Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors.
Allegiances
WINDCLAN
Leader:
Hazelstar — light creamy brown tabby molly
Deputy:
Lightningflight — thin cream tabby tom
Medicine Cat:
Shrikesong — blue-gray-and-white patched tom
Warriors:
Fallowpelt — small golden brown tabby tom
Willowface — pretty pale gray-and-white patched molly
Nightfang — muscular black tom
Apprentice: Larkpaw
Dacetail — dark silver tom
Apprentice: Blizzardpaw
Swanpelt — white molly
Tawnystripe — ginger tom with distinctive dark stripes
Duskclaw — muscular dark gray-brown tabby tom
Haretail — pale brown ticked tabby tom
Apprentice: Poppypaw
Thistlefeather — slender cream-and-white patched molly
Apprentice: Dawnpaw
Brindlefur — tiny tortoiseshell molly
Apprentice: Bleakpaw
Apprentices:
Dawnpaw — lean cream-and-blue tortoiseshell molly
Bleakpaw — pale blue-gray tom
Poppypaw — bright ginger molly
Larkpaw — golden-brown-and-white patched molly
Blizzardpaw — large white tom
Queens & Kits:
One-eye — one-eyed creamy brown tabby molly with a white chest and paws, mother of Fawnkit (pale brown molly), Silverkit (dark silver tabby molly), Pebblekit (small gray-brown tabby tom), and Smokekit (pale gray tabby tom)
Elders:
Sageleaf — plump blue-gray tom
Dapplepatch — mostly-white calico molly
OTHER CHARACTERS
Mothstar — long-furred dark ginger molly, leader of ThunderClan
Shellstar — pale blue-gray tabby tom, leader of RiverClan
Sandstar — sandy ginger tom with white patches, leader of ShadowClan
(Will be updated as the story progresses)
Chapter One
She flattened her tiny form to the ground, crouching so low that even her bright tawny-and-black brindled fur was invisible among the heather. She raised her head slightly and peered out across the moor with narrowed amber eyes, searching the rippling grass and bleak outcroppings for any blur of movement, any sign of the cat she was searching for. The desolate landscape looked completely devoid of life.
She parted her jaws slightly, exposing the roof of her mouth and letting in a flood of scents. Hare, sheep, mud, and the crisp smell of grass, but none of WindClan's distinctive wind-and-rock scent. In fact, all the other smells were almost smothered by mud. That was strange; it hadn't rained in a while. She drew in another breath, and now it was clear: underneath the rotting, earthy smell of wet dirt, there was familiar catscent. Her target must have taken a dip in the marshy bit of territory close to camp to throw her tracker off. Clever, but not quite clever enough. She lowered her nose to the ground, picking up the trail, and bounded forward through the heather.
The scent led her on a winding path through the moor. Although it twisted and turned and she almost lost it a couple of times (once in a particularly marshy patch of land where her target had jumped from tussock to tussock and once when she'd doubled back on her path) it always seemed to stray in one direction: the ThunderClan border. Ugh, why ThunderClan? She hissed internally. At least the boggy RiverClan border wasn't covered with trees and undergrowth.
It seemed to take ages for her to finally reached the wide-set birches that extended beyond the border and into WindClan territory. She paused when the tops of the trees closed over her head, but only momentarily; although she hated the claustrophobic feeling of the sparse forest she had no time to stop. The blue sky and white clouds as fluffy as sheep were gone, swallowed up by rustling, rattling leaves, and however hard she strained her ears she couldn't tell the whisper of the breeze apart from the whisper of paws. The only sound other than the forest was the cheerfully babbling stream marking the border between ThunderClan and WindClan.
How am I supposed to find her here?
She hissed quietly, her ears flattening with annoyance, and lowered her head to the ground to pick up the scent again, but there was . . . nothing. No mud and no cat. Just cold, slimy, wet leaves. Her eyes narrowed and her tail twitched. She had to find her target before the sun sank behind the mountains, and already its radiant golden rays were touching the highest peak. But how could she, if the trail had simply vanished? Where could her target have disappeared to?
Oh.
The answer hit her like a boulder rolling down a hill. Slowly, she looked up, up, up, into the spindly branches of a tall spidery birch. Pale olive eyes peered back at her for a heartbeat before the cat leaped.
A blue-and-cream-dappled blur slammed into her shoulders, knocking her to the leaf-strewn ground. The breath in her lungs escaped with a gasp and she wheezed for a heartbeat. But if there was an advantage to being tiny, it was that she was fast, and she recovered quickly, rising to her brindled paws just in time to evade a blow from her opponent. They circled for a heartbeat, sizing each other up, and then her attacker leaped and suddenly they were writhing and screeching across the forest floor. Paws tore at her pelt and for a moment the molly was on top of her, pressing against her throat. She struggled, but it was to no avail; she was much smaller than her opponent. She went limp.
The molly relaxed as she tasted victory and she exploded upward, breaking her grip and sending them both tumbling to the ground. She felt sharp fangs grasp her delicate ears, but she pulled away before they could snap down and struck out with all her might. The blow connected with the molly's head. Although her opponent was slightly larger, she was less experienced; and she recoiled, loosening her grip for just a second. She wriggled away and sprang up, landing on the molly's back with ease and planting a paw firmly on her heaving chest. Amber eyes met olive for a heartbeat, and then she leaned forward, aiming for the throat. Her jaws snapped closed an inch from downy cream chest fur, but the molly twisted to avoid her sharp fangs and kicked out hard with her hind legs. She went flying, and although she landed on her feet, her ribs ached with the force of the blow. She spun around to face the young molly just in time to glimpse her spring into the air. She flattened herself to the ground, preparing for impact, but it never came.
"Alright, you two, that's enough."
Both mollies went limp, their flanks heaving as they fought for breath. An old tom slunk out from the shadow of a large oak. He still retained some of his once-formidable strength, and although now his muzzle was flecked with white hairs and his bones were prominent, he held his head high. The younger molly ducked her head respectfully, but the older just lowered her eyes. I'm not bowing to an inept deputy who refuses to put his clan before his pride and retire to the elders' den!
"Dawnpaw, you did well on your assessment, particularly climbing that tree so you could leap down on Brindlefur. That was some quick thinking. I'm sure when we report back to Hazelstar she will have no qualms about you becoming a warrior." He mewed to the young cat. Dawnpaw nodded, only her bristling cream-and-blue tail betraying her excitement. Brindlefur felt a purr rumble in her chest. Dawnpaw was a talented apprentice; she deserved to become a warrior.
"You can head back to camp. I'm just going to have a word with Brindlefur for a few heartbeats." He continued, and Brindlefur glared at the ground. Why can't he bother someone else about how 'he's deputy and that means we must respect him?' In fact, he can just tell the whole clan, since we all think he's just a stubborn old burrbrain.
"Thank you, Lightningflight." Dawnpaw ducked her head again to the old tom before turning and loping through the forest and out into the open moor. The last thing Brindlefur saw before a hill swallowed up her small form was the cream-and-blue molly giving a small jump for joy, her purr so loud it could be heard a tree-length away.
She turned away and faced the elderly deputy. Let's get this over with.
"Brindlefur." Lightningflight began, pacing back and forth. "Everyone knows that I've been in poor health recently, and I've decided that I will soon retire to the elder's den if I don't get any better."
Finally! Lightningflight was older than some of the elders and still he refused to give up his post. Some viewed that as commitment to WindClan, but even if it was commitment and not his pride, he was still weakening his clan. He was too sick half the time to arrange patrols!
"I've been talking with Hazelstar about—" He broke off with a cough. Others followed, forcing their way up his throat with a terrible hacking sound. Brindlefur backed away and turned towards the hills that Dawnpaw had just vanished into, readying herself for a sprint back to camp. But Lightningflight shook his head desperately out of the corner of her eye and she paused. Slowly, the coughs petered out, leaving the old deputy gasping for breath.
"Will you be alright?" She mewed bluntly. Lightningflight laughed wheezily.
"I've never seen you concerned about me before. I thought you wouldn't care if I died, seeing as I'm such 'a stupid, prideful deputy,' as you put it."
Brindlefur's shoulder fur bristled. She had said that to Thistlefeather, but surely Thistlefeather hadn't told Lightningflight. Someone must have listened in, maybe even the deputy himself.
"But enough about me." Lightningflight seemed not to notice her agitation. "I've been talking with Hazelstar about who will be the next deputy of WindClan, and we both agree that you are more committed to the clan than anyone else."
Me? Brindlefur's fur prickled with suspicion. Her and Lightningflight's enmity was no secret; she doubted he would ever consider making her deputy. It was Hazelstar she was banking on. Lightningflight was one of the cats who had 'suggested' (it had been more like a command, in her opinion) that she become a medicine cat; he still seemed to think she was the minuscule sickly kit she'd been two leaf-bares ago.
"The way you channel this commitment, however, is less than satisfactory. You have to learn how to be tactful, Brindlefur. Insulting the cat with the second highest influence over a leader's decision is not tactful, even if you're right. You have to learn to pick your battles carefully and bite your tongue sometimes. If you were leader of this clan, Hazelstar and I are afraid that WindClan would take part in many meaningless battles over trivial details. You don't ever stop to consider the consequences of your actions, Brindlefur. And that's a dangerous trait for a clan leader to have."
What? Hazelstar said that? Brindlefur's heart sank and she opened her mouth to retort, but Lightningflight didn't wait for her to protest.
"I'm not saying you would be a bad leader. I'm sure you would lead the clan well, but there are others that could lead the clan better. Thistlefeather, for instance. Maybe she doesn't have your ambition, but she's wise enough to know when a battle is worth fighting. So don't be surprised tonight when you're not named deputy."
Tonight? Thistlefeather?
Lightningflight wheeled around and loped away, back through the wispy birches and out on to the sunset-tinted moor, leaving Brindlefur reeling. Thistlefeather was her best friend, and maybe the only cat who could blunt her sharp edges, but Thistlefeather, leader? Thistlefeather didn't deserve the deputy position. She hadn't served her clan like Brindlefur had; she hadn't hunted in the dead of night just to feed the mewling kits in the nursery or fought tooth and claw prey rabbit to feed her starving clanmates. I've spent my whole life tirelessly serving the clan, and now Lightningflight is telling me that that's not enough, that dedicating my whole life to WindClan isn't enough?
She turned and padded out of the shadows of the forest. The sun was already sinking behind the snow-capped mountains in the distance; she'd stood alone for too long and it would be nightfall by the time she reached camp. Her tailtip dragged along the ground as she trudged over the first hill. I should have realized I was never going to be deputy. Everyone still thinks of me as the warrior who should have a been a medicine cat.
It was going to be a long trip home.
A/N: A molly is a female cat, by the way.