notes || written for Adventures in Mentoring - a Challenge and 15 OneShot Challenge on WCF
edited/re-written 6-26-14


(from the moment her golden eyes open, it is wretched)

The she-kit is standing in a gigantic clearing, watching with a solemn face as her father is dragged from behind the mountainous expanse of stone. His usually bright and playful eyes are as dull as the dirt stained on her paws. It seems like ages ago that she had been playing with her denmates; she had gone through a rounds and rounds of fox and rabbit in the clearing, squealing with delight when the tom with the big feet tackled her from behind.

She watches as her father is thrown onto the jagged mountain of rock. He lets out a grunt, his muscles failing him, and becomes limp. Jeers and cries of hatred fill the camp: his name, accompanied by strings of insults that her little mind does not understand.

"How could you kill them? What did they ever do to you?"

"Filthy fox-hearted traitor!"

"Eagleclaw and Daisyfur deserved better than death than by your ugly claws!"

Her leader emerges from his den for the first time in almost a half-moon, having hidden the sorrow he was burdened with after losing his sister and her mate. He is stone-faced, though his amber eyes glint with pure madness as he announces her father's fate.

"Kill him."

A scarred brown tom immediately jumps forward, a malicious grin plastered on his face, and she feels a ball of hatred swoop forward as he positions his jaw around her father's gray-furred neck, teeth ready to pierce his tender skin and deliver death. Supportive yowls echo throughout the clearing, though they were not all that was heard; her mother's fierce growl of anguish tore through her body.

Eyes widening in fright, the white kit's gray-dappled pelt shakes uncontrollably. She does not understand, does not comprehend what he has done. Her father (the murderer, the outcast) is a kind, big, brave cat. He cannot be killed. She darts forward through the immense gathering of cats to reach him, to save the one cat who truly was always there for her. But nothing stops the brown tom from tearing out the throat of a traitor.

So when the cloud-furred kit finally pushes through the now-cheering crowd, she does not see happy blue eyes, or strong muscles, or any amount of health from her father. She sees smiling, crazed cats, celebrating the extermination of their Clanmates' murderer. She sees the ugly brown tom with red-stained fangs, and her father's green-eyed friend turning away solemnly.

She sees a broken, mangled body, blood streaming from every source, and the ripped-up flesh it used to own strung across the camp mercilessly.

Her father is gone, along with her sanity.

She awakes, golden eyes blinking rapidly, trying to recover from the sudden burst of sunlight shining through the entrance to the apprentices' den.

Cloudpaw stands, her lengthy, angular legs towering her above the other apprentices' sleeping forms. The littermates Duskpaw and Graypaw are laying across from each other, both snoozing, their white bellies exposed to the ceiling. Their sister Rainpaw, her gorgeous silver fur appearing white in the morning sun, curls up against sleek-furred Nightpaw, their chests rising and falling in perfect unison. Cloudpaw rolls her eyes. Stupid furballs. Like apprentice love will last.

She continues to watch her denmates with jealous eyes, only to be disrupted from her thoughts by a poke from behind. She whirls around, snarling, but stops in her tracks at the sight of her mentor, his green gaze narrowed in dismay.

"Spying upon the others, are you?" Volefang meows, a faint hint of teasing in his low morning voice.

Cloudpaw scoffs, but her white paws shuffle uncomfortably across the stone floor. "No."

Nodding as if he actually believes her, Volefang flicks his skinny black tail as a signal for her to follow. She ducks her head under the lichen overhanging the entrance—the feeling of it brushing against her fur always gives her chills—and pads into the clearing that marks as camp, already preparing for the taunts that always come her way. Sometimes it seemed as if Lionpaw waited outside the den for hours, just so he could give her his two tails.

"Get out of here, you idiotic furball," her mentor growls at the golden apprentice, before he could even open his mouth. She has never understood why Volefang acts so father-like towards her, though she knows he was the only one willing to take her on as an apprentice. Snowstep once told her that Volefang and her father had been friends even before she was born, but Cloudpaw hadn't listened hard—she never did, when it came to stories about her father. After all, he was the betrayer, the murderer, the rogue the Clan constantly regretted taking in.

As usual, Lionpaw backs away from Volefang with caution, but shoots Cloudpaw a look of pure loathing.

"The killer is hiding again," hisses Lionpaw, the golden-pelted brother of Nightpaw and Thornpaw. "Hiding behind her ugly old mentor." The tom repeated almost the exact same words every morning. Cloudpaw's days are always like this—a ritual repeated over and over again, never changing.

Volefang brushes against her gently, though his nose is wrinkled in disgust. "Come on now, Cloudpaw. This runt's opinion means less than rat dirt."

She laughs, but inside she is empty.

Cloudpaw heaves in another breath, her lungs desperately clawing for air.

"Keep going, lazy! With those long legs you should be able to run as fast as a wolf!" screeches Blossomheart from several fox-lengths away. "To the bush and back again!"

Shut up, you fat loser, Cloudpaw wants to yell. This would be an entirely false statement, however. Blossomheart is the most beautiful she-cat in the Clan, with the slenderest of bodies, giant amber orbs for eyes, and glistening calico fur. Of course the leader's daughter is gorgeous. Why would it work out any differently?

Cloudpaw continues on, her paws shuffling across the Training Clearing with exhaustion. Every step feels like another mountain to climb. It never ends. Finally, she reaches the oak tree that marks the end of the course, and collapses with satisfaction.

"Nice run, Cloudpaw."

The white apprentice glances up in surprise, never having heard such words directed at her before.

Thornpaw stands over her, his golden fur covered with dirt from his hunt. His mouth is curled into a small smile. "Takes a lot of determination to stick with Blossomheart. She mentored me for a while, when Quailfeather was in the nursery."

"Mhm," Cloudpaw sniffs, trying to sound like she couldn't care less. The golden tom's smile falters a bit, and she immediately feels guilty. Some cat is being nice to her, and this is how she's acting? "You trained great with Blossomheart, even though you weren't used to her. I know I couldn't last a day with a mentor that wasn't Volefang," she adds, trying to save the conversation.

"Yeah, I guess." Thornpaw looks at her deeply for a moment, green eyes uncertain, before his goofy grin suddenly returns. "I'll see you around, Cloudpaw." He gives her a last undecipherable look and twists around to leave.

Cloudpaw watches him lope off, a feeling of want overcoming her. She wants him to come back, to explain himself, to tell her why he was suddenly chit-chatting with her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But mostly, she just wants a friend.

"I hope you know what today is, Cloudpaw." Volefang breaks the silence, ripping another bite from the large rabbit he caught for their breakfast.

"My warrior ceremony," she replies tonelessly. She licked her slender body nervously. I should have left the Clan a long time ago. This was stupid—trying to be like the others, to make friends and be happy. Thornpaw had been so kind to her in the past moon—although she still wasn't sure why. Ever since that day out on the Training Clearing, they had been sharing prey, joining patrols together, sharing tongues after meals. Thornpaw would always crack the occasional fox and rabbit joke, sending Cloudpaw into fits of giggles. Suddenly, a jolt goes through her mind. It was all a trick. All of it. All the other apprentices, trying to make me look stupid.

"Aren't you excited?"

Volefang's words snap Cloudpaw out of her thoughts. She glares at him angrily, still caught up in her sudden revelation. "No."

His green gaze narrows. "You did so well on your assessment, Cloudpaw." After a moment, he adds, "Stoneclaw and Snowstep would have been proud."

Cloudpaw feels her body turn to ice as her parents' names are so casually thrown out into the open. Her mother died only a quarter-moon ago, and she hasn't heard her father's name since that one awful day of her kithood. She can hear the jeers of the evil cats echoing through her mind. "Shut up," she hisses, both to the images in her head and to Volefang.

The black tom's nonexistent eyebrows scrunch together angrily. "Why? After all your hard work—after a year of withstanding all this mouse dung from your so-called Clanmates—you don't think any cat is proud of you?" he seethes, voice gradually getting louder.

"That is exactly what I think," she snarls, a wave of red hot fire surging through her. "I am the daughter of a murderer. No one cares what I've done—they don't care that I'm not my father, that I barely even knew him, that I could never kill a cat in this Clan, despite how they've treated me. When I get up on the rock to get my warrior name, they're going to hate me like always, and you know it. I don't want a warrior ceremony—I'm not a part of this Clan, and I never will be, no matter how much they pretend to accept me despite my family's flaws or whatever mouse dung they make up," Cloudpaw spits. Then, throat aching, she whispers, "I'm just so tired."

Volefang swallows, his eyes turning soft. "Cloudpaw, I wish you had it easy. You have no idea how many times I've prayed to StarClan for your safety, your satisfaction, your happiness. It just isn't your destiny. You have to stay strong."

Cloudpaw stares her mentor straight in the face, golden gaze certain. "I can't."

"Then by the power of StarClan, I give you your warrior name!" Darkstar yowls. The whole Clan is buzzing with energy, and many of them smile cheerfully. "Thornpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Thornheart. StarClan honors your cleverness and strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of WindClan."

The roar of cheers and supportive shouts that filled the clearing overwhelm the gray-patched she-cat. Thornpaw's always been so popular… Jealousy pangs in her stomach, but she pushes it away. Who cares? That's never going to be you. Just get this over with.

Darkstar turns to her, his amber eyes gleaming. "And lastly, Cloudpaw." He says her name as if she was an insignificant, shiny-shelled bug he wanted to squish into pieces under his paw. And suddenly she knows she had to accept it. She will never be accepted into the Clan, never pardoned for her father's wrongdoings, never forgiven for being kin to the murderer of Darkstar's sister. Her hopes will always be as unreal as her ancestors in the sky.

Everything after that is a nightmare. A blur that Cloudpaw fogs out of her mind and hopes to never remember. All she knows is that there are untruthful vows and lilting lies—plenty of them.

And laughter—there is plenty of that, too, as her new name is announced to the world.

Run, run, run, she tells herself as she blazes through the forest. Her legs ache, her eyes ache, her brain aches. Run away, run away, run away. Do it, do it, do it.

She trips and falls and snags her fur on various branches, staining her pelt with red. She does not notice, for her mind is busied with other thoughts.

What is there to do when the legacy of your parent compiles every cat's impression of you? When your mother starves herself to death in lunacy, and none of your Clanmates even care? When no cat will ever love you for who you are, will never cherish you? When your accomplishments are forgotten, and your mistakes are remembered for the rest of your days?

There is nothing to do.

Nothing to do but run.

She leans over the edge of the cliff, peering down into its depths.

It looks so much nicer down there. It is almost as if it is open with all the possibilities—open only for me, she muses thoughtlessly, not noticing her body breaking down, her heaving sobs, her mind seeping every last chance at life away. I bet there is a better life down there. Maybe some fun ground cats or something who will want me. She giggled at the idea.

I know it is better down there, she decides. So much better. Maybe they can change my warrior name. It's a very dreadful one.

With that last comforting thought, Cloudkiller leaps into her new paradise.

The next day, the body of a beautiful cloud-furred she-cat is discovered in the gorge.

Her death is relieving to all who knew her—finally, the last kin of the murderer is gone.

Relieving to all but two, that is.

One of the two is a gigantic warrior with a heart just as big as his feet, and just as golden as his fur. This warrior has only had eyes for one, ever since his nursery days. He finds the same fate as the beautiful she-cat, and joins her in a far away place.

The second is a skinny black tom, with piercing green eyes and a tongue as snappy as a turtle. He rages and tears through his Clanmates after the death of his foster daughter, cursing and heaving and choking on his own spit. Eventually, he is finally reigned in and put down to rest with those he has lost.

Sometimes the world is a terrible place, and happy endings do not always exist.

(and so insanity killed the cat)