#Lore [first BloodClan short <3]

Silkpaw - SparkClan
Emberpaw

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He didn't mean to be sticking so close to Crimsonthunder. Whenever Silkpaw noticed himself drifting towards his mentor's side, he grimaced and tried to casually change course, pretending that he was trying to look both ways instead of being pulled to Crimsonthunder's familiar swagger like a kitten trying to hide behind their mother from the howling sandstorm outside.

Which was hard, because the war camp was filled with terrifying cats. Silkpaw didn't know a cat could get so many scars and still be alive at the end of it all.

Quillstomp lived here?

Silkpaw followed Crimsonthunder past a trio of cats sharing tongues. The fist--a massive grey tom--had a mat of herbs and cobwebs pressed to his chest, but that wasn't enough to stop him from tackling the second--a long-furred ginger tom--to the ground and wrestling while the third--a tiny black furred molly--cheered them on enthusiastically while also stealing the grey tom's abandoned mouse for herself.

"Silkpaw." He'd lingered, eyes wide on the scene, for a moment too long. Crimsonthunder stood beside a white molly with dark flecks on her shoulders and cheeks. Her right ear was completely gone, a patch of ugly scar tissue grey and pockmarked parting the fur, and her left ear was so shredded, it was practically missing too. A thin line crossed the bridge of her nose and another splattering of fur was missing from her muzzle. Silkpaw's eyes traced every scar and it might have been rude, but he couldn't stop staring, imagining the injuries and then, more terrifying, the Beasts that had made them.

"Silkpaw, this is Bambooheart. She'll be your battle mentor," Crimsonthunder said, her voice booming, as if the cats she were speaking to were across the desert and not a tail-length away. Luckily, Silkpaw had been training under her for the last two moons and knew how to angle his ears to avoid being deafened. In this case, Bambooheart's near lack of ears might be a distinct advantage.

The scarred white molly blinked slowly, her amber eyes judging. "How does he fight?" she asked, her voice deep and rich. She was speaking over his head, though, addressing Crimsonthunder, and Silkpaw looked to his mentor, nervous of her answer.

"Well, all things considered," --and what was that supposed to mean?!-- "Silkpaw does fight well for his age. He's got a passive style, he likes to defend more than attack," (true, he supposed, grouchily), "but he wins more than he loses." He puffed up at that, gathering the courage to look Bambooheart in the eye. He tried hard not to let his attention wander to her ears or scars.

Silkpaw held her amber gaze for several heartbeats. Then, a slow blink. A recognition. "A solid defense is worth a lot, in the desert. He will do well here. Come, let me show you to your new den."

It was only after he took a few steps away from Crimsonthunder that it really sunk in: he was in the war camp. In the morning he would be learning to fight Eclipse Beasts. He wasn't typically a nervous kind of cat, but the Eclipse Beasts were the center of every scary story he'd ever been told, the horror of the desert. Every older warrior had at least one name they held close, a cat lost to the sands. His imagination filled in the gaps and it made it hard for Silkpaw to follow in Bambooheart's pawprints, especially seeing her scars and knowing that each one was made by a Beast, by the creatures he would soon learn to fight.

If a strong, experienced warrior like Bambooheart took such grievous wounds fighting Beasts, what could he, a young apprentice, hope to accomplish?

They turned a corner and the battle-scarred pelts of older Gladiators were replaced with the pelts of cats he recognized: Palepaw with his too-white fur and eerie pink eyes; Onyxpaw who had come over only a moon before him, encouraged to kill a Beast before she's named a warrior; Emberpaw, off on his own, closest to Silkpaw's age but so quiet Silkpaw hardly knew him at all; and two mollies with similar cream tabby pelts that must be sisters, and though he'd never seen them before, recalled that they were probably the Peachpaw and Blossompaw that some of the older apprentices back in the main camp had sometimes namedropped during training.

From what he remembered, Peachpaw was dreaded, called the awful reincarnation of Peachstar by Midnightpaw, and that Blossompaw wasn't any kinder than her sister.

Bambooheart stopped. When she stopped moving, every muscle froze, like a Spirit had turned her to stone. It was unnatural. "Be ready by dawn," she said, with that deep voice that would better fit a cat three times her size. "Meet me by the tallest palm. Don't be late." He nodded but she was already gone, slipped between the thicket of trunks as if she hadn't been there at all.

Citrus overwhelmed his nose, tangy and sour. Now that he was alone, all the apprentices' heads had turned his way, their conversations fallen silent. "Um, hi," he tried, forcing his voice not to shake. "I'm Silkpaw. I'll be training with you all."

---

Silkpaw. Emberpaw was only a moon older, though he'd spent more time with Butterflypaw and Dapplepaw than Silkpaw or his brother, Ivorypaw. The two toms had been too loud for him to tolerate, too competitive. Without Ivorypaw, though, Silkpaw simply looked lost.

Emberpaw almost made it to his paws in time, but Blossompaw beat him to it. "There's no need to be so formal," Blossompaw said, teasing. She was twice as tall as Silkpaw as she stalked across the apprentice's clearing to greet the lilac-pointed tom. She wrapped her pale tail over his shoulders, overly familiar, and Emberpaw bet he was the only one that noticed Silkpaw tense up under her touch. "C'mon, we're all friends here." Blossompaw's voice was nice, sweet, polite, friendly. Her smile welcoming. "Let's find you a nest. The ones to the west are the least windy--"

Blossompaw led Silkpaw away. Crystalpaw and Onyxpaw followed on her heels, with Crystalpaw adding commentary whenever Blossompaw gave a slight pause. Peachpaw watched, disinterested, sharpening her claws on a sand-worn palm. Beetlepaw was the only one that shared a concerned glance with Emberpaw--she never would side with him when Blossompaw was around, but she was nice enough when Blossompaw wasn't.

It was rare that all the apprentices were in one place. Typically a few of them would be out in the deep desert on overnight scouting patrols, but their schedules had aligned like stars, leaving them at loose ends, a scattered constellation. 

For BloodClan, a worldbuild which I am recently obsessed with

"C'mon, I'll give you a tour!"

Bladehawk, for having such a fierce name, was the bubbliest, friendliest molly he'd ever met. She shoved her way between him and Emberpool, who had stuck by his side until they reached BloodClan's camp. Now, in the safety of the Singularity, they waved him off with a smile and though he hadn't known Emberpool for long, he desperately wished they would come along so he wouldn't be alone.

Some of his fear must have shown in his reluctance to follow Bladehawk, as Emberpool stepped away from their patrol. "I'm sorry this is abrupt," they said. "But I haven't spent much time in the Singularity since I was a kit. My sister is much better suited to show you around. I promise, you're safe here."

"She's your sister?" he asked, surprised.

For the second time since they met, Emberpool smiled, a soft, genuine thing. "I have three littermates. And I'm certain Bladehawk will introduce you to them all before dusk."

"C'mon!" Bladehawk called again, and he finally turned and left, though he couldn't help taking one last glance over his shoulder at Emberpool as he walked away. The golden cat's smile had faded, but their eyes were soft as they waved their tail in parting. "You're Emberpool's first," Bladehawk said as soon as he turned his attention to her.

"First?"

"Yeah, you're the first they brought back from a Hunt. Emberpool's been trying for ages to convince Umberthroat they were ready."

He thought of their conversations, of realizing that Emberpool wasn't the cat that was supposed to confront him, but thought he shouldn't share that, so he only nodded. "Do you get a lot of new cats?"

Bladehawk shrugged. "Depends on the year. We got... nine last year? But you're only the second since new-leaf so."

The Singularity had dropped them both in the middle of an open meadow. Emberpool and the Hunters had grouped on a cluster of stones to the east, while Bladehawk was leading him towards a stand of truly massive sycamores to the northwest of the clearing. The trees, so familiar, made him ache for home as Bladehawk led him down a well-trodden path lined with large, red leaves.

"BloodClan has a few camps, but you're from SunClan so that should feel familiar to you," Bladehawk said as they trotted between the trees. There was something... off, something that made his fur prickle, and it was only after she broke the silence that he'd realized what was wrong: there were no birds, no squirrels chattering, nothing. An even, steady breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, but it felt impersonal, almost fake. Emberpool had mentioned that there was no prey in the Singularity, which is why BloodClan cats had to risk leaving it to hunt, but he hadn't expected that the lack of life would be so profound.

Bladehawk wasn't a part of his epiphany, and continued on with her tour. Of course, for her, growing up here, quiet forests must be her normal. "The biggest one is here. We call it Moonsplash because, well, you'll see tonight." She turned a bright grin his way and for the first time, he could see her resemblance to Emberpool.

Despite the two being opposite in personality and appearance, their orange eyes both lit in the same way with joy. He couldn't help but grin back and she fed on the energy, leaping forward and sending sycamore leaves flying behind her. "C'mon!" she called, and he realized the ground dipped down into a valley, that Bladehawk had jumped onto a massive leaf and was sliding down the slope, yowling her joy to the world.

"Stars," he said, a prayer or curing her insanity he couldn't tell, but before he could second guess himself, he threw himself down the slope behind her. A scream tore itself from his throat as the ground slid away, his paws skidding without traction as he went faster, faster-- Fear ignited into something like joy, making the terror go up in flames, vaporizing his thoughts until he felt like he was flying.

Too late, he noticed the lake at the bottom of the hill. Only then did he see Bladehawk slide into it, disappearing with a splash. He tried to slow himself down but knew it was futile. He managed to hold his breath and close his eyes before the cold water closed over his head.

He didn't know how to swim, but he flailed his paws until he broke the surface. Bladehawk grabbed his scruff and pulled him closer to the shore, letting him go when his paws hit the sandy lakebed and he could trudge to the shore himself. She was cackling with laughter and raced ahead, wings of water splashing his side as the black and red molly spun circles around him. "I didn't think you'd do it! No one ever follows!"

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't," he muttered, shaking the worst of the water from his fur, but knowing it would be hours before his long fur was dry. At least the cool felt good under the sun.

Bladehawk's shorter fur poofed into spikes as she shook herself dry, a wild light still bright in her orange eyes. "It's the fun way! Welcome to Moonsplash!" He paused from licking the water from the thicker fur on his chest to look around, only then noticing the many eyes on his pelt. There had to be two dozen cats watching, most of them scattered atop flat, dark stones that made spiraling tiers around the shore. They shape of the rock reminded him, inexplicably, like shelf mushrooms.

"C'mon!" It was Bladehawk's catchphrase, he was certain, but he followed behind as she stalked across the sand to the shadowy stones, hopping onto the lowest tier. "Most of BloodClan's warriors spend their time here. We don't get rain or cold in the Singularity, and there's no one else here but us cats, so lots of BloodClanners sleep in the open. The stones get nice and warm from the Novalight."

"Novalight?"

Bladehawk snorted a laugh, flicking her ears. "Nova's the cat that made the singularity. That," she gestured with her tail to the sun high above, "isn't the real sun, not really, so we call it Nova. Novalight, Novahigh. You get it. Apparently it annoys him. Cat-Nova, that is. Says it's insulting to name the sun after him when he's obviously--literally--the moon."

"Literally the moon?"

Bladehawk grinned. "You'll see, tonight." She hopped forward, gesturing to the many shadowy nooks and overhangs around the stones, giving a running commentary on whose den is whose, along with plenty of gossip for dozens of cats whose names fell out of his ears the moment he heard them. Occasionally another cat was on their path and Bladehawk would introduce him. "New Blood magic user, Emberpool Hunted him!" she'd say, and then tell him the BloodClanner's names and their rank in the group. These names stuck a little better, with faces and voices to match with them, but he still felt overwhelmed after a few sun-paws (Nova-paws?).

None of them seemed concerned that Bladehawk didn't give them a name with his introduction. "Oh, almost all the SunClanners take new names when they join BloodClan," she said. Then she stuck her tongue out and winked. "So don't think you're special!" A small pause. "I'm sure you know better than I do, but I don't think many of them like remembering what they left behind," she said, Bladehawk's voice quieter than it had been since he met her.

"I can't speak for any other cat," he said, matching her gravity. "But yeah, I don't feel like the same cat that I was... back there."

She nodded and there was a second of silence before she saw another cat and pulled him over, just as bubbly as ever. "This is Duskshore! My sister!"

Bladehawk rammed her head under Duskshore's chin but the golden-and-black molly hissed and pushed her away. "Gross! You're still wet!" she complained, but a smile undermined her harsh tone. Just like Bladehawk and Emberpool's her orange eyes came alive when she smiled.

"He's Emberpool's first Hunt!" Bladehawk continued, as if her sister didn't just shove her away.

"Darkness," Duskshore mewed, and he flinched at the curse. But both sisters still smiled, light, as if the word meant little to them. Maybe here, it didn't carry the same weight. "I guess I owe Nightflare two mice. I bet him Emberpool wouldn't get their own Hunt until after leaf-bare."

"No!" Bladehawk said with a dramatic gasp. "How could you bet against them? You!"

Duskshore rolled her eyes. "It was less betting against Emberpool, and betting for Umberthroat. She's so overprotective, especially after Rosepaw."

He didn't understand the drama or the characters, but he could see Emberpool so clearly in their sisters' mannerisms that he found the conversation entertaining regardless. The two didn't stop bantering until a loud chime rang across the clearing, startling him nearly out of his fur. Bladehawk and Duskshore both turned towards the sound, attentive. "Clan meeting," Bladehawk explained and followed after Duskshore, adding themselves to the flow of cats that were ascending the tiered stones.

"Here," Bladehawk said, pulling him into a sunny spot. They had climbed to the third tier. Only one more tier, a capstone, sat at the very center, creating a wide ring of space for the BloodClan cats to gather. And gather they did. He thought the dozen or so cats they'd talked to were the majority of BloodClanners in this camp, but more and more cats piled onto the dark stone, enough that he could hardly see the stone for all the cats crowded upon it. There had to be at least forty cats here, probably more, and while Bladehawk said it was BloodClan's biggest camp, she'd also said there were others.

And all of them were Dark.

He hadn't been scared, not since Emberpool showed him their Blood magic and he realized he didn't have to be alone in exile. But now a whisper of fear wormed its way into his lungs. Everything he knew, everything he'd ever been told, was that Dark magic is only capable of evil. And now here he was, sitting in an army of Darkness...

Bladehawk tapped her tail against his shoulder and he flinched away from her touch. "You alright? Scared of crowds?" He noticed that Duskshore had sat on his other side, a familiar and very intentional barrier between him and the other BloodClanners, and he allowed himself to relax into Emberpool's sisters' care.

"I didn't know there were so many of you," he admitted.

"A hundred and twelve, I think," Bladehawk replied and his eyes went wide with the implication. That was easily double the size of his camp. If BloodClan had decided to attack, SunClan--or at least the outer camps--wouldn't have a chance. Oddly enough, the fact that they hadn't attacked, that he hadn't even heard of BloodClan before Emberpool found him, made him slightly more at ease.

"Look, that's Chimestorm, BloodClan's primary leader," Bladehawk said as a long-legged molly ascended to the highest platform to look over the crowds. She had a stunning pattern, dark grey with bright yellow and red streaks like sunbursts around her chest and neck, and he wouldn't have needed Bladehawk's commentary to know who she was: everything in her stance screamed leader, demanded respect. As soon as she stood over the crowds, the loud chatter turned to a soft hush. He thought the quiet might discourage Bladehawk's commentary, but she continued in a whisper, leaning over to his ear: "she's like, over two hundred moons old. But she's half-vamp, so to her that's like, fifty moons. Chimestorm's been leader for as long as my great-grandma's been alive, and she's still gonna be leader when our grandkits are elders."

"You keep vampires here?" he hissed, his worry coming back in full force.

But Bladehawk only flicked him on the shoulder with a paw and pointed to the pair of cats that were joining Chimestorm on the dais. "Platinumshriek and Grousepool, our other leaders. Don't ever try and debate with Platinumshriek, he'll have you singing his tune in five sentences and thinking it was your own idea all along. Grousepool, well he's the same, but at least he won't try and trick you into it."

Beside Chimstorm, Platinumshriek looked like an apprentice and Grousepool a kitten. She towered well over both tomcats' heads, her presence like the sun, casting both of them in shadow. Platinumshriek was elegant in his own way, his stalk like water as he flowed across the platform to Chimestorm's side. Not a single silver fur was out of place, and his jet black eyes raked over the crowds, freezing them in place under his judgmental stare. Grousepool, in comparison, had a fluffy, round figure, small and with a pleasant bounce to his steps that drew the eye. He looked downright friendly compared to the other two until his gaze turned their way. Even if Grousepool's eyes were pale green as soft mosses, his gaze was just as sharp and discerning as the other leaders'.