Post by &&Phoenix on Feb 26, 2007 20:48:56 GMT -5
Title: Since You've Been Gone
Chapters: 1
Author: Reddy
Pairing: Ash x Squirrel
Rating: PG
Summary: Ashfur's thoughts in TNP when the adventurers are away
Warning: Angst, Spoilers
Disclaimer: Erin Hunter owns Warriors
Beta: N/A
Cover: N/A
Author's Notes: [The longest One-shot I ever wrote. Poor Ashfur. I love him so much]
“That Brambleclaw is a lazy lump!”
Ashfur lifted his head in alarm. He had been about to take a pigeon from the fresh-kill pile, having contributed two wood mice and a crow. He hadn’t eaten anything since sunhigh the previous day, and was starving. He watched Mousefur storm around the camp, yowling something about the tabby tom sleeping past sunrise.
The grey tom shrugged and retrieved his pigeon, trekking over to a shady corner in the camp to munch on it, wondering about Brambleclaw’s suddenly sleepiness. As he ate, his eyes followed Brightheart as she poked her head in the den and then pulled it back out again, shaking her head at Mousefur, who lashed her tail in annoyance.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he lifted his head to see Dustpelt walking towards him, an annoyed yet worried expression on his face. Ashfur straitened up and met the older tom’s eyes. Something about his obvious anxiety made the fur on the young warrior’s spine rise.
“Have you seen Squirrelpaw?” the dark brown tabby asked, his voice soft as to not alert any other cat to her absence.
“No, sorry. Why?” Ashfur responded, his tail twitching nervously. Squirrelpaw, gone? Where? He had always harbored a soft spot for the fiery young apprentice…He was so caught up in wondering where she possibly could have gone that he missed Dustpelt’s answer.
“Hello?” The tabby’s annoyed mew made Ashfur jump. “If you would listen, then you would have heard me say that the apprentices told me she didn’t sleep in the den last night.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Ashfur muttered, instinctively flexing his claws.
“Oh, she’s probably fine,” Dustpelt said confidently. “But she won’t be once I’ve gotten my paws on her!” he spun around and stalked off.
Ashfur watched the tabby leave, and then his eyes followed Mousefur as she, Spiderpaw, Brightheart, and Cloudtail padded into the gorse tunnel and out of sight. Dustpelt complained under his breath and vanished into the nursery.
Ashfur could not help but feel slightly hurt at the thought of Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw both missing from the camp. They were probably out alone somewhere. Together. With a sigh of regret, he took another bite of his pigeon and almost let out a wail at the unfairness of it. Brambleclaw was moons older than Squirrelpaw, and she was an apprentice. But no use crying over lost prey. If she’s gone, she’s gone.
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Ashfur lay with his head on his paws, his eyes bright with worry. Many dawns had come and gone, and still no sign of Squirrelpaw. It was the night of the half-moon, and Cinderpelt and Leafpaw were away at Highstones. The moon hung in the sky, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars.
He blinked when he saw Firestar emerge from his den, looking weary and defeated. His leader stopped in the centre of the clearing and lifted his head to the heavens of Silverpelt. Ashfur heard him murmur something that sounded like a prayer as the night sky turned to a pale grey. As a few cats began to emerge from their dens, he caught the last few words:
“…light her path and keep her safe, Spottedleaf.”
Spottedleaf? Ashfur frowned. She was the legendary ThunderClan medicine cat who had been killed as a distraction so a ShadowClan warrior could steal ThunderClan kits. Why would Firestar be talking to her, of all cats? And why in such a tone of longing? Ashfur allowed his whiskers to twitch in amusement as he imagined what Sandstorm would say if she found out Firestar talked about other cats with a tone he usually reserved for her.
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Ashfur was really worried now. The moon was full, and he had just returned from the Gathering. The other warriors were lying around him, their eyes heavy with sleep. He felt a sense of comfort as he felt their warm bodies pressed against his, but this comfort was lost as he remembered Squirrelpaw, who, for all he knew, could be shivering all alone in a desolate place far from home.
When the young tom finally closed his eyes, his last thoughts were of the small ginger apprentice.
Squirrelpaw, where are you?
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Thousands of tail-lengths from home, Squirrelpaw opened her eyes and jerked her head upwards. She had been dreaming about a grey cat, writhing worriedly in his sleep.
A huge shape lying in front of her nearly caused her to let out a screech of alarm. But she remembered just in time: it was only Midnight. The huge badger’s stomach rose and fell as she snored softly. She glanced around, relaxing as she saw her friends around her.
As Squirrelpaw laid her head down, she glanced and Brambleclaw, sleeping peacefully beside her. The young apprentice curled her tail around her body as she curled up into a neat ball. But even as her body relaxed, she kept her eyes fixed on her Clanmate.
‘Why should I be having a dream about Ashfur?’ She wondered, her eyes narrowing in confusion. ‘I’m in love with Brambleclaw.’
And with that, Squirrelpaw fell asleep again, her dreams undisturbed. She would not remember her dream when she awoke.
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As the ginger she-cat closed her eyes, the eyes of the cat from her dream snapped open in alarm. A pang of loss and anguish was coursing through him, making his body tremble. He raised himself to his paws and padded out of the den to a secluded part of camp. In the dim moonlight, if one had looked close enough, they would have seen his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed grief, his eyes glazed with tears a cat could not cry…
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Ever since that terrible night, the night Ashfur had somehow realized Squirrelpaw did not love him, he had kept his feelings for the she-cat in check. He would often reprimand himself for daydreaming about the day she would return.
Things changed between him and the rest of the Clan. As the Clan slowly began to realize the forest was being destroyed, they stayed close together for protection. Ashfur was just the opposite. He found himself hunting and patrolling alone, desperately trying to keep his mind off of Squirrelpaw. Besides, he had become close friends with her and what had it gotten him? A broken heart. He didn’t need the Clan to protect him.
Then came the worst time he had ever faced in the forest. Later, after the Clans had traveled to the lake, it would be known as the Starving Time. Cats were dying. Cats were starving. Their coats, once sleek and glossy, had become matted and thin, hanging off bones that had once been hidden by sturdy muscles. Their eyes, once robust and full of life, were now dull and clouded. To live meant to starve. To starve meant to die. To die meant to be free from this terrible fate.
Ashfur had no time to think about Squirrelpaw anymore. He practically lived in the forest, forcing himself to continue his endless task, his impossible feat of trying to find enough food to feed at least the elders and the queens. There were times when he himself went days without so much as a scrap in his already too-thin stomach. His life became meaningless. His sole purpose was to hunt. Find. Stalk. Leap. Trap. Kill. Those words he would constantly repeat to himself.
There were times when he became so disoriented from lack of food that he forgot his own name, where he was, and why he was there.
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The young grey tabby now stalked a bright red cardinal. It perched on a low tree branch, and had its back turned to the hunter. Ashfur flexed his claws, rocked his haunches back and forth, and crept forward swiftly and lightly. The bird paid him no mind. He gathered up, ready to spring, but before he could, his belly gave a loud rumble. The bright red bird let out an alarmed shriek and burst into flight. Ashfur sprang up into the air, but came short by at least three tail-lengths. He sighed.
Find. Stalk. Leap. Failure.
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Ashfur walked wearily back to camp, his head bowed, a tiny mouse clasped firmly in his jaws. The sun was beginning to set, and he needed to get back before the Gathering started. But at this rate, he was sure he would be left behind.
A rustle in the bushes ahead caused his neck fur to rise slightly, but he did not jump to his paws, spitting and growling challenges like he would have a few moons ago. He just did not have the strength. Let whoever this was kill him. What did he have to live for?
An emaciated shape crept out from under the bush, followed by another, and another. Ashfur had to squint to recognize Firestar, Graystripe, and Sandstorm. They were followed by the meager remnants of what would have once been a mighty representation at any Gathering. Their eyes were all fixed on the mouse Ashfur held in his jaws.
The grey tom caught Firestar’s eye, who nodded. He limped over to Mousefur, who seemed to be the weakest of the bunch, being the oldest warrior, and started to pass the mouse to her. She shook her head.
“Take some for yourself, first, Ashfur,” she rasped. “You can just pass me up. I’m so sick; no food will help me now.”
“Never,” Ashfur snarled, his fur bristling. “Everyone will get a share!” He leaned down a ripped a strip of flesh off of the mouse that was no wider than his claw. He pushed the mouse over to Mousefur, who did the same, as he slowly chewed it, savoring its taste. He realized this could be his last scrap of food for a while, so he had better make it good.
By the time the mouse had been passed around once, there were nothing left but picked-clean bones that seemed to shine mockingly in the setting sun. Ashfur was so hungry, he was tempted to eat the bones, but he thought better of it.
The tom scanned the group and blinked in surprise. Ferncloud had Hollykit and Birchkit panting at her paws. The elders, even Longtail, were crouched down, their eyes half closed. In fact, every warrior and apprentice was there.
“We decided to move the Clan to the Sunningrocks,” Firestar meowed, his voice barely above a whisper. He had followed Ashfur’s gaze. “We were too close to the twolegs and their monsters.”
Ashfur said nothing, only nodding. At any other time, he would have confronted Firestar for leaving him out of the discussion of where the Clan would move, but now was not the time for him to pick a fight with his leader. Besides, where else did they have to run to?
“Are they all coming to the Gathering?” he asked quietly.
“No. Mousefur will lead the elders, apprentices, and queens to Sunningrocks.” Firestar’s voice was flat and emotionless as he turned and began to walk away.
“Wait!” Ashfur cried out. Firestar stopped and turned his head. Ashfur jerked his head at the bones. “Aren’t we going to bury these?” he asked.
“We’ve already wasted enough time!” Dustpelt spat, shouldering his way forward. “We have to leave now if we even want to make it to Fourtrees by moonhigh!” he stared pointedly at Firestar, who sighed.
Ashfur glared at Dustpelt. “Just because we’re all half dead doesn’t mean we can’t show respect for the creatures that keep as alive!” He remembered about Larchkit too late. Dustpelt looked speechless, his eyes wide. “Dustpelt, I-”
“FINE!” the tabby bellowed, his eyes burning. “Do as you like. Next thing we know, you’ll be telling us you believe in StarClan!” There were muted gasps from the Clan as Dustpelt spat the last word and spun around, stalking into the undergrowth. Firestar glanced back at Ashfur before following. The rest of the Clan also padded after their leader, except Ashfur, who watched them leave.
He turned to the mouse bones and carefully buried them in the earth.
‘I do believe in you, StarClan,’ he thought. ‘I know you still watch over us.’
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Ashfur padded into his new camp, his eyes filled with disbelief at what he had just seen. His heart was pounding fit to burst; fear was coursing through his veins.
The twoleg raised the shiny forepaw. It bit deep into the great oak’s bark. Sap spewed out of the tree, like blood flying from a mortal wound…
The twolegs had destroyed Fourtrees.
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Days melted into nights. Dawn became the bringer of death. Indeed, it seemed that with every sunrise, another death occurred somewhere within the forest.
Ashfur wandered aimlessly around the camp, his eyes flicking from one spot to another without really seeing anything. Every rib showed, his eyes were sunken into his skull, and his shoulders jutted out of his pelt. He was basically skin and fur stretched over a skeleton.
He passed Ferncloud, his sister, who was stretched out on her side. Her kits slept beside her, looking no better than their mother. Ashfur felt a pang of sadness in his heart. These kits seemed so much different from the ones he remembered, the ones who had always played with one another. Now, they pressed close to Ferncloud, trying to gather up whatever warmth they could.
The gray tom’s eyes found Dustpelt on the other side of Sunningrocks. The tabby was hunched over, his eyes half closed. The bitter winds ruffled his mangy pelt. He lifted his head and caught Ashfur’s gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time. Finally, Ashfur dipped his head to his former mentor, who nodded back.
The warrior slowly made his way off of the rocks and down to the river bank, where he crouched down to lap up water. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and he drank as much as he could until his belly was full with it. It was about the only thing it could be full on these days.
“What, pray tell, is a ThunderClan warrior doing in RiverClan territory?” A voice sneered.
Ashfur lifted his head, surprise and anger making his fur stand on end. A dark tabby shape loomed over him.
“Brambleclaw?” he asked quietly, his heart giving a disbelieving tremor.
“What are you mewing about? Why would you confuse me with that…deserter!” the tabby spat the last word.
Ashfur looked closer. The tabby looked so much like his Clan mate…but as he leaned forward, he saw that this tom had ice blue eyes, not Brambleclaw’s pale amber.
“Hawkfrost!” he gasped, tail-tip twitching.
“Me,” the tabby confirmed calmly. Ashfur blinked, angry with himself. How could he confuse his friend with another cat? He shook his head. Perhaps it was just the sun playing on the water, but he could have sworn Brambleclaw had the same broad shoulders and thick pelt.
“Now,” the tabby swept on, his voice becoming low and dangerous, “why on you on my territory?”
“You’re territory?!” Ashfur growled, his hackles rising. “This is the ThunderClan side of the river!”
“True. But ThunderClanners cannot hunt this river.”
“I know that. What do think I am, exactly?”
“Nor are they allowed to drink from it.”
“What?” Ashfur exploded, spring to his paws. “That’s the most mouse-brained thing I’ve ever of heard of!”
“Believe what you want, intruder.” Hawkfrost’s voice was airy with confidence as he took stepped forward, unsheathing long, sharp claws.
Great StarClan! Ashfur thought. I sure don’t want to tangle with this warrior. He could rip me into kit bedding! But he would not back down. The tom bared his fangs and took a pace towards his persecutor, tail lashing, eyes burning. Hawkfrost’s eyes widened for a second, as if he had not been expecting Ashfur to meet his challenge. But the next moment, his uncertainty vanished, replaced with superior arrogance.
“Fine then,” he spat. To Ashfur’s great surprise, he whirled around and slipped into the water, vanishing under the surface. For a heartbeat, only ripples revealed the tom’s position, but then, these too disappeared, leaving the water smooth as glass.
Ashfur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes scanning the water. He knew an attack could not come from behind, but the river curved slightly around him like a half-moon, leaving him susceptible to attacks from the sides and front. He strained his ears, listening for the faintest gurgle of water, the softest sound of a heartbeat…
Hawkfrost exploded out of the water to his left. Ashfur jerked his head back in time, and the tabby’s teeth snapped shut on empty air close to his ear.
With amazing agility, Hawkfrost twisted in the air to land on his paws. Ashfur had to grudgingly admit that the tom he was dealing with was no fool. He could fight and use his surroundings to his advantages, as he had just proved.
“That’s a neat trick,” Ashfur growled. “Too bad it didn’t work.”
“Shame,” Hawkfrost sneered back. “If it had, there’d be one less trespasser in the forest.”
Ashfur sprang forward, unsheathing his claws, his eyes burning with anger. He felt dim satisfaction when his claws scraped through skin. Hawkfrost screeched as his blood splattered the ground and tainted the river.
The dark tabby lurched forward and brought his fangs crushing down on Ashfur’s neck, near his shoulder. Pain lanced down the grey tom’s spine as he felt blood seep from the bite. With a yowl, he twisted around, trying to yank free from Hawkfrost’s merciless jaws.
A battle cry went up from Sunningrocks, and Ashfur twisted his head around with a cry of relief.
Sandstorm, Graystripe, and Mousefur were sprinting towards the river’s edge, their eyes gleaming with fury. Hawkfrost stood his ground for a heartbeat, lashing his tail, but then his grip on Ashfur lessened, and the grey tom fell to the ground panting. When he glanced up, Hawkfrost had thrown himself into the river with a splash, and was swimming strongly back to the other side.
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Ashfur moved about the camp stiffly. Clouds coated the sky, forecasting rain. He cringed a little and twisted his neck to give his permanent injury a lick. A knotted scar ran from the back of his neck to his shoulder, often limiting his movements. Though Cinderpelt has said the pain would fade in a few days, he would always bear the scar. A grim reminder of Hawkfrost. Ashfur bristled at the thought of his name.
When he thought of Cinderpelt, he decided to go to her for some healing herbs. Gritting his teeth, he strode over to where she kept her limited supply of medicines, and realized she was not there.
“She went back,” a deep meow said softly. Ashfur turned and saw Firestar standing a few tail-lengths behind him, his shoulders jutting out of his fur.
“Back?” Ashfur echoed.
“Not for good,” the tom said quickly. “She went to retrieve the last of her herbs from the old camp this morning.”
“Oh.”
For a while, the leader and his warrior sat in silence. Then, Firestar rose to his paws, twitching his tail in farewell.
“I must go hunt,” he muttered quietly, with a meaningful glance and the fresh-kill pile that consisted of two scrawny mice. He turned his back on Ashfur and walked away wearily into the forest, the weak sun bouncing off his matted pelt.
Ashfur sighed, but then, he lifted his head in surprise, sniffing the air curiously. That scent…it was so familiar.
He whipped around and bounded to a rock that rose above the rest. A high wind blew his fur dramatically to one side as he scanned the ground below him and gasped. Approaching Sunningrocks was a band of three cats, a tabby tom in the leader, a ginger she-cat following, and a dark grey tom taking up the rear.
He tensed, ready to bound down to meet them, but they had already begun to pass other members of the Clan, who drew back, their eyes burning with anger and mistrust. A few walked stiffly forward, their lips curled in disgust.
Ashfur slid down the rocks, his heart pounding. He noted that Squirrelpaw seemed to be pressing close to Brambleclaw, her eyes gleaming with fear. Fear of her own Clanmates. Ashfur felt jealousy surge within him, and he padded out of the shadows. Squirrelpaw turned to him, obviously depending on him to say something…to welcome them back…
“Well, welcome back.”
Chapters: 1
Author: Reddy
Pairing: Ash x Squirrel
Rating: PG
Summary: Ashfur's thoughts in TNP when the adventurers are away
Warning: Angst, Spoilers
Disclaimer: Erin Hunter owns Warriors
Beta: N/A
Cover: N/A
Author's Notes: [The longest One-shot I ever wrote. Poor Ashfur. I love him so much]
Chapter #1
“That Brambleclaw is a lazy lump!”
Ashfur lifted his head in alarm. He had been about to take a pigeon from the fresh-kill pile, having contributed two wood mice and a crow. He hadn’t eaten anything since sunhigh the previous day, and was starving. He watched Mousefur storm around the camp, yowling something about the tabby tom sleeping past sunrise.
The grey tom shrugged and retrieved his pigeon, trekking over to a shady corner in the camp to munch on it, wondering about Brambleclaw’s suddenly sleepiness. As he ate, his eyes followed Brightheart as she poked her head in the den and then pulled it back out again, shaking her head at Mousefur, who lashed her tail in annoyance.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he lifted his head to see Dustpelt walking towards him, an annoyed yet worried expression on his face. Ashfur straitened up and met the older tom’s eyes. Something about his obvious anxiety made the fur on the young warrior’s spine rise.
“Have you seen Squirrelpaw?” the dark brown tabby asked, his voice soft as to not alert any other cat to her absence.
“No, sorry. Why?” Ashfur responded, his tail twitching nervously. Squirrelpaw, gone? Where? He had always harbored a soft spot for the fiery young apprentice…He was so caught up in wondering where she possibly could have gone that he missed Dustpelt’s answer.
“Hello?” The tabby’s annoyed mew made Ashfur jump. “If you would listen, then you would have heard me say that the apprentices told me she didn’t sleep in the den last night.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Ashfur muttered, instinctively flexing his claws.
“Oh, she’s probably fine,” Dustpelt said confidently. “But she won’t be once I’ve gotten my paws on her!” he spun around and stalked off.
Ashfur watched the tabby leave, and then his eyes followed Mousefur as she, Spiderpaw, Brightheart, and Cloudtail padded into the gorse tunnel and out of sight. Dustpelt complained under his breath and vanished into the nursery.
Ashfur could not help but feel slightly hurt at the thought of Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw both missing from the camp. They were probably out alone somewhere. Together. With a sigh of regret, he took another bite of his pigeon and almost let out a wail at the unfairness of it. Brambleclaw was moons older than Squirrelpaw, and she was an apprentice. But no use crying over lost prey. If she’s gone, she’s gone.
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Ashfur lay with his head on his paws, his eyes bright with worry. Many dawns had come and gone, and still no sign of Squirrelpaw. It was the night of the half-moon, and Cinderpelt and Leafpaw were away at Highstones. The moon hung in the sky, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars.
He blinked when he saw Firestar emerge from his den, looking weary and defeated. His leader stopped in the centre of the clearing and lifted his head to the heavens of Silverpelt. Ashfur heard him murmur something that sounded like a prayer as the night sky turned to a pale grey. As a few cats began to emerge from their dens, he caught the last few words:
“…light her path and keep her safe, Spottedleaf.”
Spottedleaf? Ashfur frowned. She was the legendary ThunderClan medicine cat who had been killed as a distraction so a ShadowClan warrior could steal ThunderClan kits. Why would Firestar be talking to her, of all cats? And why in such a tone of longing? Ashfur allowed his whiskers to twitch in amusement as he imagined what Sandstorm would say if she found out Firestar talked about other cats with a tone he usually reserved for her.
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Ashfur was really worried now. The moon was full, and he had just returned from the Gathering. The other warriors were lying around him, their eyes heavy with sleep. He felt a sense of comfort as he felt their warm bodies pressed against his, but this comfort was lost as he remembered Squirrelpaw, who, for all he knew, could be shivering all alone in a desolate place far from home.
When the young tom finally closed his eyes, his last thoughts were of the small ginger apprentice.
Squirrelpaw, where are you?
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Thousands of tail-lengths from home, Squirrelpaw opened her eyes and jerked her head upwards. She had been dreaming about a grey cat, writhing worriedly in his sleep.
A huge shape lying in front of her nearly caused her to let out a screech of alarm. But she remembered just in time: it was only Midnight. The huge badger’s stomach rose and fell as she snored softly. She glanced around, relaxing as she saw her friends around her.
As Squirrelpaw laid her head down, she glanced and Brambleclaw, sleeping peacefully beside her. The young apprentice curled her tail around her body as she curled up into a neat ball. But even as her body relaxed, she kept her eyes fixed on her Clanmate.
‘Why should I be having a dream about Ashfur?’ She wondered, her eyes narrowing in confusion. ‘I’m in love with Brambleclaw.’
And with that, Squirrelpaw fell asleep again, her dreams undisturbed. She would not remember her dream when she awoke.
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As the ginger she-cat closed her eyes, the eyes of the cat from her dream snapped open in alarm. A pang of loss and anguish was coursing through him, making his body tremble. He raised himself to his paws and padded out of the den to a secluded part of camp. In the dim moonlight, if one had looked close enough, they would have seen his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed grief, his eyes glazed with tears a cat could not cry…
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Ever since that terrible night, the night Ashfur had somehow realized Squirrelpaw did not love him, he had kept his feelings for the she-cat in check. He would often reprimand himself for daydreaming about the day she would return.
Things changed between him and the rest of the Clan. As the Clan slowly began to realize the forest was being destroyed, they stayed close together for protection. Ashfur was just the opposite. He found himself hunting and patrolling alone, desperately trying to keep his mind off of Squirrelpaw. Besides, he had become close friends with her and what had it gotten him? A broken heart. He didn’t need the Clan to protect him.
Then came the worst time he had ever faced in the forest. Later, after the Clans had traveled to the lake, it would be known as the Starving Time. Cats were dying. Cats were starving. Their coats, once sleek and glossy, had become matted and thin, hanging off bones that had once been hidden by sturdy muscles. Their eyes, once robust and full of life, were now dull and clouded. To live meant to starve. To starve meant to die. To die meant to be free from this terrible fate.
Ashfur had no time to think about Squirrelpaw anymore. He practically lived in the forest, forcing himself to continue his endless task, his impossible feat of trying to find enough food to feed at least the elders and the queens. There were times when he himself went days without so much as a scrap in his already too-thin stomach. His life became meaningless. His sole purpose was to hunt. Find. Stalk. Leap. Trap. Kill. Those words he would constantly repeat to himself.
There were times when he became so disoriented from lack of food that he forgot his own name, where he was, and why he was there.
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The young grey tabby now stalked a bright red cardinal. It perched on a low tree branch, and had its back turned to the hunter. Ashfur flexed his claws, rocked his haunches back and forth, and crept forward swiftly and lightly. The bird paid him no mind. He gathered up, ready to spring, but before he could, his belly gave a loud rumble. The bright red bird let out an alarmed shriek and burst into flight. Ashfur sprang up into the air, but came short by at least three tail-lengths. He sighed.
Find. Stalk. Leap. Failure.
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Ashfur walked wearily back to camp, his head bowed, a tiny mouse clasped firmly in his jaws. The sun was beginning to set, and he needed to get back before the Gathering started. But at this rate, he was sure he would be left behind.
A rustle in the bushes ahead caused his neck fur to rise slightly, but he did not jump to his paws, spitting and growling challenges like he would have a few moons ago. He just did not have the strength. Let whoever this was kill him. What did he have to live for?
An emaciated shape crept out from under the bush, followed by another, and another. Ashfur had to squint to recognize Firestar, Graystripe, and Sandstorm. They were followed by the meager remnants of what would have once been a mighty representation at any Gathering. Their eyes were all fixed on the mouse Ashfur held in his jaws.
The grey tom caught Firestar’s eye, who nodded. He limped over to Mousefur, who seemed to be the weakest of the bunch, being the oldest warrior, and started to pass the mouse to her. She shook her head.
“Take some for yourself, first, Ashfur,” she rasped. “You can just pass me up. I’m so sick; no food will help me now.”
“Never,” Ashfur snarled, his fur bristling. “Everyone will get a share!” He leaned down a ripped a strip of flesh off of the mouse that was no wider than his claw. He pushed the mouse over to Mousefur, who did the same, as he slowly chewed it, savoring its taste. He realized this could be his last scrap of food for a while, so he had better make it good.
By the time the mouse had been passed around once, there were nothing left but picked-clean bones that seemed to shine mockingly in the setting sun. Ashfur was so hungry, he was tempted to eat the bones, but he thought better of it.
The tom scanned the group and blinked in surprise. Ferncloud had Hollykit and Birchkit panting at her paws. The elders, even Longtail, were crouched down, their eyes half closed. In fact, every warrior and apprentice was there.
“We decided to move the Clan to the Sunningrocks,” Firestar meowed, his voice barely above a whisper. He had followed Ashfur’s gaze. “We were too close to the twolegs and their monsters.”
Ashfur said nothing, only nodding. At any other time, he would have confronted Firestar for leaving him out of the discussion of where the Clan would move, but now was not the time for him to pick a fight with his leader. Besides, where else did they have to run to?
“Are they all coming to the Gathering?” he asked quietly.
“No. Mousefur will lead the elders, apprentices, and queens to Sunningrocks.” Firestar’s voice was flat and emotionless as he turned and began to walk away.
“Wait!” Ashfur cried out. Firestar stopped and turned his head. Ashfur jerked his head at the bones. “Aren’t we going to bury these?” he asked.
“We’ve already wasted enough time!” Dustpelt spat, shouldering his way forward. “We have to leave now if we even want to make it to Fourtrees by moonhigh!” he stared pointedly at Firestar, who sighed.
Ashfur glared at Dustpelt. “Just because we’re all half dead doesn’t mean we can’t show respect for the creatures that keep as alive!” He remembered about Larchkit too late. Dustpelt looked speechless, his eyes wide. “Dustpelt, I-”
“FINE!” the tabby bellowed, his eyes burning. “Do as you like. Next thing we know, you’ll be telling us you believe in StarClan!” There were muted gasps from the Clan as Dustpelt spat the last word and spun around, stalking into the undergrowth. Firestar glanced back at Ashfur before following. The rest of the Clan also padded after their leader, except Ashfur, who watched them leave.
He turned to the mouse bones and carefully buried them in the earth.
‘I do believe in you, StarClan,’ he thought. ‘I know you still watch over us.’
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Ashfur padded into his new camp, his eyes filled with disbelief at what he had just seen. His heart was pounding fit to burst; fear was coursing through his veins.
The twoleg raised the shiny forepaw. It bit deep into the great oak’s bark. Sap spewed out of the tree, like blood flying from a mortal wound…
The twolegs had destroyed Fourtrees.
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Days melted into nights. Dawn became the bringer of death. Indeed, it seemed that with every sunrise, another death occurred somewhere within the forest.
Ashfur wandered aimlessly around the camp, his eyes flicking from one spot to another without really seeing anything. Every rib showed, his eyes were sunken into his skull, and his shoulders jutted out of his pelt. He was basically skin and fur stretched over a skeleton.
He passed Ferncloud, his sister, who was stretched out on her side. Her kits slept beside her, looking no better than their mother. Ashfur felt a pang of sadness in his heart. These kits seemed so much different from the ones he remembered, the ones who had always played with one another. Now, they pressed close to Ferncloud, trying to gather up whatever warmth they could.
The gray tom’s eyes found Dustpelt on the other side of Sunningrocks. The tabby was hunched over, his eyes half closed. The bitter winds ruffled his mangy pelt. He lifted his head and caught Ashfur’s gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time. Finally, Ashfur dipped his head to his former mentor, who nodded back.
The warrior slowly made his way off of the rocks and down to the river bank, where he crouched down to lap up water. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and he drank as much as he could until his belly was full with it. It was about the only thing it could be full on these days.
“What, pray tell, is a ThunderClan warrior doing in RiverClan territory?” A voice sneered.
Ashfur lifted his head, surprise and anger making his fur stand on end. A dark tabby shape loomed over him.
“Brambleclaw?” he asked quietly, his heart giving a disbelieving tremor.
“What are you mewing about? Why would you confuse me with that…deserter!” the tabby spat the last word.
Ashfur looked closer. The tabby looked so much like his Clan mate…but as he leaned forward, he saw that this tom had ice blue eyes, not Brambleclaw’s pale amber.
“Hawkfrost!” he gasped, tail-tip twitching.
“Me,” the tabby confirmed calmly. Ashfur blinked, angry with himself. How could he confuse his friend with another cat? He shook his head. Perhaps it was just the sun playing on the water, but he could have sworn Brambleclaw had the same broad shoulders and thick pelt.
“Now,” the tabby swept on, his voice becoming low and dangerous, “why on you on my territory?”
“You’re territory?!” Ashfur growled, his hackles rising. “This is the ThunderClan side of the river!”
“True. But ThunderClanners cannot hunt this river.”
“I know that. What do think I am, exactly?”
“Nor are they allowed to drink from it.”
“What?” Ashfur exploded, spring to his paws. “That’s the most mouse-brained thing I’ve ever of heard of!”
“Believe what you want, intruder.” Hawkfrost’s voice was airy with confidence as he took stepped forward, unsheathing long, sharp claws.
Great StarClan! Ashfur thought. I sure don’t want to tangle with this warrior. He could rip me into kit bedding! But he would not back down. The tom bared his fangs and took a pace towards his persecutor, tail lashing, eyes burning. Hawkfrost’s eyes widened for a second, as if he had not been expecting Ashfur to meet his challenge. But the next moment, his uncertainty vanished, replaced with superior arrogance.
“Fine then,” he spat. To Ashfur’s great surprise, he whirled around and slipped into the water, vanishing under the surface. For a heartbeat, only ripples revealed the tom’s position, but then, these too disappeared, leaving the water smooth as glass.
Ashfur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes scanning the water. He knew an attack could not come from behind, but the river curved slightly around him like a half-moon, leaving him susceptible to attacks from the sides and front. He strained his ears, listening for the faintest gurgle of water, the softest sound of a heartbeat…
Hawkfrost exploded out of the water to his left. Ashfur jerked his head back in time, and the tabby’s teeth snapped shut on empty air close to his ear.
With amazing agility, Hawkfrost twisted in the air to land on his paws. Ashfur had to grudgingly admit that the tom he was dealing with was no fool. He could fight and use his surroundings to his advantages, as he had just proved.
“That’s a neat trick,” Ashfur growled. “Too bad it didn’t work.”
“Shame,” Hawkfrost sneered back. “If it had, there’d be one less trespasser in the forest.”
Ashfur sprang forward, unsheathing his claws, his eyes burning with anger. He felt dim satisfaction when his claws scraped through skin. Hawkfrost screeched as his blood splattered the ground and tainted the river.
The dark tabby lurched forward and brought his fangs crushing down on Ashfur’s neck, near his shoulder. Pain lanced down the grey tom’s spine as he felt blood seep from the bite. With a yowl, he twisted around, trying to yank free from Hawkfrost’s merciless jaws.
A battle cry went up from Sunningrocks, and Ashfur twisted his head around with a cry of relief.
Sandstorm, Graystripe, and Mousefur were sprinting towards the river’s edge, their eyes gleaming with fury. Hawkfrost stood his ground for a heartbeat, lashing his tail, but then his grip on Ashfur lessened, and the grey tom fell to the ground panting. When he glanced up, Hawkfrost had thrown himself into the river with a splash, and was swimming strongly back to the other side.
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Ashfur moved about the camp stiffly. Clouds coated the sky, forecasting rain. He cringed a little and twisted his neck to give his permanent injury a lick. A knotted scar ran from the back of his neck to his shoulder, often limiting his movements. Though Cinderpelt has said the pain would fade in a few days, he would always bear the scar. A grim reminder of Hawkfrost. Ashfur bristled at the thought of his name.
When he thought of Cinderpelt, he decided to go to her for some healing herbs. Gritting his teeth, he strode over to where she kept her limited supply of medicines, and realized she was not there.
“She went back,” a deep meow said softly. Ashfur turned and saw Firestar standing a few tail-lengths behind him, his shoulders jutting out of his fur.
“Back?” Ashfur echoed.
“Not for good,” the tom said quickly. “She went to retrieve the last of her herbs from the old camp this morning.”
“Oh.”
For a while, the leader and his warrior sat in silence. Then, Firestar rose to his paws, twitching his tail in farewell.
“I must go hunt,” he muttered quietly, with a meaningful glance and the fresh-kill pile that consisted of two scrawny mice. He turned his back on Ashfur and walked away wearily into the forest, the weak sun bouncing off his matted pelt.
Ashfur sighed, but then, he lifted his head in surprise, sniffing the air curiously. That scent…it was so familiar.
He whipped around and bounded to a rock that rose above the rest. A high wind blew his fur dramatically to one side as he scanned the ground below him and gasped. Approaching Sunningrocks was a band of three cats, a tabby tom in the leader, a ginger she-cat following, and a dark grey tom taking up the rear.
He tensed, ready to bound down to meet them, but they had already begun to pass other members of the Clan, who drew back, their eyes burning with anger and mistrust. A few walked stiffly forward, their lips curled in disgust.
Ashfur slid down the rocks, his heart pounding. He noted that Squirrelpaw seemed to be pressing close to Brambleclaw, her eyes gleaming with fear. Fear of her own Clanmates. Ashfur felt jealousy surge within him, and he padded out of the shadows. Squirrelpaw turned to him, obviously depending on him to say something…to welcome them back…
“Well, welcome back.”