Whiskey woke to pain, this time in his chest more than his head. He scrabbled at the moss bedding until he was able to pull himself into a sitting position. Mooneye opened his good eye to look over at him curiously. For a moment Whiskey wondered if the other tom could hear how hard his heart was beating.
"Good evening, are you feeling any better?" the black cat asked.
Whiskey swallowed around how dry his mouth was, "I'm-"
His stomach made a loud rumbling sound and Whiskey's whiskers twitched awkwardly. In response, Mooneye pulled himself to his feet and stretched. The leaf hadn't been replaced and in the dim light Whiskey could almost believe the sightless orb was glowing just like a little moon. No wonder he had been named Mooneye.
"Come on, follow me and we'll get some food," the older tom suggested. Whiskey stood and followed him out, passing by a sleeping mound of brown and black fur.
Dreampaw lifted his head from the pile, still looking a bit tired, but pushing himself up and following them out, "How are you feeling?"
"Hungry," the spotted tom answered before his stomach could embarrass him again, "But better. My head doesn't hurt anymore."
"Oh, good! We don't have a lot of feverfew and I was worried about having to go get more. It only grows by the edge of our territory," the apprentice breathed a sigh of relief, "Do you remember anything?"
"No," both clan cats looked at Whiskey oddly--Dreampaw behind them and Mooneye standing in the exit and looking back. He had answered too fast. The grey tom added smoothly, "I mean, nothing important. I know my name is Whiskey. I know I'm not one of you. I don't think I'm from uh... wherever we are right now, but I don't remember where. It all feels... very muddled in my head. It's hard to focus on."
"That sounds like you've got memory loss. It may take some time to return--if it does at all," Heatherheart had lifted her head from where she had been sleeping. Whiskey found it strange how early these cats were turning in for the night. "Dreampaw, if you're going out, let Snowstar know. She'll want to figure out how to handle this as soon as possible."
Whiskey watched the tom nod and followed Mooneye out of the den. He quickly realized the answer to his earlier curiosity. He had thought that it was still the evening, but no. The sun was nowhere to be seen, instead above him the sky shone with thousands of impossibly bright stars and the moon lit the areas it touched with a soft glow.
"You really must not be from around here," Dreampaw noted, "The sky is pretty, isn't it?"
"I've never seen the stars so bright," he admitted. Pretty wasn't the word. It wasn't just the stars, there were colors up there, swirling purples and rivers of light blues. It recalled a vague memory in his mind of the naked, long-toed paw of a twoleg dragging through colorful paste to create a mix of beautiful colors.
"Many moons ago the clans were at war. They had grown too big and wanted to control the hillside in its entirety. Many cats died... It's said that for a time the sky turned red from fallen cats running up to Starclan and when it returned to normal there was a bright star in the night sky for each one."
Whiskey looked over at the apprentice who was staring into the sky with wide, pretty blue eyes. A few heartbeats passed before Dreampaw met his gaze.
"Honestly? I didn't understand most of what you said," Whiskey admitted.
Dreampaw kicked at the dirt subconsciously, "Right, of course not."
"Not hungry anymore?" Mooneye had left the two cats to their star watching and returned with a plump mouse. Whiskey licked his lips as his mouth watered at the scent. When had he eaten more than herbs? Mooneye sat the mouse down and nudged it towards him. Without time for even a thank you, the newcomer dug into the prey.
"Oh, the new guy is awake!" came a voice too loud for the quiet night. Whiskey glanced up to see a large, dark shaded rust colored tom cat with a scar across his nose. Whiskey paused to eye the male, wondering how much bulk was muscle and how much could be attributed to his long, thick fur. As he got closer though it was clear he was large even without the fur. Definitely not one to mess with.
"Whiskey, this is Duststorm. He's a warrior like I am," Mooneye introduced.
"Just barely..." Dreampaw muttered below his breath.
Duststorm gave the apprentice a playful swipe, "You're just jealous I got my name and you didn't."
What did that mean? Whiskey looked between them. Although there was a definite size difference between the smaller, black tom and the larger ruddy tom, they did look to be around the same age. Where Mooneye was fully into his adulthood, these two could hardly be much older than several moons like he was. That too felt like a truth in his head. He, himself, was only about fourteen moons old.
"And your name?" Whiskey looked up from his thoughts to see that Duststorm had gotten closer.
He swallowed a bit of mouse and answered, "Whiskey."
"Whiskey? What even is that? A plant? Sounds like a weed to me."
Whiskey felt his fur stand on end and a bit of heat fill his chest. He swiped at the larger cat and hissed, "It isn't a weed!"
Duststorm took a step back, eyes wide, "Sorry, I was only teasing."
"You mousebrain," Dreampaw scolded, "Don't make fun of cats you don't even know."
To be perfectly honest, Whiskey wasn't sure why he had gotten so worked up. He didn't know what his name meant either, it was just his name. It felt important though. He remembered the voice from his dreams. It was a different voice than the one from before. That had been masculine and gruff, but this was feminine and sweet. A twoleg who had lifted him up and held him close in a warm and safe embrace. There was something about the memory that felt sad and bitter, even a little distant.
"Now he's going all dreamy," Duststorm's voice broke in through his thoughts and Whiskey looked up at the three cats from where he was still crouched over his half-eaten mouse.
"What?"
"Dreamy. Dreampaw does that too. Just stares off into the distance and becomes as deaf and blind to everything as a rock. So we call it going dreamy."
"No. We don't," the cat in question sounded exasperated. Duststorm only grinned in response. They seemed close in spite of the bickering.
"If you two are done, don't you have a message to give Snowstar?" Mooneye turned his gaze to Dreampaw. The missing eye only served to make his stare all the more intense.
"You're right," Dreampaw dipped his head respectfully before running off. Whiskey tracked his departure across the clearing to a boulder that sat just off the side from the center. He ran around and disappeared. Maybe there was a den there.
Now that he thought about it, he had been so concerned with the sky and food, he had totally forgot to look around the area. His yellow eyes dragged over the unfamiliar area. As he had seen earlier, they were beneath a large willow that shaded them from the forest beyond save for breaks in the tree veil every time the wind blew and a particularly large, empty portion that filtered in skylight. The den he had come from was buried in the ground below an exposed root that gave the hole support and protection from the weather. The boulder Dreampaw had disappeared into was a about a reed length away and he could smell the waft of prey coming from a small pile beside the boulder. Speaking of smells, the whole area reeked of other cats, but especially above them. There were two holes in the tree trunk that smelled of other cats in their prime. There was the scent of older cats beneath the tree where the roots were lifted from the dirt and younger cats in a den similar to the one he had been in on the opposite side.
This place must have been full of cats.
"Mooneye, I can watch the new guy if your eye is all better, I'm used to cats who go all dreamy," Duststorm suggested.
The older cat tilted his head in consideration, glancing over at the spotted tom, "Fine. I'm sure Snowstar will have things figured out by sunup. Keep an eye on him."
"You got it! He won't leave my sight!" For the first time Whiskey felt like a prisoner and the mouse left a bitter taste in his mouth as he finished it. Mooneye left them with a twitch of his tail and with practiced ease climbed up the tree trunk and into one of the holes.
Whiskey did his best to ignore the other tom who was now staring at him and rather than give him a chance to give out orders, walked himself back to the medicine den without a word. With as big and fluffy as Duststorm was there was going to be less free space in the den for certain.
The rest of the night had not been as quiet as Whiskey had tried for. Even though Whiskey never answered, Duststorm wouldn't stop asking questions.
"Where did you come from?"
"Why were you in that tree?"
"Are you sure you're not a Mistclan spy?"
"What's your favorite prey?"
"Were you a Newleaf kit? Or a Greenleaf kit? You look like a Greenleaf kit too me. Dreampaw was a greenleaf kit."
"You don't remember anything?"
After what felt like hours, Dreampaw finally hissed, "Go to sleep!"
That did the trick. Duststorm lapsed into silence and Whiskey curled tighter in on himself. Mooneye had said that some cat named Snowstar was making a decision about him in the morning. He didn't know what that meant or what would happen after that, but it was as good as any time to look forward to.
Sleep did not come easy...
"I don't know what to do..."
"Hey, hey, calm down. You're just a bit shell shocked is all. I know what it's like to lose someone so suddenly."
"You do?"
"Yeah... my best friend used to go away a lot. He'd come home smelling of smoke and metal."
"Metal?"
"It's that shiny stone the housefolk have. It smells bad, I hated when he smelled of it and I always hoped he would stay so he could smell of me again, but he always left... and one day he never came back."
"Never... came back?"
"Hey, relax. I know a place for you to go. Come on, you'll be warm and fed there..."
Whiskey was becoming used to the strange, fragmented dreams. This time when he woke he managed to stay in place, curled loosely on his side towards the wall, knowing that movement might encourage Duststorm's interest again.
He had dreamt of an older, male cat again, but he wasn't sure if it was the same one as the first dream. He wasn't even sure where this dream fit in with the rest. It had a tinge of fear and sadness around it, a different sort than before. The dream with the twoleg had been sad in a long suffering way, but this felt more like active despair. His paws twitched and he felt a desire to go somewhere. He wasn't sure where, but somewhere with answers.
The grey, spotted tom looked up out of the corner of his eye. It was still night. He had slept for so long, now he was having trouble staying asleep. Cautiously, Whiskey shifted to look over at the other tom. He was on his back, paws in the air. Something about it furthered his distaste for the russet colored male. Still... he looked pretty deeply asleep. Slowly, Whiskey rolled over and leveraged his paws beneath him to stand and carefully sneak his way out. The medicine cats didn't stir as he walked by and out of the den.
Keeping to the side of the tree, Whiskey scrambled over the edge of the thick roots and around the back. He could smell other cats and it would make sense if they had lookouts, and yet his departure from the tree and into the forest went all too smoothly.
"So where are we going?"
The voice made Whiskey jump a fox length into the air. No... not him.
Duststorm was standing right behind him. How did such a large cat even move so quietly?
"We? W-what are you doing here?" Whiskey managed to spit out, still puffed up from how startled he had been.
Duststorm licked some fur on his chest, "I was told not to let you out of my sight. So, where are we going?"
"I-... I don't know," Whiskey admitted.
"Then, sounds like we should go back-"
"No- I...-" Whiskey looked down at his paws, then at Duststorm.
The large tom sat and scratched at his tufted ear, "Look, I don't know who you are or where you're from, but you don't seem so bad to me. Dreampaw said you don't remember much, and if you ask me, it's easier to lie if you wanted to gain our trust than pretend you have no idea who you are. If you aren't anyone, then you could be anyone- or... something like that. Dreampaw said that too. He's better at figuring those things out."
"When did you have this conversation?"
"When he woke me up to follow you," Duskstorm grinned at him, "I figure if I had been stuck in the medicine den for a quarter of a moon I would go nuts with wanting a walk... so... is that all you were doing?"
Whiskey wondered if this was the other tom's attempt to give him an out. He considered him again. Maybe he was still annoying, but that was a nice thing to do for a strange cat in your territory. "No, I've been... having... dreams."
"Crazy..."
"Not like that, I mean... they aren't dreams but more like-... like memories. Bit of memories. They don't make a lot of sense, but I want answers. There was a twoleg girl in one and I think... maybe I lived with her."
"Well, if you're a kittypet, then that shouldn't be too hard to figure out. There's a small twolegplace not far from here. We aren't supposed to go.... buuuut... I am supposed to watch you and if you go then I have to follow, right? And nobody is breaking any rules."
Duststorm looked pleased with his logic and while Whiskey was certain things didn't work like that, he was also desperate to figure this out- no... he wanted to go home. He really, really wanted to go home.
"You know the way to this place?" he asked.
"Of course, follow me!"
If someone had asked him minutes earlier if he would follow the large tom through the forest at night, Whiskey would have laughed in that cat's face, but now he walked in his steps with a sense that Duststorm was his only lifeline to the answers he was searching for.
From what he could tell, the Willowclan territory consisted of a thick, deciduous forest with long grass on a hilltop. He could smell the clan cats all over. In the dark he couldn't quite figure out how Duststorm was navigating through the long grass between the trees. There didn't appear to be any notable landmarks.
"How do you know we're going the right way?" he asked.
Duststorm slowed to walk beside him and tilted his nose to the sky, "I guess it can be a bit confusing if you aren't used to it, but even if I was a kit I wouldn't get lost. Starclan shows us the way."
Whiskey followed his gaze up, "The stars? Dreampaw called them that too. What does starclan mean?"
"What? Really?" The other cat shot him a surprised look, "Oh... right, you aren't one of us. Starclan is our ancestors. When a clan cat dies they go up there and become part of Starclan. They guide us. Leaders and medicine cats can even talk to them."
What was this bee brained cat talking about? Cats in the sky? Whiskey quickly nodded to hide the fact he was looking at Duststorm as if he had grown a second head, "And they tell you how to get out of the forest?"
"Well, look, that bright star there it's always in the same area. Once you know where the stars are, it's easy to figure out how to navigate."
That sounded far more sensible, "Dreampaw said something about dead cats in the stars too actually... something about a war."
"The war, oh yeah. That's a pretty big story. Do you know about Mistclan?" Whiskey shook his head and Duststorm continued, "So, it used to be that there was Willowclan and Mistclan and we've lived around here ever since there were no stars in the sky. We mostly got along because there was always room for everyone. Then the twolegs moved close to the hill and started taking up territory from both of the clans. Mistclan lives by the lake and they used to roam the whole thing until twolegs came with their water monsters. We used to count our territory as the hilltop and the field until the twolegs took over the field. So our territory got smaller, but we still had a ton of cats in both clans."
"And you started fighting..." Whiskey followed the logical conclusion.
"Exactly, and we fought for a long time. It was brutal. I guess, in a way, it solved the population problem because so many cats died. They filled the skies with stars. Then the twolegs noticed and they came in and took our dead away before we could... and then they came back again for the living. A bunch of cats disappeared and both sides stopped fighting. My dad was taken before I was even born. We don't have any elders because most of our warriors either died or were taken. Our last two elders were Buckpelt and Fennelclaw and they died to yellowcough last leafbare. We're only just getting back on our feet."
"That sound awful."
"Yeah, I heard Mistclan had it worse," Duststorm leaned in conspiratorially, "They say that some cats who were in the war got bloodcrazed. They didn't care about territory anymore, they would even attack their own clanmates if they got in the way. All they wanted was to draw blood. ... and they say that cats like that don't get into Starclan. So where do they go? I hear they stay here... roaming their old territory... looking for someone to take their bloodcraze out on. You can't fight them or bargain with them, all they want is to kill..."
An ominous wind blew in and mixed with Duststorm's story, Whiskey felt the fur along his spine prickle.
"Kill them all..."Was that it? Were the voices from some unsatisfied spirits looking for someone to help them sate their bloodlust?
"Kill them ALL!" Whiskey looked around as the voices echoed in his mind as if carried along on the wind.
"Kill them ALL""Kill them ALL""Kill them ALL" "Did you hear that?" Duststorm had puffed up beside him, eyes wide.
Had he heard the voices? Whiskey looked around as the wind shook the leaves, "You heard that?"
"Of course I did. I-"
From above, in the shade of a tree branch, something leapt out at them, knocking the larger tom into the tall grass. Whiskey froze as yowls and hisses rose from the grassy patch. Should he help? Didn't Duststorm say you couldn't fight a ghost?
"YOU!" came Duststorm's accusatory shout. He sounded... upset, but definitely not dead. Whiskey eased closer.
Two, russet colored heads rose from the grass. For a moment he thought maybe the big tom
had grown a second head, but then he saw the of the attacker.
She was big, but not as big as Duststorm. Her coat was the same color and though their face markings were different, she looked very similar to him, right down to the moon-yellow eyes.
"Be honest, you thought it was one of your ghosts," the she cat snickered as she strut out of the grass.
Duststorm followed, his pride clearly hurt, "What are you doing out here?"
"Patrolling. I smelled a strange cat and was shocked to see my brother along with him," she answered simply, "You aren't turning traitor, are you?"
"Of course not!"
Whiskey let out a soft sigh. They were littermates, clear as day. Both were loud and too big for their own good.
"Batsong, this is Whiskey," Duststorm introduced, "Don't make fun of his name."
The she cat gave him a smile that said she was considering ignoring the warning. "You're the cat who fell out of the tree, right?"
"I'm pretty sure it was more than just that," Whiskey defended.
"So, where are you two going?" Batsong looked between the toms. Both were quiet, neither wanting to tell her for their own reasons.
Finally, Duststorm answered, "We're going to the twolegplace. Whiskey isn't sure where he comes from, but he thinks he comes from there."
"Uh huh... and you know that is against the rules, right?" she eyed her brother with an ever-present smirk.
He shifted, "Yeah, but Mooneye said I could."
Whiskey was certain she didn't believe him, but she also didn't challenge it and instead said in a tone that was mocking for how helpful her words were, "You know you're going the wrong way, right? The twolegplace is
that way."
"Yeah, I know... we were stretching our legs first!" Duststorm turned on his paw, "Come on Whiskey, I'm all warmed up to go find your twoleg nest."
The two toms stalked away, leaving Batsong's laughter to echo behind them. Whiskey leaned in close, "I thought you said you wouldn't get lost even if you were a kit?"
The other tom gave a soft cough and his whiskers twitched as he avoided the other cat's eyes, "Yeah... well... it's dark out."
Whiskey didn't point out the obvious that you needed the dark to even see the stars. Instead he just shook his head and followed alongside the clan cat.
It took a while, but just as the sun was breaking the horizon the two cats finally stepped out of the tree line. Whiskey looked down the steep hill. The scent of the willow had been replaced by a distinct twoleg smell and down below he could see their nests hugging the base of the hill.
"It's weird isn't it? How they all look the same. Creepy," Duststorm made a face, "Ready?"
Whiskey nodded, "Yeah..." the other tom lead the way down the hill and Whiskey took another deep breath before murmuring under his breath, "I'm coming Tara..."
And that's chapter 2!
Hopefully you like my himbo of a cat that is Duststorm. I'd love to hear thoughts, theories, or whatever. I'm planning on drawing Mooneye next and answering some questions about him. Drawing helps me pace myself so I don't burn out by writing four chapters in a row.