Disclaimer: Yeah, you all know I'm not Erin Hunter, mmkay?
Well, since my prologue disaster, I've decided not to switch POV as often, maybe once or twice each chapter. I think it'll be easier to understand this way. Thank you for all of the concrit, and I most things will be explained in this chapter.
I've also decided that this story is going to be short—probably no more than fifteen or twenty chapters, so I can work on the plethora of other ideas that I have.
I'm not going to put up the allegiances as a separate chapter, because that's just pointless. You can find them on my profile if you think it's absolutely necessary to see them. Oh, and the male protagonist's name is Blizzardfur not Blizzardclaw. I'm sorry about that mistake, and I think I fixed it when Mem (Silent Memento) pointed it out.
This chapter would have been up sooner, but after typing about 2,000 words, my computer completely shut down and the file was lost, so I had to start all over. Ugh. This chapter isn't as good as the first one, but oh well.
Nothing much to say in terms of this chapter. It's kind of boring, but you'll get all of the information you need.
Shadowed
-chapter one-
Buried…
A fiery wall of golden light is building behind the mound of dirt before me. Its faint bluish purple hues blend into milky splotches dappling the otherwise orange sky as the sun sets.
My paws were weary and caked with dirt. My fur was matted into muddy clumps and smeared with small streaks of drying blood. But not my own blood. I glance at the broken body beside me, torn mottled fur and eyes glazed over in a permanently horrified expression. His mouth is open in what looks like the beginning of a cry, cut short. I shake my head, filled with grief.
But not for him. Not for Slashclaw. Even in death, as pathetic and broken as he is, I cannot bring myself to feel any sympathy for him.
With stubborn resolve, I sink my claws once more into the brittle earth and dig down, scraping away another layer of dirt. The hole is deep, I admit. But not deep enough. The enormous pile of dirt casts a shadow over me, chilling me to the bone. But I do not stop. Bitter and persistently determined, I continue to dig, my paws aching still and my claws growing weak as the white bone is slowly worn away by the friction of my ferocious digging.
I glance up for a moment, looking the pile once again. It has grown almost unknowingly, without my consent or noticing, and it towers above me. It is almost majestic, but the reason behind this pile keeps me from regarding its majesty.
I scramble out of the hole, trying to look at it objectively from above. It is deep. It is the deepest hole I have ever seen, and easily the most solemn, silent grave.
I cast my gaze around. Piles of dirt similar, although not as large as my own, are scattered around nearby. Some are flattened and smooth, with small tufts of grass protruding from their brown depths, while others are crumbling and bumpy, with rough, uneven surfaces.
But there is one that catches my eye. It is a few fox-lengths away, beneath a small elm sapling. The pile is sleek, flattened against the earth, and sweeping, lush green grass covers it almost entirely. It looks peaceful, serene. But that is not the reason why it catches my eye.
It is the memories attached to it, and the fact that I know, beneath the surface, a delicate calico she-cat lies, her icy blue eyes closed in eternal sleep. The calico fur that once brushed affectionately against mine. The blue eyes that once gazed at me with kindness and adoration.
Because of him, I will never feel her soft, tender touch again. Because of him, she is gone.
My vision is blurred suddenly, and I can taste the salty tang of tears on my tongue. My grief is for her, only her. My grief is only for Dewpetal.
But it is no time to grieve. Shifting my weight to my hindpaws, I try to brace myself for more furious digging. I drag my sore limbs back to the hole and all but tumble back down, where I commence duty once more.
I have barely started when I hear a soft mew above, and I turn around wearily. Featherstar is perched on a smaller mound of dirt, staring down at me with icy blue pools of sympathy.
"The hole is deep enough now, Blizzardfur," she mewed, barely more than a whisper. "You can stop."
I shake my head, and I can see that her blue gaze is puzzled. She does not understand my fascination with this grave in particular—she knows that I had never been close to Slashclaw, although I had brought news of his death.
"He was hit by a Twoleg monster."
My first lie to Featherstar; my first lie as her noble deputy. Although my lie did not explain the small, neat incision in his throat or his overall lack of broken limbs, I was not questioned, to my glorious relief. My leader shook her head, and a small sigh escaped her lips as she turned her back to me and began to pad away.
I was alone again; alone with my thoughts. And, of course, my thoughts wandered to last night. I shook my head, trying to recreate the scene.
Of course: the pounding rain, the overpowering scent of blood, and Kiera, the rogue cat. I had seen her once before, stalking among the reeds on the RiverClan border. She had taken prey from them. My patrol and I chased her off.
She had had hate in her eyes then, but not as powerful as the hate she had for Slashclaw last night.
She had stared at me with rage and defiance, but these emotions were meaningless compared to the sheer fury and obstinate hatred I had seen grace her features last night. And it was not only hatred. It was desire—she had wanted revenge, but what for?
That question I could not answer, so I put it out of my mind. But as soon as the thought was whisked away, I was bombarded by another question.
Who is to blame?
My first instinct was to blame it all on Kiera. She had killed him, after all. But then, with a second intuition… I wasn't so sure. I had been fully prepared to deal Slashclaw the killing stroke. Although I could not recreate the fierce desire for revenge, I remembered the powerful emotion vividly.
The rage had overtaken me, and I had tried to murder him. I had tried to murder him in cold blood when I could have easily shown mercy. I had not done the deed, but I was as much to blame as Kiera.
I rid myself quickly of these thoughts and survey the hole I have dug. It is enormous now, and I am through. I am weary to the bone, and my eyelids droop over my green eyes with sheer exhaustion. I scrambled out of the hole, my muscles nearly cracking under the strain. The effort is exhausting, and I flop over on my side, breathing heavily.
I stay that way for a moment, my back to the cold earth, staring at the sky. It is dark now; completely dark. Not a single star shines in the sky. When I recover from my fatigue, I get unsteadily to my paws and begin to trek back to camp. As I pass beneath the trees, I am swathed once more in darkness. I draw in a breath, trying to smell my way back to camp. But it was no use. My glands were suffocated by the woody smell of dirt.
In a moment, my salvation comes. A dappled stream of light breaks through the scraggly tree branches above and shines down on me, lighting my path. I sigh with relief and begin to follow the path down the steep, winding trail of the ravine.
But then, all of a sudden, the light disappears. I glance upward and see that the sky is swathed in dark, stormy clouds, obscuring the guiding light of the star. I shiver, and realize that it is an omen.
Leaving my fate, and the memories of last night buried behind me beside the body of Slashclaw, I make my way down the ravine and back towards camp.
Kiera:
Almost unaware of the increasing darkness, I pad through the muddled undergrowth of bracken and gorse. My paws are stinging, and the bracken's sharp thorns aren't helping, I think to myself with a small flicker of amusement, the only emotion I can muster.
I trudge up the steep, cliffy hill, tearing my claw and nearly falling. My body feels weary and disoriented, and if I were to meet an enemy, I fear I would perish for not being able to defeat them. Impeded by the sharp stones and thorny gorse, I claw my way stubbornly to the top of the hill where I survey the landscape below.
The river is flowing to the left, its rushing blue waters dappled by the last rays of the sunset. The gorge nearby churns viciously, its waters stormy and thrashing, lapping the bank ferociously with huge, white paws. To the east, red roofs dapple the lush green grass and loud shouts from the humans can be heard if I strain my tired ears.
But none of these beautiful, serene places are my destination. With a sigh, I let my amber gaze travel past the river and the lush grass towards the expanse of gray to the far east. Smoke and smog rise into the air in angry black clouds, and the loud, unpleasant churning noises of monsters and other human inventions clog my senses. But that is my home, and it is the only home I have ever known. The home in which the scent of Rigel still lingers.
I start down the hill, stumbling and barely keeping balance on my tired paws. My pads are tough, taut from the stinging black pavement that I am accustomed to walking across, but still, they scrape against the sharp stones and bleed profusely onto the rough bracken.
I approach the first human path, winding and black, and reeking of their stale scent. I wrinkle my nose and put one sore paw experimentally on the pavement. Sensing no danger I hurry across and continue on after without hesitation. I am used to these paths, and I no longer fear them or their monsters.
No more stones or bracken impede my steps, and for that I am glad. But I have forsaken this for a smoky steam clouding my vision and burning black road to walk on. I continue, weary but determined, through the smog, anticipating with dread every painful step.
Finally my home is in sight. I stop for a moment, trying to scent out any danger. I sense none. I pad towards my home, hidden behind some sort of human waste bin and between a scraggly bush. I am comforted by its familiarity, and I slip behind the bush and into the small cove beneath it.
I am shocked by what lies in the soft dirt. Two small bodies, one black and the other dark ginger, stained with crimson blood. I sniff them tenderly, drawing in their stale scent. But beneath the overpowering smell of blood and death, I can taste my own scent on the kits that I gave birth to moons ago.
Suddenly the memories flood back to me. Rigel's black coat gleaming darkly in the night as he slithered to the ground, blood pouring from the gash in his throat. And beside him, the two kits, mewling pitifully before their breathing ceased and they lay on the ground, cold and still. And the eyes. The eyes filled with menace and satisfaction as my mate and my kits lay dead upon the ground.
Tears sting my eyes and threaten to pour down, but I do not let them. These memories have reminded me of something more significant—last night. I close my eyes briefly, recreating the scene in my mind. The pounding rain and the scent of blood flash through my brain, and they seem so real.
But I cannot recreate the emotions. Their stream was not a pattern or a rhythm, but a spastic bouncing from one feeling to another. But the one, underlying emotion I can recall is the very fiercest: desire. Desire for revenge.
And I watched myself from outside of my own body as the scene played before my eyes a second time. Blizzardfur, the Clan cat, whom I had only seen once before. He had defeated me on his territory and I had left. Why did he want revenge on the same cat; a cat who was obviously part of his own clan?
I put these thoughts out of my mind, but the thoughts of the rest of the night cannot be put away so easily. Guilt and fear gnaw at me. I had killed him in cold blood, not in an honorable battle. But I had killed when I could have easily shown mercy. A shiver passes down my spine as I remember the fierce desire for revenge, and the bloody path I had taken. I frighten myself.
I stare once more at the tiny bodies, and instinctively curl my tail around them, an act of motherly protection that I cannot help. Their coldness chills my fur, and I wonder for a moment where I could bury them. I had buried Rigel in a small patch of land not far from my home, but the place had been demolished a few days ago. I curl my lip in disgust, but then remember how little concern the greedy humans have for cats.
The only dirt soft enough for me to dig would be the forest. This thought crosses my mind and I groan. Walking back to the forest carrying these two tiny bodies would be difficult, dangerous, and exhausting. But I have no choice. With these kits, I would bury the memories of both them and Rigel, and I knew that the longer I waited to do so, the harder it would be.
I gather the kits to my mouth, securing them tightly beneath my jaw. I cannot bring myself to be rough, and even though the kits are dead, I am gentle with their delicate bodies. I gett wearily to my feet and begin the trek to the forest once more.
It was not nearly as difficult as last times, this being the fifth time I have attempted this same path. But I am even more tired, and the journey is going to take almost twice as long, not to mention I am weighed down by the burden of gently carrying my two kits.
As I approach the first road, I pause, pondering how I am going to do this. I wait for a moment, placing a paw on the black surface before a rustling noise from nearby makes me snatch it off again.
"Who's there?" I hiss through a mouthful of fur. "Show yourself!"
There is a muffled mewing sound from the bushes behind me, and I assume a defensive position, trying to look as intimidating as I can despite the dead kittens in my mouth. After a moment, a bundle of fur bursts from the bushes and tumbles to a halt at my paws. I stare at it threateningly for a moment before recognizing it and rolling my eyes incredulously.
"Hi, Kiera," he said, raising his head and staring at me with bright blue eyes. "Where're you going?"
"None of your business," I snap, laying the kittens on the grass beside the path. "Go away, Copper."
Copper's face falls. "I just thought you looked like you could use some help."
"I'm fine," I insist. "Now go away."
Copper's blue eyes look suddenly sympathetic. "I heard about Rigel," he meows softly, touching his nose to my ear tip. "I'm sorry."
"I don't need your sympathy," I growl. "Get lost, Copper, or I won't get there in time. I'm serious."
"Sorry, sorry," he mews quickly, his blue eyes looking somewhat frantic. "But really, Kiera, you need help. Come on, I'll help you carry them."
I unsheathe my claws, frustration overcoming me. But I manage to restrain myself, allowing my fur to lie flat on my shoulders. "Alright," I agree mutinously, "you can come, but once we get there, you turn right back around and leave."
"Sure, of course." Copper's eyes glow with satisfaction and excitement. He bounces forward and picks up the ginger kitten, before padding overenthusiastically forward, his tail raised in the air.
Groaning slightly, I gently pick up the black kitten and follow, not at all sharing in Copper's enthusiasm. My paws drag across the hard black of the Twoleg paths, and I trudge through the bracken and gorse, grumbling to myself.
When we finally arrive at the top of the hill, I place my kitten on the soft grass and snatch the ginger kit from Copper, laying her down beside her brother. "Now go," I command, bristling. "You promised to leave."
Copper's eyes are wild with fear. "But this is Clan cat territory," he mews. "It isn't safe. They'll kick you off, or worse, take you captive or kill you!"
"I've fought them before, and they're soft." I flex my claws appreciatively, showing off their long, sharp curves.
"But--"
"Go!" I snarl. "Leave me alone!"
His tail drooping, Copper trudges off. I feel a twinge of guilt, but it is quickly erased. I scan the area, pressing against the earth with my paws and measuring its softness. It is soft, but not soft enough for me to bury the kits. Sighing, I pick up both kits in my mouth and continue down the hill.
I walk through the tall, sweeping grass, and I am careful, for I smell the scent of the Clan cats. But I stay carefully hidden among the green blades, downwind from any cat. A soft, green forest looms ahead, branches swaying in the nighttime breeze.
I sniff the air, but I am still downwind and safe from detection. I pad stealthily through the ferns, searching for the perfect spot. I glance ahead to see a large clearing, with soft, sweeping brown dirt, perfect for burial. Sighing with relief, I pad towards the very center and begin digging.
With each scoop of dirt, I am intent on burying all memories—of the kits, of Rigel, and of last night—behind me. When I am done, I lay the kits in the hole gently, curling their cold bodies around one another, in serene, eternal slumber. When I am finished, I cover the bodies and smooth the dirt down over the hole. The clearing looks exactly the same as when I first came. Good. Now I will not recognize it.
I prepare to begin the journey back, but my legs are beyond exhausted and all of my limbs ache. In a small bed of ferns I lie down, curling my tail around my weary body. I fall easily into sleep, leaving all of the memories buried in the waking world.
Done! Well, how do you like it? I spent awhile on it, and it's about 3,000 words, which is not as long as I hoped it would be. I know Kiera got a longer part than Blizzardfur, but that will all be made up in the next chapter. Constructive criticism is appreciated; it always is. Hopefully chapter two will be up much faster than this one was.
-Breeze