"Ouch!" Cloverfoot hissed in annoyance as she tripped on yet another rock. The ShadowClan warrior was sick and tired of her aching paws from the array of tunnels inside the mountain that was their prison. Her white feet were dusted with gray that, no matter how hard she tried, would not come off. Her nose was scratched from falling, and her tail swept the floor behind her as she stalked away.
Her mentor and her clanmates, Icelily and Frostbird, glared at her. They were almost to the remake center, and she was in the lead. Two at a time, they walked, Blackclaw's spiky dark fur brushing against Cloverfoot's pelt.
Suddenly, they rounded a corner to their left, and the cavern opened up around them. The holes in the ceiling allowed for strong rays of sunshine to burst through, sending the visions of dust molecules dancing in front of Cloverfoot's eyes. She batted at them, amazed, before realizing that the other two tributes were staring at her. Icelily's green, mistrustful eyes stalked her movements, sleek pelt rippling in annoyance. Frostbird stuck by her sister- how horrid would that be, Cloverfoot thought-, beautiful tortoiseshell pelt gleaming against her green eyes. They obviously mistrusted her. And they did not look like very inciting allies to make.
Cloverfoot was pushed back into the real world- actually pushed- and into a subcave to her left by a tremendous shove. She stared in awe at the beautiful purple, blue, and yellow crystals hanging from the ceiling and growing out of the rounded walls. Then she looked down at her prep team.
Three tortoiseshell toms were ready and waiting for her with amber eyes. Odd, she thought, because tortie toms were rare- and infertile. Cloverfoot vaguely remembered that one of the tributes- yes, Firesky, from WindClan- was an infertile tortie.
The toms silently went to work on her, preening her gently, rubbing scented herbs on her and bathing her in a small pool that shone in the reflected light of the rocks. The pool was warm and had lavender, sage, and jasmine floating around. Then she was taken to a cold one filled with slippery rocks at the bottom that she had to run on- something about her paw pads- and then back into another warm pool, this time with freesia and primrose.
Finally, she was free. Giving a complimentary nod to her sweet prep team, Cloverfoot walked out to meet the others. To her surprise, however, Blackclaw came in and ushered her to another sub cave in the back of the room before rushing off.
Inside, the walls were lined with moss. There was a tunnel leading to the right for what looked like a long while, with the same sense of fresh air as the one behind her. Moss nests sat around almost lazily, but when Cloverfoot scrunched up her green eyes, she saw they made a complete circle. She melted into the shadows, thankful for her silver patches, when she saw a shape emerging from the tunnel. Quickly, she ran and stood in the middle of the room again to await her stylist.
It was a red tabby tom with yellow eyes and a notched ear. There was a twinkle about him, and Cloverfoot gasped as she realized it was stars. He was a StarCLan cat. She bowed in gratitude but, with a flick of his tail, he motioned for her to stand. She did.
"Hello, Cloverfoot. My name is Ashsun." He said with a pleasant but slightly rough voice, almost a purr. He circled Cloverfoot, and she decided she liked him. He was nice, so it seemed, and prodded her with his paw gently everywhere he examined. For some reason, she felt comfortable around him. Like she had grown up with him.
He sat across from her, and she sat as well, cold seeping in from the ground through her warm bath and the licks of her prep.
"This year," Ashsun started, "your Clan will be represented with ash." She wrinkled her nose, and, almost like he could read her thoughts, he laughed.
"No, not just because my name is Ashsun. Let me explain.
"ShadowClan is of the… well… shadows. We- yes, we- float above the rest in the perpetual wind that ruffles our fur and gives us life. The scent of prey. The scent of danger.
"Ever since I… well… ever since I died, I've been just absolutely fascinated with the smell of fire. Smoke. Ash. I believe it rides the wind that fills our lungs. You see, if there's any Clan that is more connected to the dark, burning force of nature, it's ShadowClan.
"So, I thought we could build on that. Each one of you, even the toms, will have unique marking in ash, and a burnt flower behind your ear. Behind right for she-cats, behind left for toms." Ashsun finished. "Any questions?"
"No." Cloverfoot said.
And so, for the next few hours, ash and ash-water were carefully applied to her fur, never crusty, just a part of her. Berry juice was added to make it seem almost on fire- or like she was wounded, but carrying on. When Cloverfoot looked into the cold pool from the first side chamber, she saw someone alive. A living, breathing flame.
She was no longer Cloverfoot, the sweet but hard-core soul from ShadowClan.
She was a shadow from the ashes. A whisper from the fire. The last thing you saw before you died.
She was Cloverfoot 2.0: Remodeled.