Hello! This was written for the FlowerClan challenge #6.
Disclaimer - I do not own the Warriors world.
Onwards.
It's cold, was his first thought when he woke that sun. He shook the leaves out of his fur and gazed out into the thin forest that had become his home. It hadn't snowed yet, and to be honest, he was really hoping for it. As much as snow made him stick out and unable to land a paw on any prey, snow was guaranteed warmth, at least when he was nestled in a little hollow of it. He could bear a grumbling stomach for a nice bit of rest. Of course he may not have had this problem to begin with if he hadn't been banished from ThunderClan.
Anger fades with time, he reminded himself sullenly. Burying his claws into the earth, he hissed quietly to himself. His tail lashed back and forth behind him. That phrase never seemed to work for him like it had for his mother... no, Ashpelt. Again, he tried to focus himself.
He is not a clancat anymore. Ashpelt is no longer his mother. And lastly, he has no name. ThunderClan is not his concern. The mantra was all that really seemed to keep him going. It was how he kept calm. He wanted revenge. Every fiber of himself ached for it. He had to clean his name, prove his innocence.
His shoulders slumped slightly. He wasn't really much of a vengeance seeker. His heart did not burn so passionately... it only ached for home. He was smaller than most toms at the time he was banished. He may have been faster and more skilled than average, but he didn't have the brute strength or the mental fortitude for... for that.
With a depressed sigh, he continued his search for the potential paw-full of food he might be able to scrounge up. When things were especially bad, he tried digging in the dirt for bugs or worms to eat. It was always on the coldest of days, where his pads were already dry and were cracked and cut into under the hard dirt.
For a moment, he spared a thought. A lingering sort, painful. He pressed into the pain, trying to remember what she looked like. Slowly, the image filled him, like a quiet purr. He could see her long, soft white fur and wide, bright eyes. The image progressed, like claws sinking into his mind with darkness spreading over the original image. He neared the cliff of despair, and pushed the she-cat, quickly, from his mind. Her betrayal... it was curled deeply inside him. He could not take the blame for her. He would not accept her beautiful lies.
Hate was consuming him.
With a newfound sense of purpose, he prowled through the leaf filled forest floor, quietly and carefully. He remembered his purpose, and then, only then, he no longer thought of ThunderClan.
Snowflower was a white she-cat, her perfectly white fur was marred by a single patch of ginger fur around her left eye. Her eyes were the most fascinating part of her by far. They were so cold, so devoid of any emotion... yet they were so full of false images and feelings.
He did not find anything that day. Hunger gnawed at him, but it didn't bother him nearly as much as it used to. At least not in the way that it once had.
There was a reason why the forest was so devoid of any signs of life. It was thin, lacking in coverage and wholly unsafe for any animal with a lick of sense. Then there were the winds that passed through the trees like cries of doom. During the winter, they were so bone chilling that even the crows did not remain. It was an unfortunate place. A place where he had come to die, surely.
It was silverpelt. The stars twinkled far above his head. He wondered, only for a moment, if he would ever be able to go to StarClan. He hadn't done anything wrong... but maybe he would go to the Dark Forest like many cats believed he should. But perhaps, he may not go anywhere at all when he died. What proof did the clancats have of StarClan anyway? Sometimes he dared to hope he wasn't such a bad tom.
Snowflower had an apprentice at one time. Crowpaw was what he was called. He was small and weak, a useless sort of cat. Snowflower always made sure he knew this. She worked painstakingly on destroying her apprentice, carefully and without mistakes. For all cruelty, she gave smidgens of kindness as well, praised him when a technique was perfected, and therefore drawing him back despite her usually abusive behaviour. Crowpaw was a loyal apprentice if nothing else.
Finally, it snowed. With a happy mew, he dug himself a cave deep within the snow, settling in the warmth, sleeping soundly for the first time in moons.
He planned to make for ThunderClan very soon.
.
The strangest part about waking up that sun was that it was the sun. It was the last one that he would spend toiling in that sparse forest, and he felt a little sad. In truth, he would have preferred to live out the rest of his days in the most boring manner possible, but he had to take his vengeance. He had to assure justice was served. His quiet life would simply await his return.
Crawling out of his warm cloud within the snow was the hardest trial. The wind butchered his dark fur mercilessly. Still, he pressed on. It was what he had to do. His mother had lived out her last sun on a cold sun like this one.
The snow crunched beneath his paws, and he wondered if he would have a chance to eat that day. His stomach growled at the prospect. He let himself long, for just a moment, for his kithood to be returned to him. Again, he was drawn into the abyss of his mind where whispers touched at his consciousness. The words were garbled, but they seemed so sweet, so warm.
He did his best to shake the grief away, but it continued to tear at his pelt, unremittingly. He dared to hope one last time that he could have his vengeance.
"Your mother just died? Why aren't you sad"?"
Arriving at the border of ThunderClan cast a strange feeling into his stomach. It was almost sickening... He shook slightly, but not because he was cold. He sat at the border, thoughts swirling in his mind. An endless, repulsing dance of thoughts and images.
"Who are you?" He was pulled out of his mind by an unfamiliar voice. A stocky gray she-cat glared at him, her hackles raised, poised to attack. He blinked back his surprise. It took him a moment to realise he was being treated like a loner.
"Well, sit it out! We haven't got all sun!" the she-cat spat. Then it finally dawned on him who this she-cat was, Mousewhisker. Her tail lashed back and forth as she waited impatiently. He stiffened.
"I wanted to ask about a she-cat... she has one ginger mark over her eye," he answered meekly. No, he never was a brave cat. The apprentice with Mousewhisker squeaked in response.
"Snowflower?! She was murdered by her own apprentice several moons ago. I still remember it. They couldn't bring her body into camp because-"
"HONEYPAW!" Graywhisker yowled authoritively. Something very, very cold filled him at this. He shook slightly, and the apprentice looked at him curiously.
"Now that I think about it... you and the apprentice look pretty similar," Honeypaw meowed. At that, Graywhisker cuffed her talkative apprentice about the ear.
"I think you should go," Graywhisker told him. He nodded slightly, turning away from the ThunderClan border for the last time.
Ashpelt had died of greencough. Snowflower had been a wonderful medicine cat.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.
"And I am low and unwell
This is love, this is hell
This sweet plague that follows me"
-"Flesh and Bone" by Keaton Hensen
~Minatu-Corneille