The Drowing Game

Gorgeclan. An ancient, solitary settlement of cats with a dark secret. They call sacrifice a form of honour, respect for those past. Drowning day, the last day of each moon. The day the stars foretell if it will take place. If a cat will die, and who. Thrown downwards, into the chasm of water. Dead. Well this time it's me. I'm Flintpaw, and this is my story.

OOO

Chapter 1

"Watch out, Flint…" I feel a gentle push, inches away from the edge.

I squeal, clawing at the ground. The water churns off of the crumbling stone overhang, drops of salty river clinging to my chestnut brown tabby fur.

"I'm gonna kill you!" I hiss, stumbling away from the edge. Cliffpaw, that idiot.

Cliffpaw is on the ground laughing. His fur is thick, dark gray with silvery tabby stripes. He opens his round, emerald green eyes and sees me staring at him.

"Great Starclan, put the claws away, Flinty…" He chuckles. "It was just a joke."

I knead my paws, which are snowy white like my underbelly and ear tips. I fix him with a deadly, orange eyed stare. "You've seen cats drown down there, how'd you like to see that happen to your best friend?" I spit.

He stands, and I look up at him. He's a tall tom, nearly two mouse lengths above my measly height. I'm the opposite really, with a small stature and a much less charming demeanor.

"I woulda saved you." He says, and I frown, until he leans over and licks my ear. He smells like rich pine and limestone, our territory. I shiver.

"Yeah sure, you would have jumped down in that chasm to save my butt? Okay…" I laugh, and I glance around.

He cocks his head. "Of course." But I can taste the sarcasm in his tone. I rise to my paws, and look down the valley, dotted with limestone slabs and croppings of scrawny pine tree. In the other direction, the mountain dwell, just after the thick cedar forest. Our camp is just south of the gorge, a wide stone hollow overlooking the unknown wilderness. But here, Cliffpaw and I spend a lot of time. You get used to the sound of rumbling water, when you're around it so much,

I glance at the sky. It's already been flushed over with a soft indigo color, the northern sunset. The clouds that dot the scape are moving slowly, the wind picking up.

"Do you want to head back?" Cliffpaw meows, reading my mind. "Your Dad will kill me if I'm out here with you after dark."

I cuff him with a paw. "He wouldn't kill you… I don't think…" I shrug, and we both laugh.

My comical tom-friend nods. "Yeah, but we're better safe than sorry."

"Alright." I purr. "Then lets go."

Before he starts walking, I touch my nose briefly with his. He smiles, and I turn around and head down the trail.

We're quiet for a little while. The landscape gets more grown in, but there really is no such think in these parts. It hasn't snowed much yet, but the flakes that have met the ground whirl at our feet like landlocked clouds. I stick close to Cliffpaw, he's warm. I don't think I'll ever get used to the temperature the way he has.

There is a natural set of steps in the rock that leads us downwards, into camp. We head down the steep set of slabs, and beneath a landbridge that mark the beginning of the handsome Gorgeclan camp. It's a beautiful place, home to a large clan that is my own. In the center of the wide, high walled stone hollow is a huge cedar tree, with a trunk stripped bare and covered in clawmarks. They are part of the Drowning day ritual, our clan's form of bitter sacrifice.

I shiver, almost every time I see it. Gorgeclan isn't a cruel place, most of the time. But one day every moon, at sunset, the stars foretell whether they crave sacrifice. It's rare, but at least once every few moons a cat is forced to jump off of the massive cliff, and into the gorge. Who knows where they go, what happens to their body. We only watch blood stain the water where then fell, mutter a few words and are done with it.

I'm a young she-cat, only fifteen moons. In my life, I recall only two sacrifices. On, was of a dying elder called Shadowspear. I was very young. Maybe four moons old, but I can still hear his cries for help as he fell, and the splash the water made. The way he gasped for air at the surface, took his last breath… and dyed.

The other cat was an unnamed kit of a queen called Swiftthorn. It was a newborn, couldn't see or speak. There was a cruelty to the way they hurried her along, to the edge of the cliff. Then they gave her one little push, and the oblivious kit was sent tumbling downwards. That was it.

Cliffpaw glances at me quick, green eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong, Flintpaw?" He says. He only uses my real name when he's being serious. I nuzzle his shoulder.

"Nothing, just thinking about last drowing day." I mutter, and he licks the top of my head.

"Ah… it's alright, things seem peaceful. The stars won't need warriors blood this time." He purrs, and the silence takes over.

We sit there in peace for a while, until there's a loud laugh from behind us.

"Look at those lovebirds!"

I turn around, only to see my friend Shadepaw, accompanied by Blazepaw.

"Great starclan, can you keep you nose in your own business," I spit, and Shadepaw blinks her smokey gray eyes innocently. She's a sturdy, tall she-cat with thick black and gray tabby fur, and a white chest.

Blazepaw is my brother. He's the same tabby, chestnut brown color as I, but sports the opposite icy blue eyes, as opposed to my orange. He's a few inches taller, which he never lets me forget, and has less of an undercoat than I do.

"Sorry, Flintpaw," Blazepaw says. "But Cliffpaw…" He growls, comically. "Watch those paws."

Cliffpaw chuckles. "Yes sir." And he stands. Cliffpaw is a few moons older than the two of us, and I swear to starclan Blazepaw is the most protective older brother you'll ever meet.

"Well if you two are done." Shadepaw says. "How about we go and grab a bite to eat? I'm freaking starving over here."

We all head for the fresh kill pile, and I pick out a small vole. I'm not overly hungry.

The camp get dark. And our Smith Fallenwind lights the collection of torches set around camp. She's a short, strudy she-cat with silver fur, gray tabby stripes and blue eyes. The smith is that cat who forges weapons, builds armour and wields fire. It's a hard trade to master, and takes moons of apprenticeship. Other roles in the clan include the healer, the council the leader, and the deputy. Our leader is the noble Blizzardstar, accompanied by our deputy Archleap.

Gorgeclan is a proud pride of cats. We each where a kerchief around our knecks, in the colors blue and silver, clasped with a cast iron ring. I wear mine with great appreciation for the clan, the stars and the sacrifice.

We eat, and before I know it I'm licking my lips. There's nothing better than the taste of fresh kill after a long day. Tomorrow will be drowning day, the fifteenth in my lifetime. But like Cliffpaw said, things are peaceful.

I look up at my friends, and gulp down the last of my prey. What if it was one of them? Losing my fellow apprentices… it makes me quiver. The stars are not stupid. The sarcifices are almost always elders or young kits… but I can't help but dread tomorrow. Why?

"I think I'm gonna go to bed…" I mutter, and I stand up abruptly. Cliffpaw skims my thigh with his tail.

"Night, Flinty." He purrs, and I touch noses with him. I hear Shadepaw fake gag.

I pad to the wall, where the apprentices den lies. Its fashioned from an outcropping of stone, where strong reed walls have been built up around it to form a sort of half-cave. I duck in through the semicircle entrance, and head for my den on the back wall. I've left claw marks for every drowning day I've been an apprentice, and tomorrow a ninth will accompany the existing eight. I'm so scared... usually the sacrifice isn't a big deal. It's just a normal part of clan life, but my stomach aches with fear to the point where I can hardly sleep.

Finally, after some time I feel my eyelids grow heavy. I blink them shut, and fall fast asleep.

OOO