Chapter 28

Another Beginning.

It had been five days.

Only five days.

The forest had remained quiet all throughout this time, a simple birds song seeming as a rarity.

Everybody was traumatized with the sight of an apprentice's murder, and at a gathering no less, a time forbidden of violence to worship Starclan.

Loneheart had barely moved a step since he had been dragged home from the gathering.

He had slept only a few minutes for the past days, for each time he closed his eyes, all he saw was the dead corpse of Acornpaw, slowly rotting the more he shut his eyes.

Every time he stood, his legs shook, almost collapsing under his own weight.

Now, he sat under the blanket of a shadow, picking slowly at a magpie, his mind racing and replaying the events in his head over and over again.

Of course, Aspenpaw had been blamed for the murder, the only logical conclusion to the situation, but Loneheart didn't want to believe it.

He wanted to believe that Aspenpaw was his friend, somebody who would be there for him, but it was hard to ignore the poison which had been planted inside the rabbit he gave to Acornpaw.

It had been deathberries, stuffed down the rabbit's throat.

It had killed him in only a couple minutes.

Yarrowleaf was walking towards him now, her figure bright in the shining sun, and yet her face dark as night.

She crossed into the shadow of the tree Loneheart was sitting under, and softly she sat beside him, with something she wanted to say but without a way to speak it, "You have to eat," she said, quiet in a whisper, her voice dull.

Loneheart looked down at the meal in front of him with disgust, and a moment later, Yarrowleaf spoke again, "I hate seeing you this way," He didn't want this to be about himself.

She was only worried for him, and he only wanted to disappear. It wasn't about him right now. A life had just been lost, but most cats didn't care who had been killed, only who the killer was.

Aspenpaw had completely disappeared from known whereabouts, and patrols of all four clans had been sent out to try and find him.

Even if it was a Riverclan cat who had been killed, a murder during a gathering was considered one of the biggest insults to Starclan, so it was the duty of all the clans to bring him to justice.

Loneheart hated that idea. It hadn't fully set in yet that Aspenpaw was a murderer. All it seemed like was a hunt for one of his closest friends.

Since the gathering, cats had been avoiding him even more than usual, since he was known to be friends with both Acornpaw and Aspenpaw.

There was no doubt in his mind that cats were spreading rumors about him being involved in the murder. Only Yarrowleaf was here now.

He hadn't even seen Stonefoot in a couple of days, not something completely out of the ordinary, but right now, more than even any time before it, he wanted his father.

Yarrowleaf leaned her head onto Loneheart, and Loneheart leaned back.

It was nice to have company now.

The forest was alive in hate and death, but what reigned now would be temporary, he told himself.

Nothing lasts forever, not even pain, not even hate, not even death.

A mumble of suspicion broke softly the hollow days' silence.

Into camp strewed cats belonging to Riverclan, with eyes on them such as hawks from the moment their paws stepped into view.

Emptying out from each orifice that held, Thunderclan met their guests with the usual greeting of harsh looks and caution in each breath.

Yarrowleaf was moved only but barely by this development, as Loneheart looked on, dreading the future quarrel, inevitable to come by word or claw.

It was but just three cats that stood now in the center of the clearing, all meeting the eyes of Barkstar as he approached, a question of authority just beginning to leave his jaws, "Tell me, Riverclanners, what is your gambit that brings you to me?"

"News of great importance, news to be shared alone," The leader of the small patrol spoke in a manner of equal command, as his comrades lowered their heads in respect, but the Thunderclan leader refused the messenger of his implied request,

"News of any importance is news for all my clan. So, tell it here, with eyes locked to you, what brings you, and what do you expect from us?"

"We expect, and hope for, in fact, nothing. War is come, declared and soon to fruition will be. Not for your involvement, no, this is conflict of Riverclan and Windclan only," Loneheart felt a shiver of shaken future, an announcement he had expected in stress, and yet would be never ready to hear,

"And why is it that you go to war now?" Barkstar hailed on, unperturbed, only in seek now of information,

"There is reason solid of a traitor between us two. I need assume no reminder is necessary for what has occurred but only days ago. The last that our murderer was seen, escaping upon the meadows of Windclan, and yet they deny of any involvement in the plot to take the life of our young Medicine Cat. Our demands simply are for the murderer to be handed upon us, which has been refused in a claim of ignorance," They spoke of Aspenpaw, but could such tyranny linger on the apprentice?

"What is our involvement now in this scuffle?" Barkstar spoke again, none other cat proficient to incarnate his stature in voice, even for only simple questions,

"None, I believe. This is a fight of our own, through it is owed to Starclan that we complete this mission. You need not involve yourself; we have not come to ask such a thing. We fight for Starclan, and we believe you wise to not betray the trust of the ancestors,"

"Never could I dream of such a thing in the darkest depth of a nightmare,"

"Then there is no more to speak of," The heads of the unspoken Riverclan cats rose and the messengers began to take their leave, if only for one more phrase of Barkstar,

"I wish you well, blessed warriors of Riverclan," A small nod of each, and they were gone, sucked back to the forest which seemed now only to soon hold blood.

A deep fear gripped Loneheart.

The final decree was here, blood would be spilt.

Beside him, Yarrowleaf had lifted her weary head with a look of true despair.

Their eyes met together in shock, as throughout the camp, few cats seemed affected by the news, going on about their days with only small hints of paranoia filling the air.

Unable to think of any other response, he dug his head into Yarrowleafs fur, hoping that when vision returned to him, he would have woken up from just another bad dream.

It was later that fateful night now.

He had never woken up.

Still he sat under the shadow of the tree, the same, now dried out magpie in front of him, only barely eaten.

Loneheart had spent the remainder of his day waiting, waiting in hope and fear. His fear waited for war; his hope waited for Stonefoot to return from wherever he was.

Yarrowleaf had left now, gone out from camp soon after the message had been given.

She hadn't said anything more to him, nor had she now come back from her trek.

The sky was burning fire and the clouds grew to a warm pink as the weary sun began its rest across the range of Highstones.

His body deterred from the thoughts of his mind and in rose him a great hunger, such is as would be suspected for only but a few bites a day.

He began once again with pickings at the magpie, strips of meat and sour blood filling his mouth.

The ground all soon turned dark, as so now was indistinguishable, shadow and light, "I won't see you," he told the darkness.

He received no response to the dialogue in his head, only further, and maybe faster, deterioration of light.

For a while more Loneheart decided to stay here, under this no longer shaded tree, just waiting for something to come, something to help him, something to save him.

As the night tossed and turned with the remaining lights of dusk, Loneheart felt his body drop below the surface of the earth.

It was as though he was sinking into the ground, his mind blank and his heart full of sorrows, both previous and yet to come.

He thought of Rustpaw for a moment, what he must be enduring now.

His screams still echoed in his head when he was forced to think about what had happened, the desperation and fear that dug far below Lonehearts skin.

He thought about why he himself didn't do such a thing.

He had considered Acornpaw a friend, one of the only cats he could call on.

He knew that he had felt the same fear that Rustpaw had, but he wondered why it hadn't manifested in some bigger form.

Thoughts creeped into the back of his mind, telling him that the reason he hadn't was because he didn't care about the Riverclan cat.

Of course, that wasn't true, so far as reality made sense, but with nothing else to block it out, Loneheart even started to believe it.

Maybe it should have been him who was murdered, at least then there would be no war, no mourning.

It wasn't healthy thinking, and he almost thought to seek out Yarrowleaf, or perhaps even try to find Red again, but the cat he truly wanted above all, was Stonefoot.

His father was the only real comfort that Loneheart had left.

And as he prayed for it, into camp, by way perhaps of providence, appeared Stonefoot, his great uncertain stature leaned on an immovable paw and the eyes that saw more than had to be seen looked frantically over the clearing.

Loneheart stood himself up, almost collapsing under the weight of delirium, his head light as the clouds that now had sunk to where they should roam at the time of stars.

His steps carried him in the direction of his father, pausing only for a moment as the breath escaped his lungs.

Picking up the pace more, he found himself soon face to face with the cat he had been longing to see, "Stote!" Stonefoot greeted, "It's a wonderful night, isn't it?" Loneheart looked up.

The night sky had risen now, its scattered lights reigning o'er.

Of fear and of wonder did he look across the stretch, "Yeah," Loneheart agreed softly, his gaze wishing but refusing to turn away,

"Isn't it-no-" Stonefoot started to say something, but cut himself off and turned away, bringing back Lonehearts attention, "Would you like to stay out, and watch it, with me?" Stonefoot asked the question that had plagued Loneheart since he was a kit.

Always had he said no, but this night, this weary, mournful night, after all that had happened, folly after fall, he answered, "Yeah, sure,"

"Then this is, no place to do it. Where the wind listens loud and blows its fury on us. Come on, let's get on," Stonefoot said, before starting to pad away, Loneheart following closely behind.

As they exited camp and began the climb up the ravine, Loneheart heard the willowed cry of a raven, lost in the night.

How it felt, lost in the light of the moon, he knew well.

He pitied the poor raven, as it flapped its wings once more, disappearing soon from his hearing, flown towards Shadowclan, and back to the city.

The trees that blocked their path seemed tonight, old and tired, rusted with rot, and rotted all the same.

Upon soon in this forest of dream, they came to a tree with no bark left to speak of.

The bare smooth skin of the wood was a sight so simple, and yet one that he had never seen.

Under this tree was where Stonefoot made his temporary home for the night, leading Loneheart to lay his head down on his father's chest.

Soon settled, Stonefoot stared through the tops of the trees into the stars above, and Loneheart stared into the treeline, mysterious and full of nighttime life, trees and roots and creatures that laid awake through the night, fogged in darkness with only the crickets chirp to keep them company,

"Tell me a story," Loneheart said softly,

"Alright, what would you like, to hear?"

"Something about a big adventure,"

"Then I know just what to tell you. His name was Ositom, son of Osom, king of the south-west. Borne in the forests of mist that lay above the kingdom of the sun, Ositom was raised by the foxes that roamed through tunnels underground. They were forever indebted to Ositom for the killing of his mother. As told in the stars it was true that Ositom was to conquer the four kingdoms of the north, each thirsty only for the other's blood, and to restore peace to its broken subjects. And so, he set out, riding upon clouds blown down to carry him by the gods themselves. For many nights and days he rode on the silver shapes, until a sharp wind blew him from the sky and sent him tumbling onto the top of the tallest mountain. Here staked the great badger, who's breath had stolen him from his journey. Enraged, the two began to fight, tooth and claw, cut after cut. Ositom bled red, as the great badger bled yellow. For the season of leaf-fall was the length of the battle, their blood spilling onto the leaves, turning them from Yoniks grand green. And on the hundredth day of their brawl, a victor was finally formed, Ositom, with the head of the great badger as a trophy of his accomplishment. Hearing a bird's advice from atop a large birch tree, Ositom bathed in the yellow blood of the great badger, thereby so that no blow would ever do him harm again. But as fate, sitting on her throne, would have it, the last remaining leaf of the bird's oak tree abandoned its home, landing delicately on Ositoms shoulder, who stayed oblivious in his wash. Soon after, Ositom began his journey once more, passing the fields of Usirs and paying the toll of blood in the river Gwoi with the head of the great badger. Upon his arrival on the great island of Kotombo he met a seer by the name of Baynoon, son of king Genton of the Solentese kingdom, the first on Ositoms path of conquest. He said to the strange cat, "Come, my friend, son of sun, with visions of days come and past, with me come, for a great journey I am on, sent by the stars, the four kingdoms willed to come to pass in my presence," And the seer responded,

"Then if it is the gods themselves who will it, I will turn even against my own father. I pledge myself to you, my life and blood now belong solely to you,"

With further cohorts, joined by blood, Ositom stormed the camp of the Solents. Wounded by fights with the other kingdoms, king Genton was unprepared for this new war, and in a matter of only three nights, the great king, of whose stories would be passed down generation through generation, was dead, along with his armies and servants. In replacement of the defeated king, as tradition would have it, Ositom put Baynoon in command of the kingdom of Solentese, "I will honor the future wish of peacetime, though blood must be shed further to do so. I give you control of my armies, Ositom, son of Osito," That night, camped already on the way to their next destination, to Ositom appeared the goddess Nijik, whose eyes were the stars in the night, always looking down to protect those who laid beneath her skies. With her silver, shining pelt, she wrapped around Ositom, such as a mother to her kit, and spoke the kind words that remain not for our ears. She gave him a crown of thorns, stuck forever now to his head, a symbol of her blessing, so that the one who tried to kill him should know that they will be sentenced forever to damnation. As morn turned to wolf hour once more, Ositom and his cohorts stalked outside the empire of Rassivet, but were caught by Jujim, the wandering daughter of the emperor. Making a promise to never speak a word of this encounter, Baynoon soon pledged to take Jujim as his queen to unite their worlds, bringing peace to the land. But first would the king have to be displaced, for he, Jujat, son by the same name, would never consent to such a deal of peace. Upon this agreement, the army celebrated with a storm against the Rassivets, quickly overtaking their barely protected camp. With the grace of Nijik, Jujat was beheaded, his blood spilling for his wounded warriors to bathe themselves one final time before they too were killed. Finally, peace was restored to the broken kingdom, leaving Jujim alone to rule as an empress. Their third successful raid took place in the kingdom of Sumerki, though uneventful it was. Upon the news of the two who had fallen before it, the Sumerkin surrendered with no battle at all, their king, whose name now has been lost to history, allowing himself to be killed to protect his warriors. Admiring this action, Ositom called on the great goddess Nijik once more, stood on the tallest mountain he shouted, "For why must I continue this journey, bright eyed watcher of the sky? It is for spilt blood that I have been called to action, but only more blood follows in my trail! Must I believe that I am the villain that shall be spoken of once I am dead?" The goddess replied,

"Fear for not, my mortal subject, whom I watch with dearing stars. I have seen of the future, the future of naught. If not you were to bring violent peace to this land, each would destroy its other, leaving only a river of blood to remind future generations of this conflict. Though you seem to your mortal mind a villain, I assure you with the deepest honesty, you are the bringer of peace,"

"But how far must I go, queen of the skies? Must I truly have to kill, over and over, time and time again,"

"Soon it shall all be over, king of kings Ositom. There is but one more kingdom to fall under your reign," And so it was decreed. But this final war would not be like the others. The final kingdom left standing was the kingdom of Luna, the closest to the heavens above, perched atop a great mountain peak. News by now had reached the kingdom, and by the time they were approached by Ositom and his cohorts, they had become fully prepared for a war. What followed next was the bloodiest war that has ever plagued this mortal world. For three moons, day and night, one after another, warriors of both sides fell to the blood stained earth, never to resurface above the rivers of death that surrounded the Lunan camp. Ositom himself took forth the armies, standing in the front lines, and yet attack after attack, he returned the only survivor, his impenetrable body growing weary with each passing day. On the fourth day of the second moon, Ositom collapsed as he came back, once more only with himself in tack. In his delusions, one last time the goddess Nijik visited his thoughts. With the wordless stare of her blind eyes, she gifted him with strength, strength enough now to take the kingdom. As he awoke from his slumber, no comfort could be found for the weary warrior. In his absence, Baynoon, the great warrior and young king, had taken his place in commanding the armies, shooting the Lunans with wave after wave, until he himself perished in battle. Not only was this the news, but Jujim, upon having heard of this, killed herself so as to never be separated from her lover. Filled with rage and the determination found only in the suburb lands of the southern world, Ositom rallied his armies for one final frontal on the great kingdom of Luna. For fifteen nights and days they fought, and on the sixteenth, finally did Ositom break through the lines and into the heart of his enemy. Immediately locating the king, Hius, son of divine hero Wiun, Ositom charged with recklessness, wanting only for this war to be over. But in his haste, his guard down, a strike came across his shoulder where the oak leaf had clung to his fur. A geyser erupted from him then, in pain unbelievable to us now, he killed his attacker, and he marched on, confronting the king for one last spat of diction, "King, son of heroes, do you not see the gods will? It is for your death now that I come, filled with the strength of Nijik!"

"You kill my people! You bleed my land! It is not I who is deserving of death, but you!" But the king did not know of Ositoms almost invincibility, and in a dire action, shot towards him, intending with every personal will to put down the godsent warrior. But as teeth met claw, it was only king Hius who felt the cut. As Dusk rose to her nightly routine, the kingdom of Luna finally fell to the claws of Ositom. But not long would he have his victory, for in his passion, the blood ran out of his wound, leaving him to collapse against his fallen enemy. There, surrounded by the few reminders of his armies, perhaps seven in total, Ositom died, bleeding out against the mountain floor, having completed his prophecy, and dying in some foreign land. A play of the gods was the story of Ositom. It is true that he brought peace to the four kingdoms, because it was so few who survived the ordeal. The lands were now almost completely abandoned, all armies split, and all suffering from the unending effects of the conflict. Eventually, there were no longer any living creatures on the great island of Kotombo, except for the trees and the birds,"

"What happened next?"

"Well, That's the end,"

"Isn't there more?"

"Not to this tale, there is nothing more to say, but don't worry, I will tell you another one,"

"Right now?"

"Soon. There will come a time soon for another story. But for now, lay your weary head upon my chest, with dreams in your mind of days long gone, and finally, fall asleep,"

End of Book One. Thank you to anyone who has read with me thus far.

Until I write again,

-Gojira