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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

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Chapter 31

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It took very little time for Talltail to get completely lost. Frankly he had been so focused on the act of leaving his clan, he hadn’t given a lot of thought to his immediate course of action after the fact. He was not at all accustomed to navigating under heavy woodland, so he just kept going in what he assumed was roughly the correct direction of the twoleg place without thinking much about it. It was difficult to “think” clearly at all right then.

Talltail had found himself walking nonstop throughout the night, in such a state of shock that he’d actually done it. He was no longer a WindClan cat. He was a rogue. Rogue. He repeated it in his mind but it didn’t quite sound real. I suppose it doesn’t matter who I am. I am no one. Just a wanderer.

What did wanderers do? What was his day supposed to be without a clan to wake up to hunt for? Without duties? Without anyone to share news with? Unwelcome feelings of loneliness were already pricking at his pads. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, he had been going out of his way to be alone for moons. But the possibility was still there at least, cats always came to greet him anyway, even if it was often halfhearted. Now there was no one to look out for him, and no one he had to look out for. What a strange feeling it was.

Where in StarClan’s name was he now anyway? He’d turned east, where he hoped the twoleg town he’d heard about would be. Reena once said that’s where they were going to head to first, right? The best course of action was to avoid any clan territory on the way there but...he wasn’t sure what clan territory looked like beyond his own and the immediate borders. Past the gathering place...it was just a lot of stupid trees that all looked the same to him.

Talltail decided he would cross Fourtrees and follow the Thunderpath--at a safe distance. Surely it would lead to more twolegs. To his right was rich deciduous forest. That was...probably ThunderClan?

But eventually the Thunderpath stopped. The hard stone spread out in a small gravely clearing and went no further. He didn’t know where to go from there, so he just kept going forward. His head was somewhere else as he walked, still not quite comprehending that he was really doing this.

Talltail was only snapped back to focus when he realized the forest he walked in was too dark for the time of day. The sun had started to rise and the sky should have been getting lighter, but instead, shadows enveloped him. The air felt wet and moisture soaked into his fur from the damp earth. He looked around. Where was the path he’d left behind?

An unfortunately familiar sharp musky scent like a bog-drowned fox hit his tongue, making his lips curl. He couldn’t really have gotten turned onto ShadowClan territory, surely? Fur started to rise along his spine. He never wanted to be in this dark muggy forest, with or without enemy warriors. The undergrowth around him was so thick and disorienting, he could almost believe the kit stories of ShadowClan’s territory cursing trespassers to be lost forever in the thick of it.

Then there were voices. Talltail looked around desperately and thought about climbing a tree, but he had no experience with scaling trees at all. The dark scraggly bark looked daunting, and he feared the noise he’d make trying to scramble up it. Instead, he leaped into the bushes as pawsteps made their way through the dark.

“You think he came through here?” a rough voice growled. Stonetooth’s voice sent a mixture of anger and fear through his body. Had they scented him already?

“He said he was going hunting with Clawface. I saw him leave with Ashheart and Tanglepaw, and I know they’ve been coming this way.” That was Raggedpelt.

“This is far past where they should be taking hunting parties.”

“I’m sure they just got carried away--wait,” Raggedpelt paused. “Do you hear that?”

Talltail’s tail had lashed just once. He hadn’t laid eyes closely on Stonetooth since the day Brackenwing was killed.

It was foolish what he was thinking of doing. Unbelievably foolish. But in that moment he was so overcome with emotion remembering Brackenwing, limp and slowly bleeding out, all he wanted was to tear the old deputy apart. The violent urge surprised him. I wonder if this is how Shrewclaw felt all the time. No wonder he was so restless. He pondered on the feeling almost thoughtfully, and then Stonetooth caught his scent.

“That’s WindClan. I know it is.”

“Those scrawny tail-chasers wouldn’t dare come this far,” Raggedpelt growled. “Who’s there? Don’t think you can hide in our forest.”

They can’t think I was sent from WindClan to invade! Who knows how ShadowClan will retaliate against them for that?

Talltail couldn’t believe what he did next, but what choice was there?

“I’m not hiding," he said, surprised at how steady his voice was. “And I’m not WindClan either. My actions are my own.”

Raggedpelt blinked at him almost surprised, and Stonetooth snarled, “and your actions have been a grave mistake. No cat trespasses in our forest. I know who you are, if Heatherstar thinks sending you to spy--”

“No one sent me. I’ve left WindClan. They can attest to that themselves.” Talltail, for all his anger, knew he had to make sure they believed that. “If you're a rogue,” Raggedpelt sneared, “then I guess that means there’s no law protecting you, is there?” He looked to his deputy asking permission, Stonetooth nodded.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment. Raggedpelt crouched to spring. Talltail didn’t look at him, not breaking Stonetooth’s glare. He bounded over Raggedpelt, who yowled in surprise. Stonetooth seemingly hadn’t expected the pounce as Talltail piled into him and rolled the bony gray tom to the ground, spitting fury as he swiped hard at his face. He caught Stonetooth on the eye, who howled in rage and alarm as blood spurted from the open wound. Talltail’s claws were blunter than theirs, but that just made the puncture that much messier. He didn’t get more than one good swipe in before Raggedpelt’s claws were in his back, shoving him off balance, and teeth dug into his neck. Stonetooth struggled out from underneath him and snapped at his muzzle, gripping it hard in his teeth, his long front teeth leaving gashes down the side of his mouth. Talltail couldn’t manage more than a stifled yowl, as Raggedpelt continued tearing at his back.

But Stonetooth’s eye was bloody and useless. There was some dull pleasure in that. He felt like he was being torn at all sides, and remembered blearily that day the ShadowClan apprentices had pummeled him, and a similar wave of panic washed over him. These were trained warriors and their claws dug all the deeper. No one would help him this time. Shrewclaw had better at least appreciate me taking his eye.

He thought he heard Stonetooth growl something, and Raggedpelt’s grip suddenly loosened. Talltail sprang upward, taking the scarred warrior by surprise. With one last clumsy slash at Stonetooth’s muzzle, which the deputy dodged easily, Talltail tore away from them and ran. Even as he did so, even though he knew a moment longer and their longer needle sharp teeth would have pierced him through deep enough to be a killing blow, he regretted it. Maybe he should have fought to the end, for Brackenwing’s sake. But it wouldn’t have done any good. He was too weak on his own.

Adrenaline pressed Talltail forward, allowing him to ignore the wounds covering his face and neck and the warm feeling of blood soaking quickly through his short fur. He heard the two ShadowClan cats hard at his heels, snapping at his tail. If the ground was more open he would have outpaced them in a heartbeat, but he clumsily stumbled and scrambled over thick bushes and fallen logs that they had the agility to weave around with ease.

Eventually, somehow, the steps behind him died away. The trees thinned out. The forest he was in now was brighter, more open, and a sharp sour scent hung in the air, reminiscent of the Thunderpath stench. Maybe they let him go? He didn’t have time to ponder it.

Only when he stopped did he realize how hard it was to breathe. He was bleeding more than he thought and the warmth spread over his chest fur, stark crimson red against the white. Dirt and plant matter stung his wounds, but he was too exhausted and sore to bother with them right now. The sun had lightened the sky to a pale gray and the last stars were fading. It was a relief to see the sky again.

Talltail limped onward, his thoughts raging. He knew Stonetooth was not the cat he’d sought out to punish. StarClan could see and judge him. He felt a bit queasy at the memory of the deputy's eye under his claw, but at the same time a surge of satisfaction. It was less damage than Stonetooth himself had done, and Talltail didn’t regret it.

Wandering blindly through the woodland, the air was less humid and muggy in this part of the forest and he was at last confident that ShadowClan land had been behind. Talltail made his way up a shallow hill and then down into a ravine of fallen branches and dry scratchy undergrowth. It was uncomfortable, but maybe he could shelter here for a moment. The pain was getting the better of him and he hadn’t even stopped to lick his wounds. Just a short nap and then he’d continue…

He was already drifting the moment his eyes closed, and his hazy dreams began before he was fully asleep. He imagined he could hear growling under the earth and had the sudden feeling he was falling into it. In the dark of his subconscious, something whispered, You shouldn’t be here. A low, ominous creaking echoed in his ears, and he was overcome with a horrible desire to flee. Instantly Talltail forced himself awake with a gasp before the nightmare could go any deeper. He rolled himself to his paws, wincing as he forgot about the sharp dead sticks and thistles above him. The creaking came again from bony branches far above his head. Most of the trees here looked dead, some were unnaturally cut flat at the base, clearly altered by twolegs. Their branches looked like they could break and fall at any moment, but he’d been too exhausted to notice. Talltail had heard of ThunderClan and ShadowClan cats being killed by falling branches. It wasn’t just underground that a cat could be suddenly crushed.

The brief nightmare was still rattling through him, filling him with the desperate urge to run before something happened. He’d clearly gotten more skittish since setting out on his own. But for once, he was actually able to obey the voices he heard in his dreams, and get far away from this ravine. No rest. Not now.

How in StarClan’s name could any cat be content to live under so many trees, prone to breaking and falling in storms? Talltail thought. He missed the clear sky. He missed the unfettered fresh breeze.

Stars, he’d barely been gone a day and he already wanted to go back.

But you can’t, so stop whining! he hissed at himself.

As he continued to walk, pushing through thistles and tripping over dried bracken, his morose mood turned more sour by the minute. Would he be tormented with these dreams forever? I’m trying to do something, is it still not enough? Why, even when he was away from the ruined tunnels of the moor, did he still feel this sensation that angry dark eyes were glaring at his every move?

For a moment his tired frustration made him think, still better this then to actually have him following me and telling me what a disappointment I am out loud. Talltail winced at that little indignant voice, and quickly snuffed it out. How could he think that? How could that thought have even entered his head? It wasn’t better at all. What kind of cat was he to even have that thought in the first place?

Who cares what kind of cat I am anymore…? Yes, I’m certainly not good, I always knew that, and so did Sandstone. Now that he was away from camp, away from trying to keep up this charade, it was surprisingly easier to just settle into the resigned bitterness that he was a rather bad cat. A cat who was always going to fail his kin, and thank StarClan he’d at least had the sense to leave when he did. That was the last thing WindClan needed. He thought briefly of his dream at the Moonstone, of some creature built of rotting earth, tainting what it touched. Stumbling blindly around camp and leaving a mess where it went no matter what. A cat built of rot couldn’t simply...un-rot itself, right? That sickness was too deeply embedded.

Thankfully, it didn’t matter how he felt or what he thought anymore. A bad cat could still do something. Talltail imagined Dawnstripe would disapprove of him hungrily chasing after a fight. It wasn’t in line with how she’d taught him the warrior code. At least she wouldn’t have to know about it. The farther he got from home, the more distant he felt from the cat he’d once seen himself as.

But...What do I actually do when I find Sparrow? Should he just scare him? Attack him? Frightening him within an inch of his life and leaving some physical scars behind to make up for the ones he apparently lacked on his conscience might do it. But Talltail didn’t really know for sure what he was meant to do. It was hard to imagine that far ahead.

He expected his paws would guide him, and when the moment arrived, he would feel this clinging presence hanging over him tell him what to do. And this time, he would listen.

Ahead was straight edged structures, similar to the barn back home. For better or for worse, Talltail had arrived at what he could only imagine was twoleg territory. He limped onward, focusing on the burning anger rolling around inside rather than the horrible pain in his body.

Though he was relieved to have found something other than the aimless woods behind him, Talltail wondered blearily how much longer he could make himself walk. There was a flat stone area on the outskirts of a twoleg structure. Without the tree cover, the sun beat down mercilessly and burned the stone under his paws. The heat reminded him that he had nothing to drink for some time, and his throat was painfully dry enough to make him wheeze.

To his luck, along the edge of the Thunderpath stone, there seemed to be a puddle. Talltail almost jumped when he saw a dull, rusty monster some fox- lengths away. It was still, with no lights in its eyes. Maybe it was dead, or asleep. He crept as quietly as he could around it and sniffed at the smudgy stream of water that ran down the black stone, seeping into the dusty soil on the edge of the path. It was unlike any water or puddle he’d ever scented, acrid with monster stench but also strangely sickly sweet. If he wasn’t so desperate he’d look for something cleaner, but with no other option, he lapped up what he could stomach and continued towards the twoleg dens.

***

As the day went on, Talltail wandered hoping he might come across a helpful scent. He tried to shove himself through a prickly bunch of bushes and hissed in pain when the thick tendrils got caught on his fur and scraped at his injuries.

“Stupid bushes,” he snarled “let go!” He yanked himself free, taking a couple thorns and a new scratch along with him, but he was in no state of mind to pay attention. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy, although his instincts hadn’t taken him out of fight mode yet. It may have been the only thing keeping him upright.

The twoleg place smelled awful. Their large straight edged structures of what he assumed must be their dens were blocked off behind rows and rows of wood barriers. Dead trees by the smell of it, but he’d never known trees to die so neatly aligned and so flat. The twolegs really did have unfathomable ways of shaping things in their unnatural territory.

He sniffed the air in vain hope of seeking some familiar scents. As he stalked down the row of wood, cursing and probably leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake, he was aware of something watching him. Cat scent. Kittypets perhaps? There didn't seem to be anyone around. I don’t have time to deal with kittypets, he thought, and hoped the stories of them being too lazy to attack trespassers were true. Let them try to touch me, they’ll see what happens when they attack a warr...er, a cat trained to fight. The confidence of his thoughts made him feel a bit better, and let him ignore the fact he was really in no state to attack so much as a mouse.

Suddenly, there were voices whispering from above his head.

“I told you I wasn’t making it up, look at it!”

“You woke me up to look at a dog’s half eaten dinner? What is that?”

“It’s a cat isn’t it?”

“I thought it was a tall weasel.”

“Whatever it is, it’s hideous.”

“You don’t think it’s one of those monster cats that lives in the woods do you?”

Talltail glared upwards, and sure enough there were two pairs of curious amber eyes peeking over the edge of the wooden barrier. “It’s looking at us,” said a tortoiseshell.

“No it isn’t--oh it is,” said a pudgy brown tom with a disdainful sneer. “Hey! Stop looking into my garden. No strays allowed. Go bleed on someone else’s grass!”

“Excuse me?” Talltail felt himself growl. Who did this pet think he was?

“Tyr! Don’t get its attention, you moron!” hissed the tortoiseshell.

“I’m not afraid of common strays, if this even is a proper cat. If I yowl, the housefolk will come out and then he’ll be sorry.”

Is that supposed to be a threat? Talltail shouldn’t be bothering with kittypets, but this brat was getting under his skin really fast.

“Do you think he has a name? Do strays have names?”

“Of course I have a name mouse-brain,” Talltail spat. “It’s Tal…” for a moment he paused. His name was given to him by his clan, a mark of his becoming a warrior. But when he betrayed them... Was it right to keep anything that would mark him as a former clan cat?

“What kind of name is Tal?” the brown tom huffed. “Whatever or whoever you are, just don’t scratch up my fence!”

Talltail had had enough of this kittypets' attitude. “Worried about the fence are you? I’d worry more about keeping your whiskers!"

Fast as hare, he leapt forward and jumped up at the fence. He wasn’t going to actually climb up onto it, which he easily could have if he was in a better state, but the kittypets didn’t know that. He slammed against it, reaching up his claws so they glinted in the faint morning light and the two cats screeched and scampered off their perch. The one apparently called Tyr made good on his "threat" of yowling back to his twolegs. Talltail couldn’t help feel a glimmer of satisfaction as he dropped back down. It was too easy.

When he hit the ground again however, he wobbled on his paws and his vision became blurry for a moment. Why did that keep happening? He winced painfully as he tested his leg. There was a small smear of blood on the fence. That had been a really stupid thing to do, and a scabbed over cut was oozing blood again. He bit back a hiss of pain as he crouched to lick the wound. It was so frustrating.

“I don’t have time to bleed out like this. I have...to find...that awful rogue!” he wheezed.

Talltail was weak and bloody and still limping painfully. Where was he even going? He felt more nauseous by the second, and was aware of the blood that dripped from his chest fur. He recalled faintly something Briarpaw had told him once, that a cat could become sick and pass out if they lost too much blood. By the time that happened, it was unlikely that they could be saved. And that’s with a medicine cats care. Was he really bleeding that much, or was it simply exhaustion? He hadn’t eaten or drank anything other than that filthy sweet smelling water after all.

If he was thinking more clearly, perhaps he would have been terribly afraid. What happened to rogue cats when they died? Would anyone from home come looking for him? Would they find him like that, instantly dead after mere days on his own, fallen in filthy twoleg territory? Talltail growled as he stumbled on, as if he could simply will himself back to health. At last there was a gap in the tall wooden barrier, and he squeezed between the boards.

I might find it inside. I just have to find...I have to find it... Whatever he was trying to say to himself wasn’t clear. His thoughts were lost in a dense fog. Why was this happening? He sank to the ground, a sharp pain in his shoulders and legs shooting through him with every step. He tasted blood. Some cut in his mouth was bleeding heavily and he choked and sputtered as if he was sick. Then he really was sick, coughing up vile liquid and spit on the grass. There was nothing solid in his belly to throw up, but he heaved anyway, and colorful spots started dancing in his vision as he lost his sense of balance and found himself tumbled sideways onto the grass. What a pathetic way to die. You barely traveled for more than a day.

There was another voice from somewhere, but Talltail was in such a dreadful state he couldn’t tell if it was in his head or not.

He thought it might have said, “By all the stars! What happened to you?”

Briefly one thought calmly surfaced in his mind, Huh...That’s strange, it sounds so familiar but I can’t quite place it….

Then, he blacked out.

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#cw violence #canon typical violence #FRU31 #chapter 31 #MA theres a weird lookin stray cat outside

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warriorsbutnotreally · 2 years

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Okay, so. Runeclan Starclan isn't like Canon Starclan. It's not filled with dead cats that we good enough to be there. It's filled with giant, towering cats with stars and galaxies in their pelts. These are the Watchers. Nine cats who control things. They never interact with any cats unless those cats are truly gifted. Leaders don't get extra lives here, they just get the star title. Only certain cats get more than one life and no one in Runeclan has gotten extra lives in thousands of years, much less special powers. The only cats who are "gifted" enough to even hear the voices of Watchers are healers and even then it's only a select few. The clan doesn't get prophecies left and right like in the books, they get them when Starclan thinks they deserve hints, which isn't very often, if not at all. Now, I know what you might be asking- where do the other cats go?

This is where the middle earth comes in. Other cats are basically ghosts. Wandering around, doing things they did in their old lives or even watching their families. When a cat dies, they wake up like nothing happened. They feel the same. The only difference is that they are dead. They can see their dead body, hear their loved ones crying for them. They can't speak or touch the living and the living can't see them. Unless, of course, you've gotten a gift. The cats still have scars and wounds like they did when died. If they died from sickness, they would continue to have a cough or any other symptoms. Their wounds don't bleed but it is extremely scary for the cat who sees them just walking around.

The Dark Forest is where horrible cats go. Cats who have upset the Watchers so bad that they are banished or even struck down by their overseers. These cats are as black as volcanic smoke with multiple limbs and bleeding red wounds. Their rules are much like the rules or the dead but they can't leave. They are shackled their, tied to the dark soil with chains of obsidian and hell fire. Here, the Dark Forest is called the Ebony Prison and though the cats trapped here can visit living cats dreams, the living cats cannot kill or touch a cat who resides here. They can change their form to look a little less threatening, mainly taken the shape of a loved one the cat longs to see, but it's only temporary and the Watchers will try everything in their power to help the living cat see them who they really are. Monsters.

Anyway, I hope this was interesting and that it isn't going to off the mark from the source material. Also I'm probably going to have the heiress be named Lightwater. She'll still have the tie to Starclan here and honestly it fits her. I'll go into more why she is tied to the Watchers later but for now, that is all.

I actually really love this???

you should be proud of your creativity with this afterlife you've created for your story!

it shouldn't matter if it goes off any mark so long as you're happy with it and honestly you should feel proud of the thought and care you put into this! It sounds so cool and I like that RuinClan has its own unique afterlife instead of having something too similar to canon.

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colour-anon-art · 3 years

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Redesigning and talking about these old characters is oddly therapeutic. It’s like dusting off something you loved when you were younger, so I think I’m going to do at least a few more of these.

Lotusflower, the big baddy.

Warning, this one gets pretty dark. Murder, manipulation, and the mention of abuse.

She starts her life in CavernClan. She had two siblings, Petaltail (Sequiastripe’s mother), and an unnamed character who isn’t important. Her mother, Cloudracer was distant, and her father, Barkclaw, was abusive.

Lotusflower, in an attempt to distract herself, got into a toxic relationship. She’d never had healthy friendships or relationships, so she didn’t recognise that her new mate, Cobravenom, was an awful partner.

One day, Barkclaw killed his own mate, and with the help of Cobravenom, framed Lotusflower for it. Slashstar (the leader) and Stonefang (the deputy) never liked Lotusflower and jumped on the opportunity to get rid of her.

Lotusflower is exiled, and she is PISSED. She decided to lurk around the territory and eventually, she gets Barkclaw alone and kills him. This causes an increase in patrols for months. To prove paranoia wrong, the leader and deputy would frequently go out. This didn’t help quell fears, despite them never having any trouble.

But is she done? Nah. She wants to destroy the whole Clan.She knew this would be too ambitious to try and do that on her own

So she gathers together a band of rogues. She tells them she wants to take over the Clan, and promised any who fought with her would be rewarded with a position of power in the new Clan. After months, she swayed enough rogues for her attack. She corners one of the Clan cats alone when they are gathering water and kills them. This is used as bait as the leader and deputy go to investigate and bring all of the elite warriors with them.

That’s when they strike. The massive band of rogues rips through the ranks. Lotusflower makes sure to kill Cobravenom herself. By the end, many rogues had died, but their were still plenty, and Slashstar was left alone as the only Clan cat alive. He is surrounded. Lotus flower goes in and rips him mercilessly over and over until he has lost all of his lives. Lotusflower instructs the rogues to disband and give the Clan time to find the horrifying scene. They were going to meet the next day at noon to seize the Clan.

But Lotusflower flees in the night and covers her tracks. She wanted no part in CavernClan, really. She wanted it gone.

She tries to put the horrors behind her and start a new life in a new Clan (this is the Clan where she meets Windyfeather and several other characters who then move to the newest Clan together). She’s doing okay fo a while, but she starts feeling vulnerable. She’s not in a position of power, and she’s terrified the Clan will somehow find out what she did and turn on her (she’s being irrational 100%). She decides she needs power over someone to feel better, so she begins manipulating a somewhat isolated cat who we will call Quickbreeze.

It doesn’t help. Lotusflower is more and more paranoid and starts having night terrors and hallucinating. Several of the cats in the Clan look like the cats who hurt her in CavernClan. She gets physically violent toward several of them and wounds several cats in a sparring session. It turns into an actually violent battle, but she is horribly outnumbered. She flees. Some want to peruse her, but they did not have the permission of their leader. They let Lotusflower get away.

Quickbreeze goes to find her in the night. She is convinced Lotusflower must have some reason for doing what she did. Lotusflower is talking to Quickbreeze, trying to manipulate her when another cat stumbles across them. They help Quickbreeze realise she’s being manipulated, and get her out of there. Lotusflower is furious. one day, she finds Quickbreeze in the forest and attacks her. She is winning easily, but two more cats (who we will call Briarthorn and Silverfur) hear the commotion and show up. Lotusflower doesn’t give up. She fights all three of them. She is vicious and doing extremely well considering she’s outnumbered, but she is slowly beaten back toward a gorge. With a final blow from Quickbreeze, Lotusflower falls to her death.

She’s dead, but she’s done her damage. Quickbreeze has a massive scar from Lotusflower, and frequently has terrors about actually being like Lotusflower from then on.

Lotusflower’s spirit goes to the Place of no Stars, where she occasionally haunts Quickbreeze. When Sequiastripe shows up, she immediately recognises him, and begins slowly manipulating him as a voice in his head worming self doubt into his thoughts. Eventually, when Sequoiastripe is so vulnerable and furious as he’s being insulted, she possesses him and forces him to kill two of his Clanmates. However, Sequoiastripe find solace in Windyfeather, and Lotusflower loses her power over him. She spends the rest of eternity rotting in cat hell, starving and wounded but never able to escape her tourment.

#Art #my art #digital art #oc #original character #warrior cats #old warriors characters #tw murder #Abuse mention #tw manipulation

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seadramonster · 4 years

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Thistleclaw Analysis

So a long time ago I made a post about this, but I decided to go back through and rewrite it since I reread through Bluestar’s Prophecy a while ago and have been thinking a bit more about it.

Before we get into this; the old claim that Bluestar chased Thistleclaw out of StarClan was later confirmed to be a joke. It isn’t, and likely never was, canon. I also think that Thistleclaw was a really good character who had his potential as a good villain wasted in canon and in a novella that wrecked the timeline and told us nothing we didn’t already know about him.

TLDR: Thistleclaw didn’t know his mate as well as people think, broke many, many codes, wanted to murder all of the other Clans and even kits, and was borderline abusive to his apprentice and own son. Even if Spottedleaf’s Heart never happened, he was still an evil cat. He should have been given a far more detailed death than what we were given, which was just a single sentence after a time skip.

So, Spottedleaf’s Heart happened. A lot of people don’t consider it canon and that’s fine. I don’t like it either. Unfortunately, until they decide to retcon it or say it isn’t, which they should, it still is technically canon in the series, even if it’s not canon to the fandom. The only thing I consider good about this novella is that it confirmed my theory that Thistleclaw chose to go to the Dark Forest.

Thistleclaw was the type who was so loyal to his own Clan, that he was willing to kill the others to keep it safe. When he was young, he watched his mother mourn over the loss of another Clanmate, one who had been a queen just the day before. A cat who had been killed in the battle with WindClan. I wonder if maybe that’s one of the reasons he turned out the way he did. That he didn’t want to see another Clanmate die in battle like that, but he, or perhaps even the Dark Forest, twisted him into thinking the only way to do that was to destroy the other Clans. He’s a good character and a good sympathetic villain.

And yet, ever since Bluestar’s Prophecy there’s been a little mini debate or war in the fandom of whether or not he’s truly a villain.

I think the reason for this is because that’s what we’re told by Bluestar, who is arguably an unreliable narrarator, and what we’re shown of Thistleclaw doesn’t give enough evidence for the latter, or people think his love for Snowfur negates anything bad he’s done. We’re not given enough of him being bloodthirsty, and we’re shown a lot of him with Snowfur, which led a lot of people to believe her death is what caused him to go evil.

It wasn’t. He loved her, but he did not know her as well as people think. A majority of what we see is her chasing after him, and I’m pretty sure there’s maybe only one or two lines, if any, of him liking her back before they become mates.

“Thistleclaw curled his lip. ‘He takes after his mother,’ he spat. 'There’s no fire in his belly, no hunger for battle.’ -Thistleclaw, Crookedstar’s Promise page 328 (hard cover version)

Fun fact! This is wrong. Out of the two sisters, Snowfur was the one who liked to fight the most. She was always getting excited and was eager to fight whenever a battle was announced. You know, the exact opposite of what Thistleclaw is claiming here. Thistleclaw, as her mate, should know this. And it makes me think that part of the reason he agreed to be her mate was because he knew it would piss off Bluestar. I do think he loved Snowfur, but there’s a small chance that only happened after he agreed to be her mate.

He also goes on to call StarClan “smug, toothless fools” in Crookedstar’s Promise. He knows Snowfur is in StarClan. Maybe he didn’t mean her specifically, but since he didn’t exclude her verbally, she’s still grouped into there as far as anyone else knows.

Thistleclaw was also talking about Whitestorm, his son, in that paragraph. Maybe he was just upset that Whitestorm wasn’t taking after him, but here’s the thing. Thistleclaw was forcing his son to train claws unsheathed with Tigerclaw, who it was implied he was an almost abusive mentor towards. It’s mentioned that Whitestorm was given a scar from one of these sessions, meaning, yeah. Whitestorm got hurt and Thistleclaw kept doing it regardless.

It should be noted that training claws unsheathed is strictly banned. Things could go seriously wrong. An apprentice might mess up and seriously injure or even kill another by accident. Wounds could get infected and the medicine cat would have to waste herbs treating injuries that shouldn’t have happened. It’s dangerous and irresponsible. A cat who forces apprentices to train claws unsheathed so often, should not have an apprentice or be anywhere near the training of them.

He also, you know. Told Tigerclaw to murder an innocent kittypet kit, and Tiger would have succeeded had Bluestar not stepped in and stopped it. He also attempted to murder Oakheart, who I’m pretty sure was RiverClan’s deputy at that point.

Goosefeather and Bluestar literally had a vision about Thistleclaw covered in blood. I feel like in this situation, people turn a blind eye to or outright forget the fact that Goosefeather can see a cat’s entire life by touching them. We didn’t know this back when this book was released, but we do now. Thistleclaw was evil and Goosefeather knew it. He knew the Clans would be stuck in war with ThunderClan until ThunderClan or the rest were destroyed if Thistleclaw ever became leader. That’s why he pushed Bluestar so hard to become deputy, practically forcing her to give up her kits.

Another thing I should point out is that we don’t get to see much of Thistleclaw on his own, since the books he’s appeared in have all been in the POV of other cats. We know he killed cats in the Dark Forest during his training there, which likely started when he was an apprentice. Who’s to say that he didn’t kill other cats out of sight of his Clanmates? Considering his bloodthirsty attitude and drive to “mark the borders in the blood of his enemies” as he claimed ThunderClan should do, it’s more likely than not that he killed cats off screen and we just never saw or heard of it.

He died fighting against a RiverClan patrol. It’s likely he could have killed or caused the death of at least one of those cats, and I doubt it would have been the first time he pulled something like that. It’s possible he was the one who started the fight as well, just so he could have an excuse to kill them.

He should have gone out with a bang, damit. Show us the battle where he died, dammit! Show us more of him trying to become deputy! So far in this series, we’ve only had one instance of a cat killing their deputy to take their place and that was in the first arc. Thistleclaw could have killed Bluestar’s first deputy to try and take that spot. Maybe he set up the RiverClan fight in hopes the second might have been killed, but it went terribly wrong and he was the one killed instead. Maybe he could have taken a life from Bluestar herself in the battle, thinking that if she lost her lives in a battle against RiverClan, he would be chosen to be deputy and it could lead to war against the other Clan. Maybe Crookedstar could have saved her, acknowledging how they had nearly become friends as apprentices, or even one of her now grown-up kits! Anything we got would have been better than a couple of short sentences thrown it at the end.

Thistleclaw was always a villain, but was never given the proper time and villain arc he deserved, and his reputation in the fandom suffered for it.

#Warrior cats #Warriors #Thistleclaw

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signs-of-the-moon · 4 years

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Moon Rise: Chapter 30

Warning: this chapter features graphic depictions of death

Two days of relative peace passed before disaster struck again. A bright sunny day brought with it another Treeclan battle, resulting in another harsh defeat for Grassclan. Swiftcloud was among the first to burst into camp, body riddled with various wounds. A cat had seen her hardly healed shoulder and went crazy on it, leaving the gash much deeper than before. Any hopes of it healing properly were long gone. Shadowfang also returned to camp with a wound that would potentially scar. A slash on his flank turned sleek black fur rusty brown. The wound was deep, still gushing and angry. Swiftcloud worried for him. Even more injuries littered the tom than on her. Shadowfang's leg had been wounded too, deeply bitten in the meat of his thigh. The young warrior would probably be nest-ridden for a half moon or more. What will I do without my partner? Swiftcloud worried, letting Shadowfang lean on her. She led him slowly over to the medicine cat's den, where he could rest and soon be tended to. Upon emerging, Swiftcloud could see more of the damage from today's battle. Rabbitstorm seemed to be sporting a similar wound to hers, on the opposite shoulder. Jaybird fussed over him, trying to clean the cuts and get the bloodstains out of his mostly white fur. A ways off, Nectarpaw was licking a bloody white paw, assisted by her sister Lilacpaw who cleaned a slash on her back. Cowpatch was behind her, licking blood from a bite on her tail. Rosebloom was two tail-lengths away, twisted around, nosing at some fresh cobweb laid down by Mistypaw on her flank. And by Tall Stone, Tigerfang receive furious licks on the muzzle by Whitestar, who was no doubt mewing complaints of foolishness to her mate.

Ambereye was one of the last cats to burst through the bramble tunnel, pelt darkened with thick crimson blood. She stood by the entrance panting heavily, as if she had just ran home all the way from Split Rock. Her legs shook violently as she stepped forward, so much so that it caused her to collapse. She let out a deep wheeze then began to spasm on the floor. Distressed yowls rose up from Swiftcloud's clanmates as cats started to surround the seizing warrior. Goldensong and Mistypaw pushed through the crowd, corralling the onlookers towards the edges of camp to give Ambereye room to breathe.

Ambereye withered against the earth for a few moments more before tensing up, her body locking into an odd position. The amber warrior's front end stay outstretched, paws reaching across the grass with claws extended uncomfortably. Her back end lay curled up, tail wrapped around back paws which pressed against her belly, toes curled together tightly. Ambereye's head lay at a crooked angle, one ear to the floor and jaws locked wide open. A high pitched whine of agony escaped the her, tears streaming down her face. The only part of herself she was able to move was her eyes, which darted around wildly.

"Goldensong! Snowfrost! Mistypaw!" Jaybird cried out as she ran to her mate's side. The queen licked Ambereye furiously, crying into her fur as she waited for help to arrive. Goldensong came running over, Mistypaw in toe with a supply of herbs. She halted by the frozen warrior's side, gasping out as she bared witness to what had become of the amber warrior now.

"Starclan!" She shrieked.

As she did so, Ambereye's eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her chest immediately stopped moving, followed by a sickening gurgling sound. Cats backed away in horror, and Jaybird pulled herself that much closer to her mate. Swiftcloud found herself frozen in terror. She wanted to flee, to hide her face in some cat's pelt or to hide away in a den, but her paws would not allow her to move.

It was only a few more moments before the noises emitted from Ambereye finally stopped. Everything lay eerily still and it seemed as if Goldensong had to force herself to approach and examine the warrior. She lifted a shaky paw, resting it upon the cat's chest.

"She's gone... She hunts with Starclan now." She announced solemnly. Jaybird began to wail. Mistypaw brought herself to her mother's side instantly, pressing her fluffy body against her comfortingly. A few silver tears dripped down her pale face, and Swiftcloud felt herself move to flank the apprentice's other side. Mistypaw turned her head to press it into Swiftcloud's shoulder, and Swiftcloud gave her a few calming licks between the ears in return. She could feel how tense the other molly was, how grief had already latched onto her like a burr to a thick pelt.

More warriors began to bring themselves closer to Ambereye, Whitestar pushing herself to the front. She looked distraught, ears lowered and tail drooping.

"Ambereye..." She whispered, settling by the molly's head. "I'm so sorry...." The Grassclan leader dipped her head, sobbing softly to herself. Her mouth moved but the words she spoke were unable to be heard. Perhaps Whitestar was saying her final goodbyes, apologizing more, or praying. Whatever she had said led her to rest her muzzle on top of Ambereye's. Swiftcloud waited for the leader to move, but it did not appear as if she would anytime soon. She must have been closer to Ambereye than I'd realized. The sight of Grassclan's leader sobbing and miserable was hard to take in. It was hard seeing any cat upset, but Whitestar? This was becoming too much for Swiftcloud to bare. Still, she remained by the fallen warrior's side for the time being to pay her respects.

Swiftcloud took a pace away from Mistypaw to share tongues with Ambereye one last time. As Swiftcloud prayed, looking at the deceased she-cat, she noticed something peculiar. The way Ambereye laid was the position she had died in. But the way she looked seemed eerily familiar.

Swiftcloud thought back to her early days in the clan, to the time of her first assessment. She remembered how she found poor Waspwing. Now, Swiftcloud realized, he was laying in almost the exact same way as Ambereye was.

Another dead clan member's memory crawled into Swiftcloud's mind. Butterflytail-the Guard warrior, the sire to Whitestar's litter- had come to camp after a battle and collapsed in a way very similar to Ambereye. When he finally lay still, his body matched Waspwing's and Ambereye's. How is that possible?

Swiftcloud moved, placing herself close to Whitestar so she could examine Ambereye's muzzle. Narrowing her eyes, Swiftcloud noticed a few bright red drops of a liquid clinging to the warrior's lips, one or two dripping down the bottom of her chin. Blood? No. It couldn't possibly be blood. Compared to the thick dark red which caked around Ambereye's wounds, the liquid on her mouth was much different. That was another thing which reminded Swiftcloud of Waspwing. He had the same thing too. Hadn't Goldensong said it was berry juice? Berry juice.... Swiftcloud suddenly remembered the bush she'd found during the investigation of Waspwing's death. Could this mean Ambereye had been poisoned, the same way he had? Perhaps Butterflytail as well?

Swiftcloud began to think about the evidence she and Dewstone had collected for Waspwing, and compared it to what had become of Ambereye. All three cats had some connection to Treeclan; Waspwing found on the border, and both Butterflytail and Ambereye returning home from a border skirmish. Could Treeclan be responsible for the warriors' deaths? It seemed to be the most logical answer, but there was still one fact out of place. If Ambereye and Butterflytail truly were poisoned, like Swiftcloud guessed, then how did either of them make it back to Grassclan's camp? Surely the poison would have taken hold long before they'd arrived. The Forest Patch was a long distance from here. Could that mean someone on Grassclan's territory had killed them?

Swiftcloud's head began to reel. All this connecting information was too much for her to bare right now. I will definitely discuss this with Dewstone later, she decided. For now, Swiftcloud needed to be healed, and to have a good rest. She stood up onto her paws, giving herself a good but painful stretch. After nuzzling Mistypaw one last time, Swiftcloud turned, taking herself to the medicine den to be with Shadowfang.

~~~~~

"Let all cats old enough to travel through the meadow gather here beneath the Tall Stone for a clan meeting."

The call woke Swiftcloud from her slumber the next morning, summoning her out from the warrior's den. She followed her denmates into the clearing, seating herself in the center of the crowd. Shadowfang shuffled his way through their clanmates to sit and press himself into her side. Swiftcloud leaned her head against his as they turned their muzzles towards Tall Stone.

"A discussion must be held over what we are planning to do about Treeclan," Whitestar began. "Normally, this would be a meeting held only between myself and the clan's senior warriors. However, since this matter has become more personal for all of us, I believe its justified to open battle discussions up to the whole of Grassclan."

"We need strategies on how we are to take on Treeclan. If any cat has an idea, speak up now," meowed Chicorynose, green eyes scanning the crowd. A few murmurs could be caught coming from the crowd, but otherwise no one spoke up. Swiftcloud glanced around her, wondering if any cat had an idea of what to do. I might, she realized, thinking things over in her mind. She'd come up with a plan, but it might be a tricky one. Would Whitestar approve? Swiftcloud kept her mouth shut a while longer, listening, waiting to see if anyone else had something to say. But no cat said a word.

"What..what if we pushed back the border?" Swiftcloud finally managed to pipe. All eyes turned to rest upon her immediately. Swiftcloud felt small under the clan's gaze.

"Push back the border?" Chicorynose echoed, looking for further explanation. Swiftcloud gulped, giving a nod. She wouldn't stand here and allow herself to be afraid to speak up, yet alone show that to the whole clan. An unusual sense of calm settled upon her, the likes of which she hadn't felt take over since the first time she'd stepped foot in camp. Swiftcloud reinflated herself, squaring her shoulders as she spoke up again.

"Treeclan continues to cross the border, trying to 'reclaim' the forest. But what if we denied them the ability to do so? What if we created a more distinct border in the Forest Patch? Like... the... Thunder Path?"

Whispers of approval and doubt filtered through her clanmates, but Swiftcloud prevented herself from being discouraged. She looked at Tall Stone, studying Grassclan's leader, seeking her opinon. For a heartbeat Whitestar was still, as if she were thinking over the idea. In another, Swiftcloud caught an odd glimpse of thrill and pride flash in the Grassclan leader's eyes.

"Perhaps that is exactly what we need, to decrease the chances of feuds, and to stop this war once and for all. Yes....yes. Grassclan, our mission is clear now: end the war, and push back the border."

That was fast! Swiftcloud thought, confusion and yet pride swelling in her chest. Initially, she had thought Whitestar would want to give this idea more thought and discussion before deciding if this was the plan they'd go for. But perhaps the idea really was that brilliant. Or maybe for some reason Whitestar trusted her that much.

"But before we set this plan into motion, there is one more matter that must be addressed," Whitestar meowed. "The reassignment of Ambereye's apprentice, Tulippaw. In times like this, we cannot afford to wait to continue a cat's training. We need as many paws in this fight as we can get." Murmurs rippled through the crowd, as each cat looked to one another, wondering who Whitestar would choose to be mentor.

"Swiftcloud. You have proven to be a great warrior; you are ready for your first apprentice. I trust that you will be good to Tulippaw, and pass down all that Chicorynose has taught you to her in turn."

Swiftcloud jumped to her paws, eyes wide with shock. She had been chosen? Shadowfang looked beside himself with glee and smiled at her encouragingly, whispering the first of many congratulations. He nudged her, urging Swiftcloud forward to meet her new apprentice by Tall Stone's base. Tulippaw had been guided to the front of the crowd by Cowpatch. She stood waiting for her new mentor, flashing her an excited grin. Yet her eyes shone sadness; clearly this reassignment had not gone as she had once hoped. Swiftcloud felt the same. She was thrilled, yet at the same time melancholy. This was a bittersweet moment for both of them. Perhaps it would help them bond, or maybe it would serve as a wedge between them. Regardless, Swiftcloud silently swore that she would do the best she could to teach Tulippaw, and turn her into the greatest warrior Grassclan could ever ask for. Without a moment's hesitation, Swiftcloud stepped forward to touch noses with Tulippaw, her hearing dulled to the sounds of their clanmates cheering their names. I'm hardly a warrior myself, but I am going to take good care of Tulippaw for you, Ambereye. She's in safe paws. And one day soon, I'll uncover the truth about your death.

#warrior cats #wcs #I'll put this under a read more and add links to other platforms when I get on pc #long post #Signs of the Moon #Signs of the Moon: Moon Rise #chapter 30

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thistleclaws-hatred · 4 years

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Chapter Eight

Previous Chapter�� Next Chapter

“You can go back to normal training today,” Featherwhisker began, nudging Thistlepaw awake. The young apprentice jumped to his feet, gazing happily at his medicine cat, “But! If you feel any pain or anything like that then you stop. Your dog wounds have finally healed, but we can’t be too careful.”

“Thank you Featherwhisker!” Thistlepaw began to run out of the medicine cat den but stopped right outside the entrance, “Thank you for everything.”

The thick-furred apprentice almost ran over his mentor in his search for the mottled brown tom. “Adderfang! Featherwhisker says I can start my normal training again!”

The warrior purred and looked at his apprentice, shoving him to the side with a shoulder, “Good. You have a lot of catching up to do. Sweetpaw and Rosepaw went to the moonstone last night with Pinestar. We’ll go hunting today and then do some battle practice tomorrow.” I can show him what Silverhawk has been teaching me! Thistlepaw flexed his claws in anticipation of battle practice.

“Let’s go hunting now, see how much you need to be refreshed,” Adderfang joked, beckoning his apprentice with his tail.

Thistlepaw eagerly followed after Adderfang, his tail high over his back. The cold breeze brought in the scent of Bluefur before Thistlepaw even saw her. When Bluefur walked past him with the rest of the dawn patrol, he stopped. The two cats looked at each other, the fur along Bluefur’s spine standing on end.

“Thistlepaw, let’s go! We need all the prey we can get in this weather.” Adderfang called over his shoulder.

Thistlepaw glared at Bluefur but padded after his mentor, claws digging into the dirt.

Thistlepaw and Adderfang went over to the Great Sycamore where Adderfang instructed Thistlepaw to hunt and that he would be observing him. Thistlepaw’s heart was racing as he listened for any sign of prey. It had been a long time since he had hunted, almost two moons! Thistlepaw felt the overwhelming urge to prove himself to his mentor, to prove that he was going to be a great warrior.

The apprentice heard a scuffling noise underneath a bush to his left and easily pinpointed the mouse. The mouse was skinny, but prey was prey. He crouched low and carefully stepped on the snow that covered the forest floor. His tail stilled and he kept his back straight, just like how Silverhawk taught him. Stalking carefully, he made a quick dash forward and killed the mouse in an instant.

Stifling a purr, he kicked some snow over his kill and continued on his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Adderfang’s dark pelt moving among the trees. Thistlepaw gulped and continued his hunt, keeping his pawsteps as light as possible.

A vole was peeking its nose of its burrow, trying to scavenge for food. The frost killed most scents in the forest, lucky for hunters. Thistlepaw approached the vole from behind, crawling up onto the root of a tree and bunching the muscles in his legs.

The vole spotted the apprentice and scurried away before Thitlepaw ever had a chance to pounce. He huffed in frustration and sat down, folding his ears back. “Mouse-dung!”

Adderfang padded out of the trees to talk to his apprentice, “Keep your weight off of roots in leaf-bare. The roots are more likely to creak in the cold.”

Thistlepaw glared at the spot where the vole once was before leaping down next to his mentor, “Yes, Adderfang.” he sighed.

When their hunt was over Adderfang had caught a small sparrow and Thistlepaw caught two mice in total. A weak hunt, but any prey was better than none. Adderfang had instructed his apprentice to bring the mice to the elders’ den as soon as they had come back.

Thistlepaw and Adderfang entered the camp but saw nothing more than mourning in the eyes of every cat. “Pinestar! What happened?” Adderfang asked, dropping his sparrow.

“Larksong is dead,” Pinestar meowed sadly, “And so are Robinwing’s kits.”

Thistlepaw felt a flash of grief ripple through his pelt. He couldn’t even feel the cold through the shock. Robinwing was sitting outside the nursery, two small bundles at her paws. Fuzzypelt was mourning next to her, their pelts barely brushing. Larksong’s tortoiseshell pelt lay in the center of camp, small flecks of frost sticking to end of her whiskers.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Snowfur soft voice asked next to him.

Thistlepaw had left his mice on the ground, sitting down and looking blankly at the dead kits. “Leaf-bare is the worst season,” he spat.

“It’s almost over,” Snowfur pressed her pelt to his, intertwining their tails.

“Not soon enough,” Thistlepaw folded his ears back, digging his claws into the dirt, “I wish that I could do something. I can fight any battle but I can’t fight this one!”

“You’re very brave Thistlepaw,” Snowfur licked his cheek, “This is just one thing that we all have to deal with.”

“But what if that had been you?” Thistlepaw looked at Snowfur, horror dropping on his face, “I don’t know what I would do if you had died.”

“I’m right here though,” Snowfur pressed even closer to him, “I’m not going anywhere for quite some time.”

“Good.” Thistlepaw touched her muzzle with his. Over Snowfur’s shoulder, he could see Bluefur, her head turned to face Larksong, but her eyes on him and Snowfur. A fire of hatred brewed in her gaze. Thistlepaw narrowed his eyes back at the gray she-cat and licked Snowfur between her ears.

-----

Thistlepaw woke up at the crack of dawn the next morning. His sisters were asleep next to him, their breaths deep and slow. He carefully crept over them out into the clearing. He saw Mumblefoot and Weedwhisker coming back in through the camp entrance. They must’ve been burying Larksong.

Across the clearing Sunfall was talking to Pinestar and Tawnyspots. White-eye and Halftail were sharing a pitiful looking vole right outside of the warriors’ den and Windflight and Poppydawn were grooming one another next to the other pair.

Adderfang exited the warriors’ den, nodding briefly at his fellow warriors and making his way over to Thistlepaw. “You feel ready for some battle training?”

Thistlepaw perked his ears, flexing his shoulder muscles, “Of course I am!”

“Good. Patchpelt, Sweetpaw, and Smallear will be joining us,” Adderfang sat down, lapping at his chest while they waited for the rest of the cats to join them.

Patchpelt yawned when he came up to the pair of toms, with Sweetpaw and Smallear in tow. “Let’s move out. I want my apprentice to stay sharp.” Adderfang ordered.

“It’s good to see you out and about again Thistlepaw,” Patchpelt commented, nudging the smaller apprentice. “If we ever see that dog again we’ll make sure to give him more scars than he gave you.”

“If I ever run into that dog again, I’ll flay it!” Thistlepaw hissed, lashing his tail. Patchpelt blinked slowly at his outburst but said nothing.

The group arrived at the sandy hollow and both Smallear and Adderfang sat off to the side. “Before I teach you anything, I need to assess you. You will fight against Patchpelt first, to see how you respond to a larger enemy. Remember to keep your claws sheathed.”

Thistlepaw nodded, looking over at the patchy warrior and narrowing his eyes. Let me show you what Silverhawk has taught me! You’re going down Patchpelt...

Patchpelt made the first move, charging at Thistlepaw and lashing out with a large forepaw. The apprentice ducked like he had been fighting all his life, and headbutted Patchpelt in the chest. He repressed a shudder when he remembered that he had seen that move in the Dark Forest.

Patchpelt stepped backward and crouched, knocking Thistlepaw’s forelegs out from under him. The apprentice hit the ground hard and snarled with frustration when Patchpelt hit his paws across Thistlepaw’s forehead. Thistlepaw leaped backward and reared up, knocking Patchpelt back.

I hope you’re watching Silverhawk! Thistlepaw dove under Patchpelt, lightly nipping at the warrior’s hindlegs. When Patchpelt turned to defend himself, Thistlepaw rolled out of the way and threw the warrior to the ground with a well-aimed blow.

“That’s enough,” Adderfang stopped the battle. “Where did you learn that move?”

Thistlepaw felt the tip of ears heat up, “Instinct, I guess.”

Adderfang narrowed his eyes accusingly towards Thistlepaw but said nothing else about it. “It would appear that I don’t have to do much catch-up-training with you. But, let’s see how you do against Sweetpaw. She’s a lot faster than you.”

Sweetpaw flicked her tail playfully at her brother and stood opposite to him. “Bring it on Thistlepaw,” Sweetpaw teased.

Thistlepaw suddenly felt the blood roar in his ears and his vision went dark around the edges. She’s teasing me! He leaped forward and landed one solid hit on her shoulder. If his claws had been unsheathed, it would’ve been a nasty wound. Sweetpaw let out a quiet yelp of surprise and kicked out with her hind-legs to defend herself in one swift movement.

Sweetpaw then ran around Thistlepaw in three quick circles. Thistlepaw shook his head to clear his vision but felt Sweetpaw ram into his flank before he could react. He spun around and lashed out, catching only the air. He hissed with frustration when Sweetpaw bit down lightly on his tail. Thistlepaw yanked his tail away and kicked out his hind-legs, hitting her square in the chest.

“Ow!” She meowed, shaking her head and licking at her chest.

“Thistlepaw! This is just training,” Adderfang scolded him, cuffing his apprentice over the ear. “Are you okay Sweetpaw?”

“Of course my apprentice is okay,” Smallear rolled his eyes, giving Sweetpaw the once-over. “I have to say that I think Sweetpaw would’ve won that battle.”

“Certainly. Thistlepaw, your movements were too slow and hard to land any hits on her. Granted, if you had hit her, they would’ve done quite a bit of damage, but she moved too quickly for you to attack.”

I lost? How did I lose? Thistlepaw was suddenly very aware of the cold leaf-bare breeze blowing through the sandy hollow and the numbness in his paws. I need to train more. I need to see Silverhawk tonight!

“We’ll practice some moves for now and then go back to camp. Thistlepaw you will spend the rest of the night cleaning out the nursery and elders’ den,” Adderfang ordered his apprentice.

“Understood Adderfang,” Thistlepaw muttered.

Thistlepaw’s muscles ached as he raked together the dirty moss in the elders’ den. The den suddenly felt a lot more spacious now that Larksong had passed. Thistlepaw felt a pang of sadness when he remembered the mild-tempered elder. His legs were sore from a tough training session with Adderfang. His mentor had him running laps and dashing back and forth to increase his speed.

Thistlepaw growled under his breath. I’m not slow. I’ll show them. I’ll be the best fighter ThunderClan has ever seen! Thistlepaw rolled the old moss out of the den and brought in his new stack. Laying the moss down flat, he raked through it one last time to check for burrs and sticks. Mumblefoot entered the den, his ginger pelt barely clinging to his body.

“That’s good enough,” Mumblefoot sighed, laying down in the new moss and wrapped his tail around his eyes.

“I’m sorry Mumblefoot,” Thistlepaw meowed quietly, “She was a wise elder. I’ll miss her.”

The ginger tom opened one eye to look at the apprentice, flicking his ear. “She’ll be missed by all.”

Thistlepaw finally was able to curl up in his nest after a long day. His stomach ached with hunger and his old puncture wounds felt tight with the cold snap sweeping through the forest. “I’m coming Silverhawk,” he whispered.

The gray apprentice smirked when he awoke in the meadow once more. Running out of the cave he always woke up in, he tackled Silverhawk the moment he saw his other mentor. Silverhawk hissed with surprise and knocked Thistlepaw away with a strong blow to his skull.

“Good surprise attack,” Silverhawk commented grimly, fluffing up his pelt.

Thistlepaw shook his head, rubbing his cheek with his paw, “Did you see me today?”

“I saw you, yes. I saw you fighting Patchpelt and Sweetpaw. Excellent moves with Patchepelt,” Silverhawk murmured.

“I lost! I lost to my own sister!” Thistlepaw snarled.

“She’s faster than you, that’s for sure,” Silverhawk said.

“I want to be the best fighter that ThunderClan has ever seen. I’m going to be the best warrior in the whole forest!” Thistlepaw boomed.

“Good. Then I’m not wasting my time by training you,” Silverhawk smirked, running his tail along Thistlepaw’s side.

“Can we train tonight?” Thistlepaw asked.

“We will train every night,” Silverhawk laughed darkly. “Watch closely.”

Silverhawk dove under Thistlepaw and hit the back of his hind-legs. The apprentice fell to the ground and felt the larger warrior dig his teeth into his scruff and fling him to the side. “Amazing,” Thistlepaw wheezed as he caught his breath.

Thistlepaw made his move, diving as quickly as he could underneath his mentor. When he found himself unable to make Silverhawk collapse, he shoved upwards, throwing Silverhawk off balance. “Nice move, but not what I did. Run your paw along the back of my leg.”

Thistlepaw did as he was told and felt a bowstring tightness right along the curve of his leg. “Hit that, and it’ll make me collapse.”

Thistlepaw nodded and dove once more. Successfully making Silverhawk collapse, he leaped onto the larger tom’s back and raked his paws along his spine. “Why are your claws sheathed?” Silverhawk asked, a growl in the back of his throat.

“Do you want them unsheathed?” Thistlepaw asked, tilting his head.

Silverhawk raked his claws along Thistlepaw’s ear. The apprentice bowed his head and felt a few drops of blood fall from his ear. “Of course your claws should be unsheathed! How can you learn to fight if you’re not using your claws?”

Thistlepaw ran his paw over his ear, wiping the blood away, “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent. Now try again with your claws out,” Silverhawk growled.

“Thistlepaw!” A new voice called into the apprentices’ den, waking the apprentice from his training session.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and saw Goosefeather looking at him with wide, angry eyes. “Wake up!” He snapped.

Thistlepaw shuffled to his paws, stretching his legs out in front of him and feeling a prick of pain in his ear. “Why did you wake me?”

Goosefeather circled Thistlepaw, eyeing the apprentice warily, “Thistle...”

“Yes?”

“You’re sharper than thorns and thicker than brambles,” Goosefeather wheezed out, “Your blood is dark.”

“My blood is dark?” Thistlepaw asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re an omen. Choose the right path Thistlepaw,’ Goosefeather spat out, turning and walking back into the medicine cat den.

Thistlepaw twitched the tip of his tail with irritation. No one ever knew what Goosefeather was talking about, and his omens were continuing to get crazier and crazier. He sighed and fluffed up his fur as small flakes of snow began to fall in the clearing.

The morning hunting patrol entered the camp, Snowfur leading the way with a squirrel hanging from her jaws. It was bigger than any leaf-bare prey he had seen in a long time. “Great catch Snowfur!”

“Thank you!” She mumbled around her squirrel, dropping it on the fresh-kill pile, “I found its nest in a tree.”

“Hopefully leaf-bare is almost over,” Thistlepaw sighed, feeling the claws of hunger inside of him.

“Soon. Just a moon or so longer,” Snowfur touched his cheek with her muzzle.

“Good, I can’t wait for the prey to be running again,” Thistlepaw wrapped his tail around his paws.

“Is that blood on your ear?” Snowfur asked, shock layering her voice. Her tongue rasped over the ear that Silverhawk had clawed.

“Probably just a thorn in my nest,” Thistlepaw chuckled.

“You need to be more careful! I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Snowfur whispered the last part.

“I’ll never leave your side,” Thistlepaw murmured gently into her ear.

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twilights-800-cats · 5 years

Text

<< Allegiances | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | From the Beginning >>

Chapter 32

The clearing was in chaos.

Tinystar had never seen a battle like this, with so many cats flinging themselves into the fray. Thickets of fighting cropped up instantly where BloodClan cats tried to gang up on the forest cats, and Tinystar lost sight of nearly everyone important to him in an instant.

He did not have the luxury of trying to find any of them, either – when Tinystar tried to leap at Scorch, hoping to end the fighting as quickly as possible, a BloodClan she-cat intercepted him, throwing him off course and onto his side.

Tinystar sucked in a quick breath, kicking out with his hind paws before the she-cat could collapse on top of him. His claws caught on her cheek, forcing her to step back. Tinystar got to his paws in a flash and lashed out again with one forepaw, catching his claws in her thick neck fur.

The she-cat lashed back, her claws grazing Tinystar’s forehead. He sent a silent thanks to StarClan that not every BloodClan cat had those wicked dogs-teeth claws. He ducked under another blow and lunged, digging his teeth into one of his opponent’s forelegs until she cried out and Tinystar tasted blood – he let her go limping away, her tail tucked between her legs.

Tinystar had no time to savor that victory, though – another cat careened into him from behind, their claws digging into his shoulders. They rolled together in the dying grass, tearing at one another with their claws and nearly getting trampled by other warriors who were in the way.

Sinking his claws in deep only made Tinystar’s foe do the same. This one was relentless, their eyes crazed with bloodlust and a manic sort of joy at the battle. It took Tinystar ramming his skull against their chin to get them to release their hold. Tinystar got to his paws, his head ringing. He expected the other cat to flee – but they shook their head and lunged again, jaws open to catch Tinystar in the throat.

Tinystar’s small size saved him – he ducked and twisted beneath his foe, thrusting his claws into their belly fur. He felt skin give way beneath him, and hot blood splattered on his pelt. The BloodClan cat fumbled on their paws, staggering until they flopped onto their side and breathed their last.

Swallowing, Tinystar got to his paws. He padded over to the dead cat and saw that the fight had not died in their eyes – they were still full of hatred, and their muzzle was curled to reveal their bloodstained teeth.

Sorrow and a sick feeling filled him. That move was one Bluestar had taught him long ago – meant to use his size to deliver surprising and devastating blows. Was she proud, wherever she was, at the irony? He’d hated learning these techniques as an apprentice because they flew in the face of everything a Clan cat stood for – but now he needed them to defend himself.

A screech cut off his thoughts. Across the clearing, Tinystar spotted Willowpelt struggling with a large-bodied ginger she-cat whose pelt was littered with scars. He rushed to support her, dodging and weaving around other pockets of fighting before leaping onto the ginger she-cat’s back and clamping his jaws down on the back of her neck.

She bucked beneath him, and Tinystar had to fight to keep from snapping her spine. Willowpelt reared up on her hind legs and swatted the big she-cat with her claws, drawing blood on the ginger cat’s muzzle. Tinystar released her and the dark ginger cat fled, hissing and spitting.

“Where’s Frostfur?” Tinystar gasped at Willowpelt. She had been with the other forest queens when the battle had erupted. “Morningflower?”

Willowpelt’s pale blue eyes were hopeless. “I don’t know,” she said breathlessly. “As soon as the fighting started we got separated!”

“Stay with me,” Tinystar told her, “and be careful --”

From out of nowhere a dark shape slammed headfirst into Willowpelt, carrying the pale she-cat off her paws with a wail. Before Tinystar could react, Darkstripe had his mother pinned onto her back and began lashing his claws along her belly.

“You ruined my life!” he snarled with each strike. “You ruined everything!”

Willowpelt cried out helplessly, her eyes still filled with love for her son. Tinystar bunched his haunches and launched himself at Darkstripe, pushing the dark-pelted tabby off of his mother.

“You fox-heart!” he spat, digging his claws into the swirling tabby fur, “You were always destined to be a lowlife!”

“Kittypet filth!” Darkstripe screamed hoarsely, turning his single-minded rage onto Tinystar. “Why did Bluestar think the world of you? Why didn’t she love me?!”

Free of her attacker, Willowpelt got to her paws and bolted. Tinystar raked his claws along Darkstripe’s muzzle when he tried to wiggle free to chase her down. Darkstripe thrashed and slashed, violent and crazed, his muzzle frothing with blood and spit.

“How does it feel,” Tinystar panted, “knowing that you’ve always been a failure?”

Darkstripe screeched, “This time I won’t fail to kill you!”

“Now that would be a change!” Tinystar spat back, thrusting his paws into Darkstripe’s eye. “But I’ve got nine lives on you!”

Darkstripe staggered, then lunged unexpectedly. He tackled Tinystar into the dirt and fixed his jaws around Tinystar’s throat. “I’ll kill you nine times then!” he snarled around Tinystar’s fur and skin. He tightened his grip and Tinystar began to see stars. “So you can feel the pain I felt watching Bluestar die!”

“Get off of him!”

Darkstripe’s weight lifted and Tinystar scrambled to his paws, coughing. Awareness crept back quickly, and through the spots dappling his vision Tinystar saw Graystripe and Darkstripe tussling in the grass. Willowpelt, exhausted, sagged onto her haunches, bleeding from her belly.

“Traitors!” Darkstripe wailed, raining blows down on Graystripe. “You both broke the warrior code! You both deserve to die!”

“We’ve all broken the code!” Graystripe snarled back. “But you’re the one that could never let any of it go!”

“Faithless!” Darkstripe screeched, charging at Graystripe. “Disloyal!”

Graystripe slashed his claws through Darkstripe’s throat. Blood sprayed across the clearing and Willowpelt choked on a sob as Darkstripe slumped to the earth.

“Taint…ed…” Darkstripe wheezed out his final word, his final breath. The light faded from his eyes and he was still.

Willowpelt’s legs shook. “Oh my son,” she whispered, “oh, my first-born kit…”

“It’s not your fault he turned out this way,” Graystripe rasped, his eyes full of sympathy when he looked at his mother. “He could never let anything go.”

Tinystar was dimly aware of the battle raging around them. “Thank you, Graystripe.”

Graystripe’s amber eyes shone bleakly. “Any time, Tinystar,” he meowed back. “I would never let anyone kill my best friend.”

The gray warrior nudged his mother. “Come,” he mewed, “let’s get you to Brackenfur, before you bleed out.”

Willowpelt agreed numbly, leaning against Graystripe as they padded into the outskirts. Tinystar covered them, knowing that two wounded cats limping away from the battle might be a tempting target for BloodClan.

When they had disappeared safely into the undergrowth, Tinystar plunged back into the fighting, ignoring his screaming muscles and the stinging of new wounds. He ignored Darkstripe’s body – but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the dark warrior had thought his life would end: alone, and for a cause that ultimately failed.

He reached Tawnypelt and Morningflower through the crowd – the two tortoiseshells were fighting with all their strength against three BloodClan toms twice their size. Tinystar helped them even the odds, pushing back their opponents until they fled, screeching, into the undergrowth.

Morningflower lunged to give chase, but Tawnypelt stopped her. “It won’t bring Gorsepaw back if you die,” the RiverClan queen murmured. “Let them go.”

The WindClan she-cat shuddered. “I know,” she responded.

Tinystar touched his nose to her ear and wished the queens luck before he moved on through the battle. So long as they stuck together, Tawnypelt and Morningflower would be all right.

Near them Silverstream was battling Jaggedtooth, one of Bluestar’s followers that had fled to join BloodClan after her death. Tinystar bunched his muscles to help, and he felt Tawnypelt move to join him, but Jaggedtooth was pulled away by Russetfur and Blackfoot.

“Traitor!” Jaggedtooth spat at them.

“Traitor yourself,” growled Blackfoot, slamming his big black paws into Jaggedtooth’s skull. “Flee or die!”

Jaggedtooth chose to flee, his tail tucked between his legs. Shakily Silverstream thanked Blackfoot and Russetfur – but Tawnypelt, stiff, curled her lip. Tinystar knew the battle required his attention but he knew he would have to spring in to stop some cat before they attacked one another here – after all, Blackfoot had murdered Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt’s brother, not long ago.

“There’s no time for this,” Russetfur hissed, stepping in front of Blackfoot. “BloodClan must be driven out before we can think about settling grievances.”

“She’s right,” Tinystar murmured to Tawnypelt.

“I don’t trust him,” hissed the tortoiseshell queen, still glaring at Blackfoot. It seemed like Tawnypelt’s glare was enough to unsettle Blackfoot.

Morningflower touched Tawnypelt’s shoulder with her tail. “Killing him won’t bring back Brambleclaw,” she pointed out gently.

Tawnypelt twitched her whiskers. “I know,” she decided, finally.

Tinystar was about to thank Tawnypelt for holding her claws back when a shriek from across the clearing caught his attention. He told the group to take care before putting his paws to earth and streaking across the clearing. Another shriek pierced the sound of battle.

That sounds like –

A pale gray tabby WindClan she-cat was struggling near the outskirts of the clearing, right where the medicine cats were hiding. A massive, hulking black-and-white BloodClan tom, his collar studded with dog’s claws and talons and splintered bones, slammed his paws down onto her spine.

Tinystar heard a snap as the pale she-cat crumpled beneath her foe.

“Runningbrook, no!” screeched Barkface. The medicine cat lunged, and it took Runningnose and Brackenfur to hold him back.

The BloodClan tom swung his head towards the medicine cats huddled in the bushes. Tinystar’s heart pounded in his ears. Mudfur unsheathed his claws, arcing his spine and hissing as the BloodClan beast strode closer. Beside him Littlecloud spat at the big villain.

“Get away!” snarled Mudfur. “I haven’t used my claws for seasons, but I’ll die before I let you hurt anyone else!”

“Then die,” snarled the BloodClan tom, “and know that Bone is the one who killed you!”

Bone lashed out and Mudfur stumbled back, eyes wide as a gray-and-white streak shot out from between his legs. Mosspaw hurtled herself into Bone’s chest, digging her claws into him.

“Mosspaw!” screamed Brackenfur. “What are you doing?!”

“Get back into the bushes!” Mosspaw screeched back, clawing at Bone’s shoulder. “Hurry!”

Bone was taken aback by the smaller cat’s actions but for a moment – he shook her off easily, then lunged. “Kits like you should know their place!” he roared. “You want to fight with the big cats? Then we’ll fight!”

Tinystar forced his paws to move but he was too late – Mosspaw had no training, and Bone was twice her size. They danced for but a moment before Bone caught her between his paws and sank his jaws into her throat.

Brackenfur screeched from the bushes – but another sound overtook it. Tinystar halted on his paws as the ground thundered beneath them. Suddenly, forcing their way through the crowd of fighting, screaming cats was every apprentice of the four forest Clans, led by Mistypaw and Stonepaw.

At the sight of their sister’s body they let out a soundless screech of agony and, like a wave, they cascaded down upon Bone.

Whatever sound Bone made as he drowned in the pile of apprentices was muffled by their fur and their own cries of justice for Mosspaw. Tinystar thought he heard Bone scream – but it was cut off sharply and suddenly as both Stonepaw and Mistypaw plunged their claws into his throat.

The apprentices melted off of Bone, letting him stagger away before falling onto his side. Blood pooled beneath him, and he moved no more. His eyes, as the light in them died, were filled with shock and surprise.

Tinystar swallowed. He grasped Mosspaw’s scruff in his jaws and dragged her into the bushes, while Barkface and Littlecloud took Runningbrook.

“Is she really dead?” breathed Mistypaw as she pushed through the bushes. Stonepaw followed her, his ice-blue eyes wavering. “She can’t be dead, can she?”

Tinystar gently set Mosspaw down before Brackenfur. For a few tense moments, the golden-brown tom sniffed her and prodded her with his paws, his whiskers trembling. But Mosspaw did not stir, and Tinystar knew what the limp weight of death felt like in his jaws.

“She’s gone,” Brackenfur whispered. “She’s…”

Mudfur touched his nose to Brackenfur’s shoulder. “She did it to save us,” he said. “StarClan welcomes her.”

“This can’t have been her destiny,” Brackenfur meowed, his voice rising and trembling. “It… it… it’s not fair!” Weakly, he whispered, “It should have been me.”

“There’s nothing we can do now,” Runningnose meowed. “We can mourn her later, Brackenfur – we have to retreat further in before--”

“We’ll defend you,” Mistypaw declared, her eyes hard as stone. “No BloodClan cat will get near you.”

Stonepaw dug his claws into the earth. “They’ll die before they do.”

“Thank you, little ones,” Mudfur meowed.

Tinystar touched his nose to Mosspaw’s forehead. ThunderClan will feel your loss, Mosspaw, he thought, his heart aching. I failed to save you.

He swallowed and pushed his way through the undergrowth and out into the battle once again. His body screamed for him to stop, but he flung himself into the nearest battle, digging his claws so fiercely into his opponent that they begged to be let go.

So much death already, he thought, releasing the BloodClan cat before his temper had him finishing them off. He gazed around the clearing and spotted more than one body lying uselessly on the ground. Were they all dead? Were they all from the forest, or from BloodClan? Tinystar had no idea.

So many gone, and the battle is only beginning.

The Clans had to win, before there were no cats left to fight.

#tb au #tb the darkest hour #OH BOY HERE WE GO

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delusional-cryptid · 5 years

Text

Patton’s Backstory-

SS Hybrid Au part two

Tw: blood

Me - narrator - speaking character(Patton)

Legend says that Witches and Warlocks once existed. However, now, they’re scarce. A child of a human and a demon, giving birth to a creature so powerful that it can rival any other beast. They can be cunning, creative, but idealistic, reckless and overall naive…

That’s what they called me…

no, let’s not think of that, ok?

Ok.

My name is Patton DeAngelo, I am a warlock. My… type most often have traits that differentiate them from other ‘Humans’. Myself in fact I have cat ears and a fluffy tail, I don’t show them to people often. I was born in… 1788 I think? I’m not sure how old I am, but the thing with warlocks is that we’re immortal! Cool right! Well… there are downsides- but that doesn’t matter!

Anyway I used to live in the woods with all the cute little critters, but I moved out and now I’m happily living just outside of Florida!

That’s not true. There’s something he’s not telling you. Would you like to hear?

Good

The year was 1770, Patton was 12. Living in the woods in a small home with the occasional teenager who would come by on a dare or something of the sort. You see, there was a rumor that the cabin along with the woods was haunted and anything to enter that neck of the woods would never be seen again. The truth is that the woods were packed and often dark, so it was very easy to get lost. And eaten. And that’s precisely why his mother chose this place for them. Patton’s mother was a kind and caring woman, and when she found her child to be a warlock she immediately knew what would happen if anyone found out so she took her son and ran into the forest she had always been told to stay away from. Because “taking any chance is better than you, not getting a chance to grow up.” She told her son. She built the cabin and left each day to find food for the both of them. Until one day when her son was eleven, she inevitably didn’t come back.

At the time, the boy was confused. But he didn’t dare leave the safety of his home,but he soon ran out of food. So he left to find food, and hopefully his mother. Throughout the journey his ears were perked, picking up any sound that could threaten them. He wandered through the darkness for what seemed like a long while until he noticed the forest brighten and he walked toward it, hoping desperately for companionship.

But when he peaked out his eyes widened, met with a different sight. He saw a pile of bodies, people like him… but closer to him, he saw familiar caramel hair and blue shirt. His mother. Mutilated and bloody, her dead eyes looking right through him. He stifled a scream and ran in the other direction. He ran and ran and eventually collapsed to his knees, sobbing.

His mind warned him about the monsters his mom would talk about, but at the mention of his mom he sobbed harder. He sat there forever, only jolting when he felt a warmth curl around him.

He didn’t bother looking up, whatever it was could kill him without a fight.

He no longer had anything to live for.

Patton gave up and surrendered to the darkness.

He woke with a start a while later, it was already dark. The kid was confused, as he had forgotten what had happened. But as soon as he closed his eyes he saw his lifeless mother watching him and he opened his eyes wide, curling his tail around him and flattening his ears to his head in hopes ofblocking out the horrible sounds. When he felt movement behind him he turned his head, seeing a large wolf. The beast had to be at least three times the size of Patton, and a beautiful light grey with one gold eye and one ice blue one. It looked him in the eyes and he stared back, saying “hello, what do you need?” As friendly as possible

The wolf grunted back “I require your help, boy”

“With what?”

“ my cub was trapped by your faux kin”

“Oh no! Where?”

The dog seemed surprised, she had clearly not expected his help

She lead the way and cries of fear could soon be heard

Patton rushed to the pup and saw that a snare trap had been set and the cub had been caught by the neck, Patton rushes to the cub and started speaking

“Hush, hush, it’ll be okay kiddo. I’ll get you out”

As he feverishly worked at the snare, the small creature relaxed. Or so Patton had thought, I’d seems that the dog had been weakened and He finally noticed the bloody ring encasing the puppy’s neck. so when the dog was finally free he was breathing heavily and laying still.

Patton felt a tug inside of him, like words pulling on his lips. So he let himself speak and a warm feeling filled his chest. The cub whimpered and relaxed in his arms.

The cubs mother (as Patton had gathered ) came up behind him, sitting down and putting her head on his. The boy grinned up at her and says, “they’ll be ok”

Patton looked at the dog, ready to stop the blood from its neck but started as he saw that the previously bleeding ring had faded. Leaving pale, scarred flesh and dried blood around the wound. Confused, Patton glanced at the mother who mirrored his expression. “You saw it too?” The boy asked,“yeah, what did you do?”.

Tail flicking, he said “I-I dont know? But they’re breathing.” He shook his head and stared at the scarred flesh. It was real.

He slowly stood up with the pup in his arms, and said to the wolf “can you show me your den?” The wolf just stared sadly, but Patton understood. She had left her pack, she no longer had a den. “Sorry, can we go to my home?” She agreed.

He started walking, he felt like he know where he was and where he was going. Despite it being dark and him never having been out of his home.

And as they walked back he asked, “so, what’s your name?”

“I’m Adarla, my cub is Lyn. Why were you In this forest warlock?”

“Oh- wait, War...lock? What’s that?”

“You, you are a warlock. A warlock is a half demon, half human creature,” she said the word ‘human’ as If it was poisonous, “gifted with powerful magic but cursed with in-human traits” she finished

“Oh.. I guess that makes sense…”

“ but I haven’t seen you around, and I was beta. So where did you come from?”

He took a deep breath and responded “I was raised in a cabin in these woods. My m-“ he paused, feeling tears again but pushed it down and continued “mom, wouldn’t let me leave but she was hunted and I needed food.”

“... you don’t need to hide your human parts, they may be an evil race, but you aren’t one of them.”

Patton was surprised she noticed, not even knowing the reason himself, but nodded nonetheless.

When they arrived at his home he stopped, remembering he had no food.

“What is it warlock?” Adarla asked

“I don’t have any food, so I need to get some. Oh, and you can call me Patton by the way”

“I’ll hunt, just take care of lyn”

“Ok, thank you”

As Adarla left, Lyn let out a tiny whimper. As if he could tell his mother had left him. The thought made Patton a little sad, but he shoved it down and smiled at the small pup, heading into his empty house.

-Patton sat with the pup for around two hours when Adarla pawed at the door-

He got up and left Lyn where he was sleeping a nd got the door. When he did so, Adarla dragged a small deer in the door. Feeling guilty for being bothered by having to prepare an animal he pushed the disgust aside and took it to the counter. Cutting into the flank of the poor creature, but also too hungry to refuse. He gave the rest of the deer to Adarla, who had just woken Lyn who gazed at the meat hungrily. As Patton cooked the meat on a spit he finally felt the hunger of almost three days set in and as soon as the meat was done he hurriedly ate it without any seasoning or anything. Only To be reminded by Adarla to slow or he’d throw up.

Later that night he peacefully fell asleep by Adarla.

They went on living in Patton’s house for about a week when Patton’s curiosity got the best of him.

The boy walked cautiously through the forest until he found the edge of the forest. He heard shouting and poked his head out, tail swishing. What made humans so bad? He wondered as he stepped out. His ears were perked to hear any danger. There were few people around but when one noticed the short boy he shouted “witch!”

Catching the others attention who stared at him, yelling other words, some of which he had never heard. He flinched at the noise and turned an ran, tearing up, scared. He heard the noise follow him and he ran faster, he had to get away. He found his house and slammed the door.

He heard banging on the door and started smelling smoke.

Then the door broke.

He doesn’t remember much of it, only the noise the pain and then screaming. They cut into his skin and set fire to his house. He screamed in anguish as blue fire flowed around him. After they had run he lay on the scorched floor of what used to be his home. He bled, the sticky crimson liquid falling from his cuts, he knew what to say to stop the pain and blood. But he didn’t deserve it, so he only stopped the blood flow and got up with stinging cuts. He should have listened to Adarla, this was his fault. He didn’t know if she and Lyn were ok or if they had died like he should have. He took a deep breath and stared out at the blossoming sunset.

He fled after that. And he didn’t stop running until everyone from that village had died, it took 100 years to re enter society.

The year he did, he looked out on the town, a tear rolling down his cheek as he closed his eyes. Focusing on numbness. He could feel his familiar ears and tail dissipate, he cried harder. He didn’t want to lose them, but he had to. When the process was completed, he opened his eyes, bothered by the empty feeling they left.

He walked into the town, preparing himself for the horrible creatures he would encounter.

Patton backstory, part two

-Lord of Dragons and Witches-

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #sshybridau #patton sanders

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lezzybugo3o · 6 years

Text

Providing

(Finally finished this fic after who knows how long. Anyways, I wanna thank @madamecricket and @motivationalsharkprince for giving me the inspiration to write this out, based on this post. Hope you all like it!)

Warning: Story contains mentions of blood, dismemberment, slight swearing, and animal abuse. If these elements are too uncomfortable for you, please DO NOT read.

The sun was setting among the Lanaryu region as two Hylian men made their way across a bridge. Noren panted as he wiped the sweat from his brow, both from the humidity and the anger he was feeling. His foot still hurt from a young Hylian girl stomping on it after she refused his advances. “That little bitch…” he growled. “If I ever see her again, I'll slit her throat! And then I'll skewer her boyfriend with my sword!”

“Oh give it a rest, Noren,” Gori chided. “We'll get her next time. In the meantime, we gotta think about our next move. We're running low on cash and I don't know about you, but I don't wanna run into any monsters.”

Noren nodded and thought about it. Sure, they could find a monster camp and pick them off one by one, harvesting the remains, but that would take time and there weren't many camps around to raid. He rested his hand on his chin to think.

“You boys need help?”

The two Hylians looked up to a glowing tower to find the owner of the new voice. He looked like a dark figure… literally. His clothes were as dark as the night itself and his eyes shone red, giving a stark contrast to his dark grey complexion. He looked like a Hylian and yet, there was something off about him. The figure jumped off the tower to face Noren and Gori.

“Who the hell are you, freak?” wondered Noren, wary of the stranger.

The dark Hylian gave a mock hurt look, complete with a hand to the chest. “Freak? Gentlemen, you wound me so. And here I was going to let you in on a juicy secret.”

“Secret? Whatcha mean?” Gori asked, interested.

“Heh. I suppose I can tell you both out of the goodness of my heart. All things considered… you can call me Dark,” the young man grinned as he said this, but it was a rather creepy grin.

Noren raised an eyebrow in confusion. “That your real name or did you come up with that yourself?”

Dark just scoffed. “Like yours are any better. Anyways, I was just hanging around when I heard you two were looking for some quick cash-in.” He leaned in a bit close. “I might be able to help you on that. Ever heard of Zora’s Domain?”

“...We’re listening,” Noren answered, now intrigued.

“Legend has it there’s a neat treasure there that once belonged to a king. So far, nobody’s claimed it.” He smirked towards them. “It might just be your lucky day.”

“How do we know you’re not just pulling our leg?” Noren asked, still skeptical.

As if being one step ahead, Dark pulled out a slightly dusty Shiekah Slate and showed the two a picture of a dark-colored treasure chest in the middle of what looked like a throne. “Satisfied? There’s no one there anymore so it’s easy pickings.”

Gori stepped forward and pointed to Dark’s chest. “How come you never picked it up yourself?”

“Because I don’t need material things to keep me happy. Now skedaddle on to that treasure. It’s waiting for you~”

“Alright, alright. We’re going! Let’s get walking, Gori.”

Gori’s eyes shimmered with anticipation for that treasure. “Oh boy, just think of what’ll be in that box. We’re gonna eat like kings after this!”

“Oh you won’t be the only ones…” Dark chuckled to himself before slipping into the forest.

After several battles with monsters and braving the rain, Noren and Gori finally made their way to the entrance of Zora’s Domain. The structure of the palace was covered in green algae and the luminous stone that made up the walls and pillars no longer had its bright luster. There also seemed to be no sign of any natives around the area. The Hylian men walked on cautiously in case something or someone was hiding in the shadows.

Gori shivered as he walked. “This place is giving me the creeps. Let’s just find that treasure and get the hell out of here.”

Noren nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, no kidding. Gaah, but it would have been nice if that dark brat told where exactly it was. Though if I remember correctly, he said it’d be up on the king’s throne.”

With that, the two of them headed to the abandoned throne where the Zora King once stood. Rumors say that he was killed by one of his own people. Others say he died of a broken heart upon hearing the news of his daughter’s death. Whatever the reason, Gori and Noren didn’t care at all as they walked up to the throne. Lo and behold, there was a medium-sized treasure box that looked slightly rusted.

“Aw, yes! We find it, Gori! We actually found it!” He walked towards the chest greedily when suddenly a black cat perched herself on top of the chest. She meowed at the pair as if daring them to get closer, her tail swishing side to side.

Gori stepped back a bit. “Hey uh, Noren? I got a thing about cats, so uh, think you could get this puss away?”

“Tch, if this is what the Zoras consider treasure security, it’s no wonder they all left this dump.” He swatted his hand at the cat in an attempt to scare the animal away. “Get off of here! Go on! Shoo!” The black feline only swatted at the Hylian with a yowl and hissed threateningly at the pair. “Ahh, fuck this!” Noren growled as he stepped up and then kicked the cat away hard, making her fly into one of the nearby pillars with a pained cry. “Hmph, stupid animal.” He knelt down and broke the lock off the chest. The Hylian man wasted no time in lifting the lid, but opening it… he and Gori were met with confusion and disappointment. There was no glint of treasure, but rather… a small piece of paper with some writing on it. Noren picked it up and read the note. “‘You should not have come here?’ The hell does that mean?!” He crumpled the paper and growled. “When I find that smug little bastard, I’ll-”

His threat was then cut off by Gori’s whimpering and shivering. “N-N-Noren, d-d-don’t look behind you…” “What the hell are you on about, Gori?” He then heard a rather animalistic growl, one that made his blood turn to ice. He looked towards where the sound came from and saw a large bulky red Zora with scars littering his body and an expression that was ready to kill. Noren quickly stood up and pulled out a sword. “What the hell is that thing?!”

They both then heard a laugh from the side. Out from the shadows came Dark petting the same cat that Noren had kicked. “That ‘thing’ happens to be hungry~” “You little shit! When I get my hands on you, I’m gonna-” His threat was cut short when he felt a sharp pain on his arm. Noren immediately turned his gaze to the source of the pain and his eyes widened in terror as there was a fleshy stump, dripping blood where an arm used to be. His scream was a mixture of pain and fear, but the beast quickly shut him up by sinking his teeth into the Hylian’s neck.

Gori stood frozen in fear as he watched his friend be mauled to bits by this monster. He then tried to run off, hoping the Zora would be too busy with his first victim. It was no use as one of his arms was caught in a bone-crushing grip and he was shoved to the ground. He barely got an idea of what happened when the Zora suddenly chomped on to his stomach and the man let out a blood-curdling scream.

Dark merely sat back and watched in glee as the beast ate his fill. After some time, he set the cat down and walked over to the Zora. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Sidon. I had some trouble finding gullible idiots to come explore the domain.”

Sidon just licked the blood off his lips and grunted in reply. He then felt the cat rub up on his leg and the Zora gave her a gentle pet on the head as if thanking her for playing her part. Sidon picked her up carefully and nuzzled her fur, incredibly grateful that she wasn’t hurt any worse than what that awful Hylian did.

Dark snickered at the scene. “You are something else, babe. One minute you’re tearing up Hylians, the next you’re babying our cat.”

Sidon just huffed and rolled his eyes in annoyance, then pulled the Hylian in close with his free hand and pressed his lips hard onto Dark’s. The smaller man offered no resistance as he kissed back hungrily, wanting the taste of his lover on his tongue. Sidon then pulled back and lightly bit at Dark’s neck, drawing out a slight moan from him.

“Mmmm, damn. I think you’re hungry for something else, aren’t you?” he teased the large Zora.

Sidon merely gave a husky chuckle and growled into Dark’s ear, “You’re mine and mine alone, my dark pearl.”

Dark smirked and rested his forehead on Sidon’s. “You’re right about that, babe… and I’ll always provide for you.”

#sidon #prince sidon #link #dark link #sidlink #fanfic #my fic #blood tw #animal abuse tw #swearing tw #not really evil sidon more like monster sidon but eh

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thedrunkendoc · 6 years

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The world was so quiet. So blissfully, blessedly quiet. For once in thirty years, it felt like. There was no rest for the wicked, as they said, and Jonesy Dawes felt it. From a screaming bloody birth to shrieking fights in the kitchen, his father’s knuckles bruised into his cheek, to raucous hollering with the men and women who came in and out of his life, his bed, his alleys and inn rooms and that one time in a docked dinghy. It’s hard to see sometimes how frantic a life is when you’re living it; the man with the drill rarely ever hears it.

Thirty years(rounding down--who cares about the change, really?) of fighting tooth and nail and there were years he told himself that it was just to stay alive. Other years, if he really looked at himself, he fought because it felt good and it felt right and he’d stare in the mirror until he saw his father’s face staring back at him, grinning with blood on his teeth. Maybe the fact just was that Jonesy Dawes wasn’t made quite right. Maybe he was missing a few crucial parts that made him work, made all the cogs turn together and the springs spring at once.

It was never a question of whether there was something wrong with him because he always knew that there was. But whether it was a birth defect or an acquired handicap he could never quite tell.

Because the fact was that Jonesy Dawes was inherently contrary. The truth of being at war with oneself is never quite as romantic as women seem to think it is, gazing upon paperbacks bearing men with flowing locks posed up on a seafoam-sprayed rock, shirt ripped open, synopsis labeling him as some rough-around-the-edges troubled soul in need of a good woman to save him. It didn’t usually work like that. Because as much as Jonesy felt overwhelmed by people and social encounters, the silences that let his brain run free were never better. As much as he wanted to be loved he couldn’t help but push people away, couldn’t stop himself sometimes. As sweet as those dreams of retiring by the seaside were, often he felt his hands tremble on the knife as he spilled salty guts and blood onto the dock and he wondered who would see if he just bent down and... tasted them.

Such was the life of Jonesy Dawes. Ever a man with a story to tell, he only shared the good ones, the good parts. He was a man who didn’t know himself-- who thought he did, but in the end there was bound to be more than a few doors left unopened in the hallways of himself. Those ones were always the hardest to open. Instead he fought, constantly, with friend and foe, lover and family. And in the end, he died alone, as he always knew he would.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?”

The world was so quiet. So blissfully, blessedly quiet. Jonesy didn’t want to open his eyes but that voice... he would know it anywhere. He shivered and peeked slowly. There was a sort of nothingness everywhere. Not dark, but not light either. Just empty of everything. And then a world came rushing at him like a fist to the face and he was sitting at a dying fire in Ashenvale. It was late, almost turning to morning by the look of the sky through the thick, lush tree cover. Alearah Duskgrove sat across from him and added some sticks to the fire, holding back her hair to stoop and blow into the embers.

She looked young. Her face was softer then, all those years ago before hardship made her features like stone, a mountain that moved for no one. A shame, really; she’d been pretty once. Jonesy curled his arms around himself and glanced around the fire. There were empty bottles strewn about, bits of bones from dinner left behind. He could still hear Mozelle’s laughter, smell Meike’s warmed ginger hair as she sat a little too close to him. That tiny tongue of flame flickered with his heartbeat, slow and fragile, only encouraged slightly by Alearah’s puffs of air.

Slowly, she sat up and settled her elbows on her knees. “Well? What are you doing, Jonesy?”

He scoffed. “The fuck am I supposed to know? Why don’t you tell me?” Jonesy lifted his hands, gesturing to the forest that just seemed to hum. No birds, no animals. Just a low hum. “What is this place?”

“Come, now,” she chided with a dubious look, “You know what it is. It’s Ashenvale. We can spend all night sitting here going back and forth but you really haven’t got the time for that, I’m afraid.” The elf pauses, peeking up at the sky. “Well. Not yet.”

“If you’re gonna just be a cryptic ass then we can just sit here quietly. Just answer my questions like a normal fucking person, would you?” He frowned over at her before realizing it, a lump forming in his throat. “Are you dead?”

“Mm. Third time did the trick, it seems.” Alearah straightened gently, exposing the gruesome hole in her gut; the only thing really amiss in the otherwise pleasant, familiar scene.

“Fuck... am I dead?”

Hunkering back down, she fixed him with an apologetic look. A look, but no words. Jonesy dragged a hand down his face, shoulders prickling as if that frazzled anxious sweat were about to start up, but it never did. “... fuck.”

“Yeah.” There the two sat in silence for a while. Jonesy sank back into the grass, landing on some crushed cigarette butts. Death felt so weightless. Pain-free and soft, like staying in bed on a Sunday morning. It took a while before he peered back over at her, realizing now that his sight was equal in both eyes--perfect, even. “We missed you, you know,” he offered gently. “Don’t think they’ll ever forgive you for going off and dying. I know I didn’t.”

“Well, some of us didn’t have a choice in the matter,” explained the elf, patient as anything, though her eyes couldn’t seem to meet his. “You’ve all been doing well. I’m sure that I can claim no credit and I would never deign to, but it makes me incredibly proud to see how well all of you have been doing. Willaude, Vathelia, Coit and Jenny, Aktius, Corthal. I don’t feel that any of you just got a job out of working with me. So many of you were so young, are so young. But this world is hard and cruel. Trying to go at it on your own only makes it harder and each of us needed each other. I believe that. Now look at them.” Smiling fondly, she waved a hand over the fire. The flame grew, just enough for small figures to be seen in the heart; Mozelle, tending wounded soldiers in a packed infirmary. Coit laughing in a bar with faceless strangers, scars bared to the world. Aktius swinging his son up into the air. “Don’t you see?” Alearah peered over at Jonesy, letting him watch the figures swirl about their lives comfortably. “I gave them everything I had and they took everything that they needed. My work was done.”

The rogue sat up slowly. “You didn’t have to die for all of that to happen, Ale. Some of us still needed you.” Idly, he plucked a daisy out of the ground and spun it round and round between his forefinger and thumb, unable to peer across the fire to her gentle, smiling face. “And I’m still here for you. Aren’t I?” Jonesy could feel her fingers brushing over his cheek, though her hands were laced in front of her. His head turned into the gesture like a stray cat starved for affection. “I see you, Jonesy. I see all of you. And I try to guide you as best I can. It isn’t always easy, stubborn mules the lot of you may be.”

“So... is that what we’re doing here? You’re... guiding me off to the next plane, or whatever?” he asked a bit hesitantly. The unknown was frightening, as always. But Alearah didn’t seem bothered by what waited for them, or her circumstance. Granted, it’d been some time. But her response was unexpected. She shook her head and watched him sadly across the fire. “No.” “No? Is this like, limbo? Am I stuck here?” “No.”

Jonesy scrubbed his face quickly. “So what are you doing here?”

The humming began to grow louder, slowly but certainly like the buzz of a beehive in not-so-far distance. Alearah stared up at the sky again a moment before speaking. “Just keeping you from going off too soon. Being a distraction, I suppose. Will you tell the others that I miss them?”

“What? A distraction for what-- Ale, what the fuck is going--”

That dark silence erupted into sound and light, something crashing overhead. The world was tinted green through his lids and his whole right side felt like it was playing host to thousands of insects, inside and out. His eyes snapped open and he gasped roughly for air, choking on a tube.

“He’s back! Where the hell is the medic?!”

A familiar orc stood above him, pulling the tube from his throat while a not-as-familiar Nightborne fussed around his right arm, pulling and jostling but without any pain. Jonesy opened his mouth to croak up at Doshaqa but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was yelling back to her extraction crew, men and women rushing around.

“Let’s go! We need to get him to infirm right now!” Jonesy Dawes closed his eyes, exhausted. Between forefinger and thumb he spun a small daisy round and round as the medics rushed him off to surgery.

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reivenesque · 7 years

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Cindereva CH3

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Chapter 3: The Girl in the Red Hood

The whole work day Eva finds herself completely distracted. She can’t shake the thoughts of the man back at her house and the emotions that come with it; the knowledge of who he is, what he is, and that he’s currently in her house and in her bed, in the company her pets who mean the absolute world to her. She’d left him there after just waking up from almost dying, confused and weak, surrounded by her dogs that were terrified and in her home that was her sanctuary.

She knows nothing about him, but she knows everything there is to know about his people, or at least, everything she’d ever been told about them and up until that point, everything she thought she ever needed to know.

But now she knows his name: Christoffer and it doesn’t sound like it should belong to one of the Southern monsters in the tales she grew up listening to. It sounds exactly the way he looks, which is just human.

Eva’s gone through many moments in the last four days absolutely regretting her choice to carry him back and tend to his wounds. But that moment when he said his name, when she finally took a good look at him, when she finally saw his face, really saw his face and it finally occurred to her that he couldn’t have been much older than her; at that moment, she realized that all her feelings of regret and uncertainty finally washed away.

It isn’t until she finds herself being scolded by the matron of the household for accidentally putting the good rice out for the chickens that Eva realizes that she’s been going through the motions and moving through the day in something of an out-of-focus haze. Unfortunately, it was at that exact moment that Count chose to pass by the kitchen, peeking in curiously at the sound of the raised voices to see her getting reprimanded by the older woman.

He cleared his throat when he entered, catching their attention and immediately stopping the housekeeper’s impassioned lecture.

“Give us a minute,” he says to the older woman who obliges immediately with a curtsy, leaving Eva with the imposing figure of the Count who she’s never actually really met face to face before.

“My lord,” Eva bows nervously. “I’m sorry about the rice, and for being distracted. It won’t happen agai—”

He immediately raises his hand to stop her. “No, it’s not about that—Eva, was it?”

“Yes, sir.” Eva raises her eyes to look at him, seeing his gaze on her and the expression on his face being one she can’t decipher.

“How long have you been working here, Eva?” he asks, stepping to the side and taking seat on one of the stools by the table. He beckons Eva towards the empty stool opposite him.

“Three years, sir,” she says, taking small hesitant steps closer and taking seat, slouching slightly as she sits down, her hands clasped nervously on her lap.

“That would make you…nineteen? Twenty?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Eighteen, sir. I’ll turn eighteen in a few months,” Eva says.

The Count actually looks taken aback by her answer. “Eighteen? Ingrid’s age,” he says sadly. “How old were you when your parents passed?”

“Thirteen,” she says, looking down at her intertwined hands.

He runs his hand across his face once and exhales. “I knew your father when he was alive. He was a good man. Both your parents were good people and it saddened me to hear about their passing. It has been haunting me for a long time but I think perhaps I could have done more to help you instead of taking you in as the help. I only now realize just young you were and how young you still are and—”

This time it’s Eva who interrupts him before he has a chance to finish. “No, sir,” she says, “All this…all you’ve done to help by giving me this job, it has been invaluable to me. I wouldn’t someone’s handouts or their pity, and having this job, in a way, it’s give me reason to get up and get out of bed in the morning, so please don’t feel like you’ve done anything wrong.”

The Count regards her critically and Eva nearly folds under his intense gaze. But eventually he smiles, his eyes are warm and kind and not unlike the look her own father used to have in his eyes. “You’re an remarkable person, Eva, and we are lucky to have you in our family,” he says. “But you do seem a little distracted today, are you ill?”

“No, sir, I’ve just—had some things on my mind. It won’t happen again.”

“Why don’t you take the day off, Eva,” he says, obviously not listening to what she’d said. “There’s nothing that needs your immediate attention. In fact, take the weekend off and come back to work fresh in the new week. Go to town and see your friends and just have fun. You’ve deserved it.”

“But—”

“No buts, this isn’t a request,” he says, but his eyes are still warm and comforting and Eva can’t help her sheepish smile.

So that’s how she ends up trekking up the footpath leading away from the giant mansion in her rear; her reliable cloak around her shoulders and the hood that she could pull up over her head hanging behind almost down to her shoulder blades. The cloak had been the last gift she’d received from her mother before she died. She’d sewed it as she lay sick in bed for the few months before she succumbed to her illness. It was a beautiful dark red colour with fine golden embroidery across the hem and in the seams of the hood. It used to drag on the ground when she wore it when she was younger, but now it hung to just below her shins which was the perfect length even when it was raining out and she’d have to traverse through the puddles in the road.

Instead of taking the right turn which would lead her back to her cottage near the woods, Eva turns left to head into town for supplies. Noora was still in school and Christina was no doubt neck deep in the mid-morning rush of customers coming in for their morning ale and late breakfast. Both Vilde and Sana had their own businesses to run so Eva decided not to bother any of them as she enters the quaint little town and heads towards the apothecary to get disinfectant alcohol and a few other things she thinks she might need. She didn’t usually chose to spend her hard earned money on things she could get from the forest, but some things were worth keeping in case of emergencies.

She passes by the flower lady who smiles wide when she sees her and as usual, reaches into her basket of flowers, pulling out a single blue flower and tucking it behind Eva’s ear. Eva smiles and thanks her before moving on to the bakers. After the incident with the mill the past week, the baker has since refused to allow her to pay for any of the baked goods she picked despite her argument. Eventually she relents, and makes it a point to only take the smallest pieces and the driest muffins so that it wouldn’t affect the old bakers business.

She’s half across the street when she spots Vilde skipping down the road happily, clutching a white cat doll in her arms and pushing in the doors of the bakery with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. They all knew she was infatuated with the baker’s son, but no one commented on it as a point of teasing because they could tell that she truly liked him.

The fish seller gives her a good offer on the fresh catch of the day and Eva thinks she might make a fish dinner with some potatoes that night. She wonders what Chris would like to eat when he’s strong enough to take in solid food; she knows first-hand the health benefits of fish so maybe that was the best place to start.

She leaves town without running into her friends and it’s a realization that both saddens and relieved her at the same time. She wouldn’t want to have to lie to them about what she’s been up to.

Chris is asleep when she gets home; she peeks in through the half open door before she enters while trying not to make too much sound. The broth and bread are still on the table where she left it, untouched, but perhaps he wasn’t strong enough to muster the strength needed to eat; it’s a fact Eva ponders over with a small feeling of guilt at having to leave him so abruptly.

Fy is surprisingly asleep and stays asleep when she enters, curled up on the floor near the foot of the bed and Faen in a similar position near the cupboard a few feet away.

She’s so engrossed in the sight that meets her eyes that she forgets to sidestep the loose floorboard that’s been a bane in her existence for years. She steps right in the middle of it causing a wailing creaking sound to emit shocking both dogs immediately out of their sleep and causing Chris to startle into consciousness. She finds herself unable to move out of the awkward stance she’d paused it the moment her foot touched the floor; smiling sheepishly when Chris’s completely alert gaze finds hers.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to get that fixed for years, but ended up never getting around to it.”

Chris visibly relaxes and Eva notes with some level of satisfaction the fact that he even has a small smile playing at his lips.

He swallows once before turning back to look at her. “How was work?” he asks and for a second Eva has to pinch herself to make sure that she isn’t stuck in some dream, because that’s how surreal the moment felt.

This was an enemy soldier, in her house, lying in her bed, looking about as weak as a day old kitten asking her about her day. He didn’t know her and she didn’t know him, although after having sat by his bedside for four nights, feeding him and cleaning his wounds, Eva thinks that perhaps she’s seen more of him than she ever has another living human being. Seeing the scars that marred his body, some new, still red and enflamed; some of them old and had turned a pale white where the skin had knitted together uneven. Long wounds and short wounds and burn marks and welts, more injuries than she’d ever seen on a human body, and what looked like a wolf’s head branded into the area of his chest, below his collarbone but just above his heart. That one seemed to be the oldest of them all.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what to make of the whole situation or how she actually felt about it, but most of all, she was unnerved by how at ease she felt in the moment and how the question didn’t at all seem out of place or wrong. Was this how it felt to come home to someone’s welcome at the end of a long and hard day?

Eva wasn’t used to it but—but it felt…nice.

Eva realizes she’s staring at him without answering for a long pause before she nervously looks away with an embarrassed chuckle. “It was…okay,” she says. “The Count let me leave early so I managed to get some supplies from town.” She walks over to the kitchen and deposits the bags of groceries onto the table. Pulling out the disinfectant and ointment she’d gotten, showing him both briefly before putting it aside and putting the fish and the bread on the countertop out of the way.

While she was doing it, she could feel the heat of Chris’s gaze on her and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up but she tries not to bring attention to it. Instead, once she finished putting away her things and set the fish aside to be cleaned and deboned for later, she walks towards the bed while wiping her hands on the front material of her skirt.

Chris’s eyes continue following her as she approaches.

“You didn’t eat anything?” she asks, taking seat on the edge of the mattress and looking between the bowl on the side table and the man lying in the bed beside her. “You need to eat a little to get your strength back up to allow your body to heal.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are so intense watching her that she has to keep her own eyes averted. Instead, she reaches to grab the bowl, using the spoon to stir the now cold broth to mix the herbs and flavour that had sunk to the bottom. Setting it aside once more, she reaches up again, lifting Chris’s upper body gently and arranging the pillows behind his head and upper back before setting him back down. Chris continues his silence and Eva doesn’t make eye contact. The whole thing is done in complete silence until Eva sits back down on the edge and reaches for the bowl again, scooping up a small amount of broth in the spoon and holding it close to Chris’s lips. He looks absolutely taken aback, looking between the spoon and Eva until he eventually relents and opens his mouth to accept the food.

Eva tries not to look too satisfied but she thinks she isn’t doing a very good job at it. After about ten minutes and less than a quarter of the broth actually finished, Chris finally holds a hand up to let her know that he’s done. Eva obliges immediately.

“Why are you doing this?”

She hears the question again as she’s gathering up the bowl, taking a bite out of the now stale bread that had been out since morning and starts to head to the kitchen.

“I already told you—”

“There’s helping a stranger,” Chris says, almost like he’s trying hard to make sense of everything. He looks just as perplexed about the situation as Eva does and that offers her a small measure of comfort. “And there’s…what you’re doing,” he says. “I’m your enemy; you shouldn’t be this kind to me.” Just when Eva thinks he’s finished, he adds, “What would your family think if they knew who you were harbouring?”

And that statement immediately causes her to still in place. She’s glad she has her back to him, and it takes all her will power not to drop the bowl and plate to shatter on the floor. She looks down at the bowl in her hand, finding the ripple in the thick liquid caused by her hand shaking involuntarily almost mesmerising. At least it offers her some sort of distraction from the situation.

She has to force her voice not to shake when she answers. “They would think what they’re thinking right now,” she says without turning around.

“What do you mean?”

Eva can’t see his face, but she can hear the confusion clear in his voice.

“My family,” she says, “You’re looking at them,” she says, and continues on her way to the kitchen without turning around once to look at him or to elaborate.

Chris watches her retreating back and the confusion is clear on his face. Whatever question he wanted to ask next quickly dying on his lips the moment his eyes fall on the dogs still curled up on the floor and the cats he can see staring at him from on top of the bookshelf. He looks around more and sees a variety of different animals perched on various surfaces across the small cottage that he hadn’t noticed before. In that moment, he understands completely.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and when Eva finally returns to his side, a forced smile plastered onto her face, carrying a bowl of water and a clean cloth, he doesn’t bring up the question again.

He watches silently as her hands expertly move to clean his wounds. He swallows the groan that threatens to emerge when she touches a particularly painful spot. But he was used to it: pain. What he wasn’t used to was kindness, and this meek, defenceless girl was showing him more kindness than he was used to or even deserved and it unnerved him to the core.

He really doesn’t know what to think. He just follows her with his eyes as she bustles around the house, feeding the animals and tidying around. She doesn’t make eye contact with him again after that conversation but she doesn’t seem particularly upset, so Chris allows her to have her moment without disruption.

She cooks fish that night and it’s the most heavenly thing he’s ever smelled in his life, but he declines when she offers it to him. Mainly because the thought of eating anything didn’t seem particularly inviting, but he watches her while she eats, periodically putting aside a piece for the cats perched around her plate on the table. It wasn’t that he was unused to seeing girls; he had a lot of beautiful girls and beautiful women waiting back home to throw themselves at his feet, but none of them were quite like the girl sitting in front of him, smiling at her cats and the little mice scurrying across the table, and reaching over the pet the dogs sitting protectively by her side. He could tell that she’d seen her fair share of pain and loneliness, but the fact that she could still be this kind of person, the kind of person who would bring a stranger into their home knowing full well that he was an enemy of the nation and undoubtedly a wanted criminal. The kind of person who would nurse him back to health and feed him and clean his wounds and worry about his wellbeing even when they knew nothing about each other and she had no way of knowing that he wouldn’t wake up suddenly and kill her in her sleep.

He’s heard what the Northern people had to say about the Southern soldiers. He’s heard the rumours they tell their children about the Penetrators. He knows what thought goes through people’s mind when they talk about the South and he knows that Eva has undoubtedly heard all the same stories and more, and the fact that she still did what she did…

That was a realization that really made him take a step back and recognize that perhaps there still was some good left in the world.

Tbc.