To Feathershade - Oh no man you're fine. Honestly you're one of my favourite reviewers your unfailing contempt is what motivates me XD
hey so
we're all gonna die someday right?
most of us sooner than later
i guess there's no better time than this to write everything i'm thinking
even if my fatalism will never be well known like plato or van gogh or beethoven or the lost generation
goddammit i better get it all out of my head before it disappears
So, i might as well pose the questions i've been asking and the answers speculate that are likely so wrong and biased, so worthless and illegitimized through irrationality that it can hardly be called a theory. It's just another desperate howl of humanity, another cry for truth and purpose that we will never really find.
So, the long-awaited Chapter 42~
"Red Ash, come forth!"
Saunter was not an extreme enough word to describe Red Ash then. His lazy smile and his half-lidded eyes were the picture of utmost arrogance, no regret in them at all. Not even hidden regret, not even any kind of defence. Just pure self-satisfaction.
"I answer your call, Grey Wing." He dipped his head with the aristocratic snobbishness that was all one could expect from such a character.
Grey Wing remained still. As still as the forests around them, every shuddering leaf choking with held breath. "You stand accused of the betrayal of your loyalty to this family, conspiring with Clear Sky to steal our land. Do you deny this?"
He shrugged. "I do not."
The snarl further overtook Grey Wing's tone. "You also stand accused of the murder of the outsider, Giri. Do you deny this?"
"No."
"Lastly-" Grey Wing's shoulders tensed, tail curling to what almost seemed like a perfect right angle. So hostile. "You stand accused of the murder of a fellow member of our group, Turtle Tail. Do you deny this?"
The lazy smirk suddenly sharpened, becoming a nasty, ecstatical snarl. "No," he purred, venom vibrating in his voice. "I don't."
Grey Wing seemed taken aback, but not surprised. His snarl matched his, eyes lit with pure anger instead of ecstasy. "We have already decided your fate. For your crimes, you will be executed at sundown today."
"Executed?" He paused, considering the word, before bursting into cackling, high-pitched laughter that even Grey Wing leaned away from. But where others' eyes held fear, his narrowed with disgust, with anger. It amused Red Ash to no end, that disgust. It intrigued him so much- Oh, the irony! Hypocrisy, ludicrousness, lunacy, irony!
It was an explosion of sound, the cackling tearing through his lungs and through his body, the snarl that bore his teeth and crinkled the corners of his eye. His body convulsed, his claws twitched, his tail curled.
Grey Wing snarled. "Red Ash!"
And the silence was immediate, far too immediate. "Yes?" Expectant eyes, lenient muscles, even breath.
"Do you intend to resist?"
How selfish,
"You would love it if I did, wouldn't you?"
this desire to protect life,
"I am ensuring your cooperation."
this burning determination to avenge it.
"Oh, I suppose so."
But despite all of that, Grey Wing,
Red Ash met his eyes. Narrow, smokey eyes. "You don't want to defeat me."
when I look in your eyes,
"You want to murder me."
I don't see the desire to live anywhere inside of you.
He could glare at Red Ash with those empty, icy, burning eyes all he wanted. He could scratch the rock he lounged on, he could scream with a hoarse voice that Red Ash was wrong. He could tear into Red Ash's skin and drink his blood while he preached about justice and claimed to be innocent of selfish intent.
Red Ash never believed it for a second.
He knew a murderer the moment he saw one. Hearts do not bleed the same as claws.
"And if you're taking a walk through the garden of life, what do you think you'd expect you would see? Just like a mirror, reflecting the moves of your life. And in the river: reflections of me."
-Blood Brothers, Iron Maiden
Chapter 42:: A Crow is a Troublesome Thing (Part III)
"I really do feel sorry for him."
"Hm?" Weststar faced her. "For who?" She better not fucking say Red Ash.
Giri almost spoke, but hesitated. "All of them, really."
Weststar huffed. "Yeah, that's about right."
What sorry lives all of them led.
Weststar, too.
What a pathetic life.
"Red Ash, too," Giri said softly. Then, sensing Weststar bristle, she defended herself. "You know he can't help it, Weststar. And that he's trying to make it all right. Some of it wasn't even his fault."
Weststar's lips pulled into a snarl, and he prepared a retort, but then he relaxed. He didn't have the energy to argue with Giri or flick hs ear at Night or be furious with Red Ash. In fact, he barely had enough energy to sit upright on that damned rock any longer. He didn't think it would be too long before he finally swayed and fell into the water. And Giri's voice was just too goddamn sweet to be angry with. Any affront against her felt like an affront against him, too, when those sympathetic eyes were wet with tears.
"Sure, whatever." He exhaled and turned his face to the water again. Sometimes, he couldn't even stand to look.
(POV: Trickface)
I did it.
His paws twitched in preparation to run instead of fight.
It was me.
He was paralyzed.
I...
Hawkstripe faced him, cornered him with his eyes. He couldn't run. He could only speak.
I...
It wouldn't be so difficult just to say it out loud, the answer to that question Hawkstripe had stolen his breath to say. It would be easy, just to say it.
I did it.
It was me it was me it was me i-
Just say it out loud.
I did it.
Answer the question.
To answer that question, I'd have to remember it all.
Tell him how.
The crying, the clawing, the calling. I'd have to tell him about it all.
Tell him about it all.
And then I'd have to tell him
Just answer.
the reason why.
What is the reason why?
What's so difficult to say that you can't tell him?
I don't understand him.
Why are you hesitating?
I don't understand.
Can't you take responsibility for what you've done?
I don't understand it.
How pathetic.
Do you even
Why?
know why
I don't understand.
you did it?
His throat suddenly tensed, and he spoke.
"I-" He yelled more then he spoke, and both he and Hawkstripe were startled by his voice. But even startled, Hawkstripe's eyes remained the same: sympathetic, patient, even kind. Trustworthy. The jealousy that Trickface had often unconsciously felt towards Rockpaw blossomed quickly within him again.
His claws tightened on the earth.
His teeth ground together.
Just say it.
His voice became soft. "I...'m sorry." He tilted his head away. "I didn't see it happen. I was looking for her, and by the time I found her, it was too late to do anything. Cedarweb said it was poison, and that since there was no evidence it was forced upon her, it- she was..." His own tongue tripped him up on his lie. "It was..." Me. "accidental."
There was a pause that seemed to long. Trickface's lungs wouldn't expand properly, and his eyes refused to look to Hawkstripe. That was a mistake. The most basic rule of lying is to make eye contact.
"I see." Hawkstripe's voice seemed husky, doubtful, accusatory even, but before Trickface could defend himself further, he shifted and his mood changed instantly. "I guess that must be the truth," was all he eventually said.
Trickface only looked up at him because he felt that his eyes had shifted.
"That's all, then. Sorry to bring it up. It seems like it was a rather terrible experience for you."
That was satire, and they both knew it.
"I was just curious." He stood and walked past Trickface without even the slightest bit of ceremony. When he was a few paces away, Trickface exhaled, finally able to breathe.
But then he called out again.
"Trickface?"
Trickface froze, giving no acknowledgement but still getting an answer.
"Sometime soon, I will ask you that question again. Do you understand?"
Trickface tensed, but then exhaled again. "Yes."
It wasn't as if he hadn't known it already. But listening to Hawkstripe's retreating steps, he finally resigned to it.
"Sometime soon."
(POV: Rockpaw)
After Sphinxface's dramatic speech about going to war against StarClan, SkyClan had resumed its natural activity and no one was really surprised about it.
Poisontongue had become Rockpaw's full-time mentor, now that Winterflame was Winterflame. He was always so cold, even when his voice was warm. It was so unlike Hawkstripe that Rockpaw often found his fur unconsciously bristling, his muscles clenching in some instinct of disgust, only realizing it when he noticed Poisontongue curiously tilting his head.
And on this day, Rockpaw had been given his first solo assignment as a SkyClan apprentice. It wasn't that exciting; no apprentice assignments are. Even so, Rockpaw's paws shook as he lowered his body into a hunting crouch- not the one he had grown up using, the one Hawkstripe had taught him, but the one that Posiontongue had drilled into his mind by smacking his limbs into the right places until it stuck.
The squirrel in front of him was a perfect first catch. Rockpaw could see that its fur was soft, its body fat and teeth greedily gnawing on a chunk of tree bark. Rockpaw was immediately reminded that in two days, he hadn't eaten more than a mouse shared with Winterflame, and instinctively hunger took over his senses. His vision blurred bur for the squirrel, his paws stopped shaking as he stepped carefully forward.
But a noise scared him. It was the sharp sound of a twig snapping, followed by a loud curse. It scared both Rockpaw and the squirrel, and it scurried into a tree before he could catch it.
"Dammit." He straightened, and from his peripheral, saw Fowlpaw attempting to gather a scattered clump of weeds.
Whereas he would have yelled at another warrior apprentice for ruining his kill, Rockpaw forgave Fowlpaw immediately and rushed to help him. He wasn't expecting gratitude, not from Fowlpaw, so he wasn't surprised by the soft growl of "I've got it."
He had been carrying the leaves by stabbing them onto a stick, but the stick had broken in half likely from being bitten too hard. It was thin, and brittle.
"You should be focusing on your own assignment." Rockpaw protected the leaves from the wind with one paw while Fowlpaw attempted to stick them onto the larger part of the broken stick.
"I can take a few moments to help you," Rockpaw replied, refusing the invitation to leave.
Fowlpaw snarled. "I don't need any help."
Rockpaw had only spoken to Fowlpaw twice before. The first time was when Winterflame was an apprentice, and the second was at his warrior ceremony. The first time, Rockpaw had been surprised by his hostility, but as he stalked away, Winterflame had whispered in his ear-
"Don't mind him; he's only the product of his kithood."
The scar that had blinded his right eye seemed to have taken more than that.
Because of Winterflame's statement, Rockpaw knew that he should keep quiet. Most of things he said came off like a challenge, which was one of the reasons that he fit in so well with these cats. Even so-
"Do you really believe that you don't?"
Fowlpaw's whiskers twitched, and he gave him that curious and contemptuous head tilt that Poisontongue often did. "I've only met you twice, but you have a habit of projecting yourself onto me, Rockpaw."
"I do?" Rockpaw now tilted his head.
"It's that look in your eyes when you speak to me." Fowlpaw tugged a leaf from its trap under Rockpaw's paw. "The way you look down at nothing, and their colour turns dark."
Rockpaw said nothing, and he kept talking. He really did like to talk, as long as he was able to speak freely and therefore condescendingly.
"Though, I guess we're not so different after all."
"What do you mean?"
"We're both scarred."
Scarred.
Rockpaw did have scars. Tiny lines on his flank where his fur had refused to regrow, a thin slash on his nose he had to cross his eyes to see clearly, the nick in his ear that he felt every time he ran his paw across it. He hated them. They made him reluctant to share tongues with his clanmates as was tradition, they made him self-conscious to walk in the snow with Winterflame and feel the sunlight in his fur.
"So, who gave those scars to you?"
"Now, I can't wait to see your blood on my claws."
Rockpaw flinched at the memory. His voice refused to work for a second, but finally he whispered, "A friend."
"Do you want to kill them for giving those scars to you?"
"Kill him?" Rockpaw's surprise gave him away, his mask of a self-avenger falling away instantly. Fowlpaw seemed surprised also, but it was far less expressive. Rockpaw sighed and looked to the side, resigning.
"I don't want to kill him."
He didn't want to kill Trickpaw. He had injured Rockpaw. He had killed the RiverClan queen, and Rockpaw had seen him standing emotionless over the body. He had scarred Rockpaw, and made his skin ugly. Made his eyes darken. So, he deserved Fowlpaw's surprise when he responded to that question so adamantly.
"What about your father, that cat Dominique?"
Rockpaw's claws instinctively tore into the ground, and he could finally speak with conviction. "I do want to kill Dominique." He looked into Fowlpaw's broken gaze. "I will kill Dominique."
Fowlpaw's gaze didn't change. His head was still tilted, his eyes reflecting the apathy of a father watching his kit cry once it's fallen off something it wasn't supposed to be climbing on.
"You're so angry, Rockpaw," he whispered. "The worse mistake you could make, you know, is replacing conviction with anger."
He took the last leaf from Rockpaw and in his normal fashion, stalked away from him.
I swear reading the first ten chapters of this is always both a pleasant walk through memory lane and an absolute cringefest lmao
oh hecc i only gave fallenash six lives didnt i?
fuccck