GOOSEBELLY
The tension was thick enough to chew on, watching and waiting for the first movements from the enemy. Would they listen? Maybe they could all still enjoy sleeping in their nests tonight, unscratched and unbled. He might've prayed for Owlswoop returning with a favorable reply, if prayers were worth the thoughts.
The sun peered pale and sick over the hills, a chill wind cutting through their pelts. "It's shaping up to be a foul night," he heard Hawkwing murmur.
"Nothing can seem foul to those that win," Beethorn said.
From the moment Rowanstar approached the edge of the poppy fields, it was like he was seeing StarClan. Even now, he sat apart from his warriors, gazing out over the flowers with his tail curled around his paws.
Sunfire gave a long, shivering stretch, speaking to Goosebelly under his breath. "I'd bet my tail this deal won't be accepted. Put Nettlefang and Burdockstar together and they probably think they could conquer the whole forest."
Sure enough, growls and angry shouts rose up from the LeafClan warriors as they gazed down the grassy bank. Across the meadow, there was Owlswoop, darting here and there like a chased rabbit, Burdockstar nipping at his tail.
They lined up along the green rise, flank to flank. Sunfire and his littermates, Sorreltail, Honeypad, and Ryebreeze; Boulderstep, Beethorn, Hawkwing, Asterstripe, and all their apprentices. It only reminded him of how many seasons he'd worn out, watching his once-apprentice mentor another young 'paw.'
Young Mistpaw's hackles were on end, but her mentor leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and her fur flattened. And despite it all, she chuckled. Some foolish joke, no doubt.
"Sunfire," Goosebelly said, nudging his former apprentice. "If you see me down in the battle, stand over me and defend me from harm. It's a point of friendship."
"Only a tiger could stand over you and give that friendship," Sunfire said with a flick of his tail. "Say your prayers, and say farewell."
Goosebelly sighed. "I wish it were naptime, Sunfire, and all well."
Sunfire gave a snort of amusement. "Why, you owe StarClan a death."
It's not due yet, Goosebelly thought with a twitch of his whiskers. He'd hate to pay them in advance. Why be so eager to meet his ancestors? But it was no matter, and out of his paws. Honor pricked him on.
Yes… But what if honor pricked him off? What then? Could honor set a broken leg? No. Or heal a gouged eye? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor had no skill in medicine, then.
No.
What was honor? A word. What was in that word, 'honor'? Air.
Who had it? All those cats who died for warrior honor and Clan pride, now buried beneath his paws? Did they feel it? No. Did they hear it? No. Was it something that could be felt, or heard? Well, not by the dead.
But wouldn't it live with the living?
Goosebelly twitched his whiskers, almost laughing to himself. No. Why? Envy, pride, and slander wouldn't allow it. Let the rest fight for their precious honor. Honor was an early grave, soon grown over with flowers and forgotten like any other. He'd rather keep his life, while he could.
Rowanstar stalked among them as Owlswoop scrambled back up the flowers, all ruffled fur and heavy breaths.
"StarClan lend your claws, as our cause is just!" Rowanstar bellowed, answered by a chorus of yowls from his warriors. "LeafClan, attack!"
Crying into the twilight, the warriors went charging down into the meadow, through the red poppies and wildflowers which grew over the bones of their ancestors. Paws pounded over the earth, trampling the fresh blooms, wind howling over the grass, blood roaring in their ears.
The enemy charged too, half-lit shapes taking color and distinction in the nightfall as they grew closer. Swarming everywhere around them, vicious cries ripping through the field as cats lunged and collided.
Warriors wrapped around each other, leaving tufts of fur and blood spattered in the grass as they writhed together on the ground. Goosebelly ducked around Boulderstep pinning a HillClan warrior in the grass; weaved around Tansypaw and Bluepaw batting away warriors twice their size; danced away from a MireClan she-cat that went hurtling across the grass like her tail was on fire.
"LodgeClan!" a familiar voice rang out from somewhere among the gyre of sound and fury. Goosebelly caught flashes of Sunfire's golden pelt between the shifting masses of cats. "Attack!"
More shrill, ragged cries filled the night as the lodge cats went streaming out across the grass, their pelts smeared in strong tansy. Rogues spilled out across the mass of cats, pouncing on HillClan and MireClan warriors, screeching unrepeatable Twolegplace curses.
He spotted one longtime friend dip and weave through the fight, a truly deplorable gray alley cat with scars from ears to tail. Old Scratch was spitting and hissing furiously, raking her claws through a HillClan warrior's pelt.
"I'll stick my claws so far into yer belly you'll be coughing 'em out!" he heard Petey yell above the scrum, as Goosebelly caught a MireClan warrior's glare. Two green eyes narrowed into slits. Sleetfang. Just the fact that he knew his name said enough. A reputed raider.
Goosebelly backpedaled as the warrior charged, back and back, until another blur went crashing into Sleetfang from behind. Miss Mittens, caterwauling, clung onto him like a tick while Dolly darted out low against the grass, tackling the warrior by his legs with a stream of curses flying from her lips.
"Oh, rat's dirt, I take it back, I'm sorry!" Petey was yelling now.
Somewhere behind him, Sneezy was fumbling over his own paws, flailing wildly his arms in all directions and decapitating the enemy poppies. He always closed his eyes in a fight, shrunk his head back as far as a turtle, swatting as hard as possible. Not a technique any trained Clan warrior was prepared to deal with.
And not far off, two MireClan apprentices dragging Snare around the grass by her collar, as she kicked her legs and yelped.
"Oof!" A weight crashed into him from behind, and Goosebelly threw himself down into the grass and out of the way. The two wrestling cats paid them no heed, two clanmates; Asterstripe and Larkfeather rolling and pummeling at each other's faces and exposed underbellies. A gouging crimson scratch, a cut across the nose. Her on top, and then him, hissing in pain, roaring in anger.
"You could've been on the winning side for once," Larkfeather hissed, wriggling beneath him. "Don't you think he'd be ashamed?"
"As long as I kill you tonight, I win," Asterstripe spat, yellow eyes glowing with scorn. "StarClan can have me and all the rest too afterward."
Goosebelly shuffled on through the grass, still pressed down onto his stomach. Crawling forward, through the grass and the sounds of violence, the taste of blood in the air and red flecking the poppies.
MireClan's leader stood head and shoulders above other cats, flinging his clanmate Honeypad into the grass. She laid there, stunned, as Burdockstar stalked forward among the poppies.
"Rowanstar!" the leader yowled. "Where is he?! Let him face me!"
Another shape went springing toward Burdockstar, rolling together in a momentary tangle of limbs before breaking apart again. In the half-light, he almost thought it was Rowanstar. But this cat was golden brown with dark stripes, smaller than other warriors.
"You are not Rowanstar," she growled. "Stand aside or share his death! Even if I have to rip all nine lives from his rotten heart, one by one!"
Beethorn stood unmoved, fur buffeted by the wind that howled and whipped at the grass. "Make it ten."
They came together again, pushing and grabbing, teeth clamping on legs and tails, kicking at each other's bellies and boxing each other over the ears. Beethorn rolled between Burdockstar's legs with liquid grace, slashing out at her exposed belly before bursting up on all four paws, throwing the larger leader to the earth.
There, they grappled, and Goosebelly almost thought the MireClan leader would go limp under Beethorn's punishing slashes. But Burdockstar surged to her paws, her face a sheet of blood, teeth lunging for the LeafClan deputy's neck.
Beethorn struggled and twitched in the leader's death-clasp, paws still batting weakly at Burdockstar's face. But with one powerful, crushing lurch, Burdockstar lifted the smaller she-cat clear off the ground and slammed her into the grass.
A high yelp and grunt from Beethorn's throat, her tail flicking one last time, and then stillness. She laid dead in the grass, scarlet trickling from the jagged teeth marks in her throat. Burdockstar stood over her, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, her blue-gray maw stained red.
A gray tom broke from the fray, the whirlwind of fighting warriors all around them. Nettlefang looked down on the she-cat in the grass.
"Burdockstar, if you fought like this the last time we met, we'd never have triumphed," he said between breaths, blue eyes flicking down to the corpse. "Beethorn. She was a gallant warrior."
"Gallant enough for a fool!" Burdockstar snarled. "I swear the same is fated for every cat I meet, one by one, until I find Rowanstar!"
And again, both cats melted away into the maelstrom. Goosebelly pressed himself flat as he could manage against the ground now, doing his best to imitate a patch of grass. Chest against the dirt, it felt like his pounding heartbeat shook the whole earth.
When he saw that flash of golden fur nearby again, he almost sighed aloud with relief.
Sunfire looked this way and that, before his eyes settled on the lump of pale gray fur in the grass. "Goosebelly?" He had to shout over the din, the cacophony of struggling warriors. "Why are you just laying around like old unburied dog dirt? Fight!"
"Sunfire, please, give an aged warrior some time to breathe," Goosebelly said. "Blackfang never performed the kind of deeds I've done today. I already took one of Duskstar's lives myself."
"Duskstar is most certainly still alive, and trying to kill us. Come, get up, fight with me!"
"In a moment, Sunfire, but…"
Goosebelly pressed his nose into a nearby patch of grass, sniffing and pawing. Yes, he thought he'd caught it, among the strong, spicy floral notes of the poppies. Tiny little yellow flowers, with a sharp taste that set his mind clear and alert as he reached out to break the stems off in his teeth.
"You see this?" he mouthed through the leaves. "Hawkweed. Not as good as catmint, but—"
Sunfire slapped the flowers out of his mouth. "Is this the time? Now?!" Without another word, he went plunging back into the fight, leaving him alone with his scattered flowers.
Well, if any warrior came his way, he'd pierce them. If they didn't, then let him run straight into their claws and be turned to mouse-meat. He padded cautiously toward where Beethorn lay dead, unseeing eyes reflecting the dusk sky.
He did not like such glorious honor as Beethorn had. Give me life.
If not, then honor would come for him unlooked for, and that would be the end.
"Rowanstar!" The roar came again. "Mouse-heart, show yourself!"
Burdockstar. Goosebelly whirled, and the MireClan leader was almost in his face, blue eyes wild as a fox. Her face, stained with blood, a mask of murder. She went plunging forward, claws outstretched, as his heart leaped into his throat.
It was like the weight of a landslide crashing into his side, knocking the oxygen out from him, rolling him across the grass.
Goosebelly did the only thing he could do, and laid bleeding among the dense flowers. Legs stiff, tongue lolled, neck craned, dead as an opossum.
