Rules for 123Bramblepelt123's Warrior Cat Challenge
These rules must be done in order
You can name these cats if you like
You can name chapters to whatever you want it
Chapter must at least 750 words
Rules can be viewed at 123Bramblepelt123's Warrior Cat Challenge
Enjoy! Also don't forget to review!
The cat that didn't believe Starclan
Whispers ran like wildfire throughout the clan that day. Even the most stoic warrior would gently hint of the scandal to some gossipy elder, their tails twitching with excitement. The scandal. Harsh words, often ill-used. But it was perfect for this occasion. Hidden in the bracken den of the medicine cat was one cat. One that did not gossip. One whose sides were heaving with pain. One that was the very cause of this scandal. Her thick black fur was drenched in sweat, her jade eyes rolling and glassy, her paws scrabbling uselessly on the ground, with one ancient tabby hawk-like she-cat hunched worriedly over her, paws on her belly.
And the first kit slid out, covered in a sac, slimy and bloody, and dead. Almost immediately, a second one followed. Dead. Around the den, a crowd was gathering, twittering with curiosity and a horrible sort of triumph.
She was the medicine cat.
Serves her right for having a mate.
She was a traitor.
Hisses followed this, and the cats all jeered, sneering at the black she-cat's pain, and her dead kits. The hawk-like cat hunched over even more, discouraged by the jeering, her breaths long and almost as laboured as the new mother's. The kit slid out. Tiny, undernourished, wet and an ugly shade of brown. But breathing. Breathing. Breathing! It was alive! The thoughts raced through the mother's mind and she smiled before her world was gently swallowed by darkness.
And by his dead mother, the tiny brown tom squirmed, too weak to squeal for milk, and he hardly noticed it when the hawk-like she-cat picked him up between her jaws and gently dropped him behind another expecting queen. He began to suckle. Suckle as if his life depended on it. He suckled until he could manage a very small burp.
"Fox dung! Fox dung! Ugly brown fox dung! Who was your father? A pile of poo your mother found in the forest?" the taunting was endless. It sent spikes in the soft places in his heart. It made him want to scream. To tear his throat out. To die. But he didn't. He let it rest, even though it hurt him more than he could bear.
Finchpaw growled at his tormentors, the normally bullying Tigerpaw and his accomplice, Nightpaw, a skinny weasel like cat that copied whatever Tigerpaw came up with. The pair were edging closer to him and he quickly dashed to the apprentice den to hide, before they caught up to him and beat him up.
When this last happened, they had all been sent to the elder's den for the rest of the day to pick out their nits. The only thing that was good about going to that stinky den was to listen to Hawktalon and her stories. But Hawktalon had died three moons ago, taking away the closest thing he had to a mother in this stupid clan. If only his mother, Fernwhisker had survived! How diff-
"Whatcha doing Finchpaw?" Rosepaw's voice rang out throughout the apprentice den and Finchpaw immediately was aware how ugly he was. His fur was thin and a disgusting shade of brown, his form lanky and small, his teeth protruding and his legs too long. Only his eyes looked nice; they had inherited the rich jade green of his mother.
Rosepaw was the prettiest apprentice by far. Her sleek silver tabby fur was tidy, with a long sweeping tail and steady paws. Her eyes were an ice-blue and she had patches of white on her paws and a tiny rosebud nose. Finchpaw's body heated up with embarrassment as his thoughts.
"I asked you, Finchpaw, whatcha doing" she asked again.
He snapped out of his thoughts and turned, stammering and mumbled 'nothing.'Rosepaw looked at him curiously before bounding off to join her sister Nettlepaw beside the damp fern that grew in the corner of the den. He cast a lingering glance in her direction and sighed. Why am I so ugly?
Padding out side of the den, careful to swerve out of the way of the wrestling figures of Tigerpaw and Nightpaw, he lay down on the sand, some cats giving him a strange look and even sneering. One even cuffed him behind his ear and spat at him.
Suddenly, a loud trumpeting noise came from the border of the camp, with an exhausted patrol staggering into camp, their ears perked and their eyes wide and hunted. A crowd was gathering, whispering and gossiping both fearfully and excitedly.
"Two cats by the border. Dead."