I'm back! Good job with the reviews everyone! Now I feel really obnoxious for setting a goal, though. So here's the deal: I'm not requiring a certain number of reviews if you all review anyway. Capish? Good. Now, let's get to the replies.
Kura Sumi: I can't really answer you without giving away the story, but I sent you a private message with the answer :)
BlindSeer220: That's a pretty good idea... (snickers) I'll have to talk to Spiritwind so she doesn't kill me for copying her, though. She's doing a story on Snowkit.
Skypaw: yay, I'm back! Thanks for reading this story! By the way, I like Skysong :)
Wildpaw: glad you love Smokepaw. I do to! and I love him more and more as I write about him. :)
.Skia.: sorry I didn't feel like typing out your whole username. Keep reading!
Sleets: thanks for reading and reviewing :) and by the way, I hope you review even when there isn't a goal...
Rippedshadow: thank you!!! Keep reading!
Also, thank you to Leafpool's Loyalty, Sleets, Kura Sumi and Spottedblood for submitting names. It was very helpful, and I actually picked one of the names you wrote...
Chapter 4
Smokepaw didn't remember getting carried down from the nest. He didn't remember squeezing his eyes shut and quivering with fear. He didn't remember the tortoiseshell she-cat who'd gripped his scruff in her jaws, or the white tom who'd climbed by his side for support. All he remembered was the small tom who'd been there all the way through, and who'd found help for him in the first place.
Smokepaw had snapped at him, trying to get him to go away, and he had helped him anyway. So as the tortoiseshell released him and let him gently fall into the snow, he decided that he should at least say thank you.
"Thanks," he mumbled weakly to the she-cat, but she was already darting away. The white tom was also gone, and again he was lying alone in the snow. He hoped that the small tom would find him, because he seemed to be the only one who noticed him. All the other cats walked by the heap of smoky fur in the snow as if it didn't exist.
Smokepaw lay down on his side, feeling the snow seep into his fur and chill his broken ribs. If these Water Tribe cats didn't help him, he'd probably die here in the snow. But would that really be so bad? He suddenly wanted to claw himself. He was being cynical again.
"Need a paw?" came a voice from behind him. Smokepaw tried to lift his head to see the source of the voice, but the snow kept pulling him back down. "Here, let me help you," mewed the voice.
A dusty brown muzzle burrowed underneath his body, and he found himself being lifted to his paws. But as soon as he was able to stand, he felt himself falling again. He braced himself to land in a snowdrift and for a jolt of pain to shock his ribs, but instead he fell lightly onto another cat.
"There you go," he meowed, grunting slightly under Smokepaw's weight. "Just lean on me, and we'll get you back to camp. We'll have Yellowroot fix you up, and you'll be just fine."
"Thanks," Smokepaw mewed weakly, but he wasn't sure that the cat heard. He looked down at the cat he was leaning on, and realized that it was the same small tom from before. "Thanks," he repeating, feeling even more grateful to this cat.
"Don't mention it," the dusty brown tom replied, but he didn't continue. He was saving his breath for bearing Smokepaw's weight.
Smokepaw limped alongside him for what seemed like forever. It became increasingly hard to walk through the deep snow, and he was soon up to his belly in the powdery flakes. His fur was drenched, and he wasn't sure if it was sweat or melted ice, or both. His broken paw felt warm tucked into his belly, but warmth meant that he could feel the pain. He was grateful that the freezing snow had numbed his ribs, so he could no longer feel them throbbing. The scrape on his leg had also stopped bleeding, and thanks to the snow he didn't feel that either.
The small tom remained silent until they came to a semicircle of leafless trees. They looked like brown skeletons, frail and limp, though the bottoms were round and fat. They stood out like sore pads on the landscape. As Smokepaw painfully rotated his head, all he could see for foxlengths around was snow, ice, and more snow. Even the sky, shrouded in storm clouds, was a whitish gray color.
The cat he was leaning on led him between two of the bare trees and into the semicircle. All of the trees had holes carved out in their big round bottoms. Dens, thought Smokepaw.
Smokepaw blindly followed his aid over to one of the dens. The entrance was covered in frail sticks which swayed in the breeze. Light and thin as they were, Smokepaw couldn't see through them. That's probably the purpose of them, he thought. He allowed himself a slight grin; his common sense was returning.
"Yellowroot?" the small tom called. "Yellowroot, are you there?"
"Come in, young Willow," came a mysterious voice from inside.
The dusty tom laughed. "You're losing your touch, Yellowroot. It's me, Wood."
Smokepaw barely registered the cat's name or that of the smoky she-cat who seemed to be the healer as he entered the den. He was too exhausted and weary. The last two sunrises were a blur to him, falling through the ice and his time in the owl's nest. Actually, he didn't know how long he'd been in the owl's nest. Maybe a day, maybe a week. He felt as if he were a ghost, barely even registering his own actions.
"Sit down, little one," mewed a kindly voice.
Smokepaw didn't need to be told twice. He immediately flopped down onto his belly, sprawling out on his side, though being careful not to lie too hard on his ribs.
The dark gray she-cat gazed at Smokepaw thoughtfully. "You've done well rescuing this cat, Wood. Has Cypress been rescued from the nest?"
The dusty tom's eyes clouded, and he lowered his head. "We were a little late, Yellowroot. Maybe... maybe Cypress has a chance..." he swallowed heavily. "He was attacked. Not by the owl, but by that foul Ice Tribe cat, Grass. He's a prisoner of Water Tribe now, and if Cypress dies..." he stressed the word if, as if it was extremely likely that his Tribemate would die and he didn't want to believe it. "Then Whitewater will sentence him to death."
Smokepaw coughed, and suddenly found himself in a coughing fit. He coughed over and over again, and felt the air leaving his body as he gasped for it. Yellowroot pressed her paws into his ribs, trying to stop the coughing. It worked, but his ribs screamed with pain which found its way out through his mouth.
Yellowroot immediately lifted herself off him. "I think his ribs are broken," she muttered. "You can go, Wood. I'm sure there's more work for you to do."
The small tom nodded, took one last look at Smokepaw, and left.
OOOOO
Grass, the large brown tabby, was shoved violently into one of the tree dens. He had scratches and bruises all over him where the Water Tribe cats had pushed him and shoved him. Did they have no respect? He was probably the fiercest warrior in all of Ice Tribe, and could even be the next leader. Oh well. What could he expect of those stupid Water Tribe cats?
Well, it didn't matter what he expected. If he didn't escape, he was fishfood. Only Water Tribe cats knew how to swim; no cat in Ice Tribe could swim for their lives. Literally. If any of them ended up in the water, they were most likely to drown. No cat from Water Tribe was going to assist them any time soon.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wished he hadn't attacked the pale tom back in the nest. At least not so violently. Now if that cat died, he would surely be sentenced to death. He knew, though, that if he didn't die, then he just might get out of here alive. Water Tribe's leader, Whitewater, was too soft. In his opinion, Whitewater was a perfect example of why females shouldn't be leaders. Whitewater had never ordered the death of an Ice Tribe cat unless one of her own had died because of their actions. That, in Grass's opinion, caused great weakness for Water Tribe. In Ice Tribe, any cat taken prisoner would be dead the next day. That's why there were so many more Ice cats than Water cats, as they were called.
Cypress, the amber-eyed tom Grass had attacked in the owl's nest, was dragged over to Yellowroot's den. They laid him down next to Smokepaw, casting questioning glances at the ShadowClan apprentice. "Who is he?" whispered a gray she-cat. Smokepaw had drifted into a restless sleep, but if he'd been awake, he would've recognized her as the first cat to climb into the nest.
"Leave him alone, Stream," meowed another she-cat, entering the den with a mouse in her jaws. She dropped it at Yellowroot's paws. "I saw Wood on the way over here. He said -"
"Wood?" meowed Stream. "Is this another one of his fishbrained jokes?"
"No," mewed the other she-cat evenly, her amber eyes shining as she sat down beside Cypress. "He said that he saw this cat in the nest with Cypress and Grass. He doesn't know where he came from, but I'm sure he'll have a lot to tell us when he wakes up."
"No, he won't," meowed Yellowroot, looking up from the mouse she'd been given. "Leave him be for a few days, Aspen. He's very weak. Give him some time to recover." She applied some yarrow leaves to Smokepaw's cuts to prevent infection, and shoved a few poppy seeds down his throat.
"What about Cypress?" whispered Aspen, rubbing her pale gray white-flecked fur against his. "Aren't you going to give him any herbs?"
"Be patient," mewed Yellowroot. "I'm getting to him. Why don't you leave your brother alone; he needs to rest."
"She's right," mewed Stream before her friend could answer. "C'mon, Aspen. Let's go get you some fresh kill."
"Bring something back for the new cat and Cypress," Yellowroot called after them. As they left, she gazed down at Smokepaw, and wondered if maybe he was the one to fulfill the prophecy.
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What prophecy? Who are all these cats? Where are the Clans? What's going on here? AH!! Keep reading to find out...
