paint yourself what you wish you look maybe then they just might feel an ounce of your pain
This was crazy. All of it was driving him mad. Body trembling from sheer terror the child could do little but back furiously away from his harasser. The black creature shifting towards him took no notice, he rarely did. Breezepaw's head lashed away, fighting back any show of emotion on his face. Crowfeather ignorant as ever continued to snarl under his breath. The slim apprentice slunk out of the way of his father, back bristling with both fear and resentment.
Not even a glance.
Why Breezepaw ever expected anything else he was unsure of. Masochism probably. A bitter want for his fathers acceptance, no matter how he fought any want to grow closer to the larger copy of himself. Ducking his head to avoid any showing and lasting emotion in his tawny eyes the boy scooted backward, away from the skulking shape of Crowfeather.
It was safer over here, away from that man. Away from that man that didn't earnestly love anything. Sense Breezepaw's birth the child had been fighting for that hateful warrior's attentions. His adoration. His affections. Such things didn't exist. The young son was becoming bitter under the influx of dislike. Under this constant untended need.
Breezepaw was starting to crack.
And what a shattering spiderweb it was, curling across his heart like a broken window pane. It's ends curling cruelly inward and with a gasp the apprentice staggered sideways. He wished Crowfeather would hit him. Beat him. At least scold him. But even those ribbing had died away. Breezepaw had simply withered away under those icy sapphire eyes. He was nothing. And it hurt so very much.
Why couldn't he be what Crowfeather wanted? Staring off after his father's retreating form Breezepaw couldn't help the hurt that crept up on his face. What had he done to make his father so distant? What had he done? Breezepaw wished with every ounce of his being that he could find out what that was. That Crowfeather would tell him. Then he could fix it. He could change it, and this horrid pinching in his chest would go away.
come into focus step out of the shadows its a loosing battle there's no need to be ashamed
It was so dark here. The inky wells of blackness clung to everything's edges, and his eyes turned around in fear. Had he moved in his sleep? Was this Starclan? The young warrior recoiled at the thought. Was this why Starclan was so cruel? Breezepelt's golden eyes paned slowly across the wood, taking in the mushrooms rooted under the darkest trees. Lifting his head to stare upward the man noticed something far too off in this black world. There were no stars, and even the moon seemed muted in the creeping indigo sky.
Taking a fearful step backward the black coated feline couldn't help but start at a sudden noise to the left. Turning to carefully place himself facing the danger, Breezepelt fluffed himself up by instinct. Whatever it was he would not let fear rule him. Never, not even in his dreams. Teeth grinding together the man lowered his head and narrowed his tawny eyes. He had taken in too much fear as a child to face any more.
A shape moved, detaching itself from the inky backdrop to appear real and powerful in the sick light of a half muted moon. A tabby, a rather large tabby. Those amber eyes rested far too coldly on Breezepelt's face for him to feel at all comfortable. Slightly arching his back in a threat the man shuffled backward. He didn't open his mouth, didn't say anything; sensing that words would not lead to a way out this time.
He had been called here for a reason, and apparently this thick set brown warrior was here to tell him what that was. Said creature moved forward even farther, revealing much to the windclanner's disgust a twisted tail. That blemish held horrible connotations in all Windclan hearts. They had all heard those stories. Breezepelt lashed his tail in defiance. He wasn't his ancestors. He wasn't a coward. If need be Breezepelt would prove himself by surviving the ever ruthless Brokenstar.
Be that as it may the long dead leader facing him looked faintly amused. Right, so that giant thing could pummel the Windclan warrior into the dirt with a smile on his face. The small slowly growing smile on the black cased muzzle opposite him snapped up into something of a disturbed grin. With that the muscular leader slid the rest of the way into Breezepelt's small clearing, his scared ears flicking with interest.
Windclan thin frame stiffening, Breezepelt eyed him cautiously, not that the other seemed to notice nor care. "Quit that boy. I've called you here to speak with you" Said boy flattened slightly from shock before letting out a low drawn out hiss.
"And what would a Shadowclan cat want with me?"
Tabby shoulders rolling, Brokenstar let his head loll to one side. The expression on his face twisted into something Breezepelt recognized as flat annoyance. "Honestly. Why can the living never see past clan differences?" His voice was low and powerful, a leaders baritone. Breezepelt ruffled, half opening his mouth to explain to the obviously confused mass murderer that Windclan had every right to not like him and him alone, but the tabby cut him off. "Why can't you see the things we share?" Brokenstar crept closer, orange eyes flickering. "All of our pain. Our shared hurt. Can't you see it in me, Breezepelt?"
The younger warrior stiffened, tail drooping slightly. Pain...? This cat thought he understood the hurt? Breezepelt lifted his ears slowly, looking to the elder feline with trepidation. Where was he? This wasn't Starclan. It wasn't anywhere he had ever heard of or seen before. "This, my young friend is the dark forest. It's where Starclan sends all the cats it can't stand to look at." The man's eyes narrowed, hate spilling over. "This is where it sends the warriors that have learned what a horrible creature Starclan can be."
they don't even know you all they see is scars they don't see the angel living in your heart
Brokenstar sat close at hand, his heavy scent was a comfort to the younger cat seated beside him. The day was finally here. The day when they would enact their revenge. Starclan had sent all the vengeful spirits to a place where they could intermingle, and now it would be their down fall.
A cat could not survive in the light after they had been forsaken by it, Starclan should know that much. But still they ranted about how evil Breezepelt and his companions were. Told their precious clans that the evil would engulf them. Starclan was a mob full of liars. Their evil, which existed thanks in much to Starclan itself, was not directed towards the clans.
It was all aimed in a spear head at Starclan's heart. To be rid of Starclan. To be rid of the constant grief they placed on so many hurt hearts. Perhaps it was childish and hateful, but every cat needed someone to blame. No one was willing to point at themselves. Brokenstar shifted to the warrior's right, dragging him out of his thoughts.
"Brooding again, are we?" The words that once may have been teasing were now thick with tension and laced with anxiety. The arrogance had left the Shadowclan warrior in the face of this on coming battle. It was shocking to see his mentor without the mask, but refreshing as well. Breezepelt had been allowed tiny glimpses at the older cat's true heart in the mast moons, but to see him totally stripped of his pretenses was a relief.
At least Breezepelt could know he wasn't the only one scared out of his wits.
Tigerstar skulked out of the trees, his heavy shoulders rolling with power as he patrolled his soldiers one last time. Breezepelt's head dropped slightly, shameful at having to be seen in his anxious state by the leader of this revolution. The dark tabby eyed him, scared nose twitching before walking farther off into a thicker pocket or rebels.
Brokenstar glanced after him before settling down onto his stomach, and drawing a swift tongue over his chest. Setting himself down beside the tabby Breezepelt couldn't help but mimic his show of worry. Frankly their clan would have brought out a miracle if they one this war. Starclan had the corrupted goodness of all four clans on their side. The dark forest had the truthful few that had been broken enough to slip to their side.
Breezepelt's tail flicked fearfully behind him, and Brokenstar poked at it with his own bent appendage. A silent comfort, maybe. Neither of them had any ability to be truly comforting, they had been hardened too early in age. But it was nice to think Brokenstar was worried for him, and just as fearful as Breezepelt was if he could judge such a thing from the way his mentor's massive paws kept twitching.
let them find the real you buried deep with in let them know that you are not your skin
War is an disgusting thing.
Blood fell cascading from every direction. Mercy was a thing long forgotten. In the fever and hatred the dark forest had refused such kindness, and to their eternal credit had forced the clans to recognize their plight. The warrior code was flung aside for the sake of hurt. Clanners killing in revenge for fallen comrades. Dark Forest cats doing the same. Hate sleeking its ugly form through all of their hearts. The 'evil' cats were not the only ones with a grudge and the willingness to destroy to end it.
Death was everywhere. Blood crept in tides across the battle field. Breezepelt dodged yet another death blow, his frame ducking tight to the earth before raging upward to retaliate the cream Riverclan cat's attack. His claws skimmed flesh, but the creature wrenched back and fled to some corner before Breezepelt could get another whack in.
Snarling the black warrior coiled his muscles in preparation to give chase. Another sharp caterwaul smashing the air into a thousand pieces had him rushing in another direction completely. So many screams had gone up in the last heated minutes of battle, but this one was different. The heavy edges of it caught and burned in Breezepelt's heart.
Brokenstar.
No. He couldn't loose his mentor now! Not him! Not him! Mind in a furious jumble the Windclan cat found himself careening towards his mentor. His best friend. The only cat he had ever felt the need to love in any form of the word. A gray she-cat was standing tall over Brokenstar's bloody frame, her ginger eyes were thick with madness. That starry glimmer about her gave away her place. Even Starclan would kill for something as fickle as revenge.
Claws ripping into the ground Breezepelt did not hesitate. Hatred flung him in a ramped fury on the woman, her gray frame collapsing sideways under his furious assault. Brokenstar stared up in shock, crimson liquid pooling from a wound dug deep into his cheek.
Breezepelt had made a mistake thinking his attack would be the end of the gray elder under his claws. The female fought like mad, like a viper caught int a trap. She struck again and again, claws grinding deep into the black warrior's body. Breezepelt retaliated as much as he could, taking into account every thing Brokenstar had ever taught him. The woman crashed forward into his hind leg stance and knocked him to the ground.
Brokenstar's sharp yell reached Breezepelt's ears at the same time a sharp pain ripped through his throat. Blood, welled thick and hot int he wound. With a furious heave the unnamed gray warrior was sent flailing to the ground, and her earlier opponent stood over his apprentice amber eyes flaring in search of some sign of life on the younger cat's face.
Breezepelt found very quickly that he could not breath through the suffocating liquid. Every time he tried hot stinging liquid flooded him. Everything was darkening at the edges, twisting into irregular shapes and black nightmares. Monsters hunkered at the edges of his vision, but the massive brown shape dead center did not move. Breezepelt could hear him faintly, mewling so close to the Windclan warrior's face. He could hear to the shocked cries around them, but in all earnesty could not concentrate on anything.
His chest was on fire, and the boy weakly twisted as if in doing so he could make it leave. Make the pain stop. How it hurt him. Him much would they hurt him? This was then end then, that Starclan she-cat was to drown him in his own blood. Breezepelt tried to scream and was only rewarded with a thick gurgling noise that barley reached his deafening ears.
Things began to make no sense. Words left him, contorting into nothingness. But that colored thing hovering in Breezepelt's blackening vision remained the same. Held the oddest connotation of safety. He wanted to reach for it, but he had long become detached from his body. Control was gone. Cognition was gone. And soon under the pulsing rush of blood flowing both in and out of him, Breezepelt was gone as well.
well they don't even know you all they see is scars! they don't see the angel living in your heart
Here he was once again, sitting amongst the darkness. He could smell it, that icy edge that always corrupted the Dark Forest. Refusing to open his eyes the black feline sunk deeper into the dew coated grass. It was this in the end that shocked his tawny gaze open. Dew did not exist in the black wood he thought himself to have been reborn into.
Cracking open one eye, and then wrenching open the other, Breezepelt slowly came to understand what was going on. A ring of Starclan cats stood around him, their glazed frames hovering and anxious. The first words to reach his ears were a heavy "Why did you do this?" Is that how they greeted all dead cats? With accusation? The man sunk deeper still, letting his body fall rag doll like against the grass.
To think he would end his life like this. Set amongst a group of cats who hated him just as much as he hated them. The ring of judges were obviously waiting for some sort of response, though. So with a low cough Breezepelt drug himself to his paws. "Hate." The snort of contempt that flew around him made it obvious they expected as much. A black smile pulled out to perch on the boy's lips.
The cats around him stared at him for a long second before allowing a white and black male forward. Breezepelt's ears slicked backward and the smile fell away. Tallstar smiled quietly at him. "Why did you really do it Breezepelt? There had to have been a greater reason then hate." The cat's body shifted, black frame stiffening. There were so many reasons. So many things that had hurt him so deeply. It was hurt, he supposed. And hate. There was no greater reason.
"Maybe if you all loved like your suppose to it wouldn't have happened" A shocked huff rounded him, and with a growl he looked around at them. Their starry eyes flickered worriedly over him, as if they thought he would kill them all. Breezepelt sighed, tail drooping. He didn't want to kill any of them any more. He was tired, so very tired. Where was Brokenstar? Where was his walking stick? He needed him now... Him wanted him now.
"Now Breezepelt you know Starclan can't change a cat's paw steps" The black tom lifted his head sharply, glaring. What in the name of Starclan was this gaudy old fool talking about? He had never uttered a word about changing himself. Breezepelt didn't want to change, he had final found someone to anchor himself to. That's what he wanted. Where was Brokenstar?
"I didn't say anything like that, Tallstar." His voice was sharp, and icy. Yellow eyes stared around frantically. "I don't want to change for you, Starclan. Never again. I said love" His whiskers twitched, lips pulling back into a deep scowl. These cats they didn't know him. They didn't see his heart. They were just cats. Just star coated dead cats, like him. Starclan was just as bad about pulling back his layers as his father had been. "Love is a thing you don't have anymore then anyone else dose. You should stop promising to love the poor broken living if your just going to forsake them" Eyes twin chips of tawny flint, Breezepelt glared in defiance. Let them deny it. He knew it to be true.
"That is the reason. Now tell me what you did with Brokenstar" The thin tom cat before him looked slightly shocked, though hurt flooded his eyes. Breezepelt remembered then that this was the cat leading alongside Brokenstar. He was being a traitor before an ancient leader. His frown deepened. Breezepelt decided he was only being a traitor if he denies Brokenstar.
He refused to hold in him the same disloyalty his father had held towards those he loved. Every ounce of Breezepelt's heart was locked into the brave arrogant bastard he needed to have by him now. Tallstar stared down at him, those tall legs holding his head higher then the warrior's own. "He is in the dark forest, forsaken there with the rest of the cats who fought on Tigerstar's side in the rebellion." He paused, eyes cooling. "Where you will be sent"
Breezepelt's chin lifted, a smile twisting onto his features. "Thank you"