Post by flynn • on Nov 23, 2012 6:57:39 GMT -6
a s h r o s e
and the arms of the ocean are carrying me
NAME: Ashrose
AGE: 27 moons
GENDER: Female
CLAN: WindClan
RANK: Warrior/Queen
and all this devotion was rushing out of me
SHORT DESCRIPTION:
A strong, white-furred she-cat with green eyes.
APPEARANCE:
This she-cat is very sturdily built for a WindClanner (much like her mother, Cloudstep), but what she lacks in other cats' long-legged grace, she can recoup in endurance. Her white pelt is short and thick, which helps to keep her warm in the cool sea breezes. She's no more muscled than the average cat, but in WindClan, her shorter legs and thicker build stand out. Her tail is also that little shorter than normal for her clan, at under a third of her body length, but she balances just fine on compact, rounded paws. Since tree-climbing is hardly an issue for WindClan, a long tail is only useful for turning, but at speeds that this she-cat can only dream of, so its only real detriment to her is cosmetic. She is white-furred from pink nose to short tail, with the exception of a light dusting of brown and grey tabby flecks that crown the top of her head and flanks.
As far as particular scars or unique markings go, Ashrose does have the occasional nick and scratch on her pelt from border patrols gone bad, but nothing really noteworthy: having a border with ShadowClan is to their advantage, since that clan's area of expertise is sneaking rather than blatantly thieving prey. If her most recognisable aspect is her build and her pride is her thick, if un-WindClanly, coat, then her second most noticeable is that pair of lime-green eyes, nestled in a round face. In battle, the intimidating jaw beneath yields an almost dog-like bite, but in peace then the soft fur accentuates her white-toothed smile. All in all, it's a face much more changeable than the moods of its owner, capable of all manner of extremes and of betraying truth if she is not careful.
As far as particular scars or unique markings go, Ashrose does have the occasional nick and scratch on her pelt from border patrols gone bad, but nothing really noteworthy: having a border with ShadowClan is to their advantage, since that clan's area of expertise is sneaking rather than blatantly thieving prey. If her most recognisable aspect is her build and her pride is her thick, if un-WindClanly, coat, then her second most noticeable is that pair of lime-green eyes, nestled in a round face. In battle, the intimidating jaw beneath yields an almost dog-like bite, but in peace then the soft fur accentuates her white-toothed smile. All in all, it's a face much more changeable than the moods of its owner, capable of all manner of extremes and of betraying truth if she is not careful.
and the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me
STRENGTHS:
- Charisma: Ashrose can be a very compelling speaker when she needs to be, and even in normal conversation she is well-spoken and easy to talk to.
- Loyalty: Ashrose is very clear on where her loyalties lie, and it's not blind loyalty either. She always has to know exactly what she stands for and who she would die for, and it is loyalty that (at the moment at least) she believes is unshakable. Except, of course, where her former mate is concerned.
- Determined: She will think through situations and will alter her stance based on what others say-- but once she has made up her mind, a thousand wild horses couldn't move her. Her stubborn streak is a mile wide... just like her daughter's.
WEAKNESSES:
- Can appear arrogant; definitely pushy.
- Holds grudges with a death-grip; has a long memory for cats whose behaviour she doesn't approve of.
- Doesn't trust anyone outside of WindClan-- and, truth be told, doesn't trust her clanmates all that much either.
PERSONALITY:
Ashrose has always been a friendly warrior, always free with her time and a listening ear. In conversation with her clanmates, she has a degree of effortlessness about her: words simply come easily, and when they don't, she chooses them carefully. She enjoys making her clanmates happy, hardly an uncommon trait, but (when she was a warrior, at least) always, without fail, made time in her day to take up border patrols when a clanmate wanted to spend time with his mate or to keep her apprentice, now a warrior, on his paws. She takes a great deal of pleasure in watching things run smoothly-- if she were human, she would have been a watchmaker, or head of a railway. Whether her subject is an apprentice's hunting crouch or the defense of her clan, Ashrose can be patient to the level of frightening: she blocks out the white noise and simply gets on with it.
To that end, this she-cat also has a reputation for being extremely stubborn. Not the boring kind of stone-faced stubborn either: there is a mind ticking behind those green eyes, and it is of the well-oiled kind. If she is immovable, she has a reason; if she is fluid, it will be because she is waiting to make up her own mind, not waiting for someone to make it for her. For those members of her clan who have opinions on her, there will definitely be cats who fall into this camp: those who have been on one side of her determination, and of these, cats who have either appreciated or loathed her for it. She tries to please everyone --her ease with words helps here-- but the fact is that it's very easy for Ashrose to rub any equally-staunch clanmates the wrong way, and her single-mindedness often works to her detriment when charm fails and she is sharp-tongued instead. Under stress, she will harden, and (as hard things tend to do) allow herself to be pushed to the breaking point.
And break she does. If you can push this cat to the edge, she will break superbly and completely. This isn't for just anyone, of course. Yes, she will get angry if you push her near infinite patience. Fine, maybe she'll even make an enemy for life. But it takes a special kind of betrayal to really destroy her, and Ashrose is still shattering from what her mate did to her. Her trust was betrayed, the kits she carried were left fatherless, and her pride (pride she didn't even know she had, let alone cared about!) was ground into the dust. She won't talk about it, but now she feels herself walking on eggshells whenever his name is mentioned, torn between disbelief and hatred and anger and all the other emotions that she can't bring herself to face, not yet, and can be manipulated accordingly. She wants to be a mother to her surviving kit, first and foremost, and there will be time for grief when Willowkit is old enough to understand the reason for it.
And speaking of daughters, it's probably true that Ashrose has discovered both her bane and her blessing in Willowkit. Of her kit she is fiercely protective, without really knowing why, and it's disconcerting for her not to have emotions that she can't pinpoint the reason for. Even Ashrose doesn't know how deep this love of her daughter runs, because when it comes down to it, when she is staring death in the face, Willowkit is the one thing she will unthinkingly die for. And yet, on the surface, Willowkit is the handful that every mother probably, secretly, dreads. The two of them are a little bit too alike in their stubbornness; the kit is curious to a fault, stubborn as an ox-- in short, almost impossible to handle. As far as Ashrose is concerned, consciously that is, her daughter is exasperating and troublesome, but she can't imagine it being any other way.
Actually, that's a lie. She spent three moons imagining Blazeflight in the picture, too.
To that end, this she-cat also has a reputation for being extremely stubborn. Not the boring kind of stone-faced stubborn either: there is a mind ticking behind those green eyes, and it is of the well-oiled kind. If she is immovable, she has a reason; if she is fluid, it will be because she is waiting to make up her own mind, not waiting for someone to make it for her. For those members of her clan who have opinions on her, there will definitely be cats who fall into this camp: those who have been on one side of her determination, and of these, cats who have either appreciated or loathed her for it. She tries to please everyone --her ease with words helps here-- but the fact is that it's very easy for Ashrose to rub any equally-staunch clanmates the wrong way, and her single-mindedness often works to her detriment when charm fails and she is sharp-tongued instead. Under stress, she will harden, and (as hard things tend to do) allow herself to be pushed to the breaking point.
And break she does. If you can push this cat to the edge, she will break superbly and completely. This isn't for just anyone, of course. Yes, she will get angry if you push her near infinite patience. Fine, maybe she'll even make an enemy for life. But it takes a special kind of betrayal to really destroy her, and Ashrose is still shattering from what her mate did to her. Her trust was betrayed, the kits she carried were left fatherless, and her pride (pride she didn't even know she had, let alone cared about!) was ground into the dust. She won't talk about it, but now she feels herself walking on eggshells whenever his name is mentioned, torn between disbelief and hatred and anger and all the other emotions that she can't bring herself to face, not yet, and can be manipulated accordingly. She wants to be a mother to her surviving kit, first and foremost, and there will be time for grief when Willowkit is old enough to understand the reason for it.
And speaking of daughters, it's probably true that Ashrose has discovered both her bane and her blessing in Willowkit. Of her kit she is fiercely protective, without really knowing why, and it's disconcerting for her not to have emotions that she can't pinpoint the reason for. Even Ashrose doesn't know how deep this love of her daughter runs, because when it comes down to it, when she is staring death in the face, Willowkit is the one thing she will unthinkingly die for. And yet, on the surface, Willowkit is the handful that every mother probably, secretly, dreads. The two of them are a little bit too alike in their stubbornness; the kit is curious to a fault, stubborn as an ox-- in short, almost impossible to handle. As far as Ashrose is concerned, consciously that is, her daughter is exasperating and troublesome, but she can't imagine it being any other way.
Actually, that's a lie. She spent three moons imagining Blazeflight in the picture, too.
but the arms of the ocean delivered me
MOTHER: Cloudstep, senior warrior.
FATHER: Sandpelt, senior warrior.
SIBLINGS: Pearlflower and Amberheart, littermates and sisters.
OTHER FAMILY: Willowkit, daughter,
MENTOR: Aspenstripe
HISTORY:
[li]Ashrose was born in leafbare to Cloudstep and Sandpelt, the eldest of three sisters, Pearlflower and Opalheart. Remembered most as a kit for staging mass battles with others her age.
[/li][li]Apprenticed to Aspenstripe. Most known in the clan for her mission of training at least once with every other apprentice in WindClan; was always social and got on with everyone as much as possible. Befriended Silverwing; developed crush on Blazeflight.
[/li][li]Made a warrior at 12 moons, served her vigil with her sisters.
[/li][li]Romance with Blazeflight developed at the expense of her friendship with Silverwing.
[/li][li]Silverwing's parents are found dead; the friendship sputters and dies.
[/li][li]Ashrose and Blazeflight become mates.
[/li][li]Blazeflight disappears.
[/li][li]Willowkit is born.
[/li][/ul]
Ashrose was the eldest daughter of Cloudstep and Sandpelt, born just on the tail end of leafbare, with two younger sisters in the same litter. The strangeness of the sisters' names should probably be addressed first: if you don't know the story, the difference between 'Ashkit' and the graceful, lovely names of Pearlkit and Opalkit is jarring, to say the least, and an unattractive name was just the nail in the coffin for Ashrose, who was never going to be WindClan's tall, lean ideal of beauty (or indeed a beauty by any clan's standards). But her grandfather's death had occurred only a few days before Cloudstep's litter was born, so Cloudstep and the grieving Sandpelt agreed to name their first kit for him. Knowing this didn't stop little Ashkit from becoming sensitive about her name though, and one of the kitteny antics that her parents still remember is little Ashkit trying to persuade her littermates to call her 'Diamondkit'. Needless to say, at three moons old, the situation rapidly devolved into three kittens wrestling in a fluffy, giggling mass on the den floor.
The three sisters were the only kits in the nursery for the first two months of their lives, so they were old enough to be kicked out of the nursery while the other queens gave birth to their own kittens, and to look at the new lives together and wonder how they had ever been that small. In time, the three sisters had so many other kits to play with that they wondered how they'd ever managed before. Mock battles were staged that traversed the whole camp. Mothers were frustrated. Warriors were amused. Leaders instructed mothers to "sit on your kits if you have to". And so, in the end, the great war between LeopardClan and TigerClan became LeopardClan against WindClan, and little LeopardClan lost spectacularly.
Kit-hood ended, as all kit-hoods do, somewhat suddenly one greenleaf morning, with Whitestar calling three very excited kittens to become three very proud apprentices. Pearlpaw, Opalpaw and Ashpaw-- the sisters agreed that the names had a certain ring to them, although Ashpaw still felt the uncomfortable twinge of being out of place. Ashpaw's mentor was a dappled tom with more youthful zeal than he knew what to do with.
Aspenstripe, at first glance, was a poor match for his apprentice: he was agile where she was slow, but tired easily where she just kept going. He preferred races and hunting with lightening speed, while Ashpaw enjoyed her sparring and was able to hunt for hours, but wasn't quick enough if her prey made a bolt for it. It also took her a while to catch up with exactly what her mentor wanted of her. Deciphering his requests was always a mission; the nail in that coffin was when she deliberately showed him a terrible hunting crouch, and he responded with praise and (pardon the pun) pussyfooted around the issue. But as she got to know her mentor, this peculiar tom, his mumbling turned out to be just him trying to not hurt her feelings. That was a laugh! Poor Aspenstripe: he could've been the harshest critic in the clans and Ashpaw would still have taken his critique without complaint. As soon as that issue was straightened out, well, that was really when the fun began. For all their differences in style, Ashpaw and her mentor got on like a house on fire. She got very good at coaxing information out of him and they soon developed a slick repartee: they could banter for hours between training sessions and debated everything, from tomorrow's weather to the probability that Dewpaw would bring home three mice in a row.
Ashpaw made a few friends during her early apprenticeship, friends that she shared with her sisters, but as she liked to get on with everyone, she spent a lot of her time with the rest of her clan as well. Elders, medicine cat, warriors or apprentices: she didn't care. Over the course of her apprenticeship, Ashpaw made it her mission to have one sparring, hunting or patrolling session with every apprentice in WindClan. It all but became a running joke among the warriors that if you hadn't yet trained with Ashpaw and Aspenstripe, it was only a matter of time. Failure to be awake at dawn would result in being cornered by a very persuasive apprentice, and after that, a training session was impossible to escape.
It was on one such morning, early in that resolution, that Ashpaw thought of Whitestar. He was a mentor too, and her training sessions with Aspenstripe had... well, had been feeling a little stale. She resolved to talk to Whitestar about getting a training session some time. Unfortunately, getting ahold of her leader was never going to be that simple. She tried to talk to him before the dusk patrol, but he was busy with his deputy. She tried when he came back, but his mouth was full of fresh-kill and he seemed to want a moment alone with his apprentice. In the morning, then. In the morning, she'd do it. The dawn rose on Ashpaw, the first out of the apprentices' den and early enough to greet the warriors as they woke. Whitestar was not getting past her this morning. She kept her eyes fixed on the tree stump, tail twitching slightly. Then, as the light melted from red to gold, she saw a white pelt stirring inside and, overwhelmed with excitement, bounded forward and fell into step beside him.
"Morning, Whitestar!"
The white tom yawned, then smiled indulgently at the apprentice. "Good morning, Ashpaw. What gets you up so early?"
Now was her chance! "Well, I was wondering if you and-" (she furrowed her brow, but the name wouldn't come) "-your apprentice would train with Aspenstripe and me today. I asked Crookedleaf yesterday and she said it's going to be a beautiful day for sparring, warm and a little breezy, and so I was thinking, if you're not already intending to go on the dawn patrol, we could go when the sun's a little higher, maybe when they come back, and--"
"All right, all right," the tom laughed. "I'll let Silverpaw know."
Ashpaw quelled the squeak of excitement that nearly escaped and instead nodded seriously. "Thank-you, Whitestar." But as she turned away, the smile spread across her face. Yes, Silverpaw, that was it: she was going to train with Whitestar and Silverpaw today! Then she remembered. Oops: have to tell Aspenstripe.
Thanks to that, her mentor managed to get off the dawn patrol one of the senior warriors was trying to rope him into, and the two of them spent a few hours going over Ashpaw's moves in preparation for the training session. They returned to camp with Ashpaw the richer a vole and Aspenstripe carrying a thrush that she'd missed, and Whitestar was waiting for them, with a pretty, silver apprentice by his side.
"Hi, Whitestar! 'Morning, Silverpaw!" Ashpaw's delight was written all over her face. Stepping a little closer, something cold flashed in the apprentice's eyes, and the smile faltered a little.
Whitestar glanced at his apprentice. "'Good morning', Silverpaw."
"Good morning, Silverpaw," the apprentice replied, and there was no mistaking the slightly mocking tone.
Aspenstripe trotted up, having just deposited their kills on the pile. "Good morning, Whitestar!" (He dipped his head a little.) "So, are we all ready to go?"
The white tom stood and stretched languidly. "Absolutely."
Silverpaw immediately stood and walked briskly ahead. The two mentors struck up conversation as they walked behind, and Ashpaw considered joining in for a moment, but Silverpaw's lonely silhouette changed her mind. She bounded after the apprentice and tried to keep up with her brisk trot.
The morning was, as Crookedleaf had predicted, warm and comfortable for a day in the middle of greenleaf. The scent of dry grass hung in the air, and the little lean apprentice beside her never once let up, not for any deviation in the terrain. 'She's so small,' Ashpaw couldn't help but think, 'so small and... so cold.' Now that she remembered the name, she was starting to remember what she knew about Silverpaw's kit-hood-- the tragic deaths of her siblings. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose Pearlpaw or Opalpaw, let alone both of them at once... But talking about the past was only a good conversation starter for elders, and with Silverpaw's cold demeanour, bringing up a chilly subject seemed like the last thing she should do.
"Do you spar with Whitestar much?" she asked, trying normal conversation. In the silence that followed, she twitched her tail awkwardly. "He, er, must be a great mentor to have, right?"
OK, now she was pretty sure Silverpaw was actively ignoring her. Maybe Whitestar was a terrible mentor-- but somehow she didn't believe that. Time to try another topic.
"I haven't seen you in the apprentices' nests much-- training much harder than me, I guess?" she asked, with a chuckle that died in her throat. The silence continued for a few minutes more, enough time for her to stumble on a grassy knoll while thinking of something to say and feel like a complete fool. Oh well. She'd had this before, hadn't she, with Crookedleaf, and the elder had cleared right up once Ashpaw had offered to check her for fleas. Maybe she just needed to crack whatever flea was bothering Silverpaw.
"Well, it's a lovely day for sparring." She sighed. Silverpaw clearly wasn't listening to her, so she'd just talk to herself. That, at least, shouldn't be hard. "I've been looking forward to this for moons, you wouldn't believe. I don't know what Aspenstripe would have me doing if it weren't for this. He'd probably challenge me to another race, which I'd lose, or a hunting session, which he'd win. I mean, he's the best mentor I could ask for-- but Whitestar's probably the best, isn't he? Clan leader!-- anyway, he's wonderful and everything, but there's no way I can chase down a rabbit like he can. You're probably the fastest thing on four feet, aren't you? 'Why yes, Ashpaw, I bet I could beat you to the training grounds by miles!' Oh really, Silverpaw, well that's fascinating! I'm glad we had this conversation, aren't you just? 'You have no idea! Why, we should do this every day!' I would just love that, Silverpaw! 'Fantastic! I'll go ask Whitestar right now.' No, please, let me! I really must make sure that we both do this every day for the rest of our apprenticeships! 'Not if I do it first!' Well, I'll race you to the training grounds, friend, and whoever gets there first gets to tell Whitestar! 'Oh no, you're soooo fast, Ashpaw!' That's right! I win! 'Oh no! Curses, I have been bested by this foolish apprentice! Never again! Henceforth we are eternal nemeses, Ashpaw!'"
And, for the first time, Silverpaw glanced at her with eyes that were not perfectly cold. Ashpaw flicked an ear, smiling awkwardly, when their owner bounded forward and ran like a streak of silver lightening. Her heart sank into her paws. She stopped to let the mentors catch up with her, then fell into silent step beside her mentor. They were talking about ShadowClan scent around the border or something-- she wasn't really listening as they approached the training grounds. She'd failed. Not that she was about to stop trying, but the sting of defeat was enough to sully the mood.
When they reached the training grounds, sure enough, Silverpaw was waiting for them with her unreadable, cold face, her whip-like tail moving gently back and forth behind her. The mentors moved on to discussing fighting moves, and Ashpaw moved off to face her partner.
Whitestar and Aspenstripe had apparently organised a few new moves for them to practise that day; some holds, some attacks, nothing unusual. What was unusual was Silverpaw, and Ashrose never forgot that day. No sooner had Whitestar demonstrated the leap-and-hold than she was circling, and Ashpaw quickly moved to catch up. They sized each other up, eyes constantly flickering, and those unsettling grey eyes were even more piercing when they were perfectly focused on you. Finally, Ashpaw couldn't take it any more. Her muscles tightened, relaxed, then tightened just before she sprang for her sparring partner, trying to mimic the new move. But Silverpaw was no longer there. Her leap missed, and Silverpaw crashed into her left flank-- not hard enough to unbalance her but enough to make her whip around and try a clumsy swipe, but Silverpaw simply flowed out of the way like water and then sprang over her head. She felt the light apprentice on her back and tried to shake her off, but Silverpaw had sunk her teeth into her scruff and then, as she tried another shake, Silverpaw's paw kicked one of Ashpaw's out from under her and she crashed down heavily, Silverpaw's teeth in her scruff and pinned down. She was about to squirm and shake the light apprentice off her back for good when Whitestar's voice cut in with a warm purr. "Excellent, Silverpaw, simply perfect." The teeth released and the paws delicately lifted from her back, one by one. Ashpaw got back to her feet and shook herself, staring at the little apprentice. She'd been bested by speed before, but never this quickly. Fighting was the one area Ashpaw had ever done comparably well at against her mentor. This was a bit of a shock, and it hurt. Well, she'd get her own back. That move wasn't going to distract her again.
"OK," Aspenstripe meowed, but the two apprentices were already circling again. "Ashpaw, this time you try."
Ashpaw's ears flicked. Hadn't he just seen her try? Silverpaw's grey eyes were on her again, and this time she felt the checking, the examining for weakness. Well, two could play at that game, surely? She checked the apprentice's paws: delicate things; maybe she could upset them? And the legs, yes, that must be her weak point: she could do this. They kept circling, and eventually Silverpaw just started grinning, and Ashpaw had to fight the answering smile, because this was getting ridiculous, they'd been doing this too long and it was clear that Silverpaw wasn't going to attack first. She could hear Aspenstripe chuckling in the background. She pulled a stupid face, poked her tongue out and crossed her eyes. Silverpaw's grin widened. Encouraged, Ashpaw tried another one: eyes half-closed, mouth lolling open, one ear twitching like a dying mouse. Aspenstripe was actually laughing now, but Whitestar... Whitestar was still watching Silverpaw intently. Whoops. Training session, in front of the leader no less, and she was behaving like a complete moron. All right. She shook herself back into a proper stance and Silverpaw's grin diminished a little, but still played around her mouth, cool and self-assured. OK, last circle. She moved a little faster, then made as if to change direction and saw Silverpaw respond. Just as the smaller apprentice changed direction, Ashpaw barrelled into her and knocked her off-balance. At least, she thought she did, but Silverpaw regained her balance faster than anything, and now was raining down blows on her head with her front paws. Her paws! She took a heavy swipe at the two back paws, but Silverpaw just hopped over the swipe, not even stopping the barrage of light swats on Ashpaw's head. This was beginning to get annoying. She lifted herself up suddenly, hoping to knock her front half off balance, but Silverpaw just leaped over her. She felt a paw try to grab hold, as if Silverpaw was trying to leap onto her back again and had missed, and instinctively fell to the ground and rolled away. The instant she stopped, paws leaped onto her shoulders and Silverpaw's teeth, almost delicately, fastened themselves back onto her scruff.
She managed to get the words out: "Well, you win again."
As if that were a signal, Silverpaw allowed her opponent to regain her paws. Now it was Whitestar who was chuckling. "Well done, Silverpaw." He paused, almost admonishing, and added, "but Aspenstripe said it was Ashpaw's turn."
Silverpaw looked at her mentor, and the venom in her glare was so sudden and shocking that Ashpaw almost took a few steps back, but the apprentice's voice was merely steely when she replied, "Yes, Whitestar."
Ashpaw learned that day what a fighter Silverpaw was. The whole day was spent in the training grounds, Ashpaw sometimes regaining ground, but mostly being beaten into it. The mentors may not have noticed, but Ashpaw was keenly aware of every time Silverpaw let her win. That night, curled up in her nest, she stared up at Silverpelt and let the events of the day chase themselves around her head. Silverpaw didn't return to her nest that night; but when Ashpaw awoke in the morning, there she was, curled up as far away from the other apprentices as she could get and curled up tight, as if trying to keep the whole world out.
Although she had been joking, Ashpaw did see her mentor the next morning about training with Silverpaw more often. Aspenstripe looked at her with wide eyes, then shook his head. "I... Ashpaw, I think we have to do a lot more work before you train with Silverpaw again." He glanced at her, more intently this time. "Besides, aren't you sore after all that?"
The apprentice grinned up at him, ignoring the numerous bruises and tiny toothmarks that covered her from neck to tail-tip. "Not a scratch on me!" (Which was true, of course: Silverpaw's claws had remained thoroughly sheathed.)
Aspenstripe caught the grin like it was whitecough. "Well, I know for a fact that that's not true." What? The surprise and confusion just registered on her face as Aspenstripe whispered, "she got a few good hits on your pride."
Oooh. She grinned, then batted her eyelids innocently. "Why? It's not like my training got my poor apprentice beaten into the ground."
"Hey!" her mentor protested, laughing. "Who are you to cast as-- asp-- to make fun of my teaching?"
"Some might call me the best qualified," the apprentice shot back. "And I didn't see you stepping in with any helpful tips."
But true to his word, Aspenstripe wouldn't relent on the issue. Even after a day of badgering and a dusk patrol around RiverClan, there was no change in his demeanour-- except from cheerful to long-suffering. A dead end had been reached. Well, if Ashpaw couldn't train with Silverpaw with her mentor, she resolved to find her own way to meet the apprentice. But Silverpaw was a very elusive customer: either she was sleeping, or she was out hunting, or she was with Whitestar, and Ashpaw never liked to interrupt. It was only on one of the rare nights when Silverpaw went to bed with the other apprentices that Ashpaw made her move. In the darkness of a new moon, she stole over on quiet paws and whispered in the apprentice's ear. "Hey, Silverp--" Silverpaw's fangs were suddenly inches from her face, bared in a silent snarl. Then those grey eyes recognised her and the teeth were slowly withdrawn, but her white claws all but glowed. "What do you want?"
Well, that was a valid question. Hesitantly, the she-cat sat down near the nest and flicked her tail across her paws. She racked her brains. There had to be something...
"You know that race, the one you creamed me on so thoroughly?" A slight narrowing of the eyes told her that this time, Silverpaw was listening.
"Well, how about a rematch?" The apprentice rolled her eyes and turned to curl back in on herself, but Ashpaw persisted.
"You, me, from here to the training grounds. Right now."
One delicate, silvered ear flicked. Ashpaw felt the desperation starting to kick in: this might be her only chance to talk to Silverpaw for days, and she couldn't wait that long. "Look, Aspenstripe told me that Whitestar isn't on any patrols tonight, so he'll be tucked up in that rotten hole of his." 'Believe me,' she thought sourly, 'otherwise I'd have begged him instead of Aspenstripe.'
Slowly, she saw the apprentice get smoothly to her feet. "And if I win?" the voice gave her chills, but Ashpaw kept her tone cheerful, even in a whisper.
"What do you want?"
Silverpaw paused for a minute. Then her mouth stretched in a cold facsimile of a smile. "One wish."
Ashpaw clamped her jaws together. "Uh... nothing against code, all right?" 'No-one gets hurt' was what she really meant.
The apprentice rolled her eyes and finally agreed. "Sure, whatever." Then she stepped out of her nest and settled herself, ready to dash. Ashpaw fell into position beside her. "Aren't you going to ask what my prize is?"
Silverpaw just grinned and raised an immaculate eyebrow. "On three. Three."
"Two," Ashpaw agreed.
"One," they said together, and were off.
Sometimes, Silverpaw would slow down a little and Ashpaw would regain some ground, so that by the time the training grounds were in sight, the white apprentice could almost have leaped forward to catch the silver one, but Silverpaw didn't let up until she felt the hard earth under her paws. A good few seconds later, Ashpaw bounded up behind her. "Well," she panted, "aren't you a slippery customer--" then, as if on cue, her forefoot slipped out from under her and she was sent barreling into Silverpaw. Ashpaw's breathless laughter escaped before she could remember who she'd just collided with and then pulled herself to her paws, murmuring apologies... and then she noticed Silverpaw's begrudging grin. "I'm the slippery one?" she said, and Ashpaw started giggling under her breath again. "Well, you must've greased that spot bef--"
"Hey!" Oh no. The apprentices' ears flattened and as one cat, they dived into the nearest tall grass and began slowly backing away from the hollow, for fear of being scented out. Mousestripe's voice echoed across the empty training grounds. Another warrior joined him, and the two of them fell to talking in hushed tones. Still the apprentices backed away. The wind was, mercifully, blowing towards them, so all they had to do was not catch each other's eye-- no. Two pairs of eyes met briefly and that just set Ashpaw off laughing as quietly as she could.
"There it is again!"
The two young apprentices had not yet perfected the art of retreating silently, so it was the rustle of grass and the thunk of a rock being tripped over that really gave them away.
The two-warrior patrol found them, gave them a good talking-to about safety and the warrior code, and then escorted the two of them back to their nests. "Whitestar will hear about this" was the last word on the matter.
Being caught was the opposite of what Ashpaw had wanted, but Silverpaw was grinning, completely unfazed. Even the mention of Whitestar hearing about this seemed only to amuse her.
That, really, was what cauterised any wounds between them: the two apprentices learning what the other found funny. Ashpaw was no one to enjoy getting into trouble, but Silverpaw did, and slowly her devil-may-care attitude began to rub off on her friend. Silverpaw had never once laughed at a bad joke in her life, but Ashpaw's clowning antics eventually brought her to the point of chuckling.
And what really sealed the bond between the two of them? A revelation that shook Ashpaw to the roots.
"My one wish," Silverpaw said, one afternoon in early leaffall. The two apprentices were lying on the grass a little way out of camp. Their mentors had gone on patrol; Whitestar on the RiverClan border, Aspenstripe hunting. The time off should have been a treat, but Silverpaw's voice brought any thoughts of revelry Ashpaw might have had to a standstill. Never before had her voice sounded unsure, but those three words quivered upon her lips. Ashpaw glanced at her friend, genuine concern on her face. But she remembered the wish, and she'd never seen Silverpaw so vulnerable, so she held her silence.
"My one wish," she said again, "is to not be judged," and she looked to Ashpaw with pleading eyes.1
And Ashpaw believed her. Great StarClan, the truth came spilling out all at once, and Ashpaw was disgusted, and she felt the horror creeping down her spine, but Silverpaw had never lied, not like this, and she couldn't not believe her.
They never really brought it up again-- if Ashpaw had been a medicine cat apprentice, maybe she could have been of more use. She did her best to understand. She did her best. But it was hard, it was always hard and though they were good friends, this seemed like a trouble that they could not overcome together. Ashpaw did what she could: she made excuses for her friend when she could, thought of every possible scenario and fed them to Whitestar to keep him away from her, this tom who now made her fur crawl. She wouldn't be alone with him, and she wouldn't let Silverpaw be alone with him either. It would have worked, but Ashpaw was but an apprentice, and Whitestar wasn't just Silverpaw's mentor, and who would have believed them anyway? The whole thing was just too horrible for anyone to contemplate. And when Whitestar was dead, well, maybe she felt like a weight fell from both their shoulders, just a little. Not that she wasn't more awkward around Silverpaw afterwards; certainly not that the guilt didn't chew at her insides. For the most part, guilt managed to outweigh relief, but Ashrose couldn't lie to herself that well: there were no more sleepless nights when Silverpaw wasn't in her nest; there was no more constant looking over their shoulders; there was no more lying to mentors and no more sickness. The fog had cleared, and there was a chance at real life on the other side.
It may seem selfish to think that Ashpaw had a life outside Silverpaw, but she did. Despite Whitestar's death (or in their cases, because of it), life in the clan went on. Although Silverpaw was undoubtedly the apprentice with whom Ashrose spent most of her time, she still had her mission to train with every cat she could, and her sisters... Pearlpaw and Opalpaw were beginning to notice the toms and, in talking with her sisters, Ashpaw started to notice them too. One particular tom that Ashpaw managed to maintain a friendship with was with a certain male apprentice whose name you've heard before. Blazepaw was growing into his speed then and his rebellious streak was rearing its head-- not that any of the other apprentices seemed to mind. He just incited gossip. "Hey, did you hear that Blazepaw ran off on his mentor again?" "Yeah, Rillwater was furious! He chased him all the way to RiverClan before catching him-- I can't believe it!" "I hear he's challenged Eaglestorm to a race, too." "Nah, Blazepaw's not that crazy, is he?" But the thing about Blazepaw was that he always followed through-- at least where his pride was concerned. Eaglestorm beat the apprentice, but only by a couple of fox-lengths, and immediately he became the talk of the clan.
Then Silverpaw's parents were found, and Ashpaw couldn't believe what her friend had done. It didn't take a medicine cat's instincts to know who'd done this, knowing what she knew about Whitestar's demise. It was Ashpaw who refused to talk to her friend from that point onward. She wouldn't speak out, of course: the clan's opinion was that it was not suspicious and simply tragic. But the implications, the blood on Silverpaw's claws... She couldn't stomach it. This was different to Whitestar: this had been a hatred simmering over moons, a premediated attack and she'd always known Silverwing was dangerous, hadn't she, but this was something else. It broke her heart to not mend the cracks, but she just couldn't do it, couldn't make herself repair the damage between them. They used to argue about it a lot-- 'Whitestar was... he was one thing, but your parents?' 'You didn't know them like I did. No-one ever saw them like I did.' 'Maybe they were just--' 'They were good liars as far as the clan was concerned.' 'And they deserved to die?!' 'You think I'm lying?' 'No, I--' The arguments went a lot like that.
As far as warrior ceremonies went, Ashpaw's was the time at which she felt most proud-- second only to passing her mentor's various assessments and earning his great approval. Twelve moons old, and here she was. She was first of her sisters to receive her warrior name: Ashrose, for she could talk soft as a petal or fight with claws like thorns. The new leader, an old warrior, praised her energy and strength, even going on to make a subtle crack about how the warriors might be able to sleep easier knowing that they weren't going to be ambushed every morning. She couldn't help shivering as he rested his muzzle on her head and, with difficulty, licked the white tom's shoulder, unable to get Silverpaw and Whitestar out of her head.
She held her vigil in the expected silence, but she couldn't help exchanging glances with Opalheart and grinning. The three sat huddled together on a leafbare night as cold as the day of their birth and thought, not for the last time, how much nicer it would have been to be born in newleaf, like a normal litter.
Ashrose's warrior-hood was absent of Silverpaw for a few moons. Different duties, as well as the warrior's inability to forget and her unwillingness to side with her friend, meant they saw very little of each other. But Silverpaw became Silverwing, and the nesting arrangements became similar to those early moons in the apprentice's den: Silverwing alone, and Ashrose huddled with the larger group, near her sisters. And soon after that, Blazepaw became Blazeflight.
Ashrose was more than a little infatuated with the tom. There was something about him that stopped her from thinking rationally: he challenged her to race after race, and she lost and lost and lost, and fell further and further in love. He enchanted her, with eyes of blue and that tabby coat of such rich chocolate, spotted with white. Soon they were inseparable: sneaking out of camp at night to watch the stars, sharing stories, swapping anecdotes. "Your eyes are like a crystal stream," he would say, "I could drown in them and die happy." Or, "If you were any more radiant I'd go blind on the spot." Maybe it was that his tongue was honey, had that knack for easy compliments she'd always lacked. Maybe he saw in her the level head he needed. Whatever it was, they were in love, pure and simple.
It was maybe in their sixth moon that Blazeflight started to talk about kits. "Don't you want kits?" he'd ask her, nuzzling her ear. She would grin, saying, "If they're half as sweet as you, I'll be at their mercy as well as yours for the rest of my life."
"Mercy? I could never deny you anything," he replied, licking her cheek.
She returned the lick, then tenderly rubbed her cheek on his. "You need to be careful with that sweet tongue of yours-- one day you'll accidentally use it on some other she-cat, and then I'll have to fight her for you."
At twenty-one moons old, Ashrose finally allowed herself to cave to his pleading. They spent their nights on patrol, looking up at the stars, exchanging what was left of their secrets. But Blazeflight slowly became harder to keep tabs on. He would insist that she stay in the den at night, that she needed her rest, and so she did, humouring him because his concern was so genuine and so unfounded. She wouldn't hear of moving into the queen's den, though, not until the medicine cat actually forced her, with the help of a few senior warriors.
They were happy, or at least that's what Ashrose thought. They had their disagreements, naturally, and Blazeflight was so restless that hunting together became awkward in her condition, even when she was still sleeping in the warriors' nests. As the kits began to kick, he wanted to press his face against her belly. It was then that she noticed the strange scents on him, but thought nothing of it: he was so attentive. Whenever they fought, he'd bring her flowers-- daisies from the stream he compared her eyes to; the yellow ones he knew she loved. Ashrose could reason with herself: he had always been a restless soul-- why should she want to change that? He said some strange things sometimes, when they talked under the stars as they used to do: talking about the world outside the clans was never far from his mind, whether in terms of StarClan or the rogues that were increasingly troubling the clan's borders. Indeed, she never once suspected him of being unfaithful, right up until the night he left on patrol and didn't return. As dawn broke and he was still not back, panic began to claw at her chest. He was never out this late. She checked the nests, but he wasn't asleep. She asked the returning patrols, but was met with looks of confusion: Blazeflight hadn't been assigned to any of the patrols last night. At sunhigh, with no sign of her mate, she sought out the leader and begged them to send her out on a patrol. Ashrose was denied a place on it, but the patrol was organised and Ashrose went anyway. Heavy with her kits, the journey was a rough one. She fell behind often, her breath ragged in her chest, but still she followed, combing every border, checking everywhere they'd been together. The sun was setting by the time she reached the furthest edge of WindClan's territory, where no clan's land lay beyond. And there she scented him. Hope rose in her chest. He was alive! She picked up the pace, ignoring her aching legs and heaving chest. Ashrose followed that scent for what seemed like hours, out of clan territory, so sure she would find her mate, so certain that she would bring him back. And then she stumbled across a fallen log, where the scent trail ended. And she smelled the scent of another she-cat, but she hoped anyway. Even when she was staring at the two of them, a rogue she-cat sleeping curled against her mate, she couldn't quite believe it. But she didn't wake him. Her mind started racing again as she slowly, painfully, made her way back to WindClan territory. All right, so she'd seen her mate with another she-cat. There had to be an explanation. She had been lost and Blazeflight was staying with her for the night so she wouldn't trespass on WindClan land and steal prey. He was -her throat constricted- getting cold feet, maybe, maybe a little, but he would come back to her tomorrow: he would scent her on the grass and know she had been there and the guilt would bring him back. Yes. Blazeflight had always loved her. He'd said so. He would be back tomorrow. But Ashrose didn't return to her nest that night. She nestled herself in a hollow tree and fell into a fitful sleep. And, sure enough, he did come back. She woke to see him silhouetted in the dawn light and her heart surged. She got unsteadily to her feet. "Blazeflight."
He turned to face her, but there was only pain in his eyes. "I'm just here to say goodbye."
Her heart shattered. "What do you mean?" she managed, searching his face for any trace of the tom she knew. "What... Blazeflight, tell me what's going on. Please."
He sighed and looked away from her, hunching his shoulders. "I... I can't do it." the shame in his voice was palpable. "Any of this."
"But... what happened?" she begged, desperation suddenly breaking over her. "You leave for one night, and... our kits. What about...? I thought you wanted..." she broke off, her eyes prickling dangerously, threatening tears.
The rogue she-cat stepped into the light, and Ashrose flattened her ears like her flattened heart. "It's time to go, Blaze."
Blaze. The true horror hadn't quite hit her yet, but it broke and she could have howled in the sudden pain that exploded, sending shrapnel tearing through her heart. "No. No. Blazeflight, please, don't do this," her voice raw and so agonised, so lost, begging.
But the sight of the rogue seemed to have recovered Blazeflight's resolve, and he straightened himself. "I'm leaving, Ashrose. Inryah-- the things she told me about..." his voice faltered, and she heard that echo of excitement, of awe, of wonder in his voice that she used to hear when they were apprentices. She'd thought the adventurous streak had left him with the rebellious one. She'd been wrong. "There's so much more out there, can't you see that?' he continued. Now his tone was the pleading one. "There's a whole world out there, a whole wide world full of more than you could possibly imagine! It's more than the clans, more than StarClan, more than any of this. There are so many other ways of being out there-- Inryah's from one." There must have been something in her face, some trace of suspicion about his fidelity, because he was shocked for a moment and then said, with emphasis, "It's not like that." He stepped forward, licked her cheek, but she was stiff to the touch. "I still... I love you, you know that, right? You shine brighter than Silverpelt-- there's no-one else."
She swallowed, hard. "No-one but... this. The adventure."
He nodded, and when he spoke next, his voice was soft, begging. "You could come with me, Ash."
It was like a kick in the gut. She felt all the air leave her lungs in a burst. The word came out in a whisper. "Why?"
Blazeflight took a step back. "Why?"
"Why," she repeated, trying to remember how to breathe. "Your clan. StarClan's breath, your family. They're all still here too. Don't they mean anything to you any more?"
He looked at her with those eyes she so loved. "They're happy here."
The unspoken hung between them for a moment. It was still dawning on her, all this, and as it did she remembered the tom she'd fallen so hard for so many moons ago. "I should've known. You and chasing the wind. It never stopped, did it?"
"Not really."
And then, without a backward glance, Inryah turned away, and his eyes followed her. He looked back at Ashrose, just once, but she could not meet his eyes. Ashrose was still sitting that way when they found her, staring vacantly at the dirt and completely silent.
A few weeks later, she gave birth to their kits. Four, three stillborn. No-one said anything, but exertion was assumed to be the cause. Only Willowkit, her precious Willowkit, survived. And since then, Ashrose has pulled herself together. She has someone to live for. Once Willowkit is apprenticed, she will allow herself to fall apart and put all the broken pieces back together, but for now, they scrape against each other, grinding and moving out of place when she moves. The façade is convincing enough, but inside, the house is falling apart. [/div]
never let me go, never let me go
ROLE-PLAYER: Your name! :D
WRITING SAMPLE:
The forest was beautiful at this time of day. Never quite as pretty as it was at night, though, when the light was cold and clear. Wait a second. Why was he thinking about that? She was taking him into the forest again. This didn't end well last time and it wasn't going to end well now.
Goldenheart had liked the forest, too. 'But she'd never confessed her undying love there!' He wasn't thinking about Goldenheart though, was he? Just like he wasn't thinking about Bronzepaw, whose laugh had been like the babbling brook. Huh, maybe Spottedwing was right. Two strikes, you're out.
Now, Rivershadow had never been a great judge of expression. He preferred not to guess what others were thinking, because if they were talking to him, it was going to be bad. But even he couldn't help but notice the pain in Spottedwing's eyes, and flinch. He held her gaze until she looked away.
"Rivershadow... about last night. I'm sorry."
He should've felt a weight coming off his shoulders. He should've been dancing for joy, crowing his relief at the top of his lungs. "You see? It's not my fault! She apologised, you see?!"
And it didn't feel like that.
"I didn't know that Iceglade was there and I don't know why she attacked you. But I yelled at her afterwards and I lost a friend. I think I lost two friends last night."
Her eyes were crystal, glittering with sadness. As if she wanted something from him, wanted him to say 'no, we're friends still!'. But those words shriveled on his tongue. After all, they never had been friends, had they? It made him wonder just how long she'd been nursing this... crush. Since apprenticeship? Was it recent? The idea of cutting down something that had been nursed so long... Better for both of them if he'd nipped it in the bud. Better.
"I really am sorry."
He felt he had to say something. 'It's OK'? 'Me too'? 'I know you are?' Those last two were just dead before they even came to his lips. Apathy came naturally to him; he'd apologised, she'd apologised, now they could just leave this how it was. But some kittish pat of him knew this was wrong, pleaded with him to say something, to fall in love with her on the spot and live happily ever after.
'But that's not how love works.'
Heck, that wasn't even how a crush worked.
"Don't pretend to be my friend if you don't like me please. Don't even attempt unless you actually mean it. I mean...I already know that you don't like me. So I don't even know why I bother."
That was the only thing he'd really wanted from her. Rivershadow knew he gave honesty a pretty darn good shot, even if it wasn't what people wanted to hear-- it became something he took pride in, being the bearer of bad news, the cat that spoke what everyone else was thinking. He hadn't been too fond of the idea of Duskwing joining the clan, and had been one of the few to voice his disapproval. Spottedwing was probably less than pleased with him for that. 'And yet, for some reason...' He just wanted to get his head around why she'd choose the loser over someone like Ravenslash. Seriously. A big, noble tom like that, the sort who'd follow Seastar straight into IvyClan territory and beyond? That was the kind of loyalty she wanted. Not some snarking, two-faced warrior who'd been had twice before.
And yet she wanted him to say something. The last time he'd tried to be funny had been the beginning of the end, the start of this whole death trip and he couldn't stop thinking about it. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. If it came to that, she was ridiculous too for liking such a ridiculous tom, whose heart was three times broken; once for a brother, twice for a lover. 'Three times for the unholy heartbreaker.' So maybe he could try honesty? Oh no, that was far worse. She had crumbled right in front of him, humbled herself again, and now he was going to crush her a third time? So not going to happen.
But what did that leave?
Black humour and honesty were the only cards he could possibly play-- there was nothing other than biting sarcasm, and that was dead before it could hit the ground. The silence was beginning to get awkward, his face immovable stone. He nodded; what he hoped was a grateful gesture, in spite of his expression remaining unchanged.
"It's not a bother, Spottedwing."
His tone was amazingly gentle-- far gentler than he'd ever expected it to be, and so soft that it wrote surprise all over his face. But it was true, wasn't it? 'Just... please, don't let her get any ideas...'
Lyrics: Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine
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