Thanks so much for the support1 Of course, I wouldn't mind a few more reviewers, voices of input if you know what I mean. But I suppose I should get my updates out better for that to happen! Oh, well. Here's our second official rewrite!
Sunlight streamed through the roof of the den, catching his half-opened eyes. It was blindingly bright, and he narrowed them further against the light. Shifting his weight, he lifted himself to his paws. The large tom stood, shaking out his snowy white fur sliced through with black, tiger-patterned stripes. Glancing down, his icy blue eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of the flicking speckled tail. Leopardmask, his beloved, was curled up and breathing ever so softly. Her light gray fur dappled with splotches of black, brown, and dark silver rose and fell evenly. Her tail flicked yet again and she murmured something inaudible, one paw's claws unsheathing and sheathing as they kneaded the brittle twigs and dry moss. He purred, leaving her to sleep, and left the den.
Snowstar sighed heavily as he emerged from the den. The coolness of the stone cave left him and the immediate heat of the outer world blazed across his pelt. The tom padded carefully down the weather-worn grooves of the Speaking Stone where he made his den, coughing as the dirt kicked up by his clanmates invaded his nose and throat, and stung his ice-blue eyes. He tried in vain to shake the dust from his snow-white pelt, shot through with black, jagged stripes, as he did every morning. And as every morning, it was no use.
"Good morning, Snowstar." His deputy, Flintclaw, greeted the tom. Snowstar inclined his head.
"Yes, Flintclaw, and to you. Have you sent out the morning patrols?" He asked, knowing the ginger tabby tom had. He asked purely out of routine. And Flintclaw responded in kind.
"Of course." He said. Though their exchange seemed friendly, one gaze was not.
"I can take over from here, Flintclaw. Hailstorm, Daisyfoot, Turtleshine, and Amberpaw, I would like you to go hunting along the northern border today. Rosefur, please take the older apprentices and…." Snowstar continued, his easygoing, unknowing manner leaving Flintclaw to sit beneath the ledge, scowling. The tom was large and sturdy, with a thick, short pelt of burning orange marked with black, crisscrossing mackerel stripes. Flintclaw took a moment and gazed upon the white and black tom's proud shape standing before the beaten stone.
Snowstar had been leading the Clan for a mere few moons, ever since Sandstar had passed. Flintclaw had been appointed loyal deputy and stood in the position with honor. But he hated every waking moment of it. He watched, watched every mistake the snow-colored tom made, dissected every speech until he found what he could've said better, and watched the Clan crumble. Deep in the tabby's heart, he knew that Snowstar was new. That his mistakes were excusable, and that Moonclan had been in disarray ever since the execution of Ripplestar, the Exile, and the Walk of Death. Flintclaw knew these things, as did every cat. But he pushed the knowledge deep into the caverns of his mind where he dare not venture. Instead, the deputy busied himself with the torturous idea that he, in Snowstar's stead, could lead Moonclan back to their former greatness. And my first order of business, he decided, Would be to remove us from this Starclan-forsaken dustbowl we call a camp, and the hellhole we have the audacity to call a territory. He thought bitterly, watching the dirt gather in layers upon his massive paws and the grit crunch between his claws.
For once I had complete control. He thought to himself, lifting his gaze back to Snowstar, who was, per usual, oblivious. I could lead this clan far better than this one could. Soft, lazy kittypet. Flintclaw spat upon the ground. It dried immediately, and he bared his teeth in disgust. Gone dried up already. Like every speck of water around here. Like our once noble bloodline. He shot another glare toward Snowstar. The striped leader's father had been a kittypet, and his mother a warrior. Many once-noble lines had given in in the Exile. Figures he is chosen to be Sandstar's deputy. Not me, oh no, not Flintclaw, pureblood descendant of Ripplestar herself. Can't he see his clan is starving? What little prey we can catch shrivels before it can be eaten, and with many of our "warriors" lacking the skills necessary for life in the clan, it is even hard to feed us in Green-leaf, let alone Leaf-fall. The sooner the kittypets die off the better. These thoughts gave birth to a new idea for Flintclaw. Blame the kittypets! It couldn't be more perfect. The clan is bitter and hungry already, but with some cat to blame, they will join me. I always knew Snowstar was weak and I should have seen it before. Now's my chance! I must wait for the perfect moment to arise...patience is key Flintclaw. You are the hunter...wait in the weeds...then strike! He smiled smugly in the shadows of the great stone and his leader. Oh, no Flintclaw…you've been in the shadows for far too long…
As the ginger and ebony striped tom waited within his metaphorical weeds in the literal shadows, his oblivious foe continued to see to business to the best of his abilities. Snowstar had been leader for around six moons. His clanmates had noticed his obvious follies and they, exempting Flintclaw, respected authority and decisions he made and held over the Clan, and did not peer with great detail into his abilities. As the frosty-white tom finished with his assignments, he turned away from his clanmates to the freshkill pile. He passed it by entirely. It was a show of imperial decency that he did not even glance upon the meager stack, and yet also a movement of developed erudition: the pile was almost always empty anyhow, and it would be of the utmost disrespect to take before the others had been given a chance. In the stead of eating, Snowstar seated himself in the cool, comforting, minimal shade of the outskirts of the warrior's den. From there, he could watch leader-like the actions about Moonclan camp.
Pinepaw, Adderpaw, Tigerpaw and Badgerpaw were practicing battle moves on each other outside the apprentice den, the younger apprentice, Amberpaw, watching with admiration. By the absence of Spicepaw, Cloverpaw and their mentors, the dawn patrol had already left. Snowstar purred loudly and let his gaze wander further about, resting on the medicine cat den, where Goldendawn had poked her head out, beckoning Hopetail inside with a small toss of her head. The expectant queen tottered over, her wide belly causing her to walk with much difficulty. Snowstar frowned slightly. His deputy's mate was due any moment; Moonclan had not had a history of luck with kits ever since the Exile.
He had worriedly watched Hopetail's progress throughout her pregnancy, with a small spark of hope inside him that the uneventful past moons had been a sign of new beginnings in Moonclan. He, himself, had been born into a troubled litter, plagued by disease, with two siblings born dead and his two surviving littermates weak, one cursed with a permanent illness. The only reason they had many apprentices, too, was because a litter of abandoned rogues had been brought in and raised as clancats. Badgerpaw, Spicepaw, and Splashpaw were aware of their heritage and owned up to it nobly. There were three smaller litters as well, one consisting of Dustypaw and Pinepaw, whose mother had died during kitbirth, Adderpaw and Tigerpaw, taken in by Moonclan after a fox had torn apart their parents at the edge of the territory, and Wolfpaw and Amberpaw, originally a litter of five. These troubling occurrences had been seen as Starclan cursing Moonclan for their misdeeds. Snowstar himself had heard the tales of cats such as his own grandfather disowning their ancestors. He shivered at the thought, turning back to the camp.
Old cats did not usually survive long in Moonclan, and it was a miracle to have two elders in the den. Snowstar watched pleasantly as Flowertail emerged from the elder's den, her tan pelt ruffled from sleep. Longstripes, a pale golden tom with long gray stripes followed after her, dark copper eyes clouded and unseeing. Flowertail's tail rested on his shoulder for guidance. Snowstar smiled. Longstripes was his uncle, his kittypet father's brother who had joined Moonclan along with him. It warmed Snowstar's heart know one of his last connections to his father was still alive. Other warriors not sent out on patrol yet roamed the camp, and Snowstar thought of them fondly. The small clan was his family. Snowstar lifted himself to his paws easily, and decided for the good of the Clan, he would go hunting. It seemed fair.
As the leader left camp, the ginger colored tom stood, wiping off the look of disgust that had accumulated on his face and replaced it with a blank slate. If I'm going to do something, I must not be obvious...patience is key, as is subtlety. Flintclaw stretched languidly, then rose to his paws again and padded towards the nursery. Poking his head inside, he did not find his mate's shining golden form relaxing in her nest as usual. He rolled his eyes. In for another checkup. I swear, if those kits arrive tomorrow, and she isn't in Goldendawn's den, I'm a squirrel! He padded on over to the medicine cat's den, and saw his mate conversing with Goldendawn while her apprentice, Wolfpaw, sorted the dry herbs from the fresh ones. As usual, there were far more dry herbs. Flintclaw resisted a scowl.
"Hopetail," He purred. The elegant golden tabby she-cat turned, her face lighting up when she saw Flintclaw.
"Good morning, love." She smiled, walking over and touching her muzzle to his.
"How are you?" Flintclaw asked.
"Oh, I'm fine. Wonderful, in fact! Goldendawn says the kits are scheduled to arrive in two moons! Oh, I'm just so happy!" She replied. It was Hopetail's first litter, and she was bursting with nervous excitement. Flintclaw laughed.
"Two moons? Can you get any larger?" He joked, "That's great, though, darling! I can't wait to meet you, little ones," He murmured, leaning down to place a gentle paw on Hopetail's stomach. "I'm sure you'll make Moonclan proud." If there still is a Moonclan, when all of us are starving a little more everyday. Flintclaw thought miserably. Hopetail sighed, happy her mate was so excited about their kits. Flintclaw lifted his head to look at her. "You should be resting."
"I can still patrol!" Hopetail huffed indignantly. Flintclaw let out an exasperated sigh.
"Love, I don't want you to hurt yourself! With the kits due so soon, you should stay in camp. Go eat, or sleep, or...lie in the sun or something!" He licked her cheek. "I've got to go. See you later." He walked out of the medicine cat's den and glanced at the freshkill pile hungrily. There was nothing there. Ignoring his growling stomach, Flintclaw continued on past the pile to the camp entrance. Hunting. He decided, disappearing through the dried fronds.
Hopetail exited the den after Goldendawn gave her some borage and a bit of chervil. Seeing her mate watching her before he left she grumbled to herself, but went to the nursery.
"I brought you something to eat." Leopardmask meowed sleepily, the words muffled by the skinny, ragged rabbit she was carrying. Hopetail purred, happy for the care her friend had shown.
"Thanks, Leopardmask. I know you'll always be there for me."
"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" She laughed, sitting next to the golden she-cat.
"So," Hopetail said, swallowing a mouthful of rabbit. There were only about two mouthfuls left on the scrawny thing. She bit back a sigh. "When are you going to move in here with me?"
"Me? In the nursery? Are you kidding? You know I don't want kits, Hopetail!" Leopardmask hissed, shocked.
"Whoa, whoa, sorry!" Hopetail squeaked, spitting out a clump of matted rabbit fur. "I just meant, you know, Snowstar…and you...you're both young, why worry about complications?"
"He always asks me if I want kits." The speckled she-cat sighed. "And I know he'd love to have them, but I just can't! It doesn't feel right."
"Well, it would be nice to have some company..." Hopetail mused, shooting a meaningful glance at her friend. Leopardmask shrunk back.
"I-I've got to go...um, patrols...hunting..." The slender she-cat hurried away. Hopetail shook her head and went back to eating. It's a wonder she doesn't scamper away from her mate with an attitude like that! I feel Moonclan's luck is changing for the better. Yet she still won't give any heirs to that poor tom!
Flintclaw brought back a starling. It was small and not potentially filling in the least. The rest of the fresh-kill wasn't much better. There was a scrawny shrew, two squirrels, and a young sparrow shriveled from the heat. This will NEVER feed the clan! We must get the deed done soon...survival is limited. Only the strongest must live. He flashed back to the stories of Exile the elders used to tell, before they got to weak to even think of telling a story to the kits. Not that there'd been many kits either. The elders used to say that Moonclan was exiled because we killed so many who we deemed unworthy. They threw us out, thinking we were demons. And they were right! He hissed. We're demons for letting our own die when the true enemy is living among us, fed and sheltered. This has to stop! Remember Flintclaw, He told his impatient mind, Remember the hunt, the patience, the weeds. Wait in the weeds...
Please, please, please! I desire your feedback, I crave it just as much as Flintclaw craves control! Speaking of Flintclaw, what did y'all think of Mister Shadows and Weeds, hmm?
Lots of Love,
Brighteyes