My father is dying, I can feel it. The one who put me in the position of deputy, the one who led our clan to its greatness, will soon die. Of course, he's still got many lives ahead of him, about 5, or so they say. Once I was convinced that I would never become leader because of his tenure, but I figured that out too. Let's just say that it's good to be king.
As I walk outside, I bask in the pure unjudging light of the sun. My father comes up to me, with a circumstance of eminence and posture. He looks at me almost disapprovingly. He once believed in me, but that belief left long ago. He merely tolerates me. He has no idea what's coming.
I leave no scent when I go into the underbrush, having covered myself in water. I know that this will be the place my father will walk this evening for the patrol. Having stolen some kill, and having placed it strategically in a hole, I take a short break to collect my thoughts.
An image runs through my head of days long past, with my father happily talking to me as a kit about the duties of a leader and how he could only hope that role for me. It almost saddens me to think of what this will do, but after all, this is his wish. Tomorrow, Bramblepelt will ascend to the position of leader of ThunderClan.
There is no ill will harbored towards my father by me, there is only goodness in my heart for him. But he must die so I can fulfill my goal. After all, nothing good can last, even leaders.
I delicately place more kill in the large holes in the thicket. Hopefully this would go as planned. I work all day and slowly leave, making sure there is not even a trace of my visit to this place. The sun has gone down, drowning slowly in the woods, only to be reborn tomorrow.
I slowly but surely make my way back to the den. As I walk in, the other warriors pay me no mind. They have learned not to question my frivolous wanderings. Everyone is so unaware of the thorns that lie in the thicket. It almost makes me laugh. I catch a brief glimpse of my kind and delicate mother outside. She was always so supportive of me, no matter who I was. I distinctly remember her on the morning I became a warrior. She was so proud, almost in tears. And then I remember the most dreadful thing.
I remember that she was to be on the patrol. I ask her, "mother, will you be on the patrol tonight?"
"Yes", she answers with caution, sensing my distress, "Is there something wrong with that?"
Swiftly lying, I reply, "I have been shown an omen."
"An omen", she repeats aghastly.
"Yes, an omen of your death if you do not stay home.", I sharply murmured.
"Shall I tell your father?", she asks.
Pausing, calculating the risk, I reply, "Do it, and do it quickly, before they take off."
She returns a few moments later and told me, "Your father will continue the patrol without me, with you in my place."
My heart skips a beat, but I agreed to go.
We wind our way out of the camp, the patrol, and go to our doom. As we reach the spot, my father, who is already on edge from the supposed omen, tenatively went into the thicket. He never stood a chance against the three badgers that ripped him to shreds. He was injured in such a manner that not even StarClan could heal it. And I pause, as I realize that the price for power was sin, and that my sin was worth it. And I stand over my kingdom of chaos with pride.
