And when you pray, he will not answer
Although you may hear voices on your mind
They won't be kind
-Chemical, Jack Garratt
Emberpaw hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this. She didn't strictly feel comfortable, following the grey tom as he made his way through the forest; but hey, leader's orders. The leader she'd barely spoken to for five minutes before being assigned her first 'mission'. Morningstar's word, not hers. This felt more like stalking, and while she'd done it in the past, to her own dearly departed mother, even, this felt different. Creepier.
So far, Morningstar had not proved herself to be the most engaging of mentors. She'd given a brief, half-hearted tour- "We call that a tree," and "This is a rock."- then vanished after pointing out Iceface and telling her to do what she did best.
Emberpaw thought about it for a moment, before deciding she didn't do anything well except for following, and, of course, listening. Even Sablefrost's death hadn't put a damper on that. She listened more than ever, and ditched her qualms about privacy. In a Clan where there was nothing to hide, what did privacy matter? Perhaps a little more than she'd initially thought.
The deputy, at least, had no idea about his recently acquired second shadow. Emberpaw followed in the treetops- something she'd started trying lately, now that she was getting bigger, and it was a technique that seemed to work. If she had a build the size of Oakpaw's she suspected she'd be snapping small branches left and right. Subtlety wasn't his strength, but she excelled at it. Sometimes she wondered if they were even related. He hadn't even congratulated her on receiving the leader as her mentor, but they'd slipped out of camp too quickly for any kind of felicitations.
He's probably fuming, Emberpaw thought, moving from one branch to another. It dipped under her weight, and she hurried on, keeping Iceface in her sights. He probably wanted Morningstar for himself. The foxface ought to know that's impossible. Insulting her brother in her head was developing into a bit of a hobby. She needed something to do, as she followed, and it was better than mulling over an ethically demanding question in her head. She'd tried that once, debating semantics in her head, just after her mother died. That day, she learned nothing new at all.
She was too young for ethics, semantics, morals, right and wrong. Maybe that's why she was following Iceface, obeying orders, spying without question.
Not that he made it hard. The icy grey of his pelt was anything but subtle in the muted browns and shady greens of the undergrowth. Emberpaw knew next to nothing about the deputy, but he wasn't having in odd in any way she could see. She'd watched cats often enough to tell casual from covert. Iceface wasn't on edge, and she hadn't seen him sneak a single wide-eyed glance over his shoulder. To Emberpaw, that indicated that the tom was doing something entirely innocent- or else he'd done this too many times before to worry.
Emberpaw liked to think the best of cats. She hoped the latter was not the case, because Morningstar was more than making a cat disappear. The river kept her secrets, after all.
Distracted by her thoughts, the newly-minted apprentices slipped a little, plunging her heart into her throat. Her claws gripped the bark she squeaked, finding her balance nearly as quickly as she'd lost it. By the time she recovered and looked up, the deputy had disappeared. She swore in her head, forgetting the fact that swearing was Oakpaw's vice, not hers. He swore all the time- with his friends, when someone stole the piece of prey his was eying up, when the apprentices went out to train and left him without an idol.
Gulping a little, Emberpaw straightened up and sunk her claws deeper into the bark. What a way to start her apprenticeship off, with a thud instead of a bang.
When she looked down at the path, Iceface had disappeared. The black she-cat blinked; she swore she'd only looked away for a few moments. Awkwardly, she navigated her way down the tree trunk. Going down was never as easy as getting up. She hit the ground, leaves crunching underfoot. The loud noise made her wince, but Iceface was apparently no where near enough to hear it. She set off, ears pricked. She was used to being a shadow, and shadows made no noise. Then again, shadows never lost the object they tailed.
She tastes the air. She hadn't memorised Iceface' scent, because that would be weird, but it didn't matter; nothing stood out. Just the standard smelled she'd encountered a hundred times before, mice and dead leaves and fresh foliage. Emberpaw really doubts that Iceface reeks of mice.
She moves on, careful, this time, not to make a sound.
The deputy can hardly have moved far. She was distracted for only a second or two. She wonders what Morningstar will say, when she goes back to camp and tells her she lost his trail. She'll make a great spy, Emberpaw thinks. Just brimming with potential. But she's only drinking in the smells that have assuaged her her whole life. Until she stumbles across something, cat musk that's distinctly unfamiliar, foreign. It's acerbic, biting, something she's never discovered before. PureClan smells earthly, natural. Emberpaw would stretch as far they all possessed a friendly scent. This was none of those things.
Curious, she followed it. Maybe Morningstar knew more than she was telling Emberpaw. Maybe Iceface deserved this breach of privacy. The trail was faint at first, meandering around bushes and over rocks, aimless, ambiguous. She felt a little uncomfortable. What if she stumbled upon a Tainted? Her brother was the fighter in the family. She could, what, spy something to death?
She curses the white on her paws, pallid crescents she certainly did not inherit from Sablefrost. Her mother was an unbroken shade of sleek black. At one point, she'd thought the white was from Strongclaw's side. Clearly, that now is an impossible thought. Frankly, she'd never really spared Smokefang a second thought, and when she did, he was already dead.
Emberpaw blinks and banishes all thought of her father from her mind. It's his fault her mother died, his own fault that he fell to his death. She's not going to glorify him by thinking about it.
The black apprentice concentrates, picking up a few distant words. They're indistinguishable, but they're something she can follow. Warily, Emberpaw heads towards the sound. She's not sure if it's Iceface, the owner of the strange scent, or just a mentor and their apprentice, out on the obligatory forest tour.
It could be her brother, but he doesn't seem the type. He'll be wherever it is they're supposed to train, learning some real moves for once.
The words grow distinct as she nears, and she pauses. She can't be sure it's Iceface at all, but the second voice is unrecognizable, as strange as the scent that preceded it. Emberpaw is apprehensive. In all of her collective shorts moons, which number roughly six, she's never felt this way about watching. Not even when she witnessed the twilight hisses of her parents, the secrets of the Clan, all conversations presumed private. But she presses forwards, because even if she is not the most obedient or acquiescing of cats, and she couldn't care less if Morningstar gave her a command (well, yes, she cares, but not that much) she herself is curious. These clues, of which there are a total of three, don't lead lead to a rational conclusion, or even a moderately acceptable one.
"-and so the trade has gone through, but they're still so young yet that we don't know what to do with them. They've doubled our ranks at least, and we get a few more volunteers every day or two."
There's a snort, and the black apprentice is fairly confident that this voice is Iceface. "I doubt they're in it for the right reasons. A full belly now is all very well and good, but they'll fail us at the finale."
"They know what they've signed up for, at least." The next words are lost as Emberpaw shuffles toward the pair. She catches a glimpse of signature grey through the undergrowth, and beside it, a shade of black that's ultimately too familiar. She's never met this dark stranger before, but she can't help but think its pelt bears a resemblance to her dead mother. Admittedly, Sablefrost's fur may be little than tatters, ragged black ribbons, but it's her memories that matter.
She sees the black cat smirk. "This campaign is better than a life in a basement."
Iceface shakes his head, but he doesn't deny this, and Emberpaw begins to wonder what a campaign is- what is a basement, and why is the idea of living in one is so detestable.
"I think your time is up, Kenna. You ought to be getting back by now. Unless you have anything useful to add?"
Kenna twitches her whiskers. "You know I love our gossip sessions, but I concur. I have no pressing desire to have my throat slit today. Until next moon?"
Iceface inclines his head. "Until next moon. Give them my regards."
They both stand, and the apprentice shuffles back as quietly as she can. Kenna is the first to leave, slipping into the undergrowth without a further word. Emberpaw stares after her, noting that her eyes are brown, not green. She's scrawnier than her mother ever was, her pelt a little lacklustre, her ribs more prominent. Iceface's eyes track her movement too, watching as the stranger disappears into the shadows.
This seems as good a time as any to follow Kenna's lead- in fact, she's tempted to follow the she-cat, to see where she goes, where she's come from, to figure out their conversation. But she knows she shouldn't, because she's evidently on guard, alert in an alien territory. Morningstar will undoubtedly note her absence, and that would lead to consequences Emberpaw would rather leave untouched.
Emberpaw crouches, backing away until she can no longer see the deputy's face through the ferns. She makes a misstep, cursing as a twig snaps beneath her paw. This is her second of the day, and she can't afford any mistakes at all. The tom snaps to attention; she can hear him getting to his paws, hears the snap of protesting joints as his head whips around.
"Hello?" he calls cautiously. "Morningstar?"
She bites back a gulp and eyes up the tree beside her. It's sparsely populated with branches, but that hardly matters. No one ever bothers to look up. She claws her way up the trunk, its rough bark combing the leaf litter from her belly. The sound of movement below her freezes her in her tracks, and she clings to the bark, instinctively knowing this meeting was covert, clandestine, and meant for two pairs of ears alone. Intrusions will have certain repercussions, of course- this isn't a superficial exchange, the normal triviality she stumbles across.
Iceface moves below her, scanning his surroundings, failing to spot her. With this trick of hers- which, in reality, is less trick and more skill in nature- Emberpaw goes virtually undetected. Tree-climbing is not a valid sport in PureClan, because where they hunt, they dash across cement, concrete, grass, hide in alleys and shadows, and rarely is there a tree to be seen. Emberpaw's yet to learnt this.
"Who goes there?" he calls. Emberpaw's in the middle of formulating an extremely sketchy plan involving dropping on his head and attempting to batter him unconscious when he moves further on, turning over leaves and peering under brambles, over briars, between the leaves of bushes. The apprentice wonders just how he's retained his position as deputy if he can't even think to look up. Just because lumps like him can't climb doesn't mean others can't either.
Iceface startles as a blackbird streaks towards the canopy, shrilling out a raucous and entirely unnecessary warning. He shakes his head, snorting to himself. Then, as she waits with a breath that just won't leave her throat, he leaves, navigating his way back to the main pathway with his perpetual frown of indifference back on his face. Emberpaw sighs in relief, but only after he's out of earshot and she can allow her muscles to relax again.
There's no point in jumping from tree to tree until she reaches camp, so she ungracefully jumps from the tree. She lands awkwardly, inwardly promising to work on it.
Iceface's scent is faint, when she follows it back. She takes that as a good sign, but she's in no hurry. When she arrives at the clearing, Emberpaw catches Morningstar's gaze immediately. The golden she-cat is reclining in the sun, half-heartedly picking the scales off a minnow. She may have caught it herself, but knowing what she does of Morningstar, Emberpaw thinks it's unlikely. The leader waves her over.
Emberpaw is addressed bluntly. "What did you find?" Morningstar asks. "What did he do?" She discards her maimed minnow, pushing herself to her paws. Her height is intimidating.
"Nothing," the apprentice says, shrugging. "He went for a walk, missed some prey. That's it."
Morningstar stares at her with narrowed eyes, but she's guarded. If this news, or lack of it, surprises her, she doesn't let it show.
"Very well then," the leaders says, airily, unbothered. "Go make yourself a nest. No apprentice of mine will sleep in the nursery."
The minnow is the focus of her languid attention once more, and Emberpaw turns around, wondering if it really was that easy. She wonders just what Kenna represents. Wonders who sent her.
Give them my regards.
Well. That took a while. Sorry. I think I warned you guys about this. I'm not dead, nor have I given up on this story, but updates will be sporadic. I have both work and school and an astounding lack of motivation to write anything at all, but I'll try to fix that. In the mean time I have my Drabble a Day challenge which you can read, which is pretty much PureClan-orientated. There's some Sablestrong fluff and maybe a few spoilers in there too,
How did we enjoy Ember's point of view? Next up we'll be seeing something a little different. The following chapter will deviate from the set four point of views, but for now, you can only guess who it'll be.
Please leave a review, they do help with my inspiration. Feel free to point out any errors, as this is an unedited chapter.
