Icestar I

Far above him, he heard the eagle shrieking as it circled above his head. Icestar kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, not bothering to look up. Beneath him, he could see the shadow of the great bird circling and he wondered if he should bother to take shelter. He pressed onward, ears flattening as the cold blew against his face.

Am I dreaming? He wondered as the snow gave way beneath his paws when he leaped onto the boulder. His limbs felt different. The snow felt warm beneath his paws, yet his body felt like frost. Around him, the winds were singing in the air, their melodies dark and their words darker.

Perhaps I am. He mused to himself as he unsheathed his claws. They dug into the stone and he hauled himself up, pebbles and crust falling down to the ground beneath. The eagle screamed once more.

His name was Icestar and he was the King of the mountain. He was a massive cat, his build broad and strong with a coat of shaggy grey fur covering his body. A neat scar ran down his skull and onto his nose and his right ear was torn, a split down the middle. His blood was of the Northling cats, the original inhabitants of the lands of Yonder and ancient and noble it was. Before his line were Kings in the mountains, they had served as simple vassals to the Wool King during the Age of a hundred crowns.

When the Southron clans had come, ravaging and murdering and pillaging, they had followed the Wool King to war and the Wool King had lost. It was Grey Stone, the founder of Peakclan that united the frightened and fractured Northling cats when they fled into the mountains. With tooth and claw they had established order and naturally, the lesser families declared them King of the highlands and the lowlands.

For a hundred generations, his blood had ruled and for a hundred generations, Peakclan stood as a defiant bastion against the hostilities of the Southron clans. Six times had the kingdoms of River, Salt and Deepwood united to conquer the mountain cats . Six times, a king bearing Grey stone's blood pushed them back, breaking their armies under the shadow of the mountain.

The eagle screeched again and Icestar could feel the beat of its wings as it swooped near him. He continued to climb. He did not fear the winged creatures of the sky. The mountain cats had adapted to hunting the great birds during their exile in the north. In the spring period, when the eagles went to nest amongst the crevices and outlooks, hunting parties would scour the landscape to steal their eggs. They were a delicacy and Icestar had feasted on them in the safety of the Graystone camp.

He looked up, seeing the peak of the Badger's claw shrouded in the clouds. His chest heaved as he felt the air lighten and his head was starting to hurt. The cold swirled around him, chilling him to his bones, yet something in his mind was telling him to keep on climbing. A faint heat was radiating from the top of the mountain. He gathered up his haunches, moving to pull himself up.

The rock broke, shattering in his paws as he felt himself falling. He screeched, scrambling to grab hold. He felt his claws dug in again before the rock turned to dust in his arms. The wind was passing against his back and in his ears, the eagle was following him in a dive, screaming in his ears.

"Wake up!" It cried, ramming into him. "Wake up!" I'm trying to you accursed bird.

"Papa. Wake up!" The voice sounded clearer this time and right beside his ear. Icestar groaned as he rolled to his side, his youngest son Stonekit, pawing at his head. Though the little tom didn't mean it, his claws were unsheathed, and they poked into his scalp. He got up, frustratingly looking for his wife. Mosspelt was still asleep, her tortoiseshell flank rising and falling gently while his youngest daughter Lichenkit snuggled close to her belly.

For a moment, he contemplated waking her. Parenthood was a she cat's responsibility and rarely did kings pay attention to their own progeny unless it was the heir. Fatherhood won over and gave a sigh before turning to face Stonekit, whose attention was focused on his tail.

The gods had blessed him and Mosspelt with many children, though only four had survived past the weaning period. Lichenkit and Stonekit were their latest litter, a set of twins that took the brown coat of his mother. His oldest was Frostclaw who was the only survivor of his first litter. The crown prince was a tortoiseshell tom with piercing green eyes and a fiery temper.

For a time, Icestar had been worried about his legacy. Tortoiseshell toms rarely sired any kits and he feared that the same fate would await his heir. Thankfully, Frostclaw was capable of consummation. He had taken the daughter of Ramleap as his mate and the pretty she was expecting. He approved of the choice. Ramleap was a loyal officer and he should be rewarded for his service.

However, if he were to compare his second-born to Frostclaw, it would be like day and night. Where his heir was tall and strong, Blizzardstorm was plump of weight and slow to move. He had his father's pelt and the green eyes of his clan. Despite that, the resemblance seemed to end.

He was neither a strong warrior nor a good hunter and while his brother loved the thrill of a good battle, Blizzardstorm would rather spend his day listening to the songs of the mountain birds or flirting with the Tafur wenches. To his credit, he was good with his numbers and had a mind for administration and politics. He granted Blizzardstorm the rank of high steward and under his paws, the food and herb stores were always full. Still, Icestar sometimes wished for more in his son.

"Papa! You promised me that we could go outside yesterday!" The squeaky voice of Stonekit brought his attention back to his youngest. He patted him on top of his head, his son shying under his weight.

"Did I now?" He chuckled, flicking his tail for him to follow. Stonekit scampered after him, hard on his tail. He eagerly nodded and Icestar decided to humour his son. He was four moons old and though it was usually on their sixth when the kits would venture out of the cave, a prince could have some special treatment. Besides, it was high time his son should see the land he would fight for one day.

The royal den was seated on a neat slope deep in the cave. Hard stone made up the floors yet a cluster of pelts, fox skins and sheep's wool blanketed the area. Near the side of the stone walls, a wolf's skull laid against it. It was trophy of his, when he and his brothers had stumbled onto the den of a mother wolf. They had slain the beast and brought the corpse back into the cave. Oh how the clan had feasted.

The slope led downwards, its path smoothed by generations of paws. In his youth, he had slid down the ramp with his brothers before climbing back up to repeat the process. He missed those days, when Sootface and Palefrost were alive. His brothers were dead now, Sootface from gut rot and Palefrost in the war with the Southron cats. He had named his heir in the namesake of his brother and prayed to the gods that he would never share the fate of his dead uncle.

Stonekit clearly had taken up to the sliding game. He charged down the ramp before landing on his rump and slid down. Icestar stifled a laugh. "Careful not to hurt yourself."

Together, father and son walked down the passageway that made up the cave. While Streamclan had the Ember hold, Peakclan had the Mountain's Heart. The cave ran deep into the Badger's Claw, thus giving it its name. Various families, both Tafur and warrior borne made their dens upon the ledges or platforms. Within its bowels, springs of hot water travelled through its veins, warming the stone walls.

Even during the harshest of winters, the hot springs kept Clan Graystone safe and warm. If the frost was too much to bear, Peakclan kings would invite their subjects to share in its warmth, winning the love and admiration of their subjects.

Around him cats were milling about as he and his son passed. When they saw him move, they bowed low. He always made a habit to acknowledge them, either with a nod of his head or a flick of his tail. "Show your people that you love them as much as they do, and you will forever win their hearts." That was the first lesson his father taught him when he was being groomed for the mountain crown. "Ignore them and they will feel that their king is not there and what good is a king who has abandoned his people?"

He had drilled such lessons into his eldest kits and he hoped that little Stonekit would learn the same. Now though, the little prince was more engrossed in chasing his tail.

They were nearing the entrance of the cave now and already he could feel the air growing colder. A squad of Tafurs, five in total, were watching the entrance for any sign of intruders. He knew that beyond the opening, an additional four would be sitting atop the outcrop of the passageway as a lookout. They were led by Snowleaf, a russet furred tom. Snowleaf came from a minor family, owning lands at the edge where the highlands and lowlands meet. Their blood was a mix between Northling and Southron, but they pledged complete loyalty to Peakclan.

"Sire, your highness." A gentle mew sounded from Snowleaf's throat as he saw them approach. He dipped his head low, the Tafurs following his lead. Stonekit puffed out his chest in pride.

"Taking the princeling out for a walk Sire?" Snowleaf asked. Icestar nodded in return. "It's about time he saw the highlands."

The warrior nodded, looking at Stonekit before turning his attention back to his king. "Will you be needing an escort?"

He shook his head. "No need. We won't be going far."

They exited the entrance and a blast of cold air struck him in the face. Compared to the warmth of Mountain's Heart, the highlands were cold. So very cold.

It was a sea of dull green, frosty white and stone grey. Those were the colours of his kingdom. Above him, the shadow of the Badger's claw covered the midday sun while the clouds danced like fluffy sheep's wool. Down the slope from the camp's entrance was a green valley, filled with bearberry shrubs, alpines and munchkin willows. It was summer, and the colours of the plant life were in full bloom. At the corner of his eyes, he saw the highland sheep grazing in the field. He licked his lips, remembering the taste of mutton. Perhaps he would hunt one later in the day.

Beyond that, however, was the true majesty of the Kingdom of the Highlands. In their mountain strongholds, the blood of the Northling cats ran deep still. Let the Southron clans hold their rivers and cliffs and woods. Here, he was king of the mountain. From east to west and north, the Highlands were dominated by great mountains and mighty hills. Valleys ran through them with rivers and seeding the land with life. Further down south, where the climate warmed and the ground sloped into an open plain were the lowlands, the very edge of his kingdom.

It was a cold and hard world, and only the strong could survive here. Fitting that it would be the Northling cats. Their blood was of the first of Yonder and one day, they would take back their lands.

Stonekit's mouth was agape as his young eyes took in the surrounding sight. A purr rumbled from Icestar's throat. He remembered that he had the same reaction when his own father had taken him out of the cave. Already, his son's nose was twitching, and he was clearly taking in the mountain air. He lowered his broad head to meet his son's gaze. "What do you smell, princeling?"

"Uhh… Grass… Wet moss and aspen leaves… You bring those back on your fur sometimes." He paused, twitching his whiskers. "There's another smell. It smells meaty." His son tilted his head curiously, looking up at him. "What is it papa?"

Icestar himself took a deep breath, drinking in the scents of the highlands. Ah. There it is. "Mountain goats. You've tried them before." Stonekit nodded in response. He scanned the valley, eyes narrowing on a small pool that had formed from the summer rains. He gestured with a flick of his head and guided his son's head with a gentle prodding of his paw. "Do you see? By the lake?"

A herd of mountain goats, around 15 in total, were drinking by the pool's edge. Their coats were grey, and the lead ram had horns that curled before ending in dangerous hooks. Goat was his favorite prey, the meat being rich and bloody, and one goat could feed half of the cats that lived in Mountain's Heart.

His son spotted them and went into a hunting crouch, or at least his best attempt at one. The princeling focused all of his strength to his front paws and as a result was sagging forward. His tail, which should have been kept still, was flicking about with excitement. Icestar stifled a laugh.

"You're barely going to catch a mouse with that stance son. Lower your back, that's it. Now lay your tail down. It looks like a snake with you twisting it around like that. Good kit." He corrected him and moments later, Stonekit was in a stance that was semi-fit for a hunter.

They walked for a little while more, passing by shrubs and moss-covered rocks. Stonekit wanted to climb up a platform and Icestar knelt down, letting his son clamber up his back before dragging himself up the rock. He jumped after him, the little tom tired from the adventure out of the cave. The princeling panted before flopping onto his side and Icestar laid beside him. The sun was starting to lower, and night would begin soon.

His son's throat was parched so Icestar went to cut the youngster some moss. His claws unsheathed and he raked them down the side of the stone. A swath of moss was sliced neatly, parting from the rock. The cold night air dampened into moisture at sun-high every day and the moss helped to trap in its contents. An easy drink for the Northling cats… if they knew where to find it.

He let Stonekit take the first drink, the kitten latching on and gulping down the water greedily. Icestar took the moss next and quenched his thirst, the sweet mountain water running down his throat. The cold awakened him and made him alert.

"Let's go back home." He rumbled.

The kitten gave a mew as a reply, and winded around his leg, seeking warmth from the winds. He gave a chuckle, licking his son between the ears before lowering his massive head and picked up the youngster by the scruff. Mountain's Heart beckoned him home and he would not be a fool to leave himself to the mercy of the elements at night fall.

When he returned, Frostclaw and Blizzardstorm were already distributing the day's catch. A pile of mountain hares and a lamb had been placed in the centre of the cave. Tafurs and warriors alike were taking their pick from the pile.

Mosspelt was grooming Lichenkit, keeping the kitten still with her paws. His daughter looked annoying, squirming beneath her mother's gentle rasps. Upon seeing his sister, Stonekit rushed towards her and the two immediately began play fighting.

Icestar couldn't help but smile. This was peace and he would fight to his last breath to defend his clan.