ThunderClan was lost to pity when my father was found dead in the centre of the glades known as the dirtplace. He was a repulsive sight to look at, the body none more than a grotesque butchery, having been severely mutilated beyond recognition. The clan medicine cat surmised that he must have been killed during the night or even earlier, considering his already decayed and rammish state. The first eyewitness, also being one of my clanmates, proclaimed that she had gone to the dirtplace early in the morning to relieve herself. She'd set eyes on a crow perched in the rooftop of a tree, when the bird had taken flight down to join a flock of its kind in a sumptuous breakfast. Curious, she had abandoned her dung to see what the crows were so obsessed in.
I could just imagine her reaction after that.
My clanmates were not entirely unconcerned of my father's sudden death, but their subtle air of indifference troubled me to no end. But it was no surprise. My father had been a peevish, ill-mannered cat. Some had referred to him as the walking dissension of the clan, and still did. My father was not a loved cat.
The vigil had been small and discourteous. Wellowings of sheer grief and body-wrenching sobs had certainly not been an entry on my expectations list, but I had anticipated a solemn affair for one who hadn't been the most kindest of cats, but a dedicated warrior nonetheless. So it came as a bit of shock to me when I overheard Wrensong and Leopardstrike gossip behind my back about my father's manner of death during the vigil.
"A rather sad spectacle, if you ask me. Old badger looked bad when he was alive, never thought he'd be able to look worse. The bird droppings that littered the poor sod did nothing to make him look better."
"You have my full agreement. Never in StarClan thought the odor of corruption would out smell all that dung put together."
" Hehe. You 'shoulda seen Drizzlesong's face when she was scraping the filth off the sod!"
"Hard job, being the medicine cat. I would have gladly volunteered to clean off the corpse if she'd asked me. Pretty claws ought not to be dirtied, ah?"
"Crafty fellow!"
Damn those mangy fox-hearts! I turned around and started giving the pair a piece of my mind.
It was not pleasant.
Aspenstar, who had been reciting an eulogy in a unctuous tone, started stuttering over his words when he saw the lot of us in quite the conflict. His eyes flitted to and fro nervously, but most of the time they were on me, a look of mute appeal apparent in his gaze. He was urging me to stop.
And eventually, I did stop. Well, not before Wrensong was sporting a black eye and Leopardstrike had lost two claws. Of course, I was more than tempted to reduce the two into pulps so they could have a real chance at what being a 'spectacle' felt like, but I knew if I carried it to far my father would never forgive me. So, as reluctant as I was, I left it at there. One blackened eye and two broken claws.
I was to give the two cats an apology, which I did in the most succinct way possible. Wrensong and Leopardstrike had candid talk. My clanmates intoned in a placating manner. They were not of malevolent intent. This time you overdid yourself. Then, they would all add a short-worded lament for my father to make sure I didn't pick on them next. And soon after, Aspenstar sent me back to the warriors' den for a brief respite from all I'd been through. Or in more concrete terms, I should speculate, a time out. That cat had the powers to make a bleak, desolate landscape seem like some forage-filled haven where StarClan cats would lounge or something. I could bet my whole pelt on that his tongue was most scrupulously slicked and covered with honey-suckle to maintain that stupid glib of his.
Yes, you all would have realized it by now. Aspenstar had made me to morosely sulk in the solitude of the warrior's den while outside, my father was being constantly driven into the monologues of other cats as a subject of pure derision.
If only if I hadn't unsheathed those stupid claws of mine.
But then, it had been a long ago since I realized that pondering over what could have been was utterly worthless. Besides, considering the severe admonishments I would have gotten if it weren't for my ordeal, I had been spared quite a great deal than usual.
But please don't expect me to feel grateful towards my clanmates.
I'm thoroughly aware that what I did was senseless and irrational.
And yet, didn't I have the rights to give an explanation for what I'd done? Or was that a prerogative offered only to the "privileged" portion among us?
I am not a member of the privileged. Neither was my father.
Does this ring a bell?
My father had been a peevish, ill-mannered cat. Some had referred to him as the walking distension of the clan, and still did. My father was not a loved cat.
He was also, by chance, rogue-born.
This is my first ever fanfiction! Sorry if there are grammar mistakes or spots where the vocabulary don't quite match up, English isn't my first language! Thank you all for dropping in, I'll upload in a few days!