Woot, it's my first actual story! For those of you who read my 100 Oneshot Challenge, you'll probably recognize some characters. If you haven't read it, don't worry; it's not necessary to read those to understand this. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you: Down in the Dark.
Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors. If I did, I wouldn't be typing this on FanFiction, and Firestar would have died a long time ago.
The mind is a fragile thing. It is our greatest gift, our most dangerous weapon. The intricacies of it are far beyond our understanding. It is what makes our decisions, keeps us on the right path. We would be little more than our own prey without it. But what happens when it all goes wrong? Yes, the mind is a fragile thing. It can only bend so far without breaking. Snapped and shattered, we are trapped in our own nightmares, volatile and defenseless. Lost to our own fears, we are monsters ourselves.
The mind is a fragile thing. So what happens when it breaks?
Cinderwing sat on the edge of camp, gazing out into the misty forest. She couldn't sleep with all of these wayward thoughts swirling around her mind. She looked towards the leader's den. Her uncle wasn't doing well, deteriorating with every passing heartbeat. Don't think like that, Cinderwing, she scolded herself. Breezestar will get better with time.
"Can't sleep?" a familiar voice called. She whipped around, the dark fur along her shoulders bristling until she recognized the dark cat. He padded forward, sitting down beside her. He looked exhausted, dark pelt ruffled and unkempt.
She smiled softly. "Good evening, Uncle Sharpthorn. Yeah, I'm having some trouble sleeping. Too much to think about to sleep." Her expression became troubled. "How's Uncle Breezestar?" She stared out into the forest, thinking about her uncle. He and Sharpthorn had become surrogate fathers to her over time, especially after her adoptive mother's mate had died.
The medicine cat's eyes darkened at the mention of his brother. He sighed, a long, anguished sound. "He's very sick, Cinderwing," he meowed quietly. "I've never seen any disease like this before. His fur is falling out, and he's just skin and fur. Whatever it is, it's burning through his lives like wildfire. He's lost two just today." He shook his head sadly. "You might want to say your goodbyes tomorrow, because he won't make it until the full moon."
"And then Sparkstorm will become leader," she hissed. "As if anything good will come out of that." Her lip curled as she pictured the golden tom receiving his nine lives. Any cat deserved them more than that cat.
Sharpthorn studied her curiously. "I know you don't like him, but it's what the code calls for," the dark medicine cat mewed. "I never really understood what happened between you two. You and he were the best of friends at one time."
The gray she-cat shook her head. "We just...drifted apart, I suppose. I don't think he's the right cat to lead us. He's too ambitious." Not to mention what happened to poor Wrenpaw, she thought darkly. The poor apprentice was just barely clinging to life, covered in burns and blinded.
Her blue-eyed uncle looked down at her sadly. "I understand. You don't have to explain it to me." He looked from her to his nest quickly. "I have to go," he meowed. "Larkpaw will be waking up soon, and I'll need to give her some herbs. Good night, Cinderwing." The dark tom licked her cheek and padded away to his den.
Left alone in the darkness, Cinderwing sighed, her mind still on the deputy. She bristled as she pictured the smirk that was always on Sparkstorm's face. She was really going to claw it off his face one day. She looked around the camp, her ears picking up the very faint sound of Breezestar's ragged breathing. Is this the end of StoneClan?
She shook the traitorous thought out of her head. What was she thinking? StoneClan had always survived, and this would change nothing. The camp itself was a testament to that, having been ravaged by a fire only a moon ago. But everything still survived, cats included. The Clan has had terrible leaders before, she reasoned, and all of them were much worse than Sparkstorm could ever hope to be. The elders still tell stories of the tyrant to ruled before Uncle Breezestar's predecessor. StoneClan will survive.
All was quiet in the camp, all except for her breathing and the lonely howl of the wind. It was particularly strong tonight, buffeting her tabby fur. Over the raging wind, she could hear something, a small keening that set her on edge. As the wind died down, the sound became louder, echoing out of the shadowy forest. All of a sudden, it hit her.
"A kit!" she whispered. But what is a kit doing outside of camp? She cast a quick glance over to the nursery. The only queen at the moment was Blizzardpelt, a deaf she-cat. She wouldn't know if her kits escaped in the middle of the night, and the rest of the camp was asleep. She hesitated for just a moment. If she woke up enough cats for a patrol, she'd have a better chance of finding the kit. "But it would take too much time," she whispered to herself. Every fox or snake would be out at this time of night, and a defenseless kit would be an easy catch.
Her mind made up, Cinderwing raced out of camp, past the Stone Tree and her dying uncle's den. She was a smoke-gray blur as she ran into the forest. She inhaled deeply as she ran, trying to pick up the kit's scent. There was nothing, but the wind might have destroyed any trace of it. The lost kit's cries echoed throughout the forest, but they seemed to be the strongest to the south. The river, she thought with growing horror. The caverns in the steeps riverbanks would attract the attention of a kit, just like it attracted the attention of bloodthirsty rogues and predators.
Running as fast as she could in the darkness, her hunch was proven to be correct as the cries grew closer with every pawstep. She could make out the words of the shouts now. "Help me! Please help me," the kit begged, sounding panicked. She quickened her pace as the trees began to thin out, revealing the rocky banks of the river. The kits voice was closer than ever.
"Help me," the small voice pleaded. It was a tom, she was sure, but something about the voice caused her hackles to rise. Something was off about this. The kit's voice issued from one of the larger tunnels, and she padded over quickly. She let a surprised curse fly out of her mouth as a piece of flint slashed her pawpad, leaving a trail of bloody prints behind her.
Ignoring the pain in her foot, she ran to the tunnel. She could just barely make out the kit's form in the darkness, a trembling scrap of fur. "Please help me," it whispered, voice drenched in fear. "Don't let them get me."
Cinderwing's blood ran cold at that. The cavern was large but had a small opening, too small for her to fit through. She reached out with one white paw, stretching as far as she could. "Grab my paw, little one," she said soothingly. "I won't let them get you. Just grab my paw and I'll take you home."
The little cat grabbed her paw immediately, latching into it with surprisingly sharp claws. She hissed in pain and began to pull him out slowly. Looking closely, she could see the kit's yellow eyes shining in the darkness.
She froze before immediately trying to pull her paw away. All of Blizzardpelt's kits still had kit-blue eyes. This was not a Clan kit. Even as she tried to snatch her paw away, the kit pulled back, digging his claws into her with unusual strength. "I've got her," he announced, bright eyes looking at something beyond Cinderwing. The kit's voice had changed from terrified to pleased in a moment, and she whipped her head around.
A dark cat stood in front of her, looking down at her with malicious yellow eyes. The moonlight revealed the battle scars etched over his face. "Hello, dearie," he purred in a voice like ice. "Let's have some fun, shall we?"
She felt the crushing blow to the back of her head for only a moment before she was consumed by darkness, swallowed up by shadows and a monster with yellow eyes.
And so begins the story. I have to say I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out, and I'd like to hear what you think! Reviews are lovely, and criticism is welcome!