”
“It’s okay, Little Kit, it’ll be okay,” Death stammered, struggling to find the magic words to stop Little Kit from looking at him like that. Like he’s scared of me.
Death reached out a paw to console Little Kit, but his nerves were running too high. One of the shadows composing his body wildly slashed across Little Kit’s face.
Little Kit reeled back in alarm, falling through his mother and violently crashing into the walls of the nursery. A thorn sliced clean through his cheek, blood splattering onto the marigolds.
“Little Kit!” Death cried, rushing over. He concentrated-hard- a bead of sweat trickling down his face as his left paw condensed into a solid form to stroke Little Kit’s cheek. For real this time. “Listen, please, you’ll be OK. You just have to come with me.”
“Leave me alone!” Little Kit shrieked, lashing out at Death’s face.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Death winced as one of Little Kit’s feeble, yet fierce, blows landed, his shadows whipping themselves into a frenzy again, swirling around the two of them like a black tornado. “Just listen to me!”
“No, you’re not my mom!”
Death staggered backwards then. He took two deep breaths, trying to quell the flurry of shadows shooting from him. He needed to calm down. He needed to- his train of thought trailed away as he saw how Little Kit was staring at him.
In pure terror.
“StarClan, what have I don-”
The HellHounds burst through the walls of the nursery. In a flash of teeth, Harold’s jaws locked around Little Kit’s head. Death’s eyes widened in horror as Little Kit was lifted into the air by his throat, his feet thrashing uncontrollably, before being flung across the clearing like a ragdoll.
The second Little Kit landed, the other hounds descended on him in a whirl of snapping, snarling maws. Little Kit screamed as Harold cackled, his left eye popping out in all the excitement. He hastily pushed it back into place with a touch of his slobbery tongue.
“Stop!” Death yelled. “Stop! He’s already dead, you idiots!"
All the HellHound’s swung around to face Death, their warped excitement giving way to uncertainty, and, underneath that, a rippling current of fear at the sound of Death’s voice. A second later, they registered Little Kit’s body, still neatly hidden in his mother’s arms, and snapped to attention, ever the obedient whelps.
Harold’s back went ramrod straight as his jaw, containing Little Kit’s writhing body, fell open. Little Kit slammed into the ground with a hard thud and, instantly, bolted out of the nursery through an opening between the HellHounds’ legs.
Death’s world slowed to a standstill in that moment, his mind suspended in a sludge of disbelief.
He saw the HellHounds, their bloodshot eyes boring into him as they waited for their next command. They couldn’t stand still-their bodies dancing in place, feverishly, betraying their lust for fear with each step.
Except they shouldn’t be acting so zealous. They were supposed to feed off the terror of the living and Little Kit was already dead.
Death’s stomach rolled at the image of Harold throwing Little Kit through the air. He had never seen them act so viciously, either. Even to warriors in their final death throes, mad with fear. It is forbidden. “What is wrong with you guys?” he snapped.
The HellHounds whimpered in response, flattening their ears and lowering their heads in submission. Death sneered in disgust at them before swiveling to look at Little Kit’s mother. She remained tucked in bed, oblivious to the scene unfolding before her. All her attention focused on Little Kit’s slack body. “My baby,” she cried, clutching him closer, “my poor baby.”
Death ripped his eyes away, to the nursery’s entrance. Where he could see Little Kit’s fastly retreating form. Already, he was so far away. He was getting away.
I can’t let him get away.
“Get him,” Death said numbly.
The HellHounds needed no further instruction. They shot out of the nursery, frothing at the mouth. Their eyes locking in on Little Kit like he were a plump rabbit they dreamed of gobbling up. Harold threw his head back and let out a shrill howl.
The hunt was on.
The second Death stepped out of the nursery, he was pierced by the light of morning. Followed by a stream of warriors who plowed straight through him, headed for the heartbroken queen left in his wake.
What have I done, Death thought, crumbling to his knees again, and how can I ever fix this?
Shadowy wings erupted out of Death’s back. In two steady beats, he took flight, hovering on the horizon’s edge. The rising sun was at his back, the warmth of it at odds with the chill he felt in his veins. Then, Death took off after the HellHounds. Hurtling through the air until Little Kit transformed from a speck in the distance-as hazy as a hundred mile high star-to close enough for Death to reach out and grab-
Almost.
Argh! Death snarled as he missed Little Kit’s scruff by a hair length.
The HellHounds weren’t far behind. Harold picked up a burst of speed, spurred on by Death’s arrival, his breath close enough to scold the back of Little Kit’s heels.
Little Kit glanced back in terror, his own breath coming out in ragged gasps, as he fought to outrun them. “Please!” he wailed, his voice abruptly cutting off as his foot caught on a loose stone.
Harold laughed, his addled fangs snapping around Little Kit’s flank, ripping into a tuft of star-speckled fur. Little Kit kicked out with his hindlegs to dislodge the HellHound’s hold, just as he managed to save himself from a nasty fall.
Harold huffed, spitting out the fur ball in his mouth.
Death swooped down again, the winds of the open moor whipping across his face in a flurry. It felt like invisible hands were trying to push him back, shove him away. He gritted his teeth and fought against them. “It’ll be OK, Little Kit!” He extended a shaky paw forward, wings beating furiously. There was only an inch of space between the two of them now. “You just have to come with me, Little Kit, and I-”
“That’s not my name!” Little Kit wailed.
Right before he vanished into thin air.
Death’s outstretched paw clenched around nothing. His eyes widened in shock as he frantically tried to pull back, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop his forward momentum, not now. Death crashed headfirst into one of the HellHounds, his vision tumbling as he lost all control of his body. Oh, fu- Death slammed into the moorside, his head jutting against a rock before he managed to wrap his wings around himself, sheltering him from worse blows. Still- he skid ten feet across the moor, a searing pain ripping through his shoulder from the impact.
Death immediately jumped to his feet after, cursing himself for not having the foresight to melt into shadows before the fall. He then surged towards the HellHounds. “Where is he?” Death barked. “Where did he go?”
The HellHounds all pranced around a hole in the ground, taking turns kneading at the loose soil.
The tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. Of course.
“Move,” Death shoved Harold’s head out of the hole and descended, his wings vanishing to fit in the tight quarters. Instantly, he was pitched into darkness, with no sense of where to go, what tunnel to follow. He blindly ran down one, then another.
Death stopped in his tracks to call out “Little Kit!” but all he heard was his own voice, echoing back.
And why should he respond to that? It’s not his real name. Death’s heart twisted at the thought. Because it was true, and he wished it weren’t. And because, I don’t know his real name. And I wish I could.
Death shook his head and continued to search for Little Kit. He winded his way through each dank tunnel, descending to chambers so deep the worms dare not go. Once, he thought he heard footsteps, only to find that the source of the noise was, really, water dripping onto a gnarled tree root.
Death snarled in frustration. Every minute that passed without a sign of Little Kit, he became more frantic. Dashing, disoriented, through the underground labyrinth. Entering areas that seemed both vaguely familiar and brand new. It all looked the same.
Still, he pressed on.
Until the hours ticked on too long, and his store of hope dwindled too low, and he surfaced for good.
-----------------------------
“What have you done?” Life was sitting outside WindClan’s nursery when Death returned to camp, accusations plastered across her face.
“The littlest kit in the nursery, the one born four moons ago. He-” Death faltered, casting his gaze towards the sky, where stars were already beginning to peek through the curtain of blue. Where a new one ought to be by now. “We lost him.”
“You killed him.” Life’s face was ashen.
“No,” Death choked. “I didn’t- I don’t know what happened.”
“It was you.” Life hastily backed away from Death, her fur on end. “You did this. He was healthy. He wasn’t supposed to die.” She shook her head vigorously. “The Celestials are going to hear about this. They will know.” Her voice dropped to a hush then, as if she were too afraid to raise it any louder. “They already do, Death.”
The HellHounds vanished.
One second, they were slinking behind Death, heads hung low, and the next, they were gone.
Death blanched. “What did you do, Life? Did you tell them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Life said. “They were going to get involved in this either way.”
“Not if I found the kit first!” Death snarled. “Then they would have had no reason to!” He rushed towards the entrance of camp, determined as ever. “I’m going to find him, I have to-”
“Just stop,” Life sobbed, her eyes glistening with tears. “There is nowhere to run.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit with me before they come.”
“No,” Death spat back, putting on a burst of speed right as an invisible force clenched around his heart, slamming him backwards. He hit the ground, hard, his claws scraping against the dirt till they chipped as he fought, tirelessly, to remain in place.
Like a mortal warrior, who doesn’t know when he’s lost.
Death was dragged to .
(Part 3)
Three parts to one chapter? Gah, I know! It's crazy! There was only meant to be two parts, but I'm too busy with schoolwork to finish Chapter 1 anytime soon, least I crank out gibberish. Hence, I wanted to post what I have done so far in the meantime.