A/N: Wow...Twenty-nine chapters? Hmm, I had thought that this would last longer, but now it's about time that I end it. There's still requests that I haven't gotten to, I believe, but as for this collection entitled By the Power of StarClan, all's well that ends well. It's kinda funny to end on such an odd-numbered chapter, and I should probably go ahead onto thirty, but I just don't feel like it for some strange reason. So, here it is, the last chapter of By the Power of StarClan.
Warnings: Umm...just read. But, if you're easily saddened, don't read it...
Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors. Never have, and never will.
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If I could spend the day, walking in your shoes, I'd leap upon the chance, my whole life through.
I'd take you up upon that offer, and carry your life on down.
I'd whisk up that chance, and show you how exactly I'd play around.
If I could spend the day, walking in your shoes, I'd leap upon the chance, my whole life through.
"So Yellowbelly, what happened to Tigerstar, in the end?" little mewling rang out in the hollow, young kits pestering the elders about one of their favorite stories.
"Well, Stormkit, Scourge took his dog-clawed paws and~"
"There's no need to tell the kits any further bit of that story, Yellowbelly." a long ginger cat sashayed into the hollow, wrapping her tail around Yellowbelly's muzzle. The old tomcat snickered, pawing her tail away.
"Oh, so you say, Blossomtail, so you say..." stretching and yawning widely, Yellowbelly smacked his lips loudly in response to Blossomtail's actions. "And then again, I wasn't told the story until old Spiderleg died away..."
"Exactly you old coot. There's no need to be filling the kits' heads with raucous ideas this young in life. Best to wait till you're gone, and they're all the more wiser." her dainty ginger tail flicked around three kits, pulling them closer to her body.
"Well, I don't see you or anyone else around here trying to teach kits the histories..." Yellowbelly stood up, and walked out of the hollow
Blossomtail watched the tomcat saunter away, and pulled the kits closer to her soft bellyfur, where they were already clambering for the fight for her milk. Laying down, her eyes traveled to the thick brambles that made up the coverage around the den, and she softly mewed, so that only she could here. "He's right...honestly, completely right. No one's teaching the kits the histories..."
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Three cats died that leafbare. One was a kit. One was an apprentice. One was an elder. The only elder that knew the histories, that all the other cats had long since abandoned. Yellowbelly was dead. And ever since, no cat has known the tales of their forecats. None have cared.
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Years later, streams trickle down the abandoned campsite. A young kit is seen frolicking in the shadows, trying to catch a butterfly. His step falters, tripping over the tip of a rock, buried in the ground. He paws at it. Slowly digging away the dirt. Soon, the entire rock face is uncovered, leaving the opening to a den inside.
There, in a space barely big enough for a cat, he finds a stone. A smooth, sparkling, shining stone. And he leaves it. He doesn't know what it is. His history is lost. His past is erased, and his ancestry undeterminable. His footsteps die away as he races back home, the anxious mewing of his mother beckoning him home.
He leaves behind the stone, its secrets whispering in the night. Along comes a badger, silver with age, bones creaking with every step. Her paws rolls over the stone, picking it up tenderly, before grasping a tight hold, and walking onwards.
No trace is left behind. The star-studded footsteps of cats long gone make sure of that. Thunder, Shadow, Wind, and River, were no more. Even Star held power no longer. The histories were gone.
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