So, this is part one of the two-part challenge at The Miscellany (aka: the best forum on the interwebz EVAR). The challenge was to write a 1000-3100 word oneshot; the first should be generally angst, and the second is a crack pairing, I think. XD Anyway, I had to incorporate the phrase "He/she couldn't believe his/her eyes" (I did…a lot. XD) and mention something about a strong wind. This is about Ashfur and Squirrelflight, mainly; I haven't the slightest clue where I got the idea for it. As a quick note, I think the Evanescence song "Everybody's Fool" suits this oneshot perfectly. If you've got it handy, listen to it while you're reading. This is not a songfic. I just think they correlate, you know? Anyway, enough blathering. Reviews and good old constructive criticism are appreciated. :3
Enjoy.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
They had gotten back together so quickly, and she had dropped him like a maggot-laden chaffinch. Had she ever loved him; had she ever even cared? He could still hear her whispering in his ear, "I love you." He could still feel her purposely brushing against him on the foggy morning patrols. He could still see her twisting her fiery head around to wink at him through limpid emerald eyes, her tail twitching with flirtatious glee. He could still feel everything that had ever happened between them--that had to mean something. She still cared, right? She would only be back with Brambleclaw for a moon or two; then his beloved would return to his side, right? The gray and black speckled tom tried to convince himself of this fact; he would try harder than anything--harder than when he had run from the dog pack, than when he had been locked in a battle with the hideous BloodClan, than when he had traversed misty mountaintops, than even today, when he fought badgers for the safety of his Clan and the cat he believed his mate. Blood smattered the clearing, an omen of what was to come.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
There stood Hawkfrost, a RiverClanner, a foreigner, only mouse lengths from what was ThunderClan's side of the lake. He never would get over the size of the cat; he was immense, with shoulders squared and paws the size small birds. His white-splotched muzzle was broad, with thorn-sharp teeth, and his plume of a tail switched back and forth. Strong muscles rippled beneath a fine, neat tabby coat, but the words he breathed were far silkier.
"I know how to help you; I do believe you know how to help me."
Hawkfrost made sense of everything; it wasn't Brambleclaw's fault that he loved Squirrelflight--the bright she-cat knew just how to attract any tom she wanted. It was Squirrelflight's fault that his every moment was lanced with pain; it was as though he was a mouse, helpless, every limb torn off by a more powerful creature. She had no right to lead him on; she deserved to suffer like he did every dawn, and Hawkfrost knew just how to make things work. The enormous RiverClan warrior painted a bold picture--predicted an ominous but satisfying future--one streaked with the blood of the unworthy and coursing with the thrill of a new day. It all sounded so perfect; what other answer could there possibly be but yes?
He couldn't believe his eyes.
Squirrelflight was being ushered into the nursery by a throng of happy, smiling, and high-stepping cats; Brambleclaw, was, of course, right next to her--as usual. He felt a pang of rage at the she-cat, and knew immediately that there was a smoldering ember growing beneath his dark, stormy blue eyes. His tail lashed once as he glared at the troupe; there was the beguiling Sandstorm and the rambunctious Sorreltail; did no one see how wrong this was? Not even the wise Firestar seemed to comprehend the agonizing atrocity of Squirrelflight's happiness; ever since Hawkfrost's plan had failed, the leader was as blind as Longtail towards the dark blood pumping beneath his daughter's pelt.
Why didn't anyone see that no good would come of this? Those kits should not exist, and especially not if Brambleclaw was the father. Brambleclaw was the son of the greatest evil the forest had ever known--that alone was enough to distrust him, and any kits he brought into the world. But of course, Squirrelflight would always be far more sinister than the dark tabby. She held no empathy for any cat; it had always been about her, and always would be. Rage pounded through his heart like a WindClan cat over the moor. The gray warrior shook his head once, sneezing. They'd see how wrong this was soon enough.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
It was like the fire wasn't enough. Lightening crackled down the sky in bright, barbed tongues, and thunder boomed so loud that the ground shook beneath his paws and the trees groaned as though in pain. There was no rain--not yet. Before him stood three young cats, each with great potential: Hollyleaf, the honor-obsessed politician, Jayfeather, the biting but brilliant young medicine cat, and Lionblaze, his own former apprentice, and, although he would never admit this to anyone, a fantastic and valiant fighter. Each could bring greatness to the Clan; how good they could be, were it not for the tainted blood of their mother.
Squirrelflight herself lay panting from exertion behind him; the crazed warrior allowed himself one more sweeping glance at the young cats. Flames licked hungrily at their shabby pelts, but the tom felt no pity for them when he saw the terror in Squirrelflight's eyes. She composed herself quickly, despite her exhaustion and obvious fear; he could claw himself for still admiring her bravery. The she-cat stood just a mere fox length from him, her teeth bared and claws unsheathed. A mother's love--did she dare think that he didn't remember Brindleface? This was the best way to make her pay; only the pain of losing kits could equate to when she tore his heart out and left him bleeding on the rocky floor of the hollow.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
Those three…they weren't the kits of Squirrelflight? Rage and hatred bubbled through his body as he sat beneath a charred oak, just days after Squirrelflight's terrible secret had been revealed. He had done everything; the fire had been a gift from StarClan--they had seen how wrong Firestar's daughter was, and had sent it to allow him the perfect window to destroy her. Why hadn't it worked? Tigerstar was surely on her side, from wherever he rested--Tigerstar, who had killed his mother, Brindleface, Tigerstar, who had killed his father, Whitestorm, and Squirrelflight, who had killed him, Ashfur. Every morning he watched as the blood fled his body in waves, and each night he screamed in agony for help, a savior. He couldn't breathe--couldn't breathe, couldn't eat--and all because of one cat who had never physically laid a claw on him.
The blood flew fiercer and the screams came louder every time he saw her. Why didn't anyone understand? The warrior had one hope left, and just one; he had only to endure the pain a few more dawns, till the eve of the Gathering. It would all be cut loose there, like Bone's reinforced claws through his father's throat; finally, he could be free. Free, to watch the blood flow from the twitching bodies of every cat that had ever hurt him, their limbs clawing at nothing and eyes rolled back with the horrors that haunted him at every step. Only three cats stood in his way, and they were all far too good to break the code to stop him. He smiled, showing curved teeth, and raced from the clearing.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
If anyone was to stop him, it would have been Lionblaze, he had thought comfortably. He knew he could destroy either Jayfeather or Hollyleaf--Jayfeather was weak, with only StarClan at his disposal--and the gray warrior already knew StarClan supported him, and not the young medicine cat. Why else would the fire have happened? Hollyleaf was weak as well; her strength seemed to lay in loyalty and morality, not fighting. He only had Lionblaze to worry about, and if anyone knew Lionblaze's weaknesses, it was him. He had mentored the headstrong young cat; he was older, more experienced, and understood things that Lionblaze did not. Nothing could stop him from revealing Squirrelflight's secret.
His whole body was filled with exhilaration and glee; soon, the dark ginger she-cat would be put to shame. Brambleclaw would leave her, and her kits seemed to have already deserted her. Sandstorm would be horrified at her daughter's atrocious lie, and Firestar might even have the grounds to banish her from the Clan. He'd never have to see her again. So happy he was, so sure that everything would be fine, and so completely focused on the mouse he was tracking, Ashfur didn't even hear Hollyleaf as she drew near.
His last sight would be that of two crazed emerald eyes--eyes that would remind him of Squirrelflight, even though he knew that this cat was not her daughter. Somehow, even as he saw Hollyleaf barrel towards him, he was not scared. To be honest, she looked beautiful. Her unsheathed claws glinted silver beneath the moonlight, and her pelt was a mere ruffle in the blackness of the night. It really was all he could see--those emerald eyes, like Squirrelflight's, gleaming with madness. Perhaps that was why he held no fear as her thorn-sharp fangs met his neck. She looked deep into his face, trying to detect any emotion, and all the while, he gazed back at her blankly. His blood, muddy red in the darkness and smelling metallic, coated Hollyleaf's bright white teeth and slender muzzle, but still he felt no pain or fear.
It's her eyes, he thought again, and finally he knew exactly why he was unafraid.
Deep down in those emerald pools, he saw the same madness he felt every day. On the surface, she seemed calculating, bright, with a golden future ahead of her. But beneath it all, the young she-cat was drowning in hopelessness--and Ashfur now knew that she too bled all over the hollow each time she looked upon her mother, that she too yowled silent screams of agony and betrayal at even the slightest brush of ginger fur. She was exactly like him.
Somehow, he even felt pity for her, as he lay dying at her paws. It was all over for him; young Hollyleaf would have to struggle to survive under Squirrelflight's uncaring green gaze for the rest of her life. He wondered as she withdrew from him if she would carry out the task he never completed. He watched as she dragged him toward the murky lake, her paw steps confident and purposeful, careful not to drip any of his blood on the dry grass. Ashfur even felt satisfied as she lay him down into the cold, brackish waves; somebody could finally see the blood he poured.
Hollyleaf turned away after washing the blood from her muzzle and paws, her fur prickling with unease, and hurried across the fields without looking back--towards the island. Ashfur smiled as water entered his mouth and coursed down his throat; Squirrelflight would be ruined one way or another. He floated for a bit, watching the scarlet blood flee endlessly from that one small bite in his throat. She was smart, that Hollyleaf; she had struck in a place where his pelt would cover the wound almost entirely, if he didn't sink to the bottom of the lake. He felt the current carrying him along, and the last bit of life ebbing from him. A strong wind picked up from the moor, ruffling his tousled gray fur and allowing his body to sway in the waves, washing away the last bit of blood, the last bit of life, and his last silent scream of insanity.