He paces the river, his eyes narrow slits. His eyes, which are shards of ice, are held in reverse. The sweet reverse that he is drunk with; of which he cannot get enough of. It is his cure to the ohsohorrible world – is only tie to sanity and he loves it.
He remembers the day when he was born – the river's lullaby hum in his ears – just a little scrap of pale-gray fur burrowed deep into his mother's dark pelt, the sensation of being safe – although he now he knows it was all false – from the vicious world of bloodshed and spite; lies and loyalties.
He only been a tiny, innocent kit with no clue whatsoever about the harshness of battle or the insanity that depression could drive a cat into. Though small, he was drop-dead gorgeous and worse of all was he knew it.
He always had known it; after all, his fur starlight-kissed fur does possess an amazing shade of gray, which the stars' glow lightened. His irises are the amazing colour of a snowy sky. All he had to do was pretend he didn't know.
That was terribly easy.
When he was an apprentice he was a tom-whore. He had looks and used it to his full advantage. Even fox-hearted StarClan couldn't lay a paw on him. He swaggered past she-cats, his long, naturally curly lashes framing his perfect eyes. One wink, one suggestive twitch of the whiskers was all it took; until StarClan decided to punish him for placing them under his spell.
Cloudpaw, his adopted brother; a handsome tom with a long, white-coloured pelt and azure eyes the colour of the summer sky – headstrong, proud, defiant, suave and utterly charming in a rebellious way.
He had never known how much his brother meant to him until he was gone.
He had watched as a pretty apprentice – Brightpaw back then, he thinks vaguely – the splatters of burnt orange staining her perfect white pelt. The green rings around her sea-blue irises sparkled with happiness and delight. He had watched while she had charmed his brother obliviously with her laughter, smile, purr and personality. Cloudpaw dreamed, talked and breathed for her.
He had never felt so bitter.
He, Ashpaw, was supposed to be the king; the top of the food chain. Now, his right-paw assistant had been stolen from him right under his nose. Anger and rage washed through him; violent, goading and bitter.
He was thirsty for revenge.
It seemed that StarClan had granted his wish for that horrible, horrible devil had left with one of her friends – what was his name again? – that black and white tom… Swiftpaw. They had been trying to find the source of ThunderClan's problems and he had died while she had lost one of her eyes, the first thing that Cloudpaw had fallen in love with.
He had never been more satisfied.
He had seeked out Cloudtail who had managed to get a warrior name and he was overcome with resentment but in his excitement he had forgotten about it. He jabbed his mourning sister in the side and asked her where he was.
Fernpaw merely looked surprised. "He's in the medicine cat den with Cinderpelt and Brightpaw," she replied, a slight hint of grief accenting her tones. He nodded, slight sympathy tingeing his gaze before he left the mourning cats in solace.
He had slipped through the entrance of the medicine cat cautiously, more than aware that one wrong movement would alert his brother. His paws had lightly skimmed the ground as he neared his location… and witnessed a sight which astonished him.
Cloudtail and that she-cat were together. She was twitching her sleep, murmuring something about dogs – he wrinkled his nose in distaste; how could anyone dream of such vile creatures? – and she was curled up far too close to Cloudtail. He noticed how Cloudtail curled his tail around her protectively and watched her with sad but loving eyes.
"I thought we judged she-cats on their beauty," he finally said, approaching the long-haired tom.
The pale-pelted tom glanced at him in complete surprise. "Ashpaw," he acknowledged, surprise colouring his tone. "You may have… but I've stopped ever since I met Brightpaw–"
"Lostface," his apprentice-self corrected.
Cloudtail's face tightened. "Lostface," he spat out the name. "I love her personality, her smile, her purr, her hiss, how her eyes crackle when she's angry and how her eyes lit up when she's happy. I love her," the white tom whispered softly.
He glared at his brother and padded out with his head held high, but his eyes lowered to hide his tears.
Ashfur hisses, his pale-blue eyes alight in the pale evening light. His snowy-blue irises shadow in pain as he recalls the first thing StarClan took away from him.
"I love Cloudtail," he yowls. "You took him away from me! A dratted she-cat replaced me!"
Softly, sullenly, he lowers his voice. "I don't understand. You took everything away from me, but why?" he asks, as his eyes glaze over once more.
His next loss was unexpected, he recalls. He took his own sister away.
He had always noticed that his mentor, Dustpelt, cast glances towards his sister that were both affectionate and loving. How she never felt the barbed side of the tongue the brown-coloured tom possessed, as if she wasn't even aware of it.
He resented it at first; the fact that his mentor was softer on another apprentice – an apprentice how was his sister, on top of that – and so unconsciously too. The small smiles that flickered across his face when he saw Fernpaw approaching or the nervous concern spread across his face when she was in pain.
He had barely noticed his mentor's affections until Fernpaw neglected their time together for Dustpelt. The hours they spent confiding in each other slowly withdrew to minutes, and then into mere seconds until flickering away into nothingness.
The green-eyed monster overcame his senses.
He remembers how he became increasingly cold to Dustpelt. How he tried to antagonize his mentor's actions and instructions.
He quickly learned that Dustpelt's barbed tongue was not a pleasant experience to encounter.
He managed to tame the monster and soon Clan life was running smoothly; was.
The peace was broken when dogs ravaged ThunderClan and Tigerstar attacked ruthlessly, using the canines as his pawns. When he added the pressure of dogs to the grief that his sister was feeling about her friend, Brightpaw's, loss he decided it was far too much of a burden to handle.
He was pleased that he had helped her overcome the burden, helped her bear it. The belief that he helped her dissolved when he realized that Dustpelt had helped her and he hadn't helped his own sister.
He had never been bitterer.
When they finally earned their warrior names – Ashfur and Ferncloud – a sense of pride and accomplishment overwhelmed his feelings until they drowned out any resentment he had churning inside of him.
Until he witnessed Ferncloud and Dustpelt's happy declaration of love. Their happy words claiming that they were officially mates.
He had never hated any cat more in his life.
Or so he thought.
His pale-blue eyes rip into the ground unseeingly until another loss flickers into his mind. A loss that burns bright and fresh; ripping wounds deep into his flesh. Scarring him deeper than any other loss could have.
He was a fresh warrior, still youthful, handsome and a tom-whore. It was at her apprentice ceremony when he noticed her.
Firestar's daughter, he instantly thought. Her pelt was a dark ginger and when encased in the sun's rays, looked like a burning, flickering flame. Her emerald-green eyes glowed with fire and determination. The stubborn set of her jaw and lithe steps showed her pride and stubbornness.
He had never been more enchanted.
He barely noticed her sister – Leafpaw – the new medicine cat apprentice at that time. She was a soft-spoken brown tabby with a white chest and paws. Her soft amber irises resembled pools of wisdom, gentleness and knowledge. The calm but surging fire in her irises caught his eye as well and he gazed at the two sisters, transfixed.
He instantly decided he would have one of them as his mate. The she-cat would obviously be the dark ginger one – Squirrelpaw at that moment – as her sister was a medicine cat and off limits.
With his decided mind, he sauntered past the apprentice den where she was conversing with Shrewpaw and Whitepaw. He winked at Whitepaw as he passed, earning a slight blush from the snow-coloured apprentice. He focused his gaze on the target, prepared to see a blushing apprentice.
The sight of her arguing with Shrewpaw and the fact that she had not even spared him a glance rewarded him.
He stared at her in stunned shock before briskly padding to the nettle patch to collect his thoughts.
He was kinder to her on patrols after that. He tried to charm her by making sure she ate. He allowed her on patrols when she was supposed to be looking after the elders. He tried everything he could think of to win her over.
When he heard that she had ran away with Brambleclaw, he felt as if the entire Clan had descended upon with claws digging into his flesh.
She returned though – thankfully – but with the unfortunate dark-brown tabby warrior with amber irises intact. He never missed the way they glanced at each other fondly, with the air of friendship surrounding each other. The way he looked out for her and the way she fiercely defended him from the accusations of his heritage. How close they were.
Perhaps it would have been better if they remained wherever they were after all.
After the daunting journey to the lake when they drifted apart due to Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw's half-brother, he seized his chance. They became closer until that StarClan accursed battle where she and Brambleclaw reunited.
When they became mates, his heart shattered into pieces and the familiar feeling of revenge overcame his heart.
When they had three kits – Hollykit, Jaykit and Lionkit – he decided he would take out his revenge on their kits.
He had been genuinely surprised when she revealed in an act of desperation that they were not her kits but her sister, Leafpool's and the WindClan cat Crowfeather's kits.
He smiles bleakly at the fact he was going to have his revenge on one of his losses.
He barely realizes he's reached the end of the river and the river's lullaby stops as claws dig into his neck.
As his vision slowly fades, a bitter smile crosses his features as the river's lullaby hums in his ears.
After all, what else can you do when you're born hearing the river's lullaby and die hearing it too?
My first one-shot concerning Ashfur; a broken, betrayed warrior who loses so much and ends up with a bittersweet reminder when he dies. StarClan has never really favoured him.