AN/ To new readers: I wrote this about a year ago, and posted it as a mammoth oneshot. I recently re-read it, noticed a bunch of errors that got overlooked in my frenzy to just be done with this stupid thing, finally. So I edited, and decided to make it a threeshot. Original author's note containing acknowledgements will be posted with the last chapter.
On the far side of the dark forest, there is a pool.
Its waters are crystal clear, a change from the usual muck. Still, I wouldn't dare stick my muzzle in it. No one seems to know where it came from, but most agree that it's some leftover from Starclan. Really, who else would leave something like that in a forest full of murderers?
Of course, I don't know for sure what would happen if I were to drink form it. No one out right speaks of it, especially those who have experienced it. But the rumors don't conflict.
You go back. You see the reason, why you've been left in the shadows. You see all of it. It's punishment. It's for the guilt. They want us to feel remorse. They want us to know we are damned.
Even if that's all true, if it could truly destroy a cat's spirit, I can't stop thinking about that stupid pool lately. I can't help wondering if, just maybe, it will be my salvation. I am fading, my pelt dimming so much I can see the trees through it. My memories went not long before my pelt, and I can't help but wonder if they're connected. That just maybe, if I can remember, I won't fade.
It's not the best of ideas, but I'm running out of time. The only thing I'm completely sure of anymore is my name, and I had to be reminded of that the other day.
Then again, that may not be my fault. Recently, every time I hear someone call out for me, my name just doesn't sit right. Rosefrost, what I've been called since I've arrived here, is familiar but wrong in some fundamental way.
And maybe that's it. if I can't remember my own name, why should I remember good sense? Why should I keep reminding myself not to come too close, and to never, ever drink from the pool?
One day, my paws drift to it almost without my noticing. I sink down with my legs flattened under me, head lowered to look into the water. My reflection looks back, almost white pelt blending in a bit too well with the water.
I don't let myself hesitate. I quickly lap up one, two swallows of the water. Then I drop my head to my paws, fully expecting to fall asleep, and dream for the first time in seasons.
After sitting awkwardly with my eyes closed for several seconds, I peek at the pool.
It is illuminated with the image of a nursery.
I watch, transfixed, as a glowing queen shows off her kits to a purring tom.
"This dark tom is Breezekit, and these are his sisters." She noses two other kits away from her belly.
"The darker she-cat is Greykit, and the light one is Frostkit."
My heart slams against my chest as Frostkit looks up. Her pelt is the exact shade that mine used to be, and our eyes are the same dull green.
Frostkit is undeniably me. I guess that could explain the frost part of my name, but not how I came to be Rosefrost.
"They're beautiful, Snowpelt," The tom purrs. he dips his nose and nuzzles each kit in turn. As he gets to Frostkit, she (I? Thinking of this little, innocent kit as myself seems bizarre.) bats at him with her tiny paws.
The kits are friends as soon as they open their eyes. Their dynamic is plain to see, as they grow and play.
It's Frostkit who first comes up with the outrageous ideas.
"I think we should explore Brightstar's den, to make sure there are no Rainclan enemies hiding!"
Greykit is the closest they get to a voice of reason.
"Wouldn't she know if there was an enemy warrior in her nest?"
Brezekit is the only one brash enough to try any of it.
"Breezekit, why were you tearing up my nest?"
"I was only trying to make sure there were no Rainclan warriors, Brightstar. Honest!"
It's ridiculously adorable amid the shadows and sharpened claws of the dark forest, almost unsettlingly so. Still, it lets me relax. This won't hurt me. This kit won't be doing anything worthy of the dark forest any time soon.
They play right up until their apprenticeship, (which was delayed a quarter moon when they stole all the finches from the fresh kill pile to spite a warrior who insulted Snowpelt and really liked finches) best friends ready to take on the next big adventure together.
So it's a bit sad when as soon as they get to the apprentice den, Breezepaw strides right away from his sister and up to Brackenpaw, the nine moon old son of the deputy, and doesn't look back.
Frostpaw's mentor is a mess. Petalflight is a slip of a cat, hardly bigger than Frostpaw. She shies away from fighting and discipline and does absolutely nothing to stop Frostpaw from assuming Breezepaw's role as troublemaker.
It's plain to see this is a bad arrangement. With Frostpaw in charge, Graypaw is coerced into doing progressively more annoying things to the poor cats of the clan. Until, that is, her competent mentor steps in and forbids her from being alone with Frostpaw out of camp.
Frostpaw on her own is no less terrifying, at least to Petalflight. She channels all the energy and rambunctiousness from her misadventures with Greypaw into the training sessions. Petalflight tries being nice, tries being indifferent, and tries begging. It doesn't keep Frostpaw from mouthing off, arguing, refusing to cooperate, and wandering off.
In fact, she wanders so far one day Petalflight panics. Frostpaw strolls about the territory for the whole day and part of the night, unaware that Petalfight has called a search for her.
That was the end of her apprenticeship with Petalflight.
Her next mentor is a much better fit, in my opinion. It almost seems like I remember him, recognize him before Frostpaw really knows him. Flintfoot. A senior warrior, strict and not willing to put up with this young cat's antics.
Its actually a bit amusing, watching Frostpaw wrangle for the upper paw. She mouths off, he tells her she's lost the privilege to speak and she hunts in silence for the rest of the day. She argues, he tells her to try it her way and makes her explain why she failed. She refuses to cooperate, he pushes back her assessment.
And when she wanders, he does… Nothing. I'm a bit surprised when he just walks back to camp when she strolls away from the lesson. There are no patrols, I don't even thinks he tells Brightstar.
She stumbles into camp in the middle of the night, whimpering in hunger and fear and cold, and not a word is said about it.
So when Brightstar calls Flintfoot into her den, she's immensely satisfied.
She's going to tell him to stop being so mean to me.
She thinks of it the whole time he's in there. Never again will she be silenced, or humiliated, or forced not to talk to her sister. He'll apologize, and so will Brightstar for ever making the mistake of assigning this terrible cat to be her mentor.
As soon as Flintfoot leaves Brightstar's den, she calls Frostpaw in. Frostpaw quivers from nose to tail-tip in excitement the whole way.
"Frostpaw, look at this stick."
Brightstar pulls a short, stubby stick from her nest.
Frostpaw glances at it, and sees it's, well, a stick. Scratched and broken at one end, but unremarkable. I'm just as confused looking down at it through the pool.
"Flintfoot and I were discussing when you would be ready for your assessment."
She seems a bit confused by why they've jumped to this topic, but still nods.
"He says he's had to punish you frequently, and that he's kept track of every lesson he's had to repeat."
Ah, so she' going to tell her she understands how unfair that is, she thinks. I doubt that's it, but I honestly don't really know where she's going with this.
"He did this by making notches on this stick. Frostpaw, look closely and count the notches."
She wrinkles her nose and bends her head to it. Are those scratches all notches?
After counting, eyes wide, she raises her head.
"How many?" Brightstar asks.
"Twenty three…" she murmurs, apparently non-believing..
"A bit louder? I can't hear you."
"Twenty. Three."
"Just as I thought. This would put you at twenty three days behind, wouldn't it? So you'll have your assessment twenty three days after your littermates."
Frostpaw can only stare in shock. "But… That's not fair! He's so mean to me, he wants me to be an apprentice forever.'
Brightstar only shakes her head. "Don't you think you were a bit mean to him, too? You argued, didn't do what you were told, ignored him, all kinds of rude things. Flintfoot is completely within his rights to do what he did.'
With her 'logical' attempt a failure, Frostpaw switches to a new one: defiance.
"You can't make me. I'll just learn to be a warrior alone, and a better one than Flintfoot ever could be. I'll become leader, and I'll make sure all the mentors are nice."
"Okay, Frostpaw,if that's how you want to do this." She clears her throat and sits up straight. "I order you as the leader of Stormclan to obey your mentor, and live out any punishment he gives you."
Frostpaw slumps, and I foolishly assumed that she was defeated, that this event set my paws on the path of a wise warrior…
"Or what?"
Now, Brightstar smirks. "Or I'll personally ensure you don't become a warrior until your siblings are elders."
For the first time in her short life, Frostpaw is humbled. She hardly speaks, does everything she's told and nothing more. I guess this in itself is a form of rebellion, but it's a lesser one. And Flintfoot makes it very clear, the only way to become a warrior is to train as one.
Flintfoot. I wonder what he thinks of me now, up in Starclan. He thought he had tamed his wayward apprentice, helped mold her into a better cat, but now…
I sharply draw my attention back to the pool. Frostpaw is sitting in the camp, with all other cats around her. A clan meeting, or a-
Ceremony. Greypaw and Breezepaw sit under the Silverrock with their mentors. Flintfoot sits close to Frostpaw, probably expecting her to make a scene. She doesn't, though. She sits, silent, as Greypaw's mentor affirms that she is ready to be a warrior, and Breezepaw's does the same. No one looks at Frostpaw, whose mentor is keeping her close like a wayward kit.
When the chants of, "Greystorm! Breezeclaw!' die down, Flintfoot nudges her.
"Don't you have something to say to them?"
She plods over, and waits for the crowd to thin. When it does she steps up to her siblings.
"Congratulations. I'm proud of you." she mews.
"You'll be with us, soon. I'm sure you will. I'm proud of you, too." Greystorm mews kindly.
Breezeclaw scoffs.
I can almost remember, now. The anger, at the condescension in her voice. It probably wasn't intended, but that made it worse. She did it without thinking. And Breezeclaw, who she hadn't really spoke to in moons, finding her amusing. Probably pathetic, too.
She starts to respond, with something equally as scathing, but then she catches sight of white fur as soon as I do.
Snowpelt. My mother, who looks just like me, who loved me as a kit but seems to have forgotten after the Petalflight incident.
She doesn't want to hear it. Hear her mother fawn over the good kits, then embarrassedly look over at the poorly apprentice. Stumble over her words as she insists that she is equally as proud of her, and happy that she was improving, She'd walk away, and mutter quietly to her mate about what they had done wrong.
Frostpaw beats her to it. She shuffles off to the apprentice den, and lies in her nest among the kits half her age.
She sleeps fitfully, guarded by her littermates.
The next day, she does more than numbly comply with Flintfoot's lessons. In fact, she participates with a passion, fighting like her life actually hangs in the balance and hunting like she's starving.
When the lesson is over, and they're both panting, Flintfoot asks:
"Why so enthusiastic?"
"Twenty two more days," She pants out.
"We'll see," Is the only response she gets.
I have to admire Frostpaw in the coming days. There is a saying in the dark forest, that Starclan fears us because we are powerful. Capable of great things. Despicable things, but great ones. Every cat has their own explanation as to why, and I think I finally have mine: it takes nothing to blindly comply, to be good and honorable like you are taught. It takes strength to arise to your own goals, to succeed with everything against you.
Of course, Frostpaw isn't anywhere near that level yet. She's not a pure little kitten, sweetness embodied, but she's still relatively innocent. But Rosefrost of the Dark Forrest came from somewhere, and it could be here.
At twenty days left, she begins to embrace Flintfoot's steep orders. As annoying as it is, he is right, and she stops dragging her paws. If she wants to pass, to even be ready for her assessment, she might as well take the advice of someone who's already done it.
Eighteen days.
Breezeclaw comes to a battle training session. They spar, and he wins.
Fifteen.
Brightstar compliments her on her hunting skills when she brings in a pigeon, a mouse, and a squirrel.
Twelve.
Breezeclaw comes again. She wins.
Eleven.
She and Greystorm are out together on a hunting patrol, alone, for the first time in moons. They talk, but it's nothing like how they used to be. No more prank planning, or pure playfulness, just small talk, quick jokes, and several comments on some Brambletail character.
Eight.
A step backwards.
Brakenclaw comes with Breezeclaw for sparring practice. Breezeclaw insists, in hushed hisses, that she throw the fight. If he looks bad in front of him, he'll be humiliated/reputation ruined/very angry.
She refuses, and beats him blind, cursing him all the way. Why should his reputation be more important than hers? Is his idol's impression of him more important than her finally becoming a warrior?
There's more, but even I'm a bit shocked to hear such a young cat say that. Flintfoot scolds her for being a bad sport. Brakenclaw jabs them both simultaneously:
"Wow, Breezeclaw, I thought you were better than to be beaten by and overgrown apprentice. I guess I was right earlier, when I said I'm twice the warrior you'll ever be."
Frostpaw boils for a moment, but springs before all the reasons this is a bad idea can catch up to her. Her honor, and even her good-for-nothing brother's is on the line here. Flintfoot drags her off, and says if she's going to act like a kit, he'll treat her like one. Another day is added, and Breezepaw goes back to camp with his tail between his legs, with a limping Brakenclaw leaning on his shoulder.
Eight.
Frostpaw is perfectly obedient. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's half sarcasm. I know how to behave, I just didn't think that situation warranted it. Technically, she does nothing wrong, and the day is dropped.
Six.
She happens upon Greystorm and Brambletail talking quietly in a secluded corner of the territory. Excuses are made, but the only thing she takes away is how big the gap between her and her littermates really is.
Four.
Flintfoot says he has she's caught up. The practice all day, but I can swear Flintfoot snuck in some new moves.
One.
Snowpelt says she's proud of her.
And then, finally, it comes: her assessment. She hunts, and brings back one of each type of prey, just as instructed. One bird, one tree-animal, one ground-animal.
In the battle section, she spars with Brakenclaw. Iit's perhaps the most satisfying thing imaginable to watch the smirks slowly slip off his face, only to be replaced by a scowl. She would have won, if Flintfoot hadn't told them he'd seen enough.
She makes exactly four mistakes.
In catching the bird, she let her paw slip and lost her first bird entirely. It took her far too long to find a second.
Her ground prey is a squirrel. Her tree prey is a squirrel. The first squirrel was in a tree, and the second on the ground, and whoever was watching her would know that, but it's still worrying.
In the battle section, her first mistake is simple: She muddles her paws and strikes with her right when her left would have been a much more serious hit.
Her second mistake is far worse: she shifts all of her weight on to one paw while making that strike. Brakenclaw hardly notices as she bats his shoulder, then pull her paws out from under her in one strike. She recovers, but she shouldn't have had to.
After the battle section, Flintfoot pads out from a tree. They gather up her prey, and walk slowly to camp.
I'm a little surprised when Frostpaw doesn't try to worm some answers out of him on their way back, but her mouth is full of squirrel. Talking may just be too difficult.
As soon as they're back, Flintfoot goes into Brightstar's den, leaving Frostpaw to rattle around in camp. As warriors go in and out on patrols, they wish her luck. She barely responds to any of them, preferring to groom her forepaw again and again.
Finally, after moons of waiting, rooted to one spot in the camp, she sees a sign of movement from Brightstar's den. Flintfoot pad out ahead of her, heading towards Frostpaw. Brightstar turns as soon as she's out, climbing towards the Clan Peak.
I swear, I've never seen a cat, alive or dead, shake so hard.
Frostpaw looks like she's in her own world the whole way to the spot where she'll be made a warrior. She doesn't seem to notices the quick brushes of tails across her flank, the soft purrs, or even the one crotchety elder who peeks out of the den only to snort out a "Finally!"
I do. I see it all, from my safely removed vantage point. I see Brightstar call for the clan to another, I see Greystorm and Snowpelt angle themselves towards her, and I see Brightstar begin the ceremony.
"Stormclan, it is once again time to honor a new warrior. Flintfoot has told me that though the path to this day has been longer than most for Frostpaw, she has finally reached its end.
"I, Brightstar, leader of Stormclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.
"Frostpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"
Frostpaw gulps before answering.
"I do."
"Then by the powers of Starclan, I give you your warrior name. Frostpaw, from this moment you will be known as Frostleap. Starclan honors your energy and persistence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Stormclan."
There is cheering. There are family and friend's she'd forgotten she had, all congratulating her. Through it all, she stays quiet, glowing with pride but never speaking. Even when her sister pads up and purrs like there's no tomorrow, all she does is nuzzle back.
I understand. Sometimes a moment is so perfect, it's precious and fragile and you can't help but worry that your own words may shatter it, and it's safer just to sit back and let it happen.
Her vigil doesn't look like anything special. There are no enemy attacks, no invading badgers, not even a wayward squirrel. She sit, guards, and flinches at every little noise until morning. If she's thinking of anything important, it's still lost to me. Flintfoot dismisses her at dawn, and she goes to sleep it the warriors den in a nest near Greystorm's.
Maybe it's me. maybe since I've been watching, just waiting for something terrible to happen, I can't appreciate the good. My eyes are too jaded to see anything beautiful. Surely I'm so out of touch with the clans I just don't get it anymore.
Because being a warrior looks horribly, devastatingly boring.
Frostleap has worked for moons and moons, with this as her primary goal. It's taken more than she's ever given anything, but she's finally living the dream.
Apparently, at this age I dreamed of hunting, patrolling and sleeping in a bigger nest. And absolutely nothing else.
She's happy, but I'm bored out of my mind. I'm just watching a much nicer version of what I do in the dark forest.
It's boring and a bit painful to watch., honestly. Where is the adventure? The life of a warrior is filled with battles, injuries, love, drama, excitement. Or something like that, I thought.
The closest thing I get is when Greystorm asks to go on a walk with Frostleap, something completely out of character. I can tell Frostleap's worried, but I'm just happy that something's finally happening..
"Frostleap, I have wonderful news! I'm having Brambletail's kits!"
Poor Frostleap chokes on the breath she was taking. She sputters for a bit, before regaining her composure.
"When?" She wheezes out.
"Sometime next moon. Maybe you could be one's mentor, too!"
"That's wonderful, Greystorm." She leans over to nuzzle her sister, and they're happy.
Even up in the dark forest, I have to stifle a purr. It's ridiculous, of course. Sometime soon, there's going to be some kind of disaster, and Frostleap will die and wake up terrified in the dark forest. I don't know if she'll ever meet these kits, but even if she does it's probably not going to be a good thing for anyone involved.
I try to push that to the back of my mind, and soak up the happiness for all it's worth. There is no joy that I have found in the dark forest, only superficial amusement brought about the pain of others. If I can witness something joyful, I want to get all I can from it.
So when it ends, and Frostleap and Greystorm head to different dens again, I'm not too shocked.
The moon passes, as uneventful now as it was then, until on a clear green-leaf night, Greystorm kits.
Frostleap isn't allowed into the nursery, which irks me. Aren't she cat littermates usually allowed in?
So she paces the night outside of the nursery and I practically "groom" away what little substance is left in my pelt as Greystorm's shrieks shatter the air. New life is not a familiar situation any more.
When Frostleap is finally allowed in the den, Greystorm is already asleep, curled around two adorable kits.
Frostleap beams, and I draw back in horror.
There's nothing wrong with either kit, they're both perfect. I don't see any omens pressed into their fur. In all honesty, I don't even know which kit is making me feel this way.
It's just a vision of newborn kits, probably long dead. There's no way it could hurt me.
Still, I wait until Frostleap falls asleep in the warriors den to open my eyes.
As the next six moons pass in the pool, I find my mind wandering. Watching Frostleap be a warrior has long since lost its excitement, and I can't shake the panic that bubbles up quietly inside my pelt when I see this kit. I've figured out it's the she kit that's causing the problem that the dread comes from seeing Daisykit. So I stretch, walk in circles, even snag a runty mouse from nearby.
Finally, something exciting happens: Daisykit and her brother, Brownkit, are apprenticed.
My tail swishes frantically across the dirt as Brownpaw is assigned to Breezeclaw, and Daisykit comes forward.
"Daisykit, you are six moons old and ready to begin training as a warrior. Your mentor will be…"
Not me not me not me…
"Frostleap."
Foxdung.
I huddle, legs tucked in, fur bristling, and claws out, as far from the pool as I can be while still being able to see the images in it. It's ridiculous. it's cowardly. it definitely doesn't befit a fierce warrior of the dark forest.
That doesn't stop me from doing it.
I start to feel silly after the first few sessions. Daisypaw is just a little kit, having fun and learning. She's a bit rambunctious and talks back a bit, and occasionally wanders…
Oh, Starclan, she's just like me.
Okay, maybe not just like me, but the similarities are there. I'm not sure if Frostleap sees it, but it's enough to make some of my fear feel justified.
The little bit of tension that I had let diffuse comes back tenfold. Being a mess of an apprentice didn't work out well for Frostpaw, and Frostleap's not going to be enough to keep Daispaw from going down the same path.
I watch, alert even though there's nothing I can do about it, as things worsen. Frostleap reacts with anger, not wisdom, to all of the little things Daisypaw does. Daisypaw keeps doing annoying things because she hasn't been given a good reason not to. Frostleap starts to believe that Daisypaw hates her, wants them both to fail.
It's not until a big battle training lesson, though, that things really fly apart.
"Daisypaw! Are you listening? Where do you strike when you wish to distract your enemy and let you get away?"
"Umm.." She looks up from the hole she was scratching in the mud. "Maybe… The muzzle?"
Frostleap growls in response. "If you want to get your paw bitten off, the sure, why not? Try again."
Daisypaw fidgets, her eyes scanning the sky like the answer's in the clouds. Finally, she says, in a forced cocky tone: "I don't know and I don't really care. I'll just be a queen, and leave the battles to the brutes."
The pointed look is for Frostleap, but my pelt still burns. The fear ebbs away for a moment, replaced with frustration.
"No, you will be a warrior and fight when your leader decides! And if your lack of training gets you killed, there'll be no one to blame but you!" Frostleap snaps.
For the next several seconds there is silence. Frostleap paces, looking as agitated as ever and thinking furiously. Daisypaw sits silently, grooming a paw.
Frostleap battles with herself.
Is she trying to be infuriating? Does she want us both to be failures?
Even if she does, what would I do about it? I've proved I can't discipline her.
But... When I acted up, Flintfoot would give me the punishment that directly contradicted what Id done. She won't learn to fight, so I'll make her see how important training is.
Panic surges up in me, choking me, as I understand what Frostleap means. I don't believe she really will, hope she'll reconsider, until Frostleap paces around to Daisypaw, and barks out a command.
"Up. We're sparring."
I don't let myself look at Daisypaw. I don't let myself see the fear and confusion that's surely painted over her face. I don't let myself see her scramble into a position she thinks she can fight in.
But I can't stop from hearing the little scoff under Frostleap's breath.
I don't know, or don't remember what compels Frostleap to do this. I don't understand what warped her sense of normalcy enough to make her think this is an acceptable training method.
Frostlep hisses out a "Begin," and I hear her slink forward. I hear Daisypaw whimper a bit, and the fighting begins and I don't know what's what anymore.
I keep my eyes shut like a coward who can't face what she's done, past whimpers and blows and tumbles, but they shoot open at the sound of a cry.
A sharp cry of real pain, because Daisypaw is pinned under Frostleap with her front leg hanging back in an uncomfortable position and Frostleap's claws are above her face.
And as they slam down, decisions are made.
Some part of Frostleap has decided to unsheathe her claws during training.
Daisypaw's panic filled mind decides not to let her turn away
Some part of Frostleap breaks, making the decision that can't, won't stop this,
and I decided to become the villain.