A/N: Here you are, chapter one. Prepare yourselves for an epic journey of words.
Chapter One
Of course, the Gathering did not go smoothly when Whitestar claimed 'an eight moon old apprentice killed his deputy and would make their lives perfect in return for a sacrifice'. Blossompaw had to show up, break the truce, kill several cats, and inflict fear into the Clans.
It took a long time, of course. At first, the only thing that ruled over the Clans was fear. But soon, after generation upon generation, they began to truly respect Blossom for giving them these lives. Oh, there were still sparks, rebels here and there, but they were too old to do any good. Leaders retired whenever they felt like it, and the Warrior Code was no longer necessary.
The queens started to care less and less for their kits. I, for one, stared disbelievingly down at the Clans —at the empty feline bodies that were left of the Clans— as they willingly left four kits every moon for their leader, Blossom. She has learned now that the voice is cruel and cunning and it will show no mercy when it comes to life or death. She has done much wrong, quite like me. StarClan have forgiven me for my wrongs, and I am so thankful they have.
My name is Silver, and I have done terrible deeds. But this is not my story.
It is the story of a kit, one who was overlooked and deemed as just another sacrifice, the one who threw this new world into turmoil.
Mosskit yawned and woke up to the same soft grass she saw and felt every morning. She swatted the air with tiny paws, staring into the bright sun. It was a beautiful day —wasn't it always?— and then came the familiar call of Dewstar, the leader of WindClan.
"The morning meals are being delivered at this moment. Please eat quickly and quietly so we can get on with our daily activities."
As always, the young kit wondered what activities Dewstar meant. Chasing butterflies? Staring at clouds? Taking naps? Listening to the elders' stories?
That was all there was in her simple life, and that was how it would always be. Sometimes, Mosskit wondered what life in the old world would be like. Every day her imagination was fed with seemingly far-fetched tales of creatures no one had seen before, like foxes —wily russet creatures with cunning minds— or badgers, huge striped animals with long claws.
Poor, poor Mosskit. She thought that she could take down a fox in one swipe. She thought she was a wise kit who knew what was right and wrong. She thought converting to the new world was wrong, though you could argue otherwise. She didn't know the pain and grief that came with the excitement and love.
Mosskit rose up to her paws and stood, her chest puffed up. The light gray she-kit eagerly awaited her meal, which came to her through a cat named Thrushwing.
"Thank you!" she called, always the polite and good kit.
"You're welcome, darling," Thrushwing said with a kind face.
In this new world, kindness didn't exist sincerely. No cat felt happiness, so no cat became sad. No cat felt love, so they never felt grief. It was a two-way thing. You can't have one without the other, so you either have both or neither.
Mosskit bit into the soft flesh of the rabbit leg she was given. She was barely weaned, and this was one of her first solid meals. It tasted like food. No sweet grassy taste of your usual mouse. Just something that filled your belly up and gave you energy, but nothing to actually enjoy.
To appreciate food and taste the goodness in it, you have to have been starved.
The bouncy kit licked a paw and cleaned her face thoroughly, looking her best for the new day. After the age of two moons, she became more independent. She could roughhouse with the other kits and care mostly for herself.
"Good morning!" Mosskit chirped. Her family —consisting of her brother, Shadekit, and her parents: Honeyfall and Stripedpelt— got up from their individual nests and stretched. Mosskit was used to being the canary of the group, the early bird that woke the rest up.
Shadekit stretched, dark gray pelt gleaming in the soft light. "G'morning," he mumbled while fixing a stray tuft of fur from his pelt.
"Good morning, dears," Honeyfall meowed. She glanced down at the vole by her nest and chewed on it thoughtfully.
Stripedpelt merely yawned, displaying his red gums and sharp teeth to the sun. He started his meal without saying a word.
Oh, Stripedpelt. I believe it was his silence that attracted Honeyfall the most; she believed he was a listener because he was so quiet. The she-cat never even once noticed that it was ignorance that kept him hushed. By the time she realized his true feelings, the warrior was a queen with two little kits.
Shadekit was the first to devour his sparrow. He looked at Mosskit with a silly grin.
"How 'bout some moss-ball?"
"Why not?" asked Honeyfall in the same unchanged, cheerful voice. "After all, it might be your last game."
The two kits exchanged glances as somber as kit faces could get. Today was the half-moon, when the sacrifices of the four Clans would be announced. This moon, only two kits had been born —Shadekit and Mosskit. Both felt apprehension, at the very least, for how their lives could end. The threat of death loomed over them like a storm cloud that would not leave until they became six moons.
It seemed that in this new world, kits were more intelligent than the adults. They lived every day in fear —real, genuine dread— that they would be a sacrifice. Once they grew up safely, it seemed that they didn't care that they were once the same kit they looked down on, one that was scared for his life.
Shadekit ran into the den and grabbed the ball of green strands. Mosskit met him at the mouth of the den and pushed her nose in his ear. "I hope you don't get chosen."
"I hope you don't, either." Comforting words from brother and sister, but empty. It would be one or the other, and "either" was not a useable word for the situation.
Mosskit suddenly grabbed the moss-ball and pranced away from Shadekit. Her brother caught up to her easily, though, with his longer legs.
They tussled for the moss-ball, laughing and shouting loudly. By this time the moor was wide awake, with noisy rabbits rustling the bushes and butterflies dancing on the wind. Shadekit abandoned the game to swat at a golden one, and soon both kits were chasing butterflies.
It is natural that they would play to take their minds off of the doom that awaited for the kits.
"Look, I got a white one!" Mosskit mewed proudly. Her front paws were piled on top of each other, trapping a little butterfly. Shadekit came over curiously.
"Can I see?"
Mosskit opened her paws a crack and Shadekit peeked into the hole. He jumped back, startled, as the insect freed its self and fluttered into his eye.
"Oww! Mama, mama!"
"What is it, dear?" Honeyfall padded over to calm the shocked Shadekit while Mosskit watched the butterfly fly away.
Kits make you want to recall your own childish moments; such innocent young life. Under the influence of her heart, however, Blossom wants to destroy that life for her own power. For blood.
Their mother scanned the two with uncharacteristically sharp eyes. "You two are filthy!"
Mosskit shuffled her paws. "We were just playing a game," she squeaked.
Honeyfall sighed and sat down. "You two can run along to the elders, now. And clean yourselves!"
I believe she wanted them neat and tidy for her own reputation as a mother, not for the kits themselves.
"Okay, mama," Shadekit mewed with wide eyes to show that he was listening.
Mosskit had already started towards the crowded elder's den. She stepped over —and sometimes accidentally on— tails and sleeping bodies until she found Tangledclaw. The old, retired leader had wide greenish-yellow eyes that dared into empty space.
Tangledclaw. He used to be a 'star' before he retired to the elders after they changed to the new world. The poor cat saw his mate get slaughtered in front of his eyes by Blossom and has been haunted with that memory ever since.
"Tangledclaw!" Shadekit squealed. The elderly tom gave a jolt that shook his whole body until he spotted the two kits.
"Ah. Do you want a story?"
Such a gentle cat, marred by the death of his love.
"Yes, please!" Mosskit said before her brother could open his mouth. Shadekit shot her an immature glare before settling down for the tale.
"What day is today, my dear kits?"
"The half-moon, sir," Shadekit mewled nervously, the burden of getting selected coming back on his shoulders.
"No need to call me a 'sir'," Tangledclaw rasped, then chuckled, shaking his head. The two kits looked at the demented cat and exchanged glances. It seemed impossible for someone to laugh at their destruction.
"Time passes by quickly, doesn't it? In honor of our all-great-and-mighty goddess" —he spat the word goddess like it was a flea— "I shall tell you a story about her."
"Please do!" Mosskit chirped.
"Back long ago, when there were Gatherings, ThunderClan announced that a she-cat, just a 'paw, had killed their deputy —Foxclaw or something was his name— and that we all had to bow down to her and give up our kits in exchange for a perfect life. They warned us, and I suppose I should have listened.
"Of course, the rest of the clans protested. ShadowClan were shocked and angry at the blame placed on one of their apprentices. RiverClan and WindClan would never bow down to an eight-moon-old cat. We were wrong.
"Then came that she-cat, Blossompaw. She called out to us, gave us one final warning before striking out against one of my Clanmates, Lightheart. She was my mate, her belly swollen with unborn kits that would have been mine. But we lost more than one life that night, and I lost my family."
Tangledclaw flicked his tail irritably and sank his claws into the dirt.
"What I'm trying to say is that Blossom is a killer with no mercy, not even thinking about kits that didn't get a chance to live. She just disposes of anything that stands in the way of her power."
Mosskit shuddered. Somehow, the danger of becoming chosen had worsened.
"Tread carefully in the remainder of your lives, dear kits," Tangledclaw said. He turned away from them and stared into empty space again.
I would be lying if I said I hadn't ever harbored feelings for my Clan leader before I went rogue. It all faded in good time, and I welcomed Lightheart warmly when she came to StarClan, but it had been there. Once.
Shadekit and Mosskit got up and both left the den. Mosskit turned to Shadekit once they had left.
"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like in the old world?" Mosskit inquired. Shadekit shook his head.
His face was still lined with fluffy kit fur just like Mosskit, and yet one of them would be sent to their death, without the sleeker, older fur that marked the end of their kithood.
"I do," Mosskit murmured. "What would it be like of our father loved us? If we didn't have to worry about dying?"
"I'd like it a lot better," Shadekit mewed. "But we're just two kits like everyone says we are. Wondering isn't going to change anything, will it?"
"Maybe it could, but no one ever tried."
"Ooh. Let's try it, then! We'll be the first cats to do something!"
Mosskit purred. "Okay . . . . One, two, three!"
Both kits closed their eyes and started imagining life in the old world.
It is these naïve, simple little actions that make me want to cry out to Blossom's murderous heart, ask why it was taking these poor kits for its own greedy self.
"Let all cats gather for an important annoucement!" yowled Rainstar, the leader. Close by her spot on the fallen tree was her deputy Fireblaze and medicine cat Beechnut.
"I, my deputy, medicine cat, and senior warriors have gone through numerous meetings to decide which kit will become WindClan's sacrifice for the next new moon." She paused a moment. "And the kit is Shade—"
"No!"
I don't think I have ever heard a screech so loud and desperate ever before in my life.
Mosskit stood there, shocked by the volume of her voice. Shadekit, who had been trembling, looked at her in disbelief.
Than was when what she had just done hit her.
Interrupted one of the most important speeches of her Clan leader, contradicted her leader, and ultimately sentenced herself to an almost certain death.
The moment she had heard the hissing sound of shhhh, beginning the name,she had known it was her brother. And Mosskit had reacted with the highest amount of impudence possible. Committed the worst crime in front of the whole Clan.
"No?" Rainstar drawled slowly. "You want to go in his place?"
Mosskit froze. She felt herself numbly nodding, but her insides were churning and writhing let someone had set them on fire. She imagined red flames like the ones so often told about in stories, and she felt them burning her organs in fear, making her choke on the smoke that was not there.
"Very well. You will go."
Shadekit looked at Mosskit, eyes filled with pain and fear. If he spoke up to go in her place like she had just done for him, it might cause both of them to go. Instead, he backed down and let the she-kit walk up to Rainstar.
The blue-furred leader raised her voice.
"Mosskit will now be named as WindClan's sacrifice for this next new moon. If you wish to say goodbye, please do so now."
It was official.
She was the one.
Mosskit, sacrifice of WindClan.
A/N: Phew! Exactly 2400 words, not including the author's notes. What do you think?