A/N: This is a one-shot about Yellowfang's feelings about Brokenstar. It is an attempt at what I call "explanation mode". The "wind" is not WindClan, it's a metaphor for one cat and his dominance.
Whichever way the wind blows…..
Whichever way the wind blows, she will have to go…..
She will have to go wherever it goes, no matter how despicable, no matter how much she protests.
After all, she is just a lonely bird, feathers drenched in the rain of sorrow, with her wings, her freedoms, cut away.
Whichever way the wind blows…..
In the end, she is just a prisoner of the wind, trapped in its cold embrace as it blows away from all she knows. The cold, cold wind is strong, too strong, and it swirls all away, into the darkness of despair. The wind had touched down upon her Clan one fateful day, at first just a soft breeze tugging away resistance and prying into cats' hearts. But then it blew harder and harder, a tornado of dominance and control, striking fear into the hearts of others. And now it blows her, her Clan, her life into darkness.
Whichever way the wind blows…
Now the wind heads away from the warm guidance of the stars, instead blowing towards the dark corners of the world, the stains of sin on the heart. It blows away from what is right, and instead into the shadows.
For the wind desires power, so much power, power over all the Clans in the forest. And it has power, power to pull them all into darkness, stain them all in blood.
Whichever way the wind blows….
Many times had rebellion rose, but many times the wind had broke it, its puny strength just a twig in the gale. Many times had those who dared speak out been silenced, those who dared wish for freedom crushed. Now, she could only wish for a brighter wind to blow, a kinder wind, to blow them away from the darkness. She could only wish for a new wind to blow….
But that will never happen.
For who could challenge this wind, this gale that blew all away?
Who could challenge him?
Who could challenge Brokenstar, the feared and hated ruler of ShadowClan, who had power to tear the forest apart?
His very heart is ice, frozen by the north winds, frozen by the cold, cold winds blowing them all into darkness. He is the cold, merciless wind, the powerful wind blowing all away.
Whichever way the wind blows…..
How accurately Brokenstar is named! Truly, he has broken the stars, and they hang hollow in the skies now, their wishes denied, their hopes and dreams shattered by the cold wind blowing below. How accurately Brokenstar is named! He has even broken his own Clan, forcing them to fight on bloodied soil for power they knew was sinful, watching them kill each other to grow stronger under his command, his heart hardened and cold as ice. His name echoes her pain, the agony searing her heart, the pain of watching everything she knows being torn apart, the pain of not being able to do anything, for she had no freedom.
No freedom at all.
Distantly, she remembers a time when there was freedom, a time where she could speak her mind confidently and let the world know what she thought. Distantly, she remembers how kind the world had been before, how accepting it had been of new ideas and different thoughts. But now, it seems so far away, a whole other world, just a childish dream full of sunshine and joy, shattered by life's cold reality. Just a dream now, freedom is just a dream now, a dream blown out by the cold, cold wind.
Freedom.
There is none of it.
For anyone who dares to voice their thoughts is branded as traitor and swiftly dealt with.
Whichever way the wind blows…..
We need strong warriors, he says. We need to make ShadowClan strong. So he begins to train kits too early, knowing that they will be sacrificed in battle, knowing that they are too young to fight and will end up as broken scraps of fur, drenched in blood, drenched in a mother's heartbreak. He knows that, knows that all, but he doesn't care. Why should he? ShadowClan is no more than a pawn to him, just pieces to be used and tossed away afterwards.
Just pawns.
In the end, the forest is no more than a gameboard to him, full of disposable game pieces. To him, cats are not cats, but pawns, and pawns do not question orders, they just moved forwards despite the terrible losses. No wonder he doesn't hesitate to plunge ShadowClan into bloodshed. No wonder he doesn't care about the deaths of his Clanmates around him. No wonder his heart is ice, and he is the cold, cold wind blowing all into darkness. For he gives no regard for the warrior code at all, instead just using the forest to achieve his selfish desires, using the useful, and disposing of those who were in the way.
Whichever way the wind blows…..
How she wishes a new wind will blow. How she wishes that he will finally leave, chase the shadows out of his heart and revert to a good cat once more. How she wishes that he will see the wrong of his ways, the cruelty of his reign. How she wishes….
How she wishes a new wind will blow.
How she wishes….
How she wishes that she can hate him, will him to die, vanish, without her heart twisting in two.
How she wishes that she can despise him, kill him with her eyes, without bittersweet memories floating into her mind. Bittersweet memories of a small kit with a broken tail, eyes wide and innocent, unknowing of the blood-splattered trail that he would soon walk. Bittersweet memories of her son.
Her son.
How she wishes that she can hate him, but how can she? How can she hate her son?
She wishes that she can hate the wind blowing unhesitantly into the darkness, dragging them all with it, but she cannot. For how can she hate something that she created? How can she hate his merciless amber eyes shining with greed for power, when everytime she sees them, she sees the wide, innocent eyes of her kit instead?
How can she hate his evilness, when it was her fault that it was there?
It seems to be all her fault. She had given birth to him, but she had not taken care of him, instead giving her precious kit to someone else to take care of. She had been afraid of the Clan's judgment on her, their scorn and hatred for not following the iron rules of their way of life. She had been afraid of the hate that would shoot out of their eyes when they learned of what she had done, and had hid her deed instead. But never had she even thought that the she-cat she gave her precious kit to would mistreat him and shatter his happiness, push him away. Never had she realized that her kit would grow up in such a twisted way, broken, broken. Never had she thought…..
But his soul is twisted and broken now, stained with sins, and it is all her fault.
Whichever way the wind blows….
Yellowfang sighes as she stares into the pale, darkening sky, shadows stretching around her. She stares into the fading daylight, wondering if things could have been different, different in any way, as her heart twists into pieces.
A/N: The line "Whichever way the wind blows" is repeated on purpose.
This doesn't really sound like Yellowfang, though.