Crowpaw hadn't slept.
He wished it was because of the dusty stink of the rabbit warren his clan had been forced into, or the scream of the monsters outside, far away yet never quiet, or the constant growling and parched coughs of his clanmates that carried on throughout the night like a predator's call.
But it wasn't anything like that.
It was the never-changing grind in Crowpaw's chest. Pounding. Stinging. Unrelenting.
All night he'd stirred restlessly as the nightmare of reality picked at his dreams like ravens at fresh kill. It could have been about anything, the failure of the clan meeting, the growing desperation it was clear Windclan was facing, the knowledge that with every passing second the forest was becoming barren of the prey and shelter they needed.
But it wasn't anything logical.
Instead, the searing pain that flared over his belly was carried by a wildfire of five words.
She'd be ashamed of you.
Crowpaw breathed in the dead air and tried to imagine that it didn't burn.
"Crowpaw?"
Stopping himself short, he turned to his mother, feeling suddenly guilty for how sadly she was looking at him.
Crowpaw wanted to give the most simple answer of "Yes?"
But that felt too heavy. His ear flicked instead.
Ashfoot looked down to Crowpaw's feet, her whiskers shuffling. When Crowpaw followed, he saw his right paw inches from a deep rabbit hole. Crowpaw grumbled to himself, hating his own stupidity. Windclan were taught as kits how to avoid tripping in the many holes that engorged their territory. Angry embarrassment prickled along his neck.
"Sorry, Ashfoot." He rasped, walking around the trap.
His mother looked at him gently. "Don't worry, I know it's hard to recognise much about the moors anymore."
She wasn't wrong, but it was still the kindness of a hollow excuse. Somewhere inside, she must have felt ashamed that her own flesh and blood had almost made such a ludicrous mistake. Crowpaw certainly felt the shame curl inside him.
She'd be ashamed of you.
He said nothing more as he followed Ashfoot. There would be nothing to gain from scenting these holes; the prey had long since moved on. There was nothing left here for rabbits or hares.
There was nothing left here for any cat.
But the clan was still starving, and someone needed to feed them. Elders, mothers, and kits needed some cat to search this wasteland for them. Crowpaw had been the first to volunteer.
He couldn't just sit and do nothing. What point would there be to him if he did that?
Ashfoot slowed her pace to walk beside her son. Crowpaw knew she was staring at him. How exactly she was looking at him he didn't want to see. "When was the last time you ate anything?" She asked tersely.
Crowpaw's chest fluttered, "It doesn't matter."
"That didn't answer my question."
It was hard to admit that he was forcing himself to look at his own mother. His tail tried to hide the sink of his ribs along his pelt. "I don't know." He lied, "Yesterday morning?" Truthfully, he hadn't eaten since a few days after he'd left the Tribe's cave. Even then, he'd been forcing himself. Swallowing just didn't seem to have a point then. And now he was back, and now that he'd seen every shrinking stomach, the idea of eating felt like something wrong.
His job was to feed those who needed it.
He would survive.
"Then it will do you good to eat when we get back, Crowpaw." Ashfoot said, "Onewhisker and Tornear caught some prey for the apprentices to share this morning. I'm sure there'll be spare for you."
"Give it to another cat. Whitetail and her kits can have it if they saved some for me."
Ashfoot looked torn between pride and worry. "Crowpaw, I know what you're trying to do and it's very noble of you. But we don't know how long it will be before we move on; you need to make sure you eat as well."
"If I need to eat, I will. But right now, I don't."
Ashfoot's mew hardened, "And what will happen when you need to and there isn't any prey? We need to share what we can as a clan! And that clan includes you!"
The clouds overhead didn't cool the foul winds, they amplified them. Walking toneless underneath the cold grey, Crowpaw felt like an icicle buried in a freezing tomb. When he walked, paws sinking in mud and grot, nothing felt like home. He felt no attachment to this place like he once did. He felt the disorientation of an outsider.
It had been like ever since he'd come back.
"If we don't know how long we'll be here for, then it makes more sense for me to make sure the cats who need it the most get fed."
"It's not down to you alone, Crowpaw." Ashfoot said, sighing. "Windclan will do better if you keep your strength up as well. We all work together, like we always do." She pressed her pelt against Crowpaw's with an amorous purr.
Crowpaw felt her bony frame and the fur that sagged without weight.
He didn't like disagreeing with his mother, but she was wrong. It was up to Crowpaw to make sure that cats got the meals they deserved. It was the least he could do after they'd suffered for so long.
"I'm strong enough, Ashfoot." He said plainly.
Ashfoot gave him a weak smile, "I know you are." Crowpaw once felt warmed when his mother spoke like this, with the warm drip that stroked her lips and reminded Crowpaw that this powerful Warrior that had raised him and his siblings alone, for the greater part of his life, was his mother.
The mother who despite starving for what must have been a moon, still cared more about the son who had run away.
It was moments like this that made it so much easier for Crowpaw to forget that he was hungry.
Ashfoot pulled away, giving her son a firm look. "But please, you do need to eat Crowpaw. Every cat is hunting, so you mustn't think you're being selfish by eating as well."
"I don't think that, Ashfoot." He didn't. He just knew that someone else deserved it over him.
"You swear?"
"Yes."
His answer seemed to reassure Ashfoot enough. Good. She could worry about herself now. The same way Crowpaw worried about her.
They travelled over the next two hills and didn't find anything. Crowpaw could hear the monsters silver claws somewhere, tearing into their home once again effortlessly. He saw his mother shiver, a thin look of dread on her muzzle.
She was no fool.
Crowpaw wished he could say something to ease her thoughts.
But he was no fool either.
"They're getting closer." Ashfoot muttered. "It won't be long until they reach Shadowclan's territory."
Crowpaw couldn't stifle a growl. "Who cares? If they're going to run away like frightened hares, they won't need it anymore."
Ashfoot glanced at him briefly, her tail twitching.
Crowpaw knew how it sounded. The cat who had come back talking of prophecies about the clans leaving together, now damning a clan for fleeing certain death. He didn't care. He saw Blackstar's unwillingness to negotiate. The tom had made up his mind before he'd even arrived.
"If he wasn't even going to listen in the first place, he shouldn't have wasted our time and just made Shadowclan leave."
Ashfoot stared ahead gravely. Tallstar had reluctantly informed the clan of the opinion of the leader's and had advised them to be patient for just a bit longer while they and Thunderclan worked to change their minds.
But no cat had the strength for patience.
"Blackstar has always been…" Her words broke off in a quiet hiss.
"Hare-brained?"
"I was going to say insufferable, but sure." Ashfoot admitted, the slither of a snarl on her lips. It disappeared with a sigh. "But he is still a leader, and hopefully Tallstar can convince him to leave with us."
Crowpaw spat, "Nothing would convince that fox-heart of anything!"
"If the monsters make their way through his territory, he may soon be thinking differently."
"I wouldn't count on it."
Ashfoot nodded silently, lifting her nose to taste the air again. "I wouldn't either. But Tallstar wants all the clans to leave together, and it's our duty to stand by his wishes until he thinks differently." A bitter mew muffled out of the molly. "No matter how long that may be."
Anger. Crowpaw was accustomed to the feeling. For a long, long time, he'd taken a twisted comfort from it. Anger had pushed him on, made him stronger, chased away enemies. Anger had been a red sky that kept him ready for the battle of this forest.
But now, that anger just tasted like bile.
"Yeah." Crowpaw muttered bitterly. "Well, maybe we don't need them if they're going to make us wait like this."
Ashfoot whipped her tail pointedly, a knowing frown on her muzzle. "Well, at the very least I know you've been listening to your mentor."
Crowpaw cringed. Mudclaw's stern face froze over a dark corner of his mind. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" Ashfoot asked, "Crowpaw, you're the one who told Tallstar about the prophecy."
Crowpaw walked on wordlessly. His nose felt full of tight air that stung when he inhaled. She was right. When it all came down to it, it had been Crowpaw's idea. Not to leave, in his heart he knew that Windclan definitely would have come to that conclusion on their own. But to leave with the other clans.
'I bet you're really proud to have that kind of influence.'
The snarl prodded Crowpaw with an accusing reminder. Even if Crowpaw hadn't meant it, maybe Webfoot had a point. His story had created influence over Tallstar's decision. It was because of that that his leader was reluctant to leave with just his own clan.
He'd probably be begging them to leave when he was close to his own death.
And as the days went on, and Tallstar grew weaker and weaker, that didn't seem as much of a nightmare as a certainty.
"I'm sorry." His apology crossed the stale air, hopefully reaching more cats than just his mother.
Ashfoot's tail stiffened as it rose in the air. "What for?"
"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
"And keep Starclan's message from the rest of us? Don't be mouse-brained!" Her tail whipped his rump, like she did when he was a grouchy little kit moaning about staying in the nursery. "It's good you told us, Crowpaw. Now we know what Starclan wants."
If it was what Starclan wanted, then where were they while the clans argued last night.
"Sometimes I don't understand you, Crowpaw." Ashfoot meowed, "Why would you even suggest leaving the clans after what you told us?" Her stare hardened, "Did Mudclaw say something to you?"
'Remember where your real allies are if the time comes.'
"Not really." Crowpaw couldn't make more trouble for his Deputy.
Ashfoot sighed, giving him the look. The look that showed she knew what he was thinking and how he wasn't being honest. Even now, it made his head drop.
"Well… maybe he's right? If the clans won't help us, maybe we should go on our own."
"Do you really think we could make it on our own?" There was a soft directness there that was open yet judging all the same.
Crowpaw kept quiet. Windclan was weak, he had to admit that, but if no help was going to come whether they swallowed their pride or not, maybe it was best they just did what they could quickly.
"I'm not saying I don't understand where Mudclaw is coming from. I'm sure he has only Windclan's best interest in his heart." Ashfoot smiled, though it looked perfunctory. "But what he needs to remember, as do you." She mewed, "Is that he is not Windclan's leader. We don't need to be raking up old bones at a time like this."
Crowpaw snorted, "Why not? The other leaders have."
When Ashfoot looked back at him, Crowpaw suddenly felt tired again. He frowned and made his eyes go low once again, ignoring the discontent, but mostly ignoring the worry that clouded his mother like hail.
The worry he was the cause off.
Here he was again, making problems like he always did.
"Crowpaw…" His mother sounded closer now.
Crowpaw, against his nature, took a brisk step away and let his mouth move, not caring for what words came out. "No! Why should we have to wait because a few leaders can't see sense?"
"Because that's how it is."
It was hard to tell if Ashfoot said that with assurance or reluctance. Perhaps it was resignation.
Like everything was inevitable, no matter what.
"Fox-dung." Crowpaw muttered. It didn't have to be that way at all. Blackstar and Leopardstar did what they did because they could, because circumstances had gifted them the luxury of an escape or shelter that the others could not cling too. What did they even know? What had they done while their clans picked at bones for food or sucked on leaves for moisture?
But then, what had Crowpaw done?
He pushed away the dark, nestling into the nest of anger.
He became aware again of his mother's presence. This time, when she'd pressed their cold pelts beside each other, she used her tail to make sure he didn't slip away so easily. She kept him by her purring chest, offering a light lick on the back of his head.
She hardly ever did that.
He sighed. Just how terrible did he look?
The comfort, the understanding she offered felt suffocating. She moved so clearly with the honesty of her care. But everything just felt, at best, hollow or, at worst, like a wasp sting swelling up with doubtful venom. For years, his mother's advice had been like the word of Starclan.
But here, believing at all just felt worthless and empty.
Nothing felt okay anymore.
"I know it's frustrating for you." Ashfoot's voice came down like soft rain, "After everything you've been through, I know this isn't what you thought would happen."
Crowpaw began to itch all over.
Frustrating for him?
Everything he'd been through.
"But," Ashfoot had now become close enough that her heartbeat synchronised with his. Her voice was like a morning mist. "Windclan now has a plan for if we decide to leave. That's because of what you did, Crowpaw. You should be proud of that."
Crowpaw didn't say a word as something began to pound again at the back of his head.
"I'm certainly proud of you."
The fragments of Crowpaw's meaningless pride began to twist once again.
"You know that, don't you?" Ashfoot's questions sounded like a plea in her son's whirlpool thoughts.
"Yeah, I do." He just barely formed the stifled grunts into a reply. He did it at first to end the conversation. He did it more to stop the fear from coating his mother's eyes.
"I might go check if there's any prey over there." Crowpaw said, forcing himself to give a courteous press of his tail to his mother's flank before he walked away.
"Huh?" The fire of a protest built in Ashfoot. "We should hunt together." Something hurt in her tone.
"The prey's scattered since the Twolegs came." As if he had any right to explain that. "I can check one area on my own."
"But we need to-"
"I'll see you back at camp." He said gruffly, steadily pacing away as his mother stared at his back. He pretended not to hear her sigh as she turned to search her own area, the area that covered their border with Thunderclan.
Crowpaw made sure he'd avoid that.
He knew he'd most likely get a scolding later. There wasn't really a reason why he needed to go on his own. All that stretched in his direction was dead grass and the remnants of bushes, green bodies turning a sickly yellow in the dusty air. He'd find no prey around here, more than likely returning to his disappointed clanmates a failure.
He could only hope Ashfoot had better luck.
He had no choice but to press on, searching yet not truly hunting. It didn't matter, he realised. The pounding still batted like enemy paws on his neck. He couldn't escape it. Really, he was more of a fool for imagining that he could.
The tom grit his teeth as his thoughts turned rogue once again. He lifted his sunken eyes to the hill, his neck cracking at the soft movement.
It didn't make any sense. He knew where his heart had to lie. He knew what side he was on. And he'd made certain to clarify that last night. In the scheme of the stars, of the clans, he'd done no wrong, he'd only followed the paw prints that had guided the clans long before he was born.
So why…
Why did it hurt so much?
Why did the memory of those eyes, once soft, turned furious, make him want to vomit?
There was no reason to be like this. This was how it was meant to be. All that deserved to be on his mind was Windclan's safety. Anything else was just him wasting time and energy that could be used to actually help some cat.
But try as he might, every thought he made, every move he took, caused a reaction on his body. A pulse in his chest, a tightness in his throat, and that never-ending pounding against his skull. Every second was like a fight.
And it made him tired.
So very very tired.
He shook himself up. What was he thinking? This was no time to be selfish. Windclan needed prey and he had to return with some.
Or why return at all.
Crowpaw whipped his head from side to side, as if the pain in his neck could be removed like a flea.
They didn't need him.
He began to walk faster, not caring when he stumbled across rabbit holes and tripped through slumps in the hill.
He was just another cat without prey. Like so many others. He was nothing special. He was no help.
"No!" He hissed to whatever monster was making his sight sting. Windclan needed him, they needed all the help they could get. That was his duty. That was his reason to…
Did Windclan need him?
Or did he need Windclan?
Something had begun to buzz in Crowpaw's ears. But there was nothing to see wherever he looked. Nothing at all.
What Windclan cat thought of the other clans this much?
"No!" Crowpaw yelled into the moors. Any prey for tree-lengths now would surely be scared off.
He was worried about Windclan, that was all. He was worried about his home. It was Windclan where he had been born, it was in Windclan that he had caught his first prey, it was in Windclan where he had struggled and fought fuelled on his determination to be one of their treasured Warriors.
But so had every other Windclan cat.
Nightcloud, Webfoot, even Owlpaw, they had all lived Windclan just like Crowpaw. Their loyalty was just as strong as his. They had watched as their home was destroyed, and they had done everything in their power to keep their clanmates alive and well, to keep Windclan's spirit alive!
Did he really have the audacity to savour his loyalty as some kind of pride?
Loyalty was just the necessary goal of his existence.
Crowpaw's legs had begun to tremble. He sniffed the air, his whiskers pathetically seeming to beg in how they wavered in the air like the shaking paws of a kitten. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. What was he even doing? Arguing with himself like this?! What good was he doing, standing in the middle of a prey-less hill, muttering and screaming at nothing?
He wanted to prove himself, didn't he?
He had to prove himself.
He needed to prove himself.
He was loyal, he knew he was loyal, he'd do anything for Windclan, that was why he'd given up on his fr-
He pressed a paw to his face, exasperated, and didn't flinch when he felt claws pierce into his fur.
What was he doing? No. They weren't that anymore. They should have never been that at all. He needed to regret that, forget about everything, if he wanted to carry on, in order to function. They would travel together, but whatever false ties he'd let materialise for too long were cut. He'd seen to that. He'd made it happen.
They hated him. He was sure of that. When they sat beside him last night, there was nothing there but the same countenance as the beginning. That icy silence that should have carried them through the whole journey. Before his leader, Crowpaw had made it clear where he stood.
Last night, associating those faces with their clan had made it so much simpler to push them away into the dark. The grey tom who's leader had left his own begging for water, the tabby molly who's clan wanted to hide away in the den of kittypets and Two-legs, and the brown tom who's leader refused to see sense and stubbornly put his faith in leader's who's hearts were already set on their own ambitions.
Yes. It was so much easier when he did that.
And as for his best-
As for Squ-
A-As for that mol-
She'd be ashamed of you.
She must have hated him.
Even in the beginning, she'd never said anything to him with such venom.
Wasn't that better? No. It was better. It-It needed to- (Please don't look at me like that. Please. That had been what he'd thought when she hated him)
Why was this happening? She wasn't any different. Just another cat he'd been forced to complete a task with. She shouldn't have even been there in the first place. There was no reason he should dwell on her, or for the molly who had (saved his life) died-
He couldn't let them do this to him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. (They were gone. He was alone. All alone.) It wasn't his fault they'd believed they were anything more than rivals. If they'd been truly loyal they would have kept away. (They were good cats. Such amazing cats.) The hills stretched to nowhere as he wandered. Lost. Unwanted. Unneeded. (He missed them. Even now he missed them so much.)
The buzzing in his ears was dark and hungry. It growled fiercely.
'Focus on their clans', he begged himself, 'They've left you behind. They don't care. They never did. It's time to wake up. If you care so much about this, you shouldn't be here. Be a Windclan cat, for starclan's sake, be a Windclan cat!'
The others were the problem. Not him. Shadowclan were cowards. Thunderclan were foolish idealists. Riverclan were stubborn, traitors who refused to believe their own cats! Ignored their cats last wishes.
(She died for her clan and for you. What are you doing?)
Crowpaw stopped running – how had he not realised he'd been running – listening to the buzzing drift as it twisted over the pounding of his heartbeat. Once again, he was nowhere sufficient. The grass was cracked and caked with dirt. The scents of prey mingled in a forgotten symphony, too far to be of any use. Even the berries on some lonely bushes nearby had long since dried up.
It was silent.
Silent enough for him to consider the words.
Consider everything actually.
What was he doing?
He was prey-less, far from his clan, twisting over thoughts he shouldn't consider. His clan was waiting for his help. They had been waiting for his help ever since he had returned.
And he'd done nothing.
The prey he had caught was shrivelled and meaningless, any cat could have caught it, if he had never been on that patrol no cat would have noticed.
He had told the clans they needed to leave. But when he looked at them, how long would it have taken them to realise that in the first place. Tallstar had believed him so easily, it was more than likely they would have chosen to left even if he had never given them the message.
So… What really had he done that any other cat couldn't have? What help was he really?
What did Ashfoot have to be proud of?
She'd be ashamed of you.
Crowpaw looked up to the grey sky, waiting for a chance of rain that could wake him from this empty state.
Riverclan.
Leopardstar hadn't believed their words. But her clan's territory was safe, for now. And there was no chosen cat who could return and tell them otherwise.
Who's fault was that?
Windclan didn't need Crowpaw to leave. Riverclan may have needed Feathertail.
But here they were.
The clans were waiting for Riverclan, who could not be convinced by the words of their trusted Warrior.
Because the wrong cat died.
Starclan had not come. Was that because there was no hope? Or could it be because their plans had been compromised by the loss of a Warrior who had been needed, and in her place had been left with the selfish remains of some mouse-brained apprentice?
Crowpaw's blue eyes searched for another reason, they peered over grey hills and smoky skies, searching for some reason that he was here, that he was needed, that there was some logical explanation for him not being the one who had been left behind.
But the other thoughts, the buzzing forces, they had made everything so dizzy.
He only came out of if out of sheer luck, when a high, angry cry broke through the clouds and launched itself towards him.
Crowpaw turned his head just in time to see the hawk, yellow claws spread like ten furious vipers, rush through the air as it raced from the sky, its eyes blazing right on the young apprentice.
Crowpaw didn't have time to crash his teeth together, he barely had time for his heavy eyes to widen, all he had was a pure desire that struck his body like a thousand hot claws along his back. It was the desire to live, the primal instinct to survive.
That gave him enough time to pounce to the side, the scabby flesh of the hawk's feet just hitting the tip of his tail. It missed. Crowpaw was still alive. He caught himself, twisting on his feet so he facing the predator as it cried out angrily, before slamming its strong wings in the air and taking flight again.
Crowpaw scowled at the beast as it hovered in a taunting circle above him. What was a hawk doing in the moors? They usually rested in high trees! Had it been scared from its shelter because of the Two-legs? He may have sympathised with that idea if the bird wasn't clear on making him its new taste of prey.
Even as he hissed at the hawk, Crowpaw could not hide how scared he felt. He'd never seen a hawk like this before, not on his own anyway. Its wings were bigger than maybe a whole clan cat, beating the air with enraged strikes, its whole body was bigger than Crowpaw, and its dark talons glistened in the misty air, poised and ready to sink into his flesh.
Crowpaw found himself needing to dodge again, his body rolling hotly over the hill as he zig-zagged down the base, when the bird swept down with the grace of a fish in the water. The apprentice's heart pounded like the predator's wings. There was no way he was going to outrun this thing. And there was no where he could hide from it either. Even if he tried to slip into the bushes, they were thin, and the hawk would pass through them like clouds. It cried again, angrier this time as it missed its kill, screeching into the sky as it rose above the hills again.
Its huge head turned in the air to its prey, its eyes full of hunger, and more strangely, hatred. For some reason or not, this creature hated him.
Crowpaw couldn't look away from the hateful stare, but as the bird's rage thickened like black clouds, Crowpaw felt his own body tightening, fixing in an arched, frenetic reason.
If he couldn't run and he couldn't hide, there wasn't anything left to do but fight.
Because he realised just what this bird was. He looked at this bird and saw a dozen full bellies that eased his clan for another few days. He saw a delighted mother nursing her kits with a body full of milk. He saw eyes that would find him with reason for once.
This bird was a reason to be here.
So, forgetting the growl and jolt of his own hunger, Crowpaw felt the blood fix his vision, and he stiffened to survive.
He would kill this bird. He would kill it to show that he was here and he deserved to be.
He watched the bird carefully, a voice digging patience into him, if he rushed into this there was a good chance this could easily go wrong. He needed to find the right moment and take it. A savage thrill had swelled in his stomach and let his anger and terror merge into a powerful shock along his back.
He had never killed anything this big before. But that didn't matter. It would be done.
The hawk's fox-like eyes gleamed, it thrust its wings down with the power of a dog's jaws before it dove once more. Its beak, as thick as a kits head and strong enough to crush one, snapping open to scream.
His breath held captive in his chest, Crowpaw didn't look away. He needed to watch if he was going to figure this out or not. He needed to get close. The bird was descending quickly, its massive wings solidly held to their furthest reach as they sliced the open air. Crowpaw waited a heartbeat more, just enough for the hawk to curl its talons from its scaly legs, before he launched himself forward on his belly, giving a kick of his paws to the sky as he felt the powerful friction of air above his back. Even as it missed him, Crowpaw knew that this thing was strong.
One of his back paws hit the tail end of the bird, just where it could hit flesh, but Crowpaw had already rolled away by the time the bird to curl its body around. It screeched, pained and angry, but returned to the sky, its tail feather shaking off the blow as well as it could.
Crowpaw snarled at it as it flapped overhead, if it hadn't been mad before it was now. Crowpaw hoped it was like a cat, where he knew anger made you reckless. It seemed to fly higher than before, soaring in a dart to where the clouds seemed to just touch its head. But even then, Crowpaw could see them burning down at him.
The dark tom licked his lips and let out a hot angry breath.
When the bird spread its talons, it left its chest and throat open. He had a chance, a small chance, but if he could avoid those talons, he just needed to know where to bite.
And he didn't have long to figure that out.
The bird was coming down again. Feather's ruffled in complete rage. It was hurt and resentful, and it desperately wanted revenge. It wasn't going to wait it seemed. It came down like lightning. Crowpaw watched it dart towards him, its wings curved in prepared tension. Their eyes locked, a burst of rage and hunger connecting them. Crowpaw didn't mutter a prayer as he began to sprint his way towards the bird. With a frustrated yell, the Hawk flapped to position itself. But no prey had actually ran at it before. Adjusting itself to this new concept, the bird chose to flick its talons out once again. All it needed to do was dig those talons into Crowpaw's soft belly, and it would be over.
Letting a numb sensation compel him from fury or fright, Crowpaw leapt as soon as the birds talons were a tail-length away.
It was an ugly collision.
The talons just slipped on his back, but Crowpaw's whole weight stormed into the soft meat of the Hawk's chest, breaking its grip on him. Crowpaw screwed his eyes closed, grunting as two heavy wings slammed onto his face. The pain was heavy and thick, but Crowpaw slipped through it until his teeth were lodged into the bird's chest.
The creatures, fighting to be predator or prey, landed with Crowpaw's jaws wrenching with delirious speed on the bird's stomach. Feathers and blood were thrown into the air as Crowpaw ripped and ripped. The Hawk let out a sound it had never made, one of real horror, as its beating wings became more and more desperate. It twisted, its feet scratching wherever it could to find the dark-fur of its opponent. Cold pain seared Crowpaw's flank, but he only bit down again, higher this time, his tail curling when he tasted hot blood.
How long had it been since he'd tasted blood?
Immediately, Crowpaw felt his muscles tense, his claws sprang out to pin the frantic wings, tearing down the fragile skin, fracturing ligament and muscle with every punching scratch. The bird screamed and bit at Crowpaw's scruff, but the cat launched five claws over its face and it let go with a true cry of real, blood-curdling fear.
Crowpaw realised with savage electricity, that he was winning.
The hawk, realising far too late it had misjudged this battle, changed tactics. Its talons didn't claw now, they tried to grip the cat, furiously attempting to drag Crowpaw off before he found its throat. It rocked frantically to loosen the cat from its blood soaking feathers. But Crowpaw knew this opportunity would never come again. He wasn't going to let go, even if those talons found his own throat.
The only time Crowpaw did let go was when the hawk stopped shaking and instead used its damaged wings to roll over to its belly. Its large wings already straightening for takeoff. But Crowpaw was quick, and this bird had made a massive mistake in taking its talons from Crowpaw. As soon as he'd slid onto its back, Crowpaw was safe from the claws and beak. It was almost over.
Crowpaw groaned and bit down on its neck, where the head had to be connected to the spine. The hawk screamed, its body convulsing and large eyes bursting in pure agony. Blood coated Crowpaw's tongue once more, and just to be safe, he dug his claws right into the base of the hawk's wings, holding it down. Whether they were too damaged or weak, they slowly began to wither in their rabid twitches for survival.
Crowpaw, deep in his chest, realised that this was over.
But stubbornly the hawk continued to fight, dragging itself along with its weak talons or broken wings, even as Crowpaw bit down hard on its neck, hard enough to hear something crack. The tom let out a hiss as the hawk cried mournfully but continued to struggle. This wasn't meant to happen. It should have been dead by now.
But it didn't. Its body twitched along, its head craning out to a bush just ahead of them both, probably seeking the dark safety even as its back cracked behind it.
It was impressive but horrible all the same. Crowpaw bit on the neck again, horrified by how it clung to life despite its little hope. This wasn't how hunting was meant to be. They hunted to be quick, they hunted to survive, this didn't feel like hunting, this felt like slaughter.
But Windclan needed to eat all the same.
'Die.' Crowpaw thought as he bit and tore and shook. 'Just die already.'
The hawk responded with a series of sounds that may have been the caw of a bird, but not one that any bird, any creature should make. It hissed and bubbled in the bird's throat. Crowpaw felt it. For the love of Starclan, he felt it rattle out of the shivering beak. It eyes, glazing quicker and quicker, were wide but slow, blinking in jittering convulsions, still calling for the safety of the bush.
It wanted to live
Crowpaw wanted to scream.
With a needing, breaking yell, Crowpaw slid his claws over the Hawk's thin, torn throat and ripped back.
With a rasping, wordless gasp that sounded too much like a mewling kit for Crowpaw's liking, the hawk's struggles relaxed, and its tattered head fell down stiffly onto the grass.
Blood slowly oozed out onto the shadow of the hill. The dirt did not soak it up, denying the gore, letting it flow down into a dark slide in the grass.
Crowpaw fought for his own breath as he stood triumphantly above his prey.
It should have been triumph anyway.
Didn't feel like it.
He shook his head. That couldn't start up now. Yes, it had been messy. But it was done. And prey was prey.
This was actually the largest prey he'd ever caught, this was a meal that would last Windclan for days, this was his chance of doing some real good for his clan, this was his reason for standing here.
Something he'd done mattered.
He looked over his own wounds, the wings had battered his head until it was shaking, and there were some deep gash marks along his flank that he needed to clean before they got infected. But other than that, he was remarkably well.
Much better than the blood-soaked, torn apart, ruin under his paws.
But more than ever, he was alive.
Tired, battered, and hungry, but alive.
So hungry.
Crowpaw's tongue touched the blood on his lips, he couldn't suppress a shiver. It tasted good. Good enough that his throat began to hurt at the idea of not tasting it again. He looked down at the hawk, thinking. It was a huge catch. If he took one bite, a small one, enough for him to get by, he could get the rest back to Windclan soon.
His joints ached, and his head spun like crazy. He needed to eat, even just a little.
Crowpaw gave the hawk a wane look. Just one tear off the wing. That would be enough for him.
Slowly, his own stomach cleanching, Crowpaw placed his teeth over the soft meat of the wing. He shivered as the sweet blood permeated his senses.
But then his ears twitched.
Almost angry at his meal, his victory, being disturbed, Crowpaw growled. But then he stopped and really listened. Something was letting out high, bristling squeaks. They cracked into the air pathetically, rustling the air with its light whimpers. Then the sound rustled as it doubled, then tripled, and then Crowpaw was sure he heard a symphony of tiny whelping ring around him.
They were coming from the bush.
The hawk's head still stared at it lifelessly, but a longing melancholy still quivered in the draining colour of its eyes.
Crowpaw stared as the squeaking continued. The back of his head began to hurt again. His whole body felt cold.
With step after reluctant step, Crowpaw approached the bush, becoming more and more aware of the buzzing that came back to his ears.
He pressed his head in. Four pairs of black, terrified eyes glinted wetly back at him. The chicks, from the looks of their thin tufts of feathers, or the way they held their gaping mouths at him in either fright or hunger, could not have been born more than a day or two ago. They huddled together, some peeping helplessly at him under the darkness of their scrambled, hastily put together nest, the others just stared at him. Stared enough to hurt.
It took only a second for the desperation of the hawk to sink in.
With blank eyes, Crowpaw turned back to the hawk that had died to protect what it loved, the blood had now begun to pool around its head.
Another bloody body, another creature that had sacrificed itself to protect what it loved, flashed over Crowpaw's eyes.
Once she had, everything seemed so much clearer to Crowpaw.
And he didn't fight the hungry buzzing in his mind, rumbling, screaming, blaming. It stung, it ached, it swelled.
It reminded.
Sacrifice.
A sacrifice was why Riverclan had no cat to believe, a sacrifice was why the journey was tainted, a sacrifice was why the clans may not survive, a sacrifice was why Windclan was suffering, a sacrifice was why his clan could die.
A sacrifice was why his friends, the only one's he'd ever really had, hated him.
He'd driven them away because he wanted, in his selfish need for reason, to be seen as important for his clan.
But the truth was, Windclan didn't need him. They would live or die without him. They always would have. All he'd done returning, robbing Riverclan of a reason to leave, was further the dark towards his home's destruction.
It was all his fault.
This was all he was.
Letting the buzzing attack his mind, and drown out the chicks' cries for a mother that would never return, Crowpaw began to drag the hawk back. If this was the only good he could ever do, he should at least do it with some effort of care.
But was it good?
How tough could this hawk have been if an apprentice could kill it? It was weak and hungry, that was all. Any real warrior could do it. They probably could have brought themselves to catch the extra prey as well.
But those chicks' had such familiar eyes.
The eyes of the weak, saved by the strong.
But what did it matter?
It was over now. Whether they were caught by him, or another cat, or a fox, or even if nothing came for them. Their deaths had been set in the dirt.
That was the cruelty of life. The reality that Crowpaw would do better to accept.
It didn't matter how much creatures tried to fight nature.
Things that were meant to die? They always did. Someway or other.
Crowpaw would make sure of that.
With this realisation, with empty eyes and passing, silent breath, Crowpaw almost felt a shameful peace that made him blink away the tears so easily.
But he was unfit for peace, so he let the buzzing convince him into feeling nothing.
…
You guys are gonna hate me. I'll just rip the band aid off. I'm putting this story on break for a little while. I know I've not been the best at updating, and truth be told, it's because a lot of my writing inspiration has just kinda… left.
So, what I'm going to do is this. I have a few other ideas in my head that I'd like to write out because they make me much more excited currently, so I'm going to put my time to them, get them written out a little bit, and then once I've gotten back into a proper writing rhythm, I might be able to put some more heart into writing ILYL. I hope you guys are okay with that. I promise I'll put all my best into my other projects and that you'll enjoy them when I finally get them written. Thank you all for bearing with my terrible writing management once again.
In the mean-time, have a spiralling into depression Crowpaw.
If you liked this chapter, please let me know. If you hated it, sorry I couldn't do better.
Take care guys, and as always, I'll talk to you in a while.