Broken Ice - Chapter 1
Welcome to my new Warriors fanfiction.
Synopsis:
Iceheart has a... condition.
She was born with a breathing disability, if you could call it that. All her life, she has had to fight her own body for the oxygen she needs. Her mother, and her medicine cat both thought she would die before she would reach apprenticing age.
Iceheart is now thirteen moons old, and a medicine cat apprentice. She has spent her entire life watching and never doing. Then, she makes a life-changing decision: She is no longer going to be afraid to live. However, just after her resolution is made, Iceheart is given devastating news about her health.
Her mentor tells her that he suspects she only has one more season cycle to live. In an effort to fulfill her resolution, and her dreams, Iceheart leaves her Clan, and sets out on a journey into the unknown. And it is out there, in the world of the "rogues" that Iceheart learns the greatest lesson life could ever teach her. She learns the meaning of love, friendship, loyalty, and honor.
But is it already too late?
So, yeah that is this story. I hope you all enjoy. Remember to leave reviews - they keep me writing and posting.
I do not own the idea of Warriors, nor the Clans and territories depicted in this story. However, I do own these characters.
Too Bad
I ground my teeth just looking at them.
Everyone around me was so… fake. They pretended to care. They pretended to be friendly with one another, but the truth was: they all hated each other's guts. And I had to watch them as their jealously gnawed at them under their carefully controlled façades. I had to watch as their anger simmered inside them, only detectable by stony glances and rigid postures.
I had to watch.
Watch.
Watch.
All I ever did was watch, and it made me sick.
Pikestar said it would be a good idea for me to become a medicine cat apprentice. He said that because of my condition that I would do well assisting Batwing since the tom was "getting older every day". Batwing was my mother's age, and my mother was still in her prime. Batwing was perfectly fine, Pikestar just didn't want me to become a warrior.
Well, I guess that you should know why. No, I'm not some prophesized villain that StarClan declared would destroy the Clans as we know them—I wish I was that interesting. Nope, truth is: I'm just a sickly kitten. Or was a kitten—not anymore. I've survived much longer than they thought I would, which I suppose is something to be proud of. When I was born, I had a breathing… difficulty, you could call it. I had a hard time taking in air, but Batwing worked day and night to strengthen my lungs, and keep my airways open. How he really kept me alive, I have no idea, but he told my mother that I could never become a warrior, or do anything too… strenuous. Batwing also mentioned that he'd heard of this condition before—a ShadowClan cat had a similar… issue. That cat had only lasted a few moons after his birth.
I had just reached my thirteenth moon, and Batwing was very proud of me—of himself, really. He viewed it as his own personal accomplishment, as if he was the one doing daily exercises to save his own hide; as if he was the one who constantly had to fight for air; as if he was the one who—
I always tried not to let Batwing bother me. Sure, he could be a pretentious fox-heart, but he was my mentor. Even though he was just as shallow as the rest of RiverClan, he was always kinder than most. Below his own desire to personal success, he did care about his patients—the cats that counted on him.
Yet, I couldn't stop thinking that Batwing, Pikestar, my mother—they're all like everyone else. All shallow. All self-absorbed. All jealous. All waiting for that one moment where they can claw their way to the top. They wanted power. They wanted to be famous among the four Clans. They wanted to be the most powerful, the most desired, the most envied, the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the most valiant, the most strategic—the ideal cat.
That's all they wanted. They didn't care about each other. They didn't care about me—all of their sympathy was hollow. They just said the things they did so they felt better about themselves. No matter how eloquently they phrased it, I always heard the same thing: "Too bad you're going to die."
But in their eyes, I would just be one less cat in the way of their agenda.
A/N: Review?