Pain.
Smallpaw felt pain.
Before him stood a tom, his white pelt stained red with blood.
Smallpaw's blood.
The apprentice knew this cat too well. It was his father, a tom angered by his kit being so small. Surely it wasn't his son, right? But it was, and this cat knew it.
And the issue was now solved with bloodshed. Smallpaw wanted to stay in this world, to show Thornscratch who he was really.
But that couldn't happen- no, he was dying. He couldn't even feel the familiar rumble of his fast heart beating.
"I... w-I wan-want t-...t-to show you... ha... that I'm s-still strong... Give me... Give... M-me... A cha...chance..." Rain patted on the ground. He could feel it washing away his blood-his life.
"I dreamt of a kit big as an apprentice, muscles rippling. You soiled that chance the second I saw you, SmallKIT."
Smallpaw felt a final emotion.
Rage.
He wanted to come back and show this cat he could lead Starclan out of the sky, the Dark Forest out of the ground.
You can. A voice murmured in his head.
And so, in his last breath, the white tom coughed words of hate. "You're the weak one if you can't stand a few taunts for having a son who's just a bit smaller than normal."
Thornscratch bristled, glaring daggers. "The Dark Forest take you!" He snarled, voice shaking.
"They'll be better than you." And then darkness. Stars prickled the back of the cat's eyes. Voices surrounded him.
Again.
Again.
He deserves another chance.
Thornstripe will be reminded what strength is.
Do not worry, Smallpaw.
And then one louder than the rest, silencing the others.
Jaggedkit. You can.
