'Cold nights under siege from accusations
Cerebral thunder in one-way conversations.'
'The Run and Go' - Twenty One Pilots
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"Keep moving, the edge of the territory is just over the next rise," Rohkea, the ginger tom responsible for Felix's bloody death, growled. He still limped from his battle against the deceased ex-soldiers, dry blood crusting the deep wounds running down his spine. The look in his eyes was one of victory, but also of defeat. Eaglestrike wanted to ask why the tribe cat might be feeling defeated when his tribe had just stolen a vital part of their group.
Fuhren had ordered an escort of four elites to take the Chosen out of the territory. He hadn't needed the Chosen to remind him of their heading, directing the elites to the edge of the territory standing in the shadow of Crimson's mountain.
There would be no forgetting the look of utter loss on Willowclaw's face when he'd watched them be forced from the camp without saying goodbye, the anguish in his usually stony amber eyes when Icepetal had lashed out a guard that tried to drag her away. It had been chaos, tribe cats jeering at the Chosen as they were shoved out into the empty grasslands, shouting mocking farewells. Fuhren had sat on his tree root the entire time, grinning down at the mass of bodies surrounding the cats responsible for making his tribe safe once again.
One last look back into the camp, at the one they were leaving behind, showed a desperate Willowclaw straining against the claws keeping him down, jaws open in a silent wail that no doubt pleaded for help. Dried mud and blood stained his face, but there was no missing – for Icepetal at least – the single tear that tracked a clean line down his cheek, and then he was gone, lost behind the tattered gorse barrier.
"After all we've done for you," Icepetal growled at the ginger elite.
Rohkea snorted and twitched a white ear. "If I do remember correctly, you were passed out in Tau's den using up her herb stores for most of your stay," he grinned toothily. "You personally didn't do a damn thing."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. How's your friend doing? You know the one whose throat I more-or-less tore out?" Icepetal's voice was chilling.
Seeing the scathing conversation ending only in bloodshed, Eaglestrike nipped Icepetal's haunches, shaking his head when she looked back at him. "It's not worth it. We'll get him back."
"After you've killed Crimson of course," a dark gray tom chirped, blinking striking amber eyes.
"What makes you so sure we'll even make it there?" Rainpatch grunted, his normal cheerful demeanour brought down by the loss of his friend. He'd tried to soften the blow by telling himself that he could throw prey at the others, but it was a weak attempt to forget the missing part of their group.
The gray tom furrowed his brow, appearing to struggle with the idea of the Chosen not being able to do what they'd set out to do. "Don't listen to them, Vahva," the elite with creamy fur and voice hoarse from her violent clash with Sadie interrupted. "They'll do it, or we'll never see them again. It's a win-win situation for us either way."
Eaglestrike felt the fur along his spine bristle at the elite's words. How could they act so nonchalant about this? The prophecy, which thankfully the tribe hadn't been given, stated that Crimson would be destroyed and the light brought back by the five prophesised, not four, five. The further they went without Willowclaw the more time they would waste. "We need Willowclaw to defeat Crimson, but you've kidnapped him. If we fail it's your fault. For all we know we could very well be the world's last stand against her. Are you really willing to risk us failing just so you can keep him?"
"Our leader's word is law, what he says go, and he is much wiser than all of you put together. If he thinks you can it without Willowclaw, then you will be able to do it. Have some faith in your own strengths rather than relying on others all the time," Rohkea snapped.
"We only got this far because we relied on each other," Littleflame muttered quietly, glaring up at the tall tribe cat.
The cream elite shoved her muzzle into Littleflame's face, and the small she-cat squeaked in surprise, scurrying back several steps. "I guess you'll just have to find out whether Willowclaw was a really important part of your group or not," she declared, smirking at Littleflame's fear.
"Back off, Valo," Rohkea ordered in a bored tone. "The sooner we see them over the border the sooner we can go back and get Tau to look at our wounds."
"I can always give you a few more to pass the time," Icepetal fluttered her eyelashes.
The last elite in their escort – a gangly calico – laughed suddenly, throwing his head back as the peals of sound rolled from deep within his chest. Soft green eyes alight he met Icepetal's puzzled gaze, wiggling his whiskers while a few quiet giggles continued to escape. "You all act so tough! It's marvellous! Don't you ever, I don't know, stop and relax for a while? Let your guard down? Actually have a conversation with some other cat without threatening them!? Does your kind even know how to do that?"
Taken aback, Icepetal was rendered speechless by the calico's outburst, her mouth flapping open and closed as she searched for anything she could fire back. "We have to act tough?" was all she managed to come up with, glancing over her shoulder to blink at the others. They shared her confusion at the outburst.
"So you're saying you act tough all the time? So you act tough when you eat, sleep, relieve yourself, talk to kits?" the calico giggled. "That sounds ridiculous. There are times to be tough and there are times to not be. Perhaps you Clanners ought to learn the difference."
Valo cuffed the calico sharply, "shut your mouth, Lahja, or I'll tell your mother about the things you've been saying to strange cats."
"No, don't do that!" Lahja gaped at Valo as if the she-cat had just stolen his prey.
"Then shut up."
If Eaglestrike hadn't already decided that all tribe cats were scum, he might have liked to have sat down with the strange little calico tom that was Lahja and talk with him – even if it was just to explain that Clan cats weren't tough all the time, just when life demanded that needed to be, which, admittedly, had been a lot lately. He could hardly remember the last time he'd been able to chase prey without having to worry about being attacked.
"You don't know anything about living like us," Icepetal sniffed, curling her lip distastefully. "Your kind doesn't have to worry about other tribes stealing territory or prey; so stop trying to teach us how to live."
Lahja shrugged, "it was only advice. No harm giving it and no harm receiving it, either."
"Keep it to yourself, we don't want it."
"Don't be so rude, Icepetal," Rainpatch flicked her with his tail. "He was only trying to have a conversation."
Eaglestrike had never seen Icepetal look so insulted before. "I'm sorry? Should I suddenly have the urge to share tongues with my enemies? How about when we make it to Crimson I'll just walk up to her and start discussing the weather?"
"I didn't mean it like that, don't be such a mousebrain," Rainpatch tried but failed to hide his amused smile.
While the two argued Eaglestrike found his attention focusing not on the cats around him but rather the rolling hills covered in long grass, long grass that could very easily hide a creature that didn't want to be seen. The feeling of being watched came upon him suddenly, gripping him in icy teeth that oozed anxiousness. It wasn't as if he felt like that couldn't take care of themselves, even if most of the elites were sporting injuries, it was just he didn't like the idea of a stranger being able to sneak up on them so easily.
His eye was drawn to a patch of grass that swayed against the wind, pitching right whilst the wind blew left. Squinting he thought he saw white fur between the green-brown stalks, as well as a pair of blue eyes watching the escorts every move. A gust of wind and the shape was gone, either a fragment of his imagination blown away, or a stalker shifting their position.
Above them dark clouds were brewing, the scent of rain and the feel of a storm thick in the air. The air around them felt charged with energy. A clap of thunder, the first of the storm rolling in, deafened the cats for a brief moment. In that brief moment it was fair to say that, for a couple of frantic heartbeats, Eaglestrike was certain some supernatural entity had launched an attack on them.
Sharp claws illuminated in the flashes of lightning mauled Rohkea viciously. He was dead with a snapped neck and slit throat before he could even make an attempt at retaliation. In the darkness that had settled over the grasslands Eaglestrike could see the pair of blue eyes he'd noticed before darting to and fro as those claws stabbed down over and over. Another flash of lightning, another glimpse at their attacker; white fur plastered against its side by the pouring rain and split blood.
"We have to get away!" Rainpatch roared in his ear over the din, "I don't want to meet my end at the claws of something I can't even see!"
Valo rolled past with Icepetal clutched in her claws, the two she-cats focused intently on tearing each other's fur out. The tribe cat landed a dizzying blow that sent Icepetal reeling, only to be bombarded by tooth and claw, Icepetal charging back to throw the elite back onto the ground. Teeth buried into Valo's creamy fur she tugged, driving her claws into the elite's shoulders to pin her down, flesh coming away with a sickening squelch.
"We don't have time for this, Icepetal, come on!" Eaglestrike demanded, pulling Littleflame flush against his side to keep an eye on her – or at least that's what he told himself.
Looking up from her quarry, blood dribbling from her parted mouth, Icepetal looked as if she was about to ignore Eaglestrike's demand and thrust herself back into the screeching mess that twisted and writhed behind her. There was a split second where he could see the decision taking form in her eyes, torn between safety for herself and the others, and the revenge he knew she so desperately sought for Willowclaw.
A squeal followed by a thud ended whatever had been occurring in the thick grass. "There's no need to run! I took care of them all!" Apollo stuck her head out into view, grinning widely. Blood was spattered across most of her face but she didn't seem to really care all that much, pausing only to kick the body she'd left behind.
Eaglestrike's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He hadn't spoken much with the odd she-cat Willowclaw had managed to pick up whilst they'd all been sleeping. All he knew was that she'd dropped two trees, killing Padshiy and nearly killing Rainpatch in the process. "Where were you when we left the camp?"
The black-spotted she-cat straightened up, eyes darkening. "I was no longer welcome in that camp, the incident with Sadie and Felix showed me that. So I got out before I was killed next." Frowning she glanced around the rain-slickened Chosen, "where's Willowclaw?"
Thunder crashed overhead. "We'll tell you once we get out of this rain," Eaglestrike shouted to be heard, noticing the way Icepetal stiffened at the mentioning of their abandoned teammate. Nodding to the silhouette of the mountain that was lit up with every flash of light he started in that direction, plodding against the push of the wind and the rain.
"Just our luck they'd chuck us out during a damn storm," Rainpatch grouched. His long fur was plastered against his sides. He didn't appear like the well-fed WaveClanner anymore with his pelt clinging to his bones.
Eaglestrike noticed, as they struggled through the storm, that even the others were looking thinner than they had upon leaving the valley. It wasn't as if there'd been a shortage of prey, there was always plenty to be caught. It baffled him. Why were they thin when they should be well-fed?
In the soft sort of darkness of a late afternoon storm every shadow was an enemy, a tribe cat coming after them to avenge the deaths of their elites, a soldier planning to drag them back to Crimson, a starved fox hoping for an easy meal. He jumped more often than he would have liked to admit, his nerves set on edge, fur bristling uncomfortably. Fumbling his paws slipped out from under him, the ground lurching into a steep incline that deposited him into a shallow stream. Spluttering he splashed to his paws, snarling at nothing.
The others slid a little less gracefully down to him, quietly stirring the water's surface with their delicate paw steps. Eaglestrike raised his head to the boiling sky above him, breathing in the air crowded by the scents of the storm and the grasslands and the tribe cats. He didn't know how far they had left until they were safely out of tribe territory, all he knew was that Crimson's mountain sat in the distance before him, and that was where they had to go.
Pushing onwards he mounted the stream's bank, nearly slipping back in as the pebbly gravel underfoot gave way, surging back towards the lapping water with a splash. "This is ridiculous!" Littleflame exclaimed, staggering up the steep bank, shouldering through the reeds hugging the streams edge. "We can't just continue walking through this!" Her sides shook with heavy shivers, teeth chattering.
"I'll become a fish if I stay out in the rain much longer!" Rainpatch laughed, water streaming off his whiskers.
Icepetal shouldered him good-naturedly and yanked him over the top of the bank to solid ground – solid as mud could be. "You could swim up to Crimson and slap her with your fins."
"I might just do that!"
"We have to keep moving," Eaglestrike grit his teeth. "If we stop here the tribe might catch us, and I doubt they'll be very forgiving this time round."
Apollo skidded across a patch of mud, yelping as she nearly lost her balance. "Don't any of you know your way around this territory? You stayed with the tribe for more than a few days!"
"The only one of us who actually went out on a regular basis was..." Littleflame trailed off, uncomfortably glancing at Icepetal.
"Willowclaw," the SnowClanner provided.
Eaglestrike cringed. What the elites had said about relying too much on each other was already becoming apparent. He shook his head with a growl. He had to get them out of the tribe's territory and to safety, that was his duty, and he didn't need Willowclaw to help him. A PhoenixClan warrior didn't need the help of a RogueClanner to make it through a storm. They would push forward or they would die, simple as that.
Not waiting to see if the others would follow he fell into a quick trot, scouring the ground in front of his paws intently for any sign of change. All they needed was a sudden dip in the ground that was a bit deeper than the last for an injury to be acquired. An injury during the middle of a disorientating storm might just kill them.
He was beginning to feel ill. The others were muttering amongst each other behind him, no doubt about how terrible he was at leading. Did they expect him to know how to do it perfectly? He was a warrior, not a deputy or Clan leader. Apollo trotted alongside him, face set stubbornly forward. As if she could feel his wandering gaze she slid her eyes sideways to look at him. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked bluntly.
Swallowing he admitted what he knew was true: "no."
There was no mocking or laughter in her expression, just a sad sort of acknowledgment. "It isn't easy being a leader knowing that you hold the lives of others in your paws. It is a responsibility I would not wish upon anyone. Willowclaw was brave enough to admit that he would never make a good leader; he told me he just wasn't suited to it," she paused to stare down at her paws, turned brown by mud. "I was...taught that there are always cats that are born to lead, though some might never get the chance. Made noble by birth, a star in their heart shines no brighter than when they have a group to lead." When she met his gaze again her eyes were glowing in the soft darkness. "Which are you?"
She shook her head abruptly, silly grin replacing the wise look. "What am I saying?! They're just old stories after all! Each cat makes their own destiny, whatever it may be. Lead on, Eaglestrike! I'd rather not grow gills!"
Eaglestrike stared dumfounded at her. He'd never heard such wisdom from such a bizarre cat before, she sounded like, for a moment, she'd been older than most elders. The curiosity to learn more about where Apollo had come from burned within him. Where had she gone to learn such things? Who had she heard stories about noble cats by birth from? But she wasn't looking at him anymore, instead skipping lightly through the heavy rain, splashing in puddles she came across like a kit.
That she-cat was an enigma, he decided, one to be puzzled over once they were safe from the storm thundering overhead. It gave no sign of letting up anytime soon.
"Who are you?" he murmured, not thinking she would be able to hear him.
Apollo twitched an ear. "Someone who has come a long way to deal with her shadows."
Unsettled Eaglestrike turned his attention from the puzzling she-cat. Her secrets were hers alone, if she ever felt the need to share them then he'd be more than welcome to listen. Until then she would remain a mystery, one that had arrived with the felling of two trees during a time when she was needed more than she would ever realise.
He wondered, whilst slipping through mud and scurrying up rises, if the others would, at some point, find their calling; find the reason they'd been chosen to embark on this journey. As he thought he wondered if Willowclaw had found his calling first. Perhaps it had been his destiny all along to save a tribe from destruction, whilst also dooming himself to imprisonment. Hurling himself over a sunken ditch full of mud he mulled over the possibility of Tornheart not having told them everything about their journey. What if only one of them made it to face Crimson? Surely the fate of the world was too much to place on the shoulders of only one cat?
Behind him he heard the solid thud of a body hitting the ground, but no sloshing of mud as whoever had fallen struggled back to their paws. Dread filled him. Turning he was greeted with the sight of a fallen Rainpatch, his sides heaving and eyes closed. Icepetal knelt in the mud beside him, her nose pressed against his cheek.
"Is he okay?" Eaglestrike asked, splashing back to his fallen comrade.
"If he has to stumble through this rain any longer he won't be," Icepetal snapped. "Weren't you listening when Tau told us that his lungs were weak? Over exertion will kill him. Now find us a place to rest before we all die."
A trembling Littleflame stood over Rainpatch, shielding his body from the rain as much as she could with her small stature. She looked pitiful with her fur soaked to her sides but she stood firm, strongly staring him down with dull eyes.
Defeated he hung his head. He felt like he had failed. "Let's spread out and find something then," he decided. "Stay as close as you can; shout if you find anything, even if it's just an overhang big enough for us all to fit."
"What about Rainpatch?" Littleflame pressed.
"You can stay with him." The orange she-cat dipped her head and said no more, watching silently as the three others crept into the rain.
Finding shelter in the endless grasslands during the middle of a storm sounded impossible. What kept Eaglestrike going was the knowledge that Rainpatch might die if they didn't, and that the rolling hills had to be hiding some sort of shelter somewhere. He'd travelled further than he'd planned on, flinching whenever a particularly loud clap of thunder rumbled overhead. Twisting his head in the direction he'd come from he wondered if the others were having better luck.
Reaching the top of a rise he stared out into the rain, searching the hillsides for anything that might resemble shelter. He could see nothing. With a snarl he whipped around and plunged back down the grassy slope, splashing angrily through deep puddles. How could the others look to him as their leader if he couldn't even find them somewhere safe to sleep?
Over the howling wind, pouring rain, and loud thunder he heard a yowl. He thought it might have been Apollo's, but he couldn't be sure.
He found the others gathered around Rainpatch, heads hung low against the rain. "Did you find anything?" he inquired hopefully.
"There's an old badgers set that must have collapsed some time ago, but the mouth of the den is big enough and far enough back to give us some shelter," Apollo reported. "It's this way, come on!"
Rainpatch was hoisted into Eaglestrike's shoulders; he didn't mind the weight as long as it meant the cheery tom had a more likely chance of survival. He could feel Rainpatch's raspy breathing; hear the tom struggling to suck in a breath. It worried him to think that Rainpatch might never recover, that he might have weak lungs for the rest of the journey. He felt selfish to admit it but a cat with weak lungs that couldn't handle strenuous exercise would slow them down. As soon as the thought cropped up it was banished to the backs of his mind for it made him feel guilty. It wasn't Rainpatch's fault that he was injured.
Apollo led them quickly to the abandoned set. She'd been right at least. The mouth of the den would be big enough to fit them all if they curled up close, and it would keep them dry. That was enough for him. By his instructions Rainpatch was placed as far back as possible, out of the rain and wind. The rest huddled in tight around him, pressing their sodden pelts together for warmth.
Exhaustion meant that sleep found them easy, all save for Eaglestrike. He stayed awake, head resting on his paws, tail twined with Littleflame's, staring out into the storm. There were so many worries and questions floating around his head. But they all kept coming back to one place. Would they be lost in the tribe's territory, sheltering in a badger's set, if Willowclaw or Tornheart had still been with them?
He worried over whether the others would begin to distrust his leadership after his fumbling attempt to get them out of the tribe's territory. Surely they could understand his need to be beyond the borders, back in territory that was unclaimed by anyone?
Apollo's question made a quiet, sneaking reappearance that plunged him even further into his pit of thoughts and worries.
Which are you?