WARRIORS: JAYPAW'S QUEST
Disclaimer: Imagine me as a freaking writer...already? Nah...
Previously on Jaypaw's Questxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Crowfeather and I are your parents."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"No." Jaypaw's voice was raspy—with shock? disbelief? denial? betrayal?—with loss over his parents and the truth thrust cruelly in his face? "You lie." He stood, stiffly, looking at Leafpool—his medicine cat, his mentor...his mother.
But the amber eyes turned toward him were leaking with emotion, with regret. If she could have been lying—what would have been the point of it? To lie about his parents?
For the first time—in his whole life?—Jaypaw found that he could not breathe. "You're lying," he repeated, his voice shaking in his lungs. There was nothing else to say. Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw...are not your parents. "My mother is Squirrelflight. My father is Brambleclaw," he meowed; but even to himself it sounded like an attempt for self-assurance. He added, "I am from ThunderClan."
Leafpool merely gazed at him out of sad eyes.
But Firestar was gaping in shock—it was unlike the cool and collected leader Jaypaw knew (but his mind merely registered that—his mind was only echoing with the medicine cat's words). The flame-pelted cat was only able to choke out—"Leafpool!" he uttered.
His daughter shook her head, slowly, ruefully. Reluctant. "It's true. Remember that leafgreen? I was...unnaturally plump that time. Sandstorm noticed and told me. Most of the Clan noticed. Sorreltail thought it was the amount of prey."
Her father's eyes widened; Jaypaw could only stare and remind himself that this was before he was born.
Leafpool continued, "This is why Squirrelflight's milk never came; this is why the kits"—Jaypaw knew she was talking about him—"were born outside of the Clan."
"Leafpool...," Firestar meowed quietly, then halted; Jaypaw could hear his breath hitch. Jaypaw could understand: He was the leader of ThunderClan. His daughter was the medicine cat—he couldn't stop her from loving, and he would never have wanted to; and he found that his other daughter had taken in her sister's forbidden kits. It was a betrayal—and a lie.
But Tigerstar showed no mercy; the dark tabby gathered his senses quickly, and broke the silence with the most malicious of all declarations. "So...," he said; slowly, savoring the moment, "the great kittypet, Firestar—has his own daughters betray him. Impure blood." He seemed to grin. And leered. "If the Clans knew about this..." The other cats with him, save the stoic Scourge, sneered with relish. How long had they waited to slake their thirst for the sight of Firestar's pain?—it was revenge, amusement, and fresh-kill for them all at once.
Firestar turned his green gaze at his old enemy, with an air of the cool leader that Jaypaw knew; Tigerstar leered back—"Well, Firestar, you wouldn't be able to tell the Clan anyway." The smoldering amber eyes glinted; "You're going to stay here, in the Place of No Stars, being tortured over and over until you end up like that WindClan piece of fox dung over there," a tail-flick at Crowfeather's still form, "and your Clanmates too. And then I'll watch as the Clans rot away from the inside.
"I will finally have my revenge on ThunderClan and you, kittypet."
"The Clans," Firestar said at once, but with all his usual calmness, "will not fall no matter how hard you try. With or without me, you won't win."
Jaypaw sucked in a breath, and finally realized that he had been holding his breath. Fear was clouding his belly, his mind; but he struggled inwardly against it, knowing that he would find himself with StarClan—and taking faith in his leader's defying words.
Tigerstar, on the other hand, snarled, aggravated. "Fine words for a kittypet, Firestar."
He leaped forth.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Lionpaw could swear that the sky was becoming lighter and lighter in tone; he wondered if the cats at the camp would notice their absence, any early risers. Too late now, he silently told himself. Looking forward, he saw the Moonpool; and realized that he was on a slope.
Yes: it was indeed the Moonpool. It couldn't be anything else.
The water was beautiful, stagnant but alive, humble but glorious. Each description contradicted each other, and yet nothing else could describe the water that was scattered with stars and shine and light. Lionpaw's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of such beauty—but he gathered himself up again, and kept his guard up. Focus, he thought, but still took a split second to admire the place of StarClan.
Then he padded on.
The kits were ahead of him; he was very much relieved that they weren't looking back—and they were crouching around the pool—
Stop.
Freeze.
Stunned.
Lionpaw looked in horror at the three forms curled around it—he could pick up the horrifying stone-like fur he had last seen on the soulless Leafpool; and, with increasing dread, he noted the unmistakable fur of his brother and the familiar form of Crowfeather—what was left of Crowfeather.
With shock, Lionpaw saw that the tom too had become stone-like, like Leafpool—
What happened here?
The kits were lapping up the water; the smallest was already curling up with a sleepy yawn. The Moonpool flickered with the disruption, then gradually calmed again when the other two kits fell into slumber.
Lionpaw took a moment to watch them—their twitching tails, their slow and steady breathing.
Clear.
He scrambled down the slope, coming down to the Moonpool. Eyeing it with wary but still-admiring eyes, he bent over to lap the water up.
His nose touched the water—he shivered, for it seemed colder than expected—and then he drank.
The taste was cold, like the wind and stars gathering on his tongue and sweeping down his throat; he reveled in the chill before stopping and curling up, feeling at once drowsiness overwhelm him.
His eyelids were becoming heavier and heavier; he cast one last look at his surroundings—the three innocent kits; the stone-gray forms—and that of his brother...
Then he closed his eyes—
And slept.
And he dreamed.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Leafstar forced herself out of her bed of moss; her eyes were pebbles in their sockets. And yet, she carried herself still with the dignity of a leader of SkyClan; though it was plain Moonsky's death had racked her heart with grief, she was still the example, the epitome, of SkyClan; and SkyClan was strong.
She was not unused to death; she had seen her comrades fall; and she had watched her kits slip off the cusp of death. Death and terror were, indeed, the best of friends—they enjoyed collaborating against her.
But why Moonsky...?
Why her only son?
The thought tore at her from the insides. Like a screaming creature of claws and fangs.
But, she thought on, he killed the raccoon. He gave it the final blow—he took it with him; and pride was restored to her again, albeit melancholy pride. StarClan take him.
Speaking of StarClan—
He led him to StarClan, didn't he? His father.
It could've been no one else. Crowfeather—yes; for sure, he would've been dead by now; how else could she have felt so torn, so alone? Never had she felt this awful—
Like StarClan truly wanted to bring pain down on her.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The old tom sighed, glancing over at the she-cat curled up next to him. He wasn't sure whether she was asleep or awake.
He did not bother to try—he knew well enough that she valued her sleep—highly; along with her lethal claws. She was not in so good a mood either; of course, she was tense, and knew that that would require death.
But there seemed to be no other way to solve the problem at hand.
Holding back a sigh, he let his body relax, feeling the phantom of his blood steadying to a calm pulse.
"The first death," he murmured, almost subconsciously. "How many more cats will have to die before we finally succeed, I don't know."
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
PT: Okay, thank you to the people who couldn't review so private-messaged me instead. n__n I'm a day late –mumbles- I hope—very desperately—that you would forgive me ;_;
Squirrelflight: You failure, PT.