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thunders-warcats-stuff · 6 years

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Burning Water Chapter 1 part 1

Fireheart shivered. His flame-colored fur was still greenleaf-light, and since leaf-fall was temperamental, it would be a few moons before it was thick enough to keep out cold like this. He shuffled his forepaws on the hard earth. The sky was finally growing light as dawn crept slowly in. But even though his paws were cold, Fireheart could not suppress a glow of pride. After many moons as an apprentice, he was a warrior at last. In his mind, he replayed yesterday’s victory at the ShadowClan camp: Brokenstar’s glittering eyes as the tyrant backed away from he and Dustpelt, hissing threats before fleeing after his rogue companions. The remaining cats had been grateful to ThunderClan for helping them to get rid of their brutal leader, for the recovery time that ThunderClan had promised. Brokenstar had not just brought chaos to his own Clan; he had driven the whole of WindClan right out of their own territory. He had been a dark shadow in the forest long before Fireheart had left his kittypet life to join ThunderClan. But for Fireheart, there was another shadow troubling his mind: Tigerclaw, ThunderClan’s deputy. Fireheart shivered as he thought of the great ThunderClan warrior who had terrorized his apprentice, Ravenpaw. In the end, Fireheart and his denmates had helped the frightened apprentice escape into Twoleg territory beyond the uplands. Afterward, Sandstorm had told the Clan that Ravenpaw had been hit by a monster saving his brother, Dustpelt. It was for the best that the Clan was uncertain about the black apprentice's fate. It left the option of return, if Ravenpaw ever felt safe enough, and Tigerclaw wouldn't leave the Clan just to silence an already-gone apprentice. No, he would focus on the one who knew about him for sure. Tigerclaw's vicious murder of Redtail, Sandstorm's father and the old ThunderClan deputy, still had no clear motive. Yes, he was deputy now, but that was after Lionheart had died in a battle with ShadowClan. If the battle hadn't happened, if Lionheart hadn't died, would Tigerclaw have tried to kill Greystripe’s former mentor?

Fireheart shook his head to clear it and turned to glance at Greystripe sitting beside him. His first friend's thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold, and Fireheart guessed he was looking forward to the sunrise. Neither of them spoke their wishes to the other two beside them.

Clan tradition demanded silence on this night. This was their vigil. After an apprentice earned their warrior name, they were set to guard the camp. The night could also be used for reflection. Halftail, a huge, light brown elder who had lost part of his tail to a badger, was one of the first cats to wake. Fireheart glanced toward the warriors’ den at the other side of the clearing. Through the branches that sheltered the den, he recognized the broad shoulders of Tigerclaw as he slept. At the foot of Highrock, the lichen that draped the entrance to Bluestar’s den twitched, and Fireheart saw his Clan leader push her way out. She stopped and lifted her head to sniff the air. Then she padded silently out of Highrock’s shadow, her long fur glowing blue-gray in the dawn light.

Bluestar had mourned Redtail’s death with the rest of the Clan, originally believing him to have died by the claws of Oakheart, the deputy of RiverClan. Fireheart had hesitated before, knowing how important Tigerclaw was to her, but the danger was too great. Bluestar now knew that her Clan was harboring a cold-blooded murderer. Tigerclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and met the leader at the edge of the clearing. He murmured something to her, his tail flicking urgently. Fireheart stifled his instinctive meow of greeting. The sky was growing light, but until he knew for sure that the sun was above the horizon, he dared not break his silence. He nodded respectfully at the two cats as they passed him.

Beside him, Sandstorm nudged Fireheart and pointed upward with her nose. An orange visible on the horizon.

“Glad to see the dawn, you four?” Whitestorm’s deep meow took Fireheart by surprise. He had barely noticed the warrior’s approach, but according to everyone else, stealth was the white tom’s forte. It was how he'd gotten his name. He passed that on to Sandstorm apparently, because she shared many of the traits that made her an excellent hunter with her mentor.

Fireheart and his three denmates nodded together.

“You may speak now.” Whitestorm chuckled, touching noses with each of them in turn. “Your vigil is over.”

Yesterday he had fought side by side with them in the battle with ShadowClan, and judging by the respect in his eyes as he looked at them, Fireheart could say with pride that he'd proven himself.

“Thank you, Whitestorm,” Fireheart meowed gratefully. He stood and stretched his legs one at a time. Greystripe, Dustpelt and Sandstorm moved stiffly, each unlocking their muscles from the solid guard they'd stood all night.

“Brrrrr!” Greystripe meowed, shaking the chill from his fur. “I thought the sun would never come up!”

“With fur as thick as yours, I'm surprised you feel anything, much less the cold.” Dustpelt taunted, surprisingly tame.

The brown warrior would never forgive himself for leaving his brother to find a new home in a storm as bad as the one that had smothered the territories. But Ravenpaw had insisted on getting as far away from ThunderClan as possible thanks to the threat posed by the current deputy. So far, all Dustpelt knew about Tigerclaw was that he'd been one of the best warriors in the Clan. Then he called for the battle to take back Sunningrocks from RiverClan, an ancient grudge that would change only with the course of the river. Something must have happened there, because Fireheart and Ravenpaw had come back terrified beyond belief and Dustpelt had needed a new mentor. It was a good thing that Dustpelt had been well beyond needing more training, because Darkstripe was... something else. He'd have to ask Bluestar to hold off on giving Willowpelt’s first son an apprentice, because the black tabby could do with a bit more training himself. How Longtail got his warrior name, Dustpelt would never know. Then again, Longtail was a decent warrior so maybe Darkstripe had something else distracting him. He did seem to be following his old mentor rather closely. Could Fireheart and Ravenpaw have been right about Tigerclaw’s plotting?

“Are you going to be alright?” Greystripe asked softly. Dustpelt looked up. They’d reached the fresh-kill pile.

“One mouse each and two chaffinches to share!” Sandstorm crowed.

The four friends picked up their meal and looked at each other. Dustpelt's eyes suddenly sparkled with delight.

“I suppose we take it to the warriors’ side of the camp now,” he meowed.

“I suppose we do,” Fireheart purred, padding to the patch of nettles where they had often watched Whitestorm, Tigerclaw, and the other warriors share fresh-kill.

#warrior cats #warrior cats just a dream burning water #Fireheart #Sandstorm #Dustpelt #Greystripe #Whitestorm appears!#warrior vigil

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warriorsredux · 7 years

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Chapter Thirty-Four

They were too late by the time they reached camp.

The clearing was torn apart - clots of dirt were tossed up and scattered, leaving paw-sized holes in the ground, and drops or splashes of blood dotted what was still flat. The ferns behind the meeting stump were trampled down violently. Claw marks raked the entrance of the nursery and the log that made up the elder’s den was splintered and chipped on the edges. The few cats that were inside hobbled about with scores of wounds.

Worst of all - and Firepaw had to choke down bile at this - two bodies were sprawled on the floor, each viciously ripped down their sides and stomachs, lying in pools of blood. Patchpelt was bent down over one. Frostfur broke free of the patrol and ran for the other, skidding to a halt and nosing the grey neck.

“Willowpelt!” she said, her voice pitched up in terror.

Willowpelt was still at first. Then she wheezed out a weak breath. Frostfur sighed in relief and lifted her head, looking around the clearing. The Clan slowly wandered in, agape at the damages.

Bluestar joined Patchpelt at the other body. She nudged One-eye’s shoulder, but it was no use; she was long dead. Her single eye was closed and her mouth was slightly open. Had Firepaw not known better, he would have thought she was asleep.

“The kits are gone,” Patchpelt said quietly. “We tried to save them, but...”

“Where’s Murkpelt?” Bluestar said. “And the elders?”

“Here,” said Ashfur, emerging from the elder’s den bloody and sorely beaten. Palecloud limped him, a deep cut on her leg.

“She gave chase,” she said. “We told her to stay here and wait, she tried to help-”

“We’ll need to find her, then.” Bluestar’s voice lowered dangerously. “Who else is dead?”

“No one, as far as we know.” Halftail stepped around the log, shoulders and chest battered. “One-eye set herself in front of the nursery and they overwhelmed her and Willowpelt. We were held in place until they fetched the kits.”

Bluestar growled to herself, tail lashing. “What did they want with them?”

“If I know Brokenstar,” Ashfur said, “he’s trying to hold them as an advantage over you. For what purpose, I can’t say.”

“An advantage,” Bluestar repeated. Her ears flattened against her head. “Fine. We’ll see who’s got the advantage.”

She turned around to face her warriors. They all immediately stood at attention.

“Ravenpaw and Sandstorm,” she said. “The two of you are unharmed?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go to the other Clans and tell them to join us in ShadowClan territory. Ravenpaw, WindClan should still be where we left them and they’ll be happy to pay us back. Sandstorm, you go to RiverClan. Swim if you must.”

She paused, and then spoke again, her voice ever-so-slightly unsteady.

“If you see Redtail alive, do what you can to get him out of the water.”

“I know,” Sandstorm said, eyes troubled. She turned and trotted out of camp, a nervous Ravenpaw following her.

“I want everyone who can still fight to follow me,” Bluestar said, walking after them. “We can’t let them get too far.”

Firepaw was the last out, sparing the time to look at One-eye. He wanted to say something to Patchpelt, who hovered over her miserably, but shook his head and turned away again. There would be time to say goodbye later.

The patrol moved again in a straight path for the road. They caught up with the hag quickly - evidently, she had stopped halfway to wait for them.

“I can take you directly to ShadowClan’s camp,” she said. Her long fur was matted with blood and her face was mauled.

“Are you sure?” Whitecloud said, looking her up and down. “You’re wounded-”

“And I’ll give those varlets back double what they did to me.” She jerked her head and turned away. “So will you.”

Bluestar didn’t hesitate in trotting after her. Whitecloud cast a doubtful glance to the rest of the patrol, but he and everyone else silently followed.

When they reached the road, Bluestar said, “We should take that tunnel ShadowClan uses.”

“No,” said the hag. “They’re expecting that. Come on. They’ll see us as soon as we cross either way.”

“All together, then,” said Bluestar. She waited until a car passed before shouting, “Now!”

The patrol burst forward, leaping up the gravelly slope and sprinting over the pavement. There were no cars coming in the distance and they landed in the coarse grass of the marshes with no trouble. The ground here was soft and muddy, and the sharp grass tickled Firepaw’s feet and nose, but he hardly noticed. His focus was on an approaching pack of cats coming from the north, a few of which were shouting angrily.

The hag moved to the front of the ThunderClan patrol, squinting, as the group approached. Bluestar stepped close behind her. The cat at the front, a wiry, thin black tom, held up his tail and his entourage stopped.

“Murkpelt,” he said hoarsely.

Firepaw expected the hag to correct him or snarl an insult, but she simply sighed. “You’re too old for this, Nightpelt.”

The tom didn’t respond. He just looked back at his crew of broad-shouldered loners, who all suddenly lost their bravado now that their leader was hesitating.

“And you,” the hag said sharply to them. “You ought to know by now that whatever Brokenstar promised you, you won’t be getting. He’s a liar, a manipulator and a snake, and you’re letting him play you for fools.”

One of the cats, a rather large grey tom, stepped forward. “How did you end up with ThunderClan?”

The hag snorted. “Because any fool with a half-good eye can see when a cat’s innocent.”

Nightpelt shuffled his paws.

“You know better now,” said the hag. “Brokenstar was the only one who knew about that dog at the Rotten Place. The lot of you just couldn’t accept it.”

Nightpelt lowered his head.

“Let us through,” said the hag. “The territories will be safer with him gone.”

Out of the corner of Firepaw’s eye, another group appeared from the metal tunnel. The loners whirled around to face the tattered cats of WindClan. Even wounded, they walked with long, slow strides and didn’t flinch at the snarls of the loners. Ravenpaw, who was in front, skittered backwards and let Rookstar take the lead before running to join Firepaw and Greypaw.

“We saw Crookedstar heading up with his Clan,” Rookstar said to Bluestar, passing the loners as if he was alone on a peaceful night. “He’ll be here shortly.”

The hag turned to Nightpelt and snorted. Blood trickled out of her nose. “The bulk of you are at camp, I imagine. Try to fight us here, run to Brokenstar, let us pass and return this lot to the Aulmir, I don’t care. It’s all the same end for you either way.”

Nightpelt looked between the two Clan patrols, then at his own group, and then to the large grey tom. The grey tom sighed and nodded, and Nightpelt stepped back.

“He’s been losing support,” he said. “Maybe you can convince them to turn him in. Just...please don’t hurt anyone more than you have to.”

“We’ll try,” said the hag. Somewhere in her rusty voice was the barest hint of softness.

Nightpelt quietly led the bemused loners south, promising payment for their services. In a short while, Crookedstar boomed out a greeting as he, Sandstorm and several RiverClanners joined the patrols. Among the youthful faces was Silverpaw, who sidled up to the three ThunderClan apprentices while the leaders talked.

“Hello again, rabble,” she said. “Poor night for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s been better,” Greypaw said.

The conglomeration of Clans moved quickly east, the hag in the lead, proudly trotting along with her half-army behind her. There was nothing said for a long time, except for the occasional grunt of displeasure when a cat stepped into watery mud or bungled a hop over a stream. The marshes were empty and silent, and it unsettled Firepaw deeply. He smelled no prey, only the stinking dark water and withered, rotting reeds.

“I’ll give him this,” the hag said suddenly. “He made sure ShadowClan never went hungry.”

“Bluestar doesn’t let us go hungry,” Darkstripe scoffed.

“You don’t live in a barren marsh,” the hag said.

Eventually, Firepaw caught a whiff of feline, and quickly after saw a small cat staring at them before running into a large, thorny bush raised on a mound of dirt over the water. As they approached, he could hear Brokenstar shouting, “Stay strong! We still have the advantage! Don’t let them get to you!”

“We’ll be getting to you soon enough,” Crookedstar called. “Might want to make it easier on yourself by surrendering.”

There was dead silence in the bush. Firepaw thought he could see tabby markings and eyes in the leafage.

“The kits, Brokenstar,” Bluestar said. “Let them go before we use force.”

Leaves shifted and Brokenstar growled something. A kitten squealed in pain.

“Hear that?” he shouted. “You don’t get to threaten me, Bluestar, I don’t care how many cats you have outside.”

Bluestar’s claws gripped into the soft earth. A few cats murmured worriedly at the edges of the bush.

“Now- now you can stay out there as long as you want,” Brokenstar said. “But! But the longer you stay, the more danger you put these kits in. Go home, Bluestar, and everyone out there. Go home and your kits are safe. Stay here and there’s no telling what will happen. Have I made myself clear?”

#warrior cats #warriors redux #redux #wr #chapter #arc1 #chapter 34 #holy shit these chapters are getting long #oh well #more to read i guess

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