— those who wait [Glitch, open]

blackclaw

MORE AND MORE PEOPLE I KNOW ARE GETTING ILL. PULL SOMETHING GOOD FROM THE ASHES NOW BE STILL.

At the sight of that familiar tawny coat, Blackclaw felt his heart drop. Oh no. They'd just been getting into the swing of things-- a few minutes more and they would've been burying moss and being productive. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid-- he'd actually believed that Littlefire might have given way in the face of some harmless fun. Instead, her face was incandescent with rage. No-one had been hurt, no-one had even so much as glimpsed danger as a far-off spectre of fun-killing, and yet Littlefire was-- he cut himself short and lowered his head in submission in the face of the tirade.
"I had one request for you two. Behave." Blackclaw knew better than to open his mouth-- there was nothing he could say. But as she rounded on One-eye, it became much more difficult to keep his big mouth shut. "He's not--" the warrior forced himself to choke down the retaliation. It was no good arguing with Littlefire now: right now, it made no difference that One-eye was a perfectly tolerable hunter so long as he had someone to watch his back-- and while they were on that train of thought, didn't everyone hunt better when they weren't half-watching over their own shoulders? All right, he'd screwed this up big-time. He hadn't even... his ears flicked. Was bringing One-eye back to the warrior's den something that Littlefire could even do? The warrior gave himself a mental thump over the head. Him and his stupid plans! If making One-eye a warrior again was even an option, he should've toed the line and done his best to get One-eye to do the same. If he hadn't suggested this stupid trip he'd have disappointed his favourite half-elder, but at least Littlefire might still consider taking One-eye back. Was that even possible? The dark tom's ears flicked a little. No, he wasn't sure that it was. Littlefire could just be dangling that old carrot just out of reach, ready to jerk it away at the last minute. He'd have to ask Rushstar when they got back to camp.

"And you." Blackclaw glanced up, and the face of pure fury was staring back at him with hurt in her eyes and the words to inflict more falling from her lips, every one a blow to his chest. "Have you no respect for me? Did my hard work and training mean nothing to you? Obviously not! Then how about my position? If you have no respect for me as a mentor and a friend then you damn well better have respect for me as your Deputy!"
Blackclaw dropped his head and flattened his ears, the picture of shame; even his tail hung still and limp. Inside, he was echoing Littlefire's tirade. As usual, Littlefire was right-- but didn't she know him at all? Had she expected him to sit idly by and potentially let One-eye languish in that den? It wasn't fair: One-eye was being punished for his bravery. How many cats did could Littlefire possibly know who had taken down a badger? But the shame was infecting every fibre of his body, turning his limbs weak and causing even his vocal chords to die and shrivel in his throat. He remembered his apprenticeship like it was yesterday-- which, relatively speaking, it might as well have been. He remembered hunting in an early leaf-bare day much like today, when his mentor corrected his hunting crouch for the snow, reminded him to wriggle his toes to keep them from freezing, and called him 'mousebrained' whenever he forgot. He remembered watching Littlefire sparring with one of the other apprentice's mentors, demonstrating techniques with grace and fluidity that made him burn from his nose to his tail-tip with the need to become a proper warrior of ThunderClan. He might have failed to become as legendary a warrior as he would've liked, but that didn't make Littlefire's technique any less amazing. Littlefire didn't know how much her training had meant to him-- or rather, Blackclaw was doing a foxdung job of proving it to her. The warrior's eyes had lost their brightness; the careful observer could watch his face fold in on itself, his eyes regaining their natural flint-like hardness-- a stare more like his father's.

"Both of you, back to camp, now! One-eye, I don't want to see you out of the elder's den!" The dark warrior flinched again. All their minutes of work for nothing. The balls of bedding, still unburied, lay utterly forgotten near Littlefire's feet.
"Blackclaw!" and he did not flinch at his own name, but he wouldn't quite meet his mentor's eye either. "You are relieved from all of your duties today! I don't want to see you out of camp- nix that, I don't want to see you."
The dark warrior stifled his inward groan. You deserve this. He'd failed to obey Littlefire, he'd failed to give One-eye a decent day out, and he'd failed at cleaning the elders' den: now Littlefire was going to have him sit in the warrior's den and be useless. He could have hissed in frustration, if he were more prone to aggressive anger. This was wrong; at least apprentices' punishments saw them being useful. But it was no less than he deserved. He'd upset Littlefire. That knowledge alone was enough to persuade the huge warrior to go even more quietly than usual. Stupid! A whole day in the stinking warriors' den trying to stay out of Littlefire's way-- no, not even that. He'd find some horrible, unsheltered corner of camp to curl up in for the night-- then he could at least fulfil one of her simple orders.
"Tomorrow, you are on every patrol. Now go!"

He watched the golden shape disappear into the foliage in his peripheral vision, still focused on the dirt, until she disappeared into the trees. Then, slowly and painfully, the tom let out a single, ragged breath.
The two toms stood in silence for a moment as the deputy's footsteps receded into the distance. Somewhere in the distance, a bird's warning call echoed over the trees.
The black warrior glanced over at One-eye and offered a half-hearted shrug. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble but... I just don't understand. We weren't harming anycat and it's not like either of us were in danger. She's just so...traditional!"
The younger warrior agreed more than his heavy heart would let him express. He glanced at One-eye and offered the older tom what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It wasn't your fault," the warrior mewed with as much firmness as he could summon, but the next words out of his mouth sounded like the rote-learned confession of a serial rule-breaker. "I suggested that we disobey a direct order."

The two cats lapsed into a thoughtful silence, so different from the enthusiasm of mere minutes earlier. Blackclaw's mind was torn between torturing himself with the hurt he'd caused Littlefire (of all cats, Littlefire! You complete and utter moron!) and railing against the unfairness of the punishment. They were nearly back at camp when One-eye spoke up. "I'm not...am I really a hazard? Am I that much trouble to the other cats?" Blackclaw glanced up, surprise colouring over his sombre expression. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "You killed the only hazard in ThunderClan,"  the young warrior answered, and he wasn't sure where he got the awe in his voice, but it was there. "You're the best warrior anywhere: ask anyone. Juniperleaf pointed you out to us once." It had been a new-leaf morning and One-eye had been-- well, he couldn't remember what the tom had been doing, but it was probably walking into camp, his head held high, some huge bird of prey in his jaws, silhouetted against the sun. The warrior shook his head, as if to dislodge the past from his shoulders. "Anyway, Littlefire's never seen you hunt!"

His clumsy attempts at reassurance were cut short by the sound of thumping paws behind him. His heart lurched for a second -was Littlefire-?- but the paw-steps were too heavy, and besides Littlefire would never relent that easily.
"Hey, stop!" The senior warrior skidded to a halt and Blackclaw felt his fur stand up on end. The warrior was breathing heavily and Blackclaw was sure he could catch the faint tang of blood-- and her fur was definitely ruffled, more so than a normal sprint would do. Oh no. "Rushstar needs every available warrior on the ShadowClan border, now," the warrior began talking between pants. "Have you seen Littlefire?"
Blackclaw's heart sank and tried to beat faster all at once. The ShadowClan border. Everyone. And they needed to get Littlefire. He shot One-eye a conflicted glance. "She's just gone, out west," the young warrior replied. "If you check the camp for anyone else, we, I can tell her." this last was hesitant, inflected as a question as he glanced at the grey elder beside him. If One-eye didn't want to risk the ire of ThunderClan's deputy one more, Blackclaw perfectly understood. He was not looking forward to a second encounter, especially after being directly ordered to cower in camp with his tail between his legs.

OOC I'm going by One-eye's bio for the leader's name, since... Well, since One-eye is important to this thread and his bio names a ThunderClan leader!
Note for anyone who may be stalking the thread: the following border patrol and its events pertinent to ThunderClan's high positions have been approved by Seafeather. Panic ye not! :3

Littlefire's heart throbbed in her throat, rage making her skin feel too tight on her body. Her long tail lashed behind her while she stalked through the forest, going to no place in particular. Toms! She couldn't count that they ever listened, especially not a tom like One-eye, no respect, but Blackclaw, at least, she was appalled by. Sure, she knew she was perhaps being a little harsh, especially given that she knew that their little escapades were not of the uncommon sort. Regardless, her temper burned hot and she gave a little snort of disdain. There was no reason to work herself up further- each had been given their punishments, and would hopefully at least respond to that. Fools. Finally she let herself come to a stop, peering at her surroundings. At first, she thought it was almost a lovely place to take a breather- close to the ShadowClan border, but quiet- or, was that a... yowl?

Of pain? Fear? Anger? Her fur stood back on edge and she wheeled quickly towards the sound. That was Rushstar! She flew through the undergrowth, a blur of tawny fur, and the unmistakable sounds of battle became more and more clear, soon the aid clogged by the stench of blood. She burst out of the trees into a scene that so reminded her of the day Hawkstrike was killed, and the day she lost full functionality of her back leg, that her heart burst in anguish, quickly replaced by fear and confusion. It took her only seconds to assess the situation, the dawn patrol, headed by Rushstar, had come into a grossly outnumbered skirmish against a ShadowClan patrol. Blood already had the immediate area painted, and more than a few cats from both sides looked ready to collapse, but still a battle raged, screams and snarls of fury and pain had her head ringing. Swiftly, she threw herself into the mix, claws out, teeth bared, tearing into any opposing cat that came close. Her first and foremost, was a medium sized black she-cat, who had a young apprentice pinned, and seemed to be even trying to kill the tom- not acceptable. She launched herself at the warrior, allowing the apprentice to slip to freedom, before becoming locked in a dance with the malicious looking cat. Black coat matted and dusty, a wild, wicked look in her eyes, and so it went. Littlefire would evade, strike, evade, take a blow, strike. Confidence was her downfall then however, as the she-cat grabbed the smaller cat by the side of the neck with crushing pressure. It was Littlefire's turn to screech a blood-curdling scream of pain. Thankfully, however powerful, the grab was sloppy and, with a tear of flesh and fur, dropped the golden she-cat. This was not a chance to escape, however, as blood began to quickly drip, and mat her neck, and her world spun as she hit the ground, where now once again, she was pinned under the large and dark warrior, who's jaw's were poised for her throat next for a perfect bite. What sort of fight had this become, where murder seemed on the mind? She struggled hard, despite her bleeding injury, just as it seemed all was for naught, a screech pierced the air, an extra pawful of ThunderClan cats swarmed into the fray, a particularly large figure barreling into her attacker and freeing the deputy, however there was no time for thanks. She staggered to her feet, woozy and loosing blood, but refusing to back down and run tail-tucked. She gathered her composure, and surveyed the area.

Now the clans were evenly matched, but ShadowClan didn't seem ready to back down, and so Littlefire flew back into the throng, using her small stature and grace to dance around her opponents, delivering decisive, quick, and powerful blows, sending many-a warrior double or triple her size running back to their side of the border. Despite her neck burning like fire, her bad-leg throbbing and her muscles screaming for a break, she began to feel pride, and a thrill- ThunderClan was winning now, after all. However, just as that thought crossed her mind, her heart stopped. A large, tabby tom had a heavily bleeding Rushstar pinned, and as he struck for the leader's throat, her vision blurred, but that didn't stop her from hearing a blood-choked screech. She opened her mouth to cry out, but it was cut off as she too once again found herself pinned under a massive weight, this time unable to budge it, but it seemed the ShadowClan warrior was more interested in watching the battle than killing her- something fixating his attention, someone yelled something She felt numb, and cold, and... oh StarClan, was Rushstar alright? The battle seemed oddly silent... as if shock hung in the air. The weight disappeared from her body, but she couldn't bring herself to move, or open her eyes, the stench of blood and fear, the muffled wails from a few ThunderClan warriors, the pain burning through her body, emanating from her heavily bleeding, torn neck, made her wish for unconsciousness, and oh blessedly, she could feel it coming, but not before a masculine voice rang out in excitement and loathing.

"ShadowClan! Enough blood has been spilled here today, and we stand victorious. ThunderClan furballs... collect your dead and leave. This is our peice of territory now."

Hope it's ok to make an MC...I didn't name them so that might help.

You killed the only hazard in ThunderClan! You're the best warrior anywhere: ask anyone. Juniperleaf pointed you out to us once." One-eye smiled weakly at Blackclaw. It was a nice sentiment, but clearly he was the only one who thought so. He didn't say anything and just dropped his head again; Littlefire's words rung so clearly through his mind.

Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily?) he was distracted as one of the other senior warriors came running toward them. "Rushstar needs every available warrior on the ShadowClan border, now," ShadowClan...Why was it always ShadowClan? If he hadn't just been yelled at by his deputy, he would have begged to go with but clearly he would not have been welcome. He shook his head to Blackclaw's question. He would only slow the younger cat down in his mission to find the deputy. Instead, he hung his head and slunk off to the Elder's Den once more.

Only moments passed when he heard his name yelled throughout the camp. His head lifted when he recognized the cat who belonged to it. He poked his head out to see the Medicine Cat running toward him. "I need you, One-eye. You're not a warrior so you can't fight but you are still strong and sensible enough to help me bring the injured back. I don't have an apprentice and I need help." He suddenly found himself wondering who had more authority, the deputy or the medicine cat. Should he tell her what is orders had been? Would it matter. His Clan was in danger and there was still something he could do to help. "Lead the way."

The slightest sigh of relief escaped her as she nodded her thanks. She turned and ran back to her den, flicking her tail for him to follow. Before he could say anything, she shoved pawfuls of spiderwebs at him and he did his best to gather what he could. They were used to stop bleeding - something he knew would be necessary on the front lines, even before the warriors could come home. He needed no explanation as they ran out of the camp and toward the ShadowClan boarder.

It seemed like it took them forever to reach the battlefield. Despite that, he could hear the screams of pain almost since setting paw outside the camp. Nothing good ever came from a battle like this, even if ended in a victory. He pounded toward the sounds, pulling past even the spry medicine cat. He knew he should stay with her but he also knew that the faster he could get there, the more good he could do. He hoped she wouldn't be offended.


He broke through the trees and his good eye immediately started searching for anyone laying in the ground. He dropped the webs and inched through the crowd, not bothering to watch his own back. He wrapped his jaws around the scruff of the first cat he could find and dragged him back out of the fray. Once he was safe, One-eye glanced over his shoulder to see if the Medicine cat had made it yet. She was not there so rather then start webbing the warrior's wounds, he went to find more cats. He wasn't authorized to determine if a cat was dead and he didn't want to waste webs on someone who could not benefit.

He made it back into the frey looking for his next target. He found her - the sand-coloured she-cat's eyes flickered a few times before closing. Not her. She needed help now. ThunderClan could not loose their deputy. He was about to grab her scruff when he noticed the pool of blood. The last thing he wanted to do was make her injury worse so instead, he maneuvered himself under her until she was resting on his back.
"ShadowClan! Enough blood has been spilled here today, and we stand victorious. ThunderClan furballs... collect your dead and leave. This is our piece of territory now."

He growled softly but didn't stop moving. He got the she-cat to safety. Luckily, the Medicine cat had arrived and had started tending to the tom's wounds. "Oh StarClan, no. Not Littlefire. Get webs on her neck now!" One-eye did not need to be told twice. He grabbed a large chunk of webs and pushed them against the deputy's neck; it wasn't long before the blood had started to stain the white webs red. He leaned close to her and whispered softly: "You will survive. I swear to you."

Now that ShadowClan had begun their retreat, the warriors that were still able to stand had started to help pull the dead and injured from the battlefield. One-eye inhaled sharply and held his breath when he saw one of the limp bodies - this was a battle not so easily recovered from...

Blackclaw

MORE AND MORE PEOPLE I KNOW ARE GETTING ILL. PULL SOMETHING GOOD FROM THE ASHES NOW BE STILL.

The expression on One-eye's face told the warrior at once that these were wounds his shoddy attempts had not repaired. This would not stand. He would sit out his punishment fairly, fine, he owed Littlefire that and so much more, but maybe when his mentor had cooled down a little there would be a chance to talk about this. There had to be other cats in ThunderClan who remembered One-eye's days as a warrior with some fondness. Hadn't he had an apprentice? Aspenpaw, that was it! She must have some fond memories of her mentor. And some of the senior warriors would know him, without question. One-eye was bound to have more of a following in ThunderClan than he realised.

But now wasn't that time. He nodded to the warrior, glanced with empathy at One-eye, but bounded into the trees without saying a word. ShadowClan border needed warriors, and now Littlefire had to be his primary concern.
Littlefire's scent was fresh and not terribly hard to follow. He had to be imagining the scent of anger that fell over everything. Emotions didn't leave a scent trail. But the young warrior's chest constricted at the thought of coming face to face with his mentor again, as indeed seemed a perfectly normal thing for it to do. The guilt never went away, not really. The running made it easier-- the twin rhythms of his loping strides and his thumping heart tended to drown out everything else, and exertion pushed the tension out of his muscles. He called out her name in between strides, tearing it out of his own throat in spite of his conscience berating him, trying to just pretend he wasn't here. Then he heard the yowling on the border, and knew that Littlefire would have heard it too. Like a shot, the huge warrior sprinted off through to ShadowClan's border. The smell of blood was apparent even before he caught sight of the fighting, the horrible scents that came with such brutality. His siblings would be here too, but this time there might not be any help from Shadowfur. The messenger had been right: what little ThunderClan had been there was sorely outnumbered. But, as if in answer to his fears, a yowled battle-cry sounded from his left, and he saw the reinforcements. With them, he plunged into the fray, puncturing through the battle. Cats began to peel off to help their clanmates as the disorienting effect of their arrival wore off, and Blackclaw glanced around for a fight that could use an extra claw. He caught sight of her at once. Through a gap in the carnage, through the blood and fear-scent, he saw a familiar small shape, a black warrior pinning her down, and there was no feeling but fury as the black warrior charged. The force of his shove took the black cat completely by surprise, knocking her off balance, and Blackclaw knew to press his advantage. The growl began as a deep rumble in his throat, in much the same way as his brutal claws-bared strike to her shoulder could've begun as a loving tap. She regained her balance quickly, and there was no time to check Littlefire's safety as she lunged for his throat with bared teeth. The tom dropped his front half, but it wasn't enough; he bit back the cry of pain as she bit heavily into the fur between his shoulders. But with her teeth keeping her front half like that... The warrior brought his bulk back up sharply, swiping her hind paws out from under her. She kept her teeth fixed into his skin, scrabbling for purchase with her claws, but Blackclaw's teeth in her belly saw her go limp at once. Never expose your stomach if you could help it. He rolled her off him, feeling her flinch as the movement caused some teeth to pinch in, then hardened his grip a little, just for a moment, and released her. A threat, a promise: there had been mercy where none was deserved. She scrambled to her feet, their eyes locked, each cat's fur fluffed thick and teeth bared. "Get out," he growled, and took a threatening step closer. For a moment, she seemed to consider the offer, but her eyes focused on something behind him and then widened in delight. Hissing, the dark warrior lifted a paw, preparing a heavy blow aimed at her head. "Don't make me say it again."
But the she-cat was undeterred, eyes still locked on something occurring behind him. "Pay attention," the warrior replied. And Blackclaw glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a huge tabby tom bringing his claws down on a pinned Rushstar's exposed throat.

Great StarClan, no. It couldn't be. A leader had nine lives. Rushstar couldn't be- it wasn't possible- border patrols might sometimes be fatal, but ThunderClan's leader? All of his false bravado was leaking out. His shock and horror seemed mirrored on the faces of the other ThunderClanners around him, exchanging glances in the face of ShadowClan's triumph. Littlefire! He looked back to see her pinned by another ShadowClan warrior, and suddenly his limbs felt like lead. ShadowClan must know who the deputy was-- would they? No, she couldn't be in danger, she simply couldn't: as the tabby tom's words of victory rang out over the assembled cats, Blackclaw had to fight the urge to run over there at once. He looked back at the immediate threat, but the smug grin on her face told him enough. "Go on, foxdung." And, confident in her clan's success, she turned back, already offering words of congratulations to her clanmates. His anger flickered and died.

ShadowClan warriors were distancing themselves from the carnage, helping up their wounded. Once all of ThunderClan was gone, then they would leave. But Blackclaw only saw a line of cats arranging itself to get a better view of how many cats they had maimed and the territory they had stolen. Littlefire's assailant had gotten up and moved away, and Blackclaw was halfway to her, his heart in his mouth, when he saw a familiar grey tom dash out of the undergrowth with cobwebs at the ready. Her fur was matted with blood, so much blood, and the flow didn't seem to be slowing. He'd never seen her look so small. Had she really always been that size? She seemed so limp and still. He wasn't sure what the sound was that escaped his throat, but it was something between a choked yowl of grief and a whimper. Somewhere behind him, ThunderClan's senior warriors were lifting a still Rushstar onto their backs, but Blackclaw's eyes seemed glued to the still shape of the golden, blood-soaked form in front of him. He padded up, following behind the grey tom. His head was bowed, but his mind was stuck. Littlefire couldn't die, she just couldn't. She wouldn't. He latched onto that thought and clamped his teeth down hard: Littlefire was not going to die. One-eye would help her. But, much as the young tom wanted to get some cobwebs of his own and help the rest of the wounded, the golden-furred she-cat was the only thing he could see clearly. 'Just open your eyes, Littlefire,' he begged silently. 'Littlefire, please. You can't. Not like this. Please, StarClan, not like this.'

Terror and blood. Blood and pain. Blood. So much blood. The she-cat was spiraling into darkness, lost and confused, the scents and sounds of battle ringing in her ears then silence. Whispers, familiar voices begging her to hold on. Hold on to what! Her mind screeched as the darkness rolled around her, palpable. Soon, even those voices faded, and she was in complete silence, so silent, she could even hear the blood. It rushed through her veins before pouring out of the wound on her throat- Oh Starclan! Am I dead? Panic overwhelmed her, until a soft voice fell over her, a familiar scent, a soft brown tabby pelt. "Not yet, my dear apprentice. You have far too much to do- I'll be seeing you soon, however." Hawkstrike? Why, why on earth... Her heart stilled in her chest, a coldness settling, as she remembered the lifeless body of Rushstar being carried off of the battlefield. Now she knew she had to pull through, she had to be there for her clan.

She woke with a start, her eyes snapping open, panic settling over her as the darkness didn't give. Oh Starclan no, was she blind? But as her eyes adjusted. she came to realize it was night, and instead of laying on the battlefield, she was laying in the medicine cat's den, across from a sleeping apprentice with a white swath of cobweb around his back leg. As she shakily rose to her feet, a flash of movement caught her attention, the medicine cat rushing to her side with a sense of urgency. She expected to be chastised and told to lay back down, but instead, the words shocked her. "Littlefire, we need to go, now. You have been unconscious for a full day, Rushstar is... no longer with us. The medicine cat hung her head with those words, giving herself a moment of morning, before looking back at Littlefire with a new, burning intensity. darting away and returning with a bundle of herbs, which she ordered the deputy to eat. The taste was bitter, and it took all of her effort not to gag as she swallowed- but the addition of poppy seeds helped, as quickly, the pain that had begun to burn through her cobweb-coated neck dulled tremendously. No words were exchanged, the medicine cat proceeded to guide the heavily limping she-cat out of the den, into the cold, quiet camp. A silence hung over like no other, although the sun had recently set and this was when most cats spent time chatting quietly in their dens with loved ones, this silence was one of terror, one of a clan that knew their leader was dead, his body now buried, and probably didn't even know if their deputy would survive. Somewhere, a choked yowl of grief rose, but was slowly silenced by a close friend. She couldn't place a name to the sound, however, and could only hang her head and continue her march. As they pushed through the thorn tunnel, her heart lurched and her eyes flew to the larger she-cat's face.

"What of Blackclaw, and One-eye? How many cats did we loose- how many-" The medicine cat rested her long tail across Littlefire's back in a soothing motion. "Worry not, little one. Your friends are fine, our only fatality- thank StarClan- was Rushstar- however for the past day, the clan has been certain we would loose you as well. StarClan certainly had their grip on you. Bless them, however, they allowed us to keep you. As for our injured, they were aplenty, however most were allowed to move back into their appropriate dens this morning, as long as they frequently come to see me so I may check their wounds. For today, however, during our errand, your mother and father have graciously agreed to fill my role. " Littlefire relaxed visibly. Although the loss of Rushstar was severe, and Littlefire would have to mourn in her own time, her relief was met with a slight pang of guilt, as she realized that Rushstar's death meant very little to her, given that those she loved were alive. She swung her head away from the medicine cat, both hiding her shame, as well as the smile on her face, however quickly it melted way.

Littlefire was soon exhausted, and aching, but the medicine cat was relentless, moving at a brisk speed, and allowing the soon-to-be leader not a single break. Regardless, by the time the Moonstream came into view, moonhigh had arrived, and Littlefire's paws were dragging. The sight of the sparkling stream, however, revitalized her, with both a jolt of excitement, and terror. Was this not what all kits aspired for? To become leader? Was... was she ready for this. She took a few, shaky steps closer at the water, turned silver by the moonlight, peering into it's shimmering surface. The silence broke suddenly with the words that would begin the change of everything. "Littlefire, it is time."

She settled onto the cold stone bank of the stream, timidly lowering her face and taking a few deep drinks from it, before allowing her nose to gently brush the surface. Almost instantly, whether due to her exhaustion, or some ancient Starclan magic, she fell into tunneling blackness, that opened up into a forest lit silver. Alone at first, and then suddenly surrounded by cats of all ages, all watching her... many familiar, all dead- and then, forward strode Rushstar, in all of his powerful glory, his eyes alight with the stars themselves..

"Welcome, Littlefire. Are you ready to receive your nine lives?"

Littlefire swallowed hard, her throat constricted with fear and excitement, but when she spoke, she was shocked to find her voice strong and clear. "Yes."

blackclaw

MORE AND MORE PEOPLE I KNOW ARE GETTING ILL. PULL SOMETHING GOOD FROM THE ASHES NOW BE STILL.

In ThunderClan's camp, there was a heavy cloud of grief that no-one seemed able to dispel. It clung to the pelts of its warriors like smoke: the aftermath of the cruellest fire that had scorched the heart clean out of them. Many throats were raw, and many more eyes red. Even those who barely knew the leader understood that this was a black time for ThunderClan: they had lost a leader, they had lost a sizeable portion of hunting ground (in leafbare no less) and now they stood to use a deputy as well. If anyone had been awake in the pitch black night, then of course their eyes turned would have turned at once, whether in pity, grief, sorrow or hope, to watch their deputy hobble free, though not without support. There might have been whispers--"she's not going to--? Like that?"-- that the neighbouring cats would quickly have shushed. Instead, it was StarClan's silent eyes that watched the two cats' painstaking progress across the camp, feet covered at each step by the shallow layer of snow that coated the frozen earth.

Blackclaw's heart had been doing an uneven two-step with his lungs ever since Littlefire was brought home. Nothing seemed... balanced any more. He'd cleaned out the elder's den without her. Without her. But he'd remembered how to keep his own feelings buttoned up. It didn't matter that he hadn't slept that night, or that his head had been pounding with an unforgiving ache: whatever happened, there was a steel in the young warrior's heart that kept him going. Littlefire wouldn't want you to abandon your duties, Blackclaw. Remember what she told you, Blackclaw: you're on every patrol today. And he had been. He'd managed to persuade an injured warrior out of dawn patrol around the new ShadowClan borders, then wheedled his way onto the sun-high hunting patrol as well, and had finished up with a trip around the RiverClan border at dusk. He was so exhausted that unconsciousness had swallowed him whole as soon as he fell into his nest. And on those patrols he had done his best to be attentive and cordial. There were cats whose sisters, apprentices or fathers had been injured: his pain was far from unique. Some had responded to the ShadowClan invasion with anger-- he'd caught Badgerpelt scoring deep lines into the earth with her claws, an expression of such murderous determination on her face that he had left without a sound. Shadowfur had been listless: no-one wanted her optimism today, and she seemed to have little enough of it herself. Rowantail had just wanted to be left alone with his friends. But Blackclaw had kept close-lipped. Aside from some jumpiness (any light pawsteps made him turn and look for golden fur) and an echoing of the general sombre muteness that held all ThunderClan so quiet, he was the picture of quick, efficient warriorhood.

He'd even summoned up the courage to face Half-ear and Fernsong.
There was no joy in his company, nor at the news he brought, but the warrior had sat with the two elders in empathetic silence, and fetched honey for the elder tom's throat.

He didn't know what he'd do if Littlefire didn't pull through-- that was the honest long and short of it. Or maybe there was a part of him that couldn't imagine her not pulling through. She was Littlefire, after all: there was enough pride and determination running through her veins to keep a cat twice her size going for twice as long. She could do anything. She had to.

The dark-furred warrior awoke with a start, the claws that he had felt raking his pelt already dissolving. Nightmares. That was something new. Already they were slipping: the dark claws, a flash of razor-sharp teeth, all dissipating into the night; the tom tried to calm his thumping heart and struggling lungs. He needed fresh air. On careful paws (though not without accidentally brushing against tails or ears) he made his careful way out of the den and took a lungful of the peaceful night. Sweet, cold and crisp: just what he needed. What stories did he remember about leafbare and nightmare cats? There were the fictional ones that he'd enjoyed, the ones without StarClan-- they were older, probably having come to ThunderClan by route of some ancient loner or long-dead kitty-pet arrival. There were stories of the white-coated cats who danced in the heavy clouds, whose claws skittering over the ice sent snowflakes flurrying down. Of nightmare cats, there were a lot more: the Dark Forests' villains, those who'd fallen from favour or turned their back on the warrior code-- no, not merely the warrior code: on all that it meant to be a warrior. There were the more mortal villains too, and those were a lot more frightening than any dream creature could be. That ShadowClan warrior was all the evidence he needed. No, no, thinking about her wasn't helping him to stay calm. The tom took another deep breath, held it for a moment and felt the chill permeate his whole body, then exhaled white fog into the night. Think about the snow cats, Blackclaw. The medicine cat has her in good hands. She will be OK. He had been rudely shooed out of any attempts to see her-- the medicine cats' den was full enough as it was without every warrior with whiskers trying to poke his nose in.

But hang on. That second breath of frosty air had brought more with it than chill: the warrior's exhausted brain finally kicked itself into gear. Littlefire. And the medicine cat. The footsteps in the snow were clear as day. He'd forgotten completely: of course, the deadline: StarClan would be waiting. The medicine cat was taking Littlefire alone. Blackclaw hesitated a moment-- after all, maybe he had nothing to worry about. But it was only a second of hesitation before the warrior flexed his claws and bounded out of camp, trying to force the weariness out of his foggy head and limbs. Littlefire might not need him, but he could at least give them an honorary escort to the edge of ThunderClan territory. He was slow, and far behind, but the scent was fresh enough for him to follow without difficulty. At ThunderClan's northernmost border, the tom's easy loping stride had become a half-stumbling trot. OK, come on, Blackclaw. They're heading off that way. It's moon-high. He couldn't make himself follow where he wasn't welcome: going to the Moonstream would be flying directly in the face of StarClan, and his clan, and all right maybe the warrior didn't trust himself enough to not give himself away-- after all, ThunderClan scent outside of Thunderclan would be painfully obvious. But it wasn't difficult to find a good spot to nestle down: underneath the exposed roots of an old oak, sheltered by a thick-leaved shrub, he had enough visibility to keep an eye on the surrounding landscape and was downwind of anyone approaching ThunderClan. His heart was hammering again, but this time with something lighter. He hadn't seen blood on his trip, which meant that either she was caked in cobwebs or she was healing well. By StarClan's feathers, he hoped she was healing. He would give the two cats until first light to return. And if -when- they did... Littlefire would be leader. A chill ran down the tom's spine. Deputy was one thing, but now Littlefire would have the whole of StarClan to listen to as well as ThunderClan. And nine lives, for all the good they had done Rushstar. She'd be clan leader. He couldn't think of anyone who'd be better. If only he knew what was happening now! Talking to the dead, receiving those lives in a ceremony that no cat could ever talk about. It wouldn't put distance between them. He wouldn't let it. Things could be the same as they always had been. Even to Blackclaw's ears, that sounded horribly naive.

"Littlestar! Littlestar! Littlestar! Little-" The dream didn't just evaporate, it shattered with a stab of pain that made her yowl and stagger backwards. "Littlestar! Are you alright?" The medicine cat's voice was strong and urgent, and brought the reeling she-cat back to earth with a shudder. So much pain, but... what an awe inspiring event. "Oh my StarClan!" She began to stagger stiff-legged towards the medicine cat, who rushed to her side. The pain emanated from her neck and she glanced down to see the fresh blood soaking through her cobwebs, staining her golden chest. While being quickly examined, she glanced back and winced at the blood that stained the shore of the Moonstream, wondering for how many moons- how many leaders would come and go, noting the stain of blood? A few more moments gave that the wound had begun to bleed heavily during the ceremony, but had once again stopped, however not before making the small cat look like a walking massacre. They began to walk slowly, and the medicine cat explained a few things about her position- including the fact she'd need to choose a deputy by moonhigh. She staggered to a halt, the weight now settling on her shoulder and making her cold with fear. She was leader now, no longer Litlefire, but Littlestar. The weight of the clan was on her shoulders now.

Suddenly the medicine cat tensed and halted walking, head swinging with a hiss towards and old oak tree. "Blackclaw! You were not to follow us!" It took the smaller she-cat a little longer to notice the hulking figure, hiding out and watching, but instead of eliciting the same annoyance it did for the medicine cat, it filled the new leader with warmth and a burst of life. A pause hung in the air, as the larger she-cat in particular waited for the new leader's first rebuke with her new position, but none was to come. Weak and tired, the small bloodied she-cat limped quickly towards her old apprentice, stopping just a few mouselengths from the hulking tom and speaking for the first time since her ceremony. "You're excused back to camp. We'll return shortly." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, as if the medicine cat was thinking of directly disobeying her new leader, but with a tight jaw she finally dipped her head, and sulked off into the underbrush.

All the power left Littlestar, and she began to shake, a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and especially fear. This was not a role she was meant to fill- deputy, yes, she was a fine deputy, knew her place and knew how to run it, but now as leader. Even as she looked wide-eyed at Blackclaw, close enough that she could hear his heartbeat and feel warmth coming from his fur, she felt a million miles away. She felt as if she was a different cat. Regardless, she pushed herself hard into his chest, burning her face in his thick, dark fur, and allowed herself to shake uncontrollably. Life had spiraled out of control, and there was no catching it. When she could, however control her voice, she finally spoke to the dark tom, unable to hide her fear.

"I can't do it, Blackclaw. Rushstar made a mistake, making me deputy- I mean, as a deputy I was fine, it was fine- but I was meant to die before Rushstar did! I can't... I can't be leader, Blackclaw. I'm not a well respected cat, I'm not intimidating, most warriors from other clans still even believe that I'm just some painfully young apprentice- or worse, a kit who snuck out of camp! And now I'm meant to be in control of an entire clan? I have to pick my own deputy before Moonhigh! The sun was just now beginning to creep over the horizon, giving the she-cat a full day and half of the night, but that meant nothing to her- it might as well have been immediate, with the pressure that act alone brought onto her shoulders. She painfully forced herself away from the tom, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes. "I should have died in that skirmish, Blackclaw, not Rushstar. This isn't my place- I was born a kittypet for crying out loud!"

blackclaw

MORE AND MORE PEOPLE I KNOW ARE GETTING ILL. PULL SOMETHING GOOD FROM THE ASHES NOW BE STILL.

Spotted! The medicine cat's aggressive tone had him bowing his head in embarrassment, as she clearly wanted him to do. Submission was a role he could play; he was an expert at appearing trite and apologetic, after all. But his face, hidden by shadow, held none of that shame: Littlef- Littlestar was here, and she was alive, and that was the most important thing in the whole world. But as she stepped closer, the warrior caught the scent of fresh blood and felt his throat constrict. She had been healthy enough to walk here. The wound was fine. She would be fine: he would personally follow her around with all the cobweb in ThunderClan if that was needed. Did she need it? Hearing Littlestar's instruction to leave and hearing the departing footsteps, the tom finally raised his head, the concern woven through every inch of his face. The emotion printed on hers nearly knocked him over. So much fear, and distance. Her eyes shone like stars in the darkness. He wasn't prepared for the warm body pushing itself into his chest. The sudden physical contact, her pain and the sinking feeling in his chest that the wounds of the cats around him were getting harder and harder to heal all shook him with a sorrow he couldn't articulate. She'd never leaned on him like this before (metaphorically, literally, whichever) and all he could hope was that he could be strong enough. For Littlestar, of all cats! This was his mentor, the cat he'd respected and admired as unbreakable ever since they had touched noses. She could move mountains, sway armies, turn ruins to raptures and cowardly kittens into warriors. Ah, but he was oh so young, and oh so foolish. Hesitantly, a gesture unfamiliar to the young warrior, Blackclaw lowered his head and, softly, nuzzled the top of her head, her face still buried in his chest. Strange. There was a warmth flooding through his limbs that hadn't been there before. His chest still ached, but at least it was warmer now. Her words would bring back the old dull ache of shared pain to his chest.

"I can't do it, Blackclaw. Rushstar made a mistake, making me deputy-"
Free from her eyes, the black tom allowed his face an unusual freedom: he closed his eyes and winced. See, Littlestar, that's where you're wrong.
"I mean, as a deputy I was fine, it was fine- but I was meant to die before Rushstar did! I can't... I can't be leader, Blackclaw. I'm not a well respected cat, I'm not intimidating, most warriors from other clans still even believe that I'm just some painfully young apprentice- or worse, a kit who snuck out of camp! And now I'm meant to be in control of an entire clan? I have to pick my own deputy before Moonhigh!"
He lifted his head as she pulled away from him, and the cold began to crawl back into his limbs.
"I should have died in that skirmish, Blackclaw, not Rushstar. This isn't my place- I was born a kittypet for crying out loud!"

Blackclaw's face suddenly sharpened a little. "So?" his voice was low and firm, a quality it had never had before. He believed in her, hang it all, and she needed to know how much she meant to ThunderClan right now. He'd failed One-eye in that regard, so maybe he was doomed to fail again, but he had to try, didn't he? That Littlestar -and the suffix filled him with both pain and pride- was even thinking of second-guessing herself meant that she didn't have the faith in herself that he had in her. And she needed some. What Littlefire said wasn't, he had to admit, entirely wrong: of course there would be cats in ThunderClan who didn't think she could lead. And there would be laughter from ShadowClan about this, obviously: replacing the average-sized but clearly battle-ready Rushstar with such a small, round-eyed cat... just imagining the Gathering made his fur crawl. But if Littlestar was going to make any impression on ThunderClan's nay-sayers, this couldn't be how she addressed her clan for the first time. 
The dark tom cleared his throat nervously, and the firmness in his voice melted away, leaving only a soft but reassuring tom. "Rushstar chose you because he knew you would make a good leader. You. It wouldn't matter if you were as big as two badgers with teeth like ice, or if your great great grandfather was Thunderstar himself. Someone this smart, this brave?" He paused a moment, trying to catch her eye. "She'll be a great leader." And the tom's small but reassuring smile and soft, golden eyes gleamed out at her, out of the dark.

He remembered morning patrols when just the threat of her name had gotten even the most sluggish of warriors leaping out of their nests and snapping to attention. Certainly, the first time someone had mentioned her history to him, it had been with the snide whisper of an apprentice just trying to make another apprentice angry. But whatever he'd thought as an apprentice, knowing Littlefire for as long as he had-- foxdung. Foxdung to anyone who thought she was less of a warrior just because her grandparents hadn't inbred themselves into knots for the sake of 'pure blood'. Foxdung to anyone who thought that blood was more important than the lifetime of unblemished loyalty she'd shown ThunderClan. Foxdung to whoever or whatever had ever said anything to Littlefire to make her feel like this, to their snide glances and muffled laughter and juvenile derision. They didn't deserve her. 

The day had crept by. After the battle he had helped to bring the injured cats back to camp. Luckily, many of them had just been a quick check out and dismissal. The only real injuries had been Littlefire and, obviously, Rushstar which was wonderful in regards to the rest of the Clan. Hopefully, the majority of the Clan would be physically better by the next Gathering. He wouldn't want the other Clans, especially ShadowClan thinking they were weak. He had wandered around the camp fairly aimlessly the following day while Littlefire rested in the medicine den. It wasn't until it was time for Rushstar's burriel that he had felt any real sense of purpose. He had been one of the cats digging the grave. An honour indeed!

But it was a depressing and traumatic experience and did nothing to help One-eye in his slump. He wasn't injured, he didn't have a real reason to be relaxing. He should have been out on patrols defending the Clan but he wasn't allowed. Instead, his strong, able body was meant to sleep all day and do nothing at all. He'd rolled around in the Elder's den, his only source of happiness was when Blackclaw came in to clean. But no one was in a playing mood today.

He had a hard time sleeping and he noticed as Littlefire and the medicine cat crept out of camp to drag themselves to her leader ceremony. It should be an honour to go there but Littlefire looked like she wanted to just curl up into a ball and be ignored. He wished her silent luck before trodding back into the den and flopping onto the ground. He kept is eyes glued on the entrance and waited, patiently, for Littlestar's return.