When Antstep, warrior of WindClan, finds himself in a position of power beyond his wildest dreams, he goes to more and more drastic lengths to ensure his own security. But how far will he go? And how long can he survive against the skeletons in his own closet?
pinned post (note: this has been inactive for years sob)
- away from anthills: antstar's unraveling is a warrior cats fan story set in the warrior cats universe. it serves as a deconstruction of the leadership processes we see in the books, as well as a parable about paranoia, belonging, and how power corrupts.
- away from anthills is set in the original five clans during the time of the old territories, before skyclan was exiled and the forests began to be destroyed.
- as the story is set within existing warrior cats canon and serves as a deconstruction of the (frankly rather dystopian) way the clans are written, many features of the canon clans (ie the naming system) have been left intact. however, i strongly implore you to look into the criticism the books have received from the indigenous community for stereotyping and appropriating aspects of native culture.
- away from anthills follows antstep (later antstar), a windclan warrior who- after a set of strange circumstances- finds himself the leader of his clan. however, his paranoia and fear of rejection sink into him. his clanmates don't trust him, owing to his non-clan heritage; and most of the other clan leaders are apathetic towards him at best and actively aggressive at worst. eventually, windclan's charming- if amoral- medic convinces antstar that the only way he will survive as a leader is to turn on his own clanmates. and so, antstar's decline begins... but can he outlast the skeletons in his closet before it's too late?
hello! this is a blog i decided to make specifically for song of the sky, my novel. initially i was only posting about it on my main but it was getting kind of clogged and hard to follow so i figured this would be better. this is just to organize things mainly.
song of the sky is a novel adaptation of wolfgang amadeus mozart's opera the magic flute, his last opera, although it takes the story in a vastly different direction (for good reason, the original... well it didn't age well, let's say.)
it takes place among a redwall-style feline society in the heart of chicago as two rivalrous rulers, the starblazer (a former revolutionary) and king sarastro (the king she dethroned), battle it out for a chance to decide the future of the city. both realize they are getting on in years, and that their reigns will therefore inevitably end- but, if they can claim their power once and for all, perhaps they will live forever through an heir.
and so they fight over pamina, the starblazer's daughter and only heir to the entire city, for their chance at winning their seemingly-endless feud. their battle soon falls upon the shoulders of tamino, a little bengal housecat who just might have a destiny beyond even his wildest dreams...
you might remember this basic concept back when it was @/ensemblecomic, so if you followed me then a lot of this might sound familiar (although i've made quite a lot of changes this go around).
MAIN TAGS:
character tags (the main characters are #tamino, #pamina, #the starblazer, #king sarastro, #papageno, #monostatos, #the speaker, and #the forsaken molly)
#illustration (my drawings of them)
#resource (stuff that goes over lore/character relations/plot content/other good to know stuff)
#aesthetics (pictures that just fit the general vibe of the story)
#funnies (silly nonsense posts)
#dealing with schikaneder (anything to do with the original opera and adapting it into song of the sky)
#misc (anything that doesn't fit into the above)
MY OTHER BLOGS:
@madmozarteanfelinefantasy (main)
@you-are-starclan (arg/fanclan blog where the readers play god)
@away-from-anthills (sigh. warrior cats fan story)
do you think you could do a better job than the starclan in the books?
welcome to starclan! yes, you are part of starclan now. it's always warm here, and there is always prey to eat and friends to talk to. you also have full jurisdiction, along with your starclan peers, over what happens down on earth below. do you understand?
thank goodness you got here when you did! you have been assigned to watch over a little clowder of cats that have just formed. they are very scared, and very lost, and they don't quite know what to do with themselves. but they trust starclan more than they do their own paws, and they trust that you will be able to guide them in what is Right and Correct. do you understand? do you understand.
every week in starclan, which feels like a season on earth, you will be given an update via this blog on what the clowder is up to. using discord and polls, you will then be able to vote on what you'd like to happen to them next. you cannot fully control how individual cats will act, but you can control who lives and who dies, who has kittens, who becomes the next deputy, and so on.
here is an initial google form to collect feedback on this project and whether or not it should go ahead. i will try to publish the first update this sunday, january 9, and publish each update on sundays. (however i am busy so please don't hold me to this.) on that day, the discord will also be officially opened.
I’ve been using some of my free time to put together a Warriors (or just cat in general) themed Picrew! Feel free to check it out if you’re interested, I’m very proud of it! https://picrew.me/image_maker/1255960
He tried as hard as he could to ignore the wails of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw as he began his speech.
Antstar had carefully rehearsed this over and over in his head the night prior. He couldn’t do it too naturally, of course, or they could catch onto him. But with just the right intonation- just the right worry-
“Stoatslink’s body, as you may have seen, was discovered in the gorge this morning.”
Antstar could hear whispers from the cats below as they continued to inspect the body.
“His wounds smell like rogue…” he could hear Talonscar whisper. He hoped to StarClan- and whoever lurked above them- that he didn’t smell like what he was convinced he was.
“However, the obvious wounds all over the body lead me to believe that this was no accident, nor did Stoatslink die by falling in. In fact, I think something foul is afoot. Before he died, Stoatslink told me he believed Sparkthistle had not-“ -he had to swallow the sickly lump that was forming in this throat- “had not been killed, but rather… murdered by rogues.”
Again, he tried to ignore his Clanmates’ hushed whispering. But he couldn’t help but fear they already knew, somehow, and that somehow-
“Specifically, I believe, Stoatslink was worried about rogues who live near the Moonstone, who he swore he had seen on our territory. He was investigating the death- as some of you might have been able to tell- when he died. I believe…”
He had to stop his amber eyes from welling up with panic and with grief at his own actions. What have I done?
“I believe the rogues likely killed Stoatslink to silence him. We need to drive them out. It is what Stoatslink would have wanted, and what we need to do in order to keep our Clan safe.”
“Where are they?” growled Rockscratch with anger, and Antstar nearly leapt off the rock with fright until he realized that the russet tabby’s anger was directed at the rogues. “We need to stop them!”
“I’ll come too!” said Juniperfang. Antstar had to admit that Juniperfang made him uneasy. Only a scant few moons ago, the tabby tom had been a loner, a stranger to Clan life. Already now he was one of the more militant cats, and he only scarcely visited the elders’ den to talk to Audrey and Shrike.
More cats nodded in agreement- Spiderfoot, then Emberheart, then Twigpaw. Goldenpaw had ran off into the apprentice’s den, followed by her mentor Webwhisker, Milkpaw was angrily trying to convince Toadpool through her tears that she should join them.
“It’s decided then. Russetfoot-“ Antstar scanned the clearing for his deputy- “Russetfoot, could you-“
Suddenly Whitetooth appeared at the base of the rock and flicked their head back, indicating they needed to talk to Antstar privately about the deputy. Antstar felt panic swallow his heart, but he nodded, trying to keep his cool.
“Alright, then. Rockscratch, Spiderfoot, Emberheart, Juniperfang, Lilystone; I’ll lead you all on a patrol towards where Stoatslink thought the rogues were. Molethroat, Toadpool, Sparrowpetal, Birchshine, Shadeflower; you all guard camp.” He puffed out his chest to look authoritative, although the weight of said chest swayed a bit as it sat atop trembling limbs. “This is a very serious matter, and it only confirms Stoatslink’s suspicions. We need to act now.”
Already WindClan lined itself up for defense. Houndnose and Cherrycloud were taking kits inside the nursery for protection- even Brindlekit, even though she squeaked protests of “But I wanna go get the rogues, too!”
As WindClan shuffled into place, Antstar padded over to Whitetooth’s side. There was a touch of consternation to the white cat’s long-snouted face, their ears attuned back towards the medic den.
“It’s Stripedwing’s litter,” they said quietly. “While it does seem that Aphidkit has healed from the sickness, Dewkit passed away in the night, joining her brother Mousekit in StarClan.”
A cold shock of grief grappled Antstar’s belly.
“The one ill one left is Thistlekit, and he’s so small and feeble I’d be surprised if he made it through. I need to stay here to care for them, and Russetfoot wishes to stay here also.”
“Of course,” said Antstar. In that moment Antstar nearly forgot of all the horror of the night preceding- Stoatslink’s last garbled cry, the smell of the blood, the way the yellow eyes that had once been his stared at Antstar after death. Perhaps he was a murderer now, but Antstar only felt softness for kits, and he always would.
Only after turning away to lead the patrol did Antstar feel uneasy without his constant companion behind him. He hoped the rogues wouldn’t spit out the truth as they were chased out- or, if they were, that nobody would believe them, and that their words would be forgotten like carved sand on the shore.
They set out, into the grass, which was yellowing and thinning with the autumn air. The sky was white, but not sunless; the clouds were thin like an amniotic sac and the sun’s light still peeked through. Still, there was an unnerving feeling to it- Antstar did not want to think about how the sky wore Stoatslink’s pelt color.
“There!” he heard Juniperfang cry, and he turned his dark head to see the rogues. They had not noticed Antstar, but they had become aware of the patrol’s presence. The rogues got up from the dead hare they had been sharing- evidently not their kill, judging from the tinge of rot around it- and slowly advanced towards them. They looked uncannily at Antstar- one of them seemed as if he were about to say something, but the thought came and went- and then Juniperfang leapt- and then- and then-
Antstar could not remember anything more.
He knew, objectively, he had been there. The rogues had been chased off, judging by the boastful cries of Juniperfang and Spiderfoot. He knew he had participated; his paws were flecked with blood and one of the rogues had scratched his snout. One of the rogues had been killed from the group effort, but Antstar could not remember which one and how; he only knew because Juniperfang seemed disturbingly proud of it and Lilystone had told him to shut up. It was as if Antstar’s brain, fed up with the tightropes of panic he always balanced on, had blotted things out; as if the fear that one of the rogues would reveal his secret overtook his memory.
His troubles were not over, however; one turn towards camp and he made out the figures of a SkyClan patrol.
“SkyClan? What are they doing here?” Spiderfoot asked, her voice fraught with suspicion. He narrowed his eyes to get a closer look. He could make out Hopscratch, Pigeonstar’s deputy, talking to Russetfoot about something; behind her were a whole corral of SkyClanners he could only recognize from prior gatherings. Once he stepped into camp and the warriors behind him dispersed to tell their Clanmates about the rogue fight, he caught the attention of Hopscratch’s amber eyes, and she got up from Russetfoot to talk to him.
She was a short, stubby thing, especially unique among a Clan renowned for their flexibility. She was mostly white, with brown patches covering her head and back, and her tail was only about a third of the usual size. Her ears were torn and the fur around her muzzle was slightly bushy, but the most notable thing about her was her back leg. It was small, shriveled, and black; over time it had been worn down to only a stump. Antstar had heard the story why: When she had been born, her umbilical cord wrapped around her leg and strangled it, cutting off its blood supply and rendering it unusable.
Despite her injury however she had grown to be quite nimble. She had to be, after all; nimbleness was SkyClan’s thing as they raced among the treetops.
“Hello, Antstar,” she said, dipping her head respectfully.
Antstar braced himself for attack, but upon realizing potential battle would take a moment he too dipped his head to her.
“Pigeonstar had sent us here with the intent of attack,” she explained bluntly. Antstar looked at the cats behind her. SkyClan was no ThunderClan, but their claws and teeth were sharp; some looked more willing for a fight than others. He could recognize the spotted calico who had attacked him a little less than a moon prior; she eyed him pointedly. “However,” Hopscratch continued, “upon finding out about the tragedy that has occurred this morning, I and my Clanmates figured it would be in our best mutual interest if we did not attack. Besides, I worry that attacks over such personal reasons would ultimately harm us both.”
Antstar tried to apologize for Stoneclaw’s death profusely, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Hopscratch simply nodded, and then raised a paw to quiet him. “We’ve all done things we regret in the heat of the moment- deaths in battle among them. One of my own children, once, accidentally killed an apprentice in battle, and she was torn up about it for moons. I told her over and over- she didn’t know, it was purely accidental, there was no ill will about it- but even to this day, she’s never quite gotten over it. I would not want the same to happen to you, or to whoever was the one to kill Stoneclaw in the first place. The guilt I saw in her eyes is something I couldn’t wish upon even the blackest of Dark Forest spirits.”
I’m already there, Hopscratch, he wanted to tell her. I’m already there.
But no sooner had she discussed it than she organized the patrol to leave. “There will be no fight today, Clanmates,” she instructed them, and they lined up orderly to go back across Fourtrees and home.
“Should I worry about Pigeonstar in the future?” Antstar asked. Sure, his deputy had stopped him this time- but it was an open secret Hopscratch was considering retiring soon, and whoever Pigeonstar would elect in her place was likely someone younger and less wise to the world around them.
“Pigeonstar? Oh, no. He’ll shape himself around his grief and live with it eventually. It’s his other son you have to worry about.”
And away they went, over the WindClan plains, before Antstar could ask anything more.
“The rogues were… dispatched easily.”
Antstar said his words quickly, trying not to think about how wrong it felt on his tongue. He knew it was right. They killed Stoatslink. They were chased out far beyond the territories. Nothing more and nothing less needed to be said.
But something gnawed at him. He pretended to himself that he had simply never gotten over how tall the Gathering rock was- hell, even on the Tallrock at home he felt a bit queasy- but something whispered to him, in a harsh, lawful tone, that he knew damned well what it really was.
“That’s good to hear,” responded Tulipstar, nodding her head. The full moon gave her white-and-ginger fur a particular glow, maternal but speckled with the chill of the brisk autumn air she breathed. “We extend our deepest condolences for Sandwhisker, Stoatslink, Mousekit, and Dewkit.”
Antstar had to crane his neck to catch his breath. “In other news,” he continued, “despite their- father’s passing- Stoatslink’s daughters passed their assessments with flying colors, and have received their warrior names- Goldencloud and Milknose!”
The rumble of cheers that spilled from below was enough to drown out Antstar’s worries. Away went the grief around him, and Goldencloud and Milknose seemed proud enough of their names to still bask in the cries around them. Antstar, however, still felt uncomfortable talking to them; he wanted so badly to apologize and yet he knew he never could. Even naming them just felt wrong; as if he had killed a mother bird standing over her nest and was now making off with her eggs.
Tulipstar began to speak about her own Clan; since the battle that had claimed the lives of Redfeather and Trufflepelt, they had enjoyed a peaceful moon. The Clan had somehow managed to catch a small deer, and two apprentices had received their warrior names a tad early for it. And finally, Velvetshade had bore two more kits- welcome arrivals, as the RiverClan nursery had not had more than two kits in moons. There was a ripple of cheers for the new names Tulipstar announced- Shortfeather! Lightstone! Gracklekit! Plumkit! Lilackit!- and then attention turned to ThunderClan. Tatteredstar similarly took the time to mourn the two ThunderClan toms that had died in the battle- Rooktalon, she said, would have made for a fine leader had he ever gotten the chance, and Frostsnarl was a very intense fighter who had more than proved his worth. Antstar flinched as he remembered how the tom had attacked him and ripped Trufflepelt in two- and, perhaps even more haunting, how Frostsnarl himself had met his end at dozens of RiverClan claws and teeth. But the old molly had seen more than her fair share of battle, and it all sounded like a script she had said before many times. Onward she went to describe how her Clan had built a new wall of brambles around the nursery to protect it, and how there had been an incident where Gourdfang was taken by humans but had managed to escape- but besides that, life in ThunderClan had gone on as usual, forever preparing for the next in a wheel of the endless battles that defined their lives.
There was sudden quiet- neither the SkyClan or ShadowClan leaders seemed to want to speak. They stared at one another, for the longest time; Currantstar’s emerald eyes boring into Pigeonstar’s teal ones, until at last Pigeonstar stepped forward- although the look he gave Currantstar told everyone that it wasn’t that the flint-gray tom was intimidated, or lacked will; it was that he thought their little silent feud was a waste of time.
Pigronstar looked… tired.
“SkyClan mourns those we lost in the battle as well, Bumbleshade… and-“ -he cleared his throat- “and Stoneclaw.”
Antstar half-expected the tom to go into a long spiel about his son and the life he had, just as Pigeonstar had been eager to talk about his children before, but just as he had touched on the topic he had left it at that. Onward he went to describe new matters. The teal-eyed tom wasn’t the convulsing mess he had been over his son’s body- thank God for that- but he wasn’t nearly as boisterous as he had previously been. He was just as prickly as ever, though. For a moment, a tussle between Weevilclaw and Beetleclaw of ThunderClan and Buzzardsplash of RiverClan interrupted Pigeonstar’s spiel, and he reacted with a sharp cry of “Watch it, dipshits!” before resuming and whispering a private, barbed comment about the three cats’ parentage. SkyClan living had been quiet since the battle; the only new development was that three kits had become apprentices, one of which was training to be a medic. As Pigeonstar described the three, Antstar watched the young cat and her mentor. Whisperpaw was small and excitable, taking in every detail around her and excitedly chattering with her mentor, Honeyfur. Honeyfur had always been a cat with a quiet melancholy nobody could truly describe, but he looked much more lighthearted than usual as his young apprentice skipped and sang and danced around him.
“She’s a force of nature,” the golden tabby explained to Pebblesky and Addertooth. “Not nearly as quiet as her name would make you think!”
Marblepaw watched Whisperpaw with a strange sort of envy. Antstar thought about how he had never seen her laugh and smile like Whisperpaw did. Even as a kit in the nursery, she and her brother Twigpaw were always quite sullen- because of the high likelihood they were the result of illegitimacy, as well as them both being unplanned to begin with, their mother Adderthorn was always cold and distant towards them. She really hadn’t meant to, of course, and she did love them in her own strange way. But she never seemed entirely sure what to do with them, and often she’d spend as much time away from the nursery as possible as she figured it would be better to just not be around than make mistakes. Antstar did remember Marblepaw was happy the day she was apprenticed- but ever since then, ever since she had known the truth of what Whitetooth was willing to do to help their Clan, she had remained still and scared.
Antstar wanted to help her, with every bone in his body. But he knew what would have to be revealed to do so- and he didn’t have the stomach to entertain the idea further.
But he couldn’t linger on the thought longer. Currantstar was taking the stand- and, if anything else, Antstar knew it would be interesting.
The secret of Currantstar’s infidelity had begun to get around, as Whitestone had told ShadowClan about it when he resigned as Currantstar’s deputy. Apparently, this hadn’t been the first time something similar had happened- but the last time, at least, he had no current mate and was merely ShadowClan’s deputy. Specklestar, the prior leader who he had served under, excused him- and privately arranged for the kits that resulted from the relationship to live with their rogue mother and never see the Clans. But now, he had nobody to defend him and hold his paw, and he looked rather like a lost kit. He had aged twelve moons since Antstar had seen him- like a paper structure crumbling under light rain.
“ShadowClan… ShadowClan mourns the loss of our friends from other Clans who passed on in the great Sunningrocks battle. We wish them good hunting in StarClan.”
“Are you gonna mention your kittypet girl?” cackled an old, battle-scarred elder just below him.
Currantstar pretended not to hear. “Over the last moon, Whitestone, my previous deputy, resigned. I have elected former leading permaqueen Gullflight in his place.” That made sense, Antstar thought- he and Gullflight had always been good friends. He recalled something that Shalestar had told him many moons ago before leadership was among even Antstar’s wildest of dreams: A leader’s leadership is truly over when they stop electing deputies that could lead the Clan, and start electing deputies that exist solely to protect and be friends with them.
There was more jeering from the crowd, and Antstar noted that the jeering seemed to bring Pigeonstar some strange sort of enjoyment. Currantstar cleared his throat, his breath suddenly getting shaky. “My… former deputy… asked me to tell the other Clans why he resigned, else he would tell them himself. My deputy-“ -he sped up the words to get them out quick, like ripping off a bandage- “my deputy chose to resign because he walked in on me with a kittypet mate.”
“That’s not all!” yelled a calico molly behind him. “She’s gonna have Currantstar’s babies!”
Pandemonium ensued among the Clans below. There was confusion, betrayal, and a joyous sort of lampooning. ShadowClan cats immediately went off on the allegations: The elders were gossiping about how Currantstar was likely seeing more mollies than just the kittypet he had disclosed, a black tom with scratched-out eyes was excitedly telling Smokebark of RiverClan about how Currantstar had only elected Whitestone as deputy to win favors with his daughter, three ThunderClan mollies were wondering how poor Sleekpetal, Currantstar’s mate, who hadn’t been to the Gathering that day was taking the news…
It was chaos. Only Tatteredstar bellowing “SILENCE!” was enough to get the Clans calm down from the sheer drama of it all- but before the silence truly died out, Antstar heard Spiderfoot over the crowd saying “Well, he should resign, shouldn’t he?”
“Because of this,” Currantstar continued, “I shall be placing myself in self-imposed exile for half a moon, during which I shall hunt for the Clan and the Clan only. Then I will return. In my absence, Gullflight will lead and provide me information about how the Clan is doing.
Fair punishment, if a little short, Antstar reasoned. Then it hit him- Currantstar was probably leaving to go be with Calypso further!
Oh, Stoatslink would have loved this, he thought - but then the guilt washed all over him again.
If nothing else, Antstar thought, it would prove to be a very interesting moon.
The Gathering soon dismissed- ShadowClan first, as they wanted to high-tail it after all of the embarrassment they had suffered on Currantstar’s behalf; then RiverClan, then SkyClan, until finally only ThunderClan and WindClan were left, gathering up their respective cats. Not a word was spoken between Antstar and Tatteredstar, although she did give him a nod of acknowledgement as did he to her. Tatteredstar, Antstar felt, was on another dimension than all the other leaders. She wasn’t just leader of ThunderClan- she was ThunderClan. It was as if the Clan itself could not exist without her- although Antstar did wonder how immortal she truly was, as every moon he had noticed Eelwhisker, her deputy, take more and more of an active role. Was he preparing himself for something more?
No, Antstar thought- no, he couldn’t be. There were two things Antstar was certain would live to the end of the universe- the stars above him, and Tatteredstar.
“Can we talk for a minute?” Antstar watched as a blue-gray-and-white tom approached Tatteredstar, his tail flicking. The WindClan leader recognized him as Cloudclaw, Pebblesky’s son from before she moved to be a RiverClan medic; he always seemed unpleased about something.
“Shoot,” said Tatteredstar gruffly as she organized the ThunderClan elders into a group.
“My new apprentice, Firepaw,” Cloudclaw began, “hasn’t been doing any of his assignments recently ever since he was reassigned to me after the battle. He’s constantly scared of everything, always going on and on about the battle we had earlier and all the blood spilled. I really want what’s best for the lad, I really do; I'm tough on him because I want him to succeed. I worry about his future in the Clan if he goes on like this.”
Tatteredstar nodded. “I’ve noticed. It seems to me the poor fellow’s got war-eyes.”
War-eyes? Antstar thought. He had heard the phrase once or twice in passing, but he had never known what it referred to.
“War-eyes,” Tatteredstar began to explain, “is something that can happen to anyone. Doesn’t happen always in battle either, but it happens there more often than not. You see something that terrifies you, it claws at your mind a certain way… only StarClan knows what and what doesn’t give you war-eyes. Once you got war-eyes, you have to live with it. The slightest things make you jump and re-remember it. It doesn’t leave your mind. Eventually you learn to work around it, and it loosens its grip on you. But sometimes it comes back in waves. My brother- he died many seasons before you were born, of course- had war-eyes. Never quite left him.”
Antstar- or anyone else, really- had never heard Tatteredstar mention her family before. They were all long dead, after all- she was the only one left from her entire generation, born about some seventy moons ago.
But he knew he had heard that description before. Coalclaw, he thought- of course! Whatever Firepaw of ThunderClan was suffering, Coalclaw had to have had it too. He made a mental note- next time he saw Tatteredstar, he’d ask her about it, and, hopefully, he would know what to do with the haunted WindClan tom at last.
Home was quiet that night, at least.
Stoatslink had been buried for a solid quarter-moon or so now, and so the Clan no longer held the sort of paranoia it had the first couple of days after his body had been found. It had brought them all together, at least- just as Whitetooth said it would. The excitement of the Gathering wasn’t fully removed, as the story of what. Currantstar had been up to spread across camp the way thistles spread across the summer grass.
Antstar told Spiderfoot, Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal about what he had learned from overhearing Tatteredstar- about war-eyes, and how it was likely what Coalclaw was dealing with. Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal looked relieved that there was a term for it, but Spiderfoot was still adamant- if there was a treatment, she reasoned, Coalclaw should have already done the research himself to figure it out and work through it. She said she bore no hard feelings, and truly didn’t want to be the villain; she simply worried about the Clan and the greater good, and if Coalclaw would impede them all. So Antstar took a long night walk with her, over the moors and the plains, they reminisced about the past when Spiderfoot was still just a newly-appointed apprentice and how much she had learned. She’d be a good deputy, Antstar thought, if he ever had to elect a new one and if time lengthened her patience. Antstar reminded her how important her family was- and how she should be kinder to her brother, as Antstar himself wished for a family more than anything in the world.
“But you have your Clan!” Spiderfoot told him. “You have us, we can be your family!”
If only she knew, Antstar thought to himself as the moon, pale as Stoatslink’s fur, stared down at him.
He tried as hard as he could to ignore the wails of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw as he began his speech.
Antstar had carefully rehearsed this over and over in his head the night prior. He couldn’t do it too naturally, of course, or they could catch onto him. But with just the right intonation- just the right worry-
“Stoatslink’s body, as you may have seen, was discovered in the gorge this morning.”
Antstar could hear whispers from the cats below as they continued to inspect the body.
“His wounds smell like rogue…” he could hear Talonscar whisper. He hoped to StarClan- and whoever lurked above them- that he didn’t smell like what he was convinced he was.
“However, the obvious wounds all over the body lead me to believe that this was no accident, nor did Stoatslink die by falling in. In fact, I think something foul is afoot. Before he died, Stoatslink told me he believed Sparkthistle had not-“ -he had to swallow the sickly lump that was forming in this throat- “had not been killed, but rather… murdered by rogues.”
Again, he tried to ignore his Clanmates’ hushed whispering. But he couldn’t help but fear they already knew, somehow, and that somehow-
“Specifically, I believe, Stoatslink was worried about rogues who live near the Moonstone, who he swore he had seen on our territory. He was investigating the death- as some of you might have been able to tell- when he died. I believe…”
He had to stop his amber eyes from welling up with panic and with grief at his own actions. What have I done?
“I believe the rogues likely killed Stoatslink to silence him. We need to drive them out. It is what Stoatslink would have wanted, and what we need to do in order to keep our Clan safe.”
“Where are they?” growled Rockscratch with anger, and Antstar nearly leapt off the rock with fright until he realized that the russet tabby’s anger was directed at the rogues. “We need to stop them!”
“I’ll come too!” said Juniperfang. Antstar had to admit that Juniperfang made him uneasy. Only a scant few moons ago, the tabby tom had been a loner, a stranger to Clan life. Already now he was one of the more militant cats, and he only scarcely visited the elders’ den to talk to Audrey and Shrike.
More cats nodded in agreement- Spiderfoot, then Emberheart, then Twigpaw. Goldenpaw had ran off into the apprentice’s den, followed by her mentor Webwhisker, Milkpaw was angrily trying to convince Toadpool through her tears that she should join them.
“It’s decided then. Russetfoot-“ Antstar scanned the clearing for his deputy- “Russetfoot, could you-“
Suddenly Whitetooth appeared at the base of the rock and flicked their head back, indicating they needed to talk to Antstar privately about the deputy. Antstar felt panic swallow his heart, but he nodded, trying to keep his cool.
“Alright, then. Rockscratch, Spiderfoot, Emberheart, Juniperfang, Lilystone; I’ll lead you all on a patrol towards where Stoatslink thought the rogues were. Molethroat, Toadpool, Sparrowpetal, Birchshine, Shadeflower; you all guard camp.” He puffed out his chest to look authoritative, although the weight of said chest swayed a bit as it sat atop trembling limbs. “This is a very serious matter, and it only confirms Stoatslink’s suspicions. We need to act now.”
Already WindClan lined itself up for defense. Houndnose and Cherrycloud were taking kits inside the nursery for protection- even Brindlekit, even though she squeaked protests of “But I wanna go get the rogues, too!”
As WindClan shuffled into place, Antstar padded over to Whitetooth’s side. There was a touch of consternation to the white cat’s long-snouted face, their ears attuned back towards the medic den.
“It’s Stripedwing’s litter,” they said quietly. “While it does seem that Aphidkit has healed from the sickness, Dewkit passed away in the night, joining her brother Mousekit in StarClan.”
A cold shock of grief grappled Antstar’s belly.
“The one ill one left is Thistlekit, and he’s so small and feeble I’d be surprised if he made it through. I need to stay here to care for them, and Russetfoot wishes to stay here also.”
“Of course,” said Antstar. In that moment Antstar nearly forgot of all the horror of the night preceding- Stoatslink’s last garbled cry, the smell of the blood, the way the yellow eyes that had once been his stared at Antstar after death. Perhaps he was a murderer now, but Antstar only felt softness for kits, and he always would.
Only after turning away to lead the patrol did Antstar feel uneasy without his constant companion behind him. He hoped the rogues wouldn’t spit out the truth as they were chased out- or, if they were, that nobody would believe them, and that their words would be forgotten like carved sand on the shore.
They set out, into the grass, which was yellowing and thinning with the autumn air. The sky was white, but not sunless; the clouds were thin like an amniotic sac and the sun’s light still peeked through. Still, there was an unnerving feeling to it- Antstar did not want to think about how the sky wore Stoatslink’s pelt color.
“There!” he heard Juniperfang cry, and he turned his dark head to see the rogues. They had not noticed Antstar, but they had become aware of the patrol’s presence. The rogues got up from the dead hare they had been sharing- evidently not their kill, judging from the tinge of rot around it- and slowly advanced towards them. They looked uncannily at Antstar- one of them seemed as if he were about to say something, but the thought came and went- and then Juniperfang leapt- and then- and then-
Antstar could not remember anything more.
He knew, objectively, he had been there. The rogues had been chased off, judging by the boastful cries of Juniperfang and Spiderfoot. He knew he had participated; his paws were flecked with blood and one of the rogues had scratched his snout. One of the rogues had been killed from the group effort, but Antstar could not remember which one and how; he only knew because Juniperfang seemed disturbingly proud of it and Lilystone had told him to shut up. It was as if Antstar’s brain, fed up with the tightropes of panic he always balanced on, had blotted things out; as if the fear that one of the rogues would reveal his secret overtook his memory.
His troubles were not over, however; one turn towards camp and he made out the figures of a SkyClan patrol.
“SkyClan? What are they doing here?” Spiderfoot asked, her voice fraught with suspicion. He narrowed his eyes to get a closer look. He could make out Hopscratch, Pigeonstar’s deputy, talking to Russetfoot about something; behind her were a whole corral of SkyClanners he could only recognize from prior gatherings. Once he stepped into camp and the warriors behind him dispersed to tell their Clanmates about the rogue fight, he caught the attention of Hopscratch’s amber eyes, and she got up from Russetfoot to talk to him.
She was a short, stubby thing, especially unique among a Clan renowned for their flexibility. She was mostly white, with brown patches covering her head and back, and her tail was only about a third of the usual size. Her ears were torn and the fur around her muzzle was slightly bushy, but the most notable thing about her was her back leg. It was small, shriveled, and black; over time it had been worn down to only a stump. Antstar had heard the story why: When she had been born, her umbilical cord wrapped around her leg and strangled it, cutting off its blood supply and rendering it unusable.
Despite her injury however she had grown to be quite nimble. She had to be, after all; nimbleness was SkyClan’s thing as they raced among the treetops.
“Hello, Antstar,” she said, dipping her head respectfully.
Antstar braced himself for attack, but upon realizing potential battle would take a moment he too dipped his head to her.
“Pigeonstar had sent us here with the intent of attack,” she explained bluntly. Antstar looked at the cats behind her. SkyClan was no ThunderClan, but their claws and teeth were sharp; some looked more willing for a fight than others. He could recognize the spotted calico who had attacked him a little less than a moon prior; she eyed him pointedly. “However,” Hopscratch continued, “upon finding out about the tragedy that has occurred this morning, I and my Clanmates figured it would be in our best mutual interest if we did not attack. Besides, I worry that attacks over such personal reasons would ultimately harm us both.”
Antstar tried to apologize for Stoneclaw’s death profusely, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Hopscratch simply nodded, and then raised a paw to quiet him. “We’ve all done things we regret in the heat of the moment- deaths in battle among them. One of my own children, once, accidentally killed an apprentice in battle, and she was torn up about it for moons. I told her over and over- she didn’t know, it was purely accidental, there was no ill will about it- but even to this day, she’s never quite gotten over it. I would not want the same to happen to you, or to whoever was the one to kill Stoneclaw in the first place. The guilt I saw in her eyes is something I couldn’t wish upon even the blackest of Dark Forest spirits.”
I’m already there, Hopscratch, he wanted to tell her. I’m already there.
But no sooner had she discussed it than she organized the patrol to leave. “There will be no fight today, Clanmates,” she instructed them, and they lined up orderly to go back across Fourtrees and home.
“Should I worry about Pigeonstar in the future?” Antstar asked. Sure, his deputy had stopped him this time- but it was an open secret Hopscratch was considering retiring soon, and whoever Pigeonstar would elect in her place was likely someone younger and less wise to the world around them.
“Pigeonstar? Oh, no. He’ll shape himself around his grief and live with it eventually. It’s his other son you have to worry about.”
And away they went, over the WindClan plains, before Antstar could ask anything more.
“The rogues were… dispatched easily.”
Antstar said his words quickly, trying not to think about how wrong it felt on his tongue. He knew it was right. They killed Stoatslink. They were chased out far beyond the territories. Nothing more and nothing less needed to be said.
But something gnawed at him. He pretended to himself that he had simply never gotten over how tall the Gathering rock was- hell, even on the Tallrock at home he felt a bit queasy- but something whispered to him, in a harsh, lawful tone, that he knew damned well what it really was.
“That’s good to hear,” responded Tulipstar, nodding her head. The full moon gave her white-and-ginger fur a particular glow, maternal but speckled with the chill of the brisk autumn air she breathed. “We extend our deepest condolences for Sandwhisker, Stoatslink, Mousekit, and Dewkit.”
Antstar had to crane his neck to catch his breath. “In other news,” he continued, “despite their- father’s passing- Stoatslink’s daughters passed their assessments with flying colors, and have received their warrior names- Goldencloud and Milknose!”
The rumble of cheers that spilled from below was enough to drown out Antstar’s worries. Away went the grief around him, and Goldencloud and Milknose seemed proud enough of their names to still bask in the cries around them. Antstar, however, still felt uncomfortable talking to them; he wanted so badly to apologize and yet he knew he never could. Even naming them just felt wrong; as if he had killed a mother bird standing over her nest and was now making off with her eggs.
Tulipstar began to speak about her own Clan; since the battle that had claimed the lives of Redfeather and Trufflepelt, they had enjoyed a peaceful moon. The Clan had somehow managed to catch a small deer, and two apprentices had received their warrior names a tad early for it. And finally, Velvetshade had bore two more kits- welcome arrivals, as the RiverClan nursery had not had more than two kits in moons. There was a ripple of cheers for the new names Tulipstar announced- Shortfeather! Lightstone! Gracklekit! Plumkit! Lilackit!- and then attention turned to ThunderClan. Tatteredstar similarly took the time to mourn the two ThunderClan toms that had died in the battle- Rooktalon, she said, would have made for a fine leader had he ever gotten the chance, and Frostsnarl was a very intense fighter who had more than proved his worth. Antstar flinched as he remembered how the tom had attacked him and ripped Trufflepelt in two- and, perhaps even more haunting, how Frostsnarl himself had met his end at dozens of RiverClan claws and teeth. But the old molly had seen more than her fair share of battle, and it all sounded like a script she had said before many times. Onward she went to describe how her Clan had built a new wall of brambles around the nursery to protect it, and how there had been an incident where Gourdfang was taken by humans but had managed to escape- but besides that, life in ThunderClan had gone on as usual, forever preparing for the next in a wheel of the endless battles that defined their lives.
There was sudden quiet- neither the SkyClan or ShadowClan leaders seemed to want to speak. They stared at one another, for the longest time; Currantstar’s emerald eyes boring into Pigeonstar’s teal ones, until at last Pigeonstar stepped forward- although the look he gave Currantstar told everyone that it wasn’t that the flint-gray tom was intimidated, or lacked will; it was that he thought their little silent feud was a waste of time.
Pigronstar looked… tired.
“SkyClan mourns those we lost in the battle as well, Bumbleshade… and-“ -he cleared his throat- “and Stoneclaw.”
Antstar half-expected the tom to go into a long spiel about his son and the life he had, just as Pigeonstar had been eager to talk about his children before, but just as he had touched on the topic he had left it at that. Onward he went to describe new matters. The teal-eyed tom wasn’t the convulsing mess he had been over his son’s body- thank God for that- but he wasn’t nearly as boisterous as he had previously been. He was just as prickly as ever, though. For a moment, a tussle between Weevilclaw and Beetleclaw of ThunderClan and Buzzardsplash of RiverClan interrupted Pigeonstar’s spiel, and he reacted with a sharp cry of “Watch it, dipshits!” before resuming and whispering a private, barbed comment about the three cats’ parentage. SkyClan living had been quiet since the battle; the only new development was that three kits had become apprentices, one of which was training to be a medic. As Pigeonstar described the three, Antstar watched the young cat and her mentor. Whisperpaw was small and excitable, taking in every detail around her and excitedly chattering with her mentor, Honeyfur. Honeyfur had always been a cat with a quiet melancholy nobody could truly describe, but he looked much more lighthearted than usual as his young apprentice skipped and sang and danced around him.
“She’s a force of nature,” the golden tabby explained to Pebblesky and Addertooth. “Not nearly as quiet as her name would make you think!”
Marblepaw watched Whisperpaw with a strange sort of envy. Antstar thought about how he had never seen her laugh and smile like Whisperpaw did. Even as a kit in the nursery, she and her brother Twigpaw were always quite sullen- because of the high likelihood they were the result of illegitimacy, as well as them both being unplanned to begin with, their mother Adderthorn was always cold and distant towards them. She really hadn’t meant to, of course, and she did love them in her own strange way. But she never seemed entirely sure what to do with them, and often she’d spend as much time away from the nursery as possible as she figured it would be better to just not be around than make mistakes. Antstar did remember Marblepaw was happy the day she was apprenticed- but ever since then, ever since she had known the truth of what Whitetooth was willing to do to help their Clan, she had remained still and scared.
Antstar wanted to help her, with every bone in his body. But he knew what would have to be revealed to do so- and he didn’t have the stomach to entertain the idea further.
But he couldn’t linger on the thought longer. Currantstar was taking the stand- and, if anything else, Antstar knew it would be interesting.
The secret of Currantstar’s infidelity had begun to get around, as Whitestone had told ShadowClan about it when he resigned as Currantstar’s deputy. Apparently, this hadn’t been the first time something similar had happened- but the last time, at least, he had no current mate and was merely ShadowClan’s deputy. Specklestar, the prior leader who he had served under, excused him- and privately arranged for the kits that resulted from the relationship to live with their rogue mother and never see the Clans. But now, he had nobody to defend him and hold his paw, and he looked rather like a lost kit. He had aged twelve moons since Antstar had seen him- like a paper structure crumbling under light rain.
“ShadowClan… ShadowClan mourns the loss of our friends from other Clans who passed on in the great Sunningrocks battle. We wish them good hunting in StarClan.”
“Are you gonna mention your kittypet girl?” cackled an old, battle-scarred elder just below him.
Currantstar pretended not to hear. “Over the last moon, Whitestone, my previous deputy, resigned. I have elected former leading permaqueen Gullflight in his place.” That made sense, Antstar thought- he and Gullflight had always been good friends. He recalled something that Shalestar had told him many moons ago before leadership was among even Antstar’s wildest of dreams: A leader’s leadership is truly over when they stop electing deputies that could lead the Clan, and start electing deputies that exist solely to protect and be friends with them.
There was more jeering from the crowd, and Antstar noted that the jeering seemed to bring Pigeonstar some strange sort of enjoyment. Currantstar cleared his throat, his breath suddenly getting shaky. “My… former deputy… asked me to tell the other Clans why he resigned, else he would tell them himself. My deputy-“ -he sped up the words to get them out quick, like ripping off a bandage- “my deputy chose to resign because he walked in on me with a kittypet mate.”
“That’s not all!” yelled a calico molly behind him. “She’s gonna have Currantstar’s babies!”
Pandemonium ensued among the Clans below. There was confusion, betrayal, and a joyous sort of lampooning. ShadowClan cats immediately went off on the allegations: The elders were gossiping about how Currantstar was likely seeing more mollies than just the kittypet he had disclosed, a black tom with scratched-out eyes was excitedly telling Smokebark of RiverClan about how Currantstar had only elected Whitestone as deputy to win favors with his daughter, three ThunderClan mollies were wondering how poor Sleekpetal, Currantstar’s mate, who hadn’t been to the Gathering that day was taking the news…
It was chaos. Only Tatteredstar bellowing “SILENCE!” was enough to get the Clans calm down from the sheer drama of it all- but before the silence truly died out, Antstar heard Spiderfoot over the crowd saying “Well, he should resign, shouldn’t he?”
“Because of this,” Currantstar continued, “I shall be placing myself in self-imposed exile for half a moon, during which I shall hunt for the Clan and the Clan only. Then I will return. In my absence, Gullflight will lead and provide me information about how the Clan is doing.
Fair punishment, if a little short, Antstar reasoned. Then it hit him- Currantstar was probably leaving to go be with Calypso further!
Oh, Stoatslink would have loved this, he thought - but then the guilt washed all over him again.
If nothing else, Antstar thought, it would prove to be a very interesting moon.
The Gathering soon dismissed- ShadowClan first, as they wanted to high-tail it after all of the embarrassment they had suffered on Currantstar’s behalf; then RiverClan, then SkyClan, until finally only ThunderClan and WindClan were left, gathering up their respective cats. Not a word was spoken between Antstar and Tatteredstar, although she did give him a nod of acknowledgement as did he to her. Tatteredstar, Antstar felt, was on another dimension than all the other leaders. She wasn’t just leader of ThunderClan- she was ThunderClan. It was as if the Clan itself could not exist without her- although Antstar did wonder how immortal she truly was, as every moon he had noticed Eelwhisker, her deputy, take more and more of an active role. Was he preparing himself for something more?
No, Antstar thought- no, he couldn’t be. There were two things Antstar was certain would live to the end of the universe- the stars above him, and Tatteredstar.
“Can we talk for a minute?” Antstar watched as a blue-gray-and-white tom approached Tatteredstar, his tail flicking. The WindClan leader recognized him as Cloudclaw, Pebblesky’s son from before she moved to be a RiverClan medic; he always seemed unpleased about something.
“Shoot,” said Tatteredstar gruffly as she organized the ThunderClan elders into a group.
“My new apprentice, Firepaw,” Cloudclaw began, “hasn’t been doing any of his assignments recently ever since he was reassigned to me after the battle. He’s constantly scared of everything, always going on and on about the battle we had earlier and all the blood spilled. I really want what’s best for the lad, I really do; I'm tough on him because I want him to succeed. I worry about his future in the Clan if he goes on like this.”
Tatteredstar nodded. “I’ve noticed. It seems to me the poor fellow’s got war-eyes.”
War-eyes? Antstar thought. He had heard the phrase once or twice in passing, but he had never known what it referred to.
“War-eyes,” Tatteredstar began to explain, “is something that can happen to anyone. Doesn’t happen always in battle either, but it happens there more often than not. You see something that terrifies you, it claws at your mind a certain way… only StarClan knows what and what doesn’t give you war-eyes. Once you got war-eyes, you have to live with it. The slightest things make you jump and re-remember it. It doesn’t leave your mind. Eventually you learn to work around it, and it loosens its grip on you. But sometimes it comes back in waves. My brother- he died many seasons before you were born, of course- had war-eyes. Never quite left him.”
Antstar- or anyone else, really- had never heard Tatteredstar mention her family before. They were all long dead, after all- she was the only one left from her entire generation, born about some seventy seasons ago.
But he knew he had heard that description before. Coalclaw, he thought- of course! Whatever Firepaw of ThunderClan was suffering, Coalclaw had to have had it too. He made a mental note- next time he saw Tatteredstar, he’d ask her about it, and, hopefully, he would know what to do with the haunted WindClan tom at last.
Home was quiet that night, at least.
Stoatslink had been buried for a solid quarter-moon or so now, and so the Clan no longer held the sort of paranoia it had the first couple of days after his body had been found. It had brought them all together, at least- just as Whitetooth said it would. The excitement of the Gathering wasn’t fully removed, as the story of what. Currantstar had been up to spread across camp the way thistles spread across the summer grass.
Antstar told Spiderfoot, Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal about what he had learned from overhearing Tatteredstar- about war-eyes, and how it was likely what Coalclaw was dealing with. Shadeflower and Sparrowpetal looked relieved that there was a term for it, but Spiderfoot was still adamant- if there was a treatment, she reasoned, Coalclaw should have already done the research himself to figure it out and work through it. She said she bore no hard feelings, and truly didn’t want to be the villain; she simply worried about the Clan and the greater good, and if Coalclaw would impede them all. So Antstar took a long night walk with her, over the moors and the plains, they reminisced about the past when Spiderfoot was still just a newly-appointed apprentice and how much she had learned. She’d be a good deputy, Antstar thought, if he ever had to elect a new one and if time lengthened her patience. Antstar reminded her how important her family was- and how she should be kinder to her brother, as Antstar himself wished for a family more than anything in the world.
“But you have your Clan!” Spiderfoot told him. “You have us, we can be your family!”
If only she knew, Antstar thought to himself as the moon, pale as Stoatslink’s fur, stared down at him.
Would you like to Help Me Write A Novel? Would you be interested in Reading A Novel And Then Also Influencing It, Before Anyone Else Even Gets To Read It? Wanna see some Cats fight about Politics?
Well Now You Can!
I'm in the process of writing Song of the Sky, a novel based on Mozart's The Magic Flute. It's got sort of a 'secret animal world' Redwall-style sort of vibe (see this TVTropes entry), so I'm particularly seeking beta readers who a) are super into that sort of thing and b) have varying degrees of awareness of The Magic Flute, because I want the story to work both on its own without context and as sort of a deconstruction of the opera.
Here's a basic blurb:
For generations, the city cats were ruled by kings and queens that were meant to embody two core beliefs: tradition and change. Legends and destinies came and went, but as time went on the bond between these two fractured little by little- until, in a moment of upheaval, the sunlight of tradition and the moonlight of change shattered entirely. Now, the city is caught up in a desperate battle for control- not just of power, but of the future and all it contains.
Meanwhile, Tiger is a young housecat outside the city who longs for a destiny and a purpose. When he travels to the city on a whim to find that purpose, he ends up separated from his owners. Eventually, he is led to the Starblazer, the strangely detached ruler of the city cats, who tells him she knows of his true destiny: to save the city by rescuing her daughter and the only heir to the throne, Pamina, from the cruel claws of the former king Sarastro. Rechristened Tamino by her, he sets out into the world, alongside Papageno, a birdcatcher with no such ambitions. He figures things will be simple: Save Pamina, defeat Sarastro, and return things to just how they were right before he arrived.
But the city is much more complex than he could ever dream of. Pamina herself has her own dark desires, alongside Sarastro's apprentice, a shapeshifter named Monostatos who reckons he and he alone has the solution to Sarastro and the Starblazer's never-ending conflict. Both rulers have a great deal of secrets, and the real story of what has happened between them is far more complex than either would want you to believe. And Tamino's destiny might perhaps be, in fact, far greater than his wildest dreams. After all, the whispers that follow him say one single phrase over and over:
No star is ever lost we once have seen, we always may be what we might have been…
ANYWAY I can't say I'm particularly great at writing, so I need Feedback and Help to make The Novel possible! I've been coming up with the idea for ten years, so it would really mean a lot to me were I able to have some beta readers to check things through and make sure it isn't a mess (and give Good Feedback.)
sorry the next update is taking so long! i’ve been very busy (with both college applications and Other Projects) but i will try to get the next chapter ready Soon
sorry 4 lack of updates recently (Have Been Very Busy) but i hope you all know i’m currently at (the opera version of) the show that inspired this story
i hope everything important price-wise is covered above, but additional important info:
- paypal only for now, ko-fi will become an option... soon. hopefully this week.
- i will draw animals, humans (although i would be careful bc i'm relatively new w/ humans), and furries. i will not draw nsfw, mecha, drawings with malicious intent, or gratuitous gore and violence (for the most part gore is ok however).
- i reserve the right to refuse commissions i am not comfortable with.
- if you want me to lower my prices, i will! i will have my limits but i am agreeing to let people haggle prices. note you can only haggle prices before i draw.
ALSO: i am willing to do writing and video editing commissions! note these will be priced on a case by case basis and will likely take more time for me, but i am open to them.
interested? dm me at @madmozarteanfelinefantasy on tumblr or @lostatfourtrees on twitter!
That night, seven scraggly cats slinked out into the yellowing WindClan grass, their ears pricked and their claws unsheathed in anticipation for the bounty they knew awaited them.
One word from the black tom that led them, and they split in separate directions; a smaller group was being led away by a big, stocky piebald ginger molly. Her hazel eyes dully flickered with anticipation as she found a particular spot by a stone where the grasses grew short and motioned to Captain to make sure it was sound. Even before he nodded his head with approval, she whispered to a wheat-colored tom and a silvery tabby with her to lay low and stay quiet there. Then, she slunk into the grasses herself, although her large body made it difficult to hide as well as she might have liked.
“Now that Towser’s gotten ready,” whispered Captain to the three other cats that remained with him, “let’s go find our target.”
Stoatslink, meanwhile, was pacing around on the edge of the hollow that led into camp. He was on the cusp of becoming erratic, his white tail flicking like a snake tongue, in the way that a schoolteacher is on the cusp of becoming erratic. He looked patient, and he had a job to fulfill- but you could see just an ounce of frustration bubbling within, furrowing his brows until they were practically tangled together.
He was looking for a fight.
“Quiet, now,” said Whitetooth, leading Antstar to a willow tree that was comfortably outside of camp territory but also comfortably close to it. Its branches beckoned out, and a thin vine was slowly strangling its trunk and lowest bough. Antstar trod up the willow, ahead of them; his claws dug into the bark to keep himself steady. Once he found a branch that he felt comfortable with, he ventured forth; not daring to study the ground below him too closely.
He wobbled and shivered- but at least he was too high up to be recognized as something more than an owl.
He would never figure out how SkyClan cats did this, he thought to himself.
He nearly jumped feeling something brush up against him, but he relaxed upon seeing it was only Whitetooth, dutiful as ever.
“They shall be coming now. Look.”
Antstar followed their gaze to four dark shapes that rustled through the grass, creating path behind them as they went.
Captain, a large but slightly lanky black tom, led them, his smooth fur reflecting the smallest sliver of light. It was the first day after the new moon where a moon was indeed visible- if thinner and paler than a kitten’s claw.
To his left was Linsky, an old black molly; her age was obvious, although the soft nighttime light accentuated that she still had muscle and was fit for such a task. To his right was Whimbrel, the small tabby tom. His eye had been scabbed over, and a filmy cataract was beginning to develop where Towser had ripped her claw through.
In the middle stood a big, fluffy white tom with ears so flea-bitten they looked crumpled. Antstar had learned that this cat was named Garlic, and that had he been Clanborn he would have made a fine fighter- but alas, Fortune was cruel when she dealt his hand.
Stoatslink, meanwhile, continued to pace. To take a breath of fresh air and loosen his thoughts, he tilted his head back- and a smell he instantly recognized hit his nostril, forcing his yellow eyes open with realization.
Rogues.
For a moment, Antstar watched as Stoatslink looked back and forth, from where the camp was to the general direction of the scent, considering what he would do next. It was interesting, Antstar thought, in a sort of observatory way, the same way kits would capture little bugs and worms and watch as they marched away from their paws.
Finally- almost seeming to be disappointed in himself- after a final glance at camp, Stoatslink headed off towards the smell.
Antstar didn’t want to watch. He closed his eyes and turned away, towards where Whitetooth sat next to him- but anxiety got the better of him. He had to watch. To make sure it went right.
Stoatslink continued on his way. He looked vaguely unfamiliar with the pathways, the open sky. As a tunneler, this was certainly not something he was used to. He seemed… almost scared, without the canopy of earth that shielded him when he was in his element- just as Antstar felt intimidated by the lack of that same sky.
Stoatslink hesitated, for a minute. His ears flickered around rapidly, searching for something- anything- from the rogues.
He heard a rustle in the grass. He pointed, with his full body, in its direction, his eyes wide- both so he could take in all the senses he needed, and to express a sort of indignance, a stupefied anger, towards the situation.
He made up his mind, then.
For a brief moment, a brown tabby tail flickered in the grass.
Stoatslink slowly approached, crouched over, ears flattened. He was deliberate in the way he moved. He was not exactly a graceful creature, but he tried his best to slither through the grass like a wandering adder.
It occurred to Antstar what the rogues were doing. They were using Whimbrel as bait.
The brown tabby slowly emerged from the grass; his breath visibly shaky as he stared down the white tom. For a brief minute, they stared each other down.
Stoatslink started to hesitate. He wore confusion on his face. Whimbrel, it seemed, registered as no threat.
Was this it?
He felt something looming behind him and turned to see a big white tom leaping towards him.
Stoatslink managed to leap out of the way; the big white tom went hurtling forward. He wheeled around to address the attacker, his long yellowing claws unsheathed and his stance tense, and with a few claw swipes to the face managed to pry Garlic off of himself. Garlic gave a nod to Whimbrel, and the two ran forward; joined by two black cats. Captain was visibly trying to keep his distance as the four cats led Stoatslink to the previous spot. Then, at once they all ran into the grass and hid.
The moon peeked through a faint young cloud, casting the land below with soft milky light. It illuminated Stoatslink’s back. Antstar could see a long, snaking gash had been struck on the tom’s shoulder by Garlic earlier in the fight. Judging by Stoatslink’s grimace, Antstar guessed that the wound must have hurt. They were already weakening him.
Then, there was eerie, hyena-like laughter from all sides- all of the rogues joining into coarse, wicked cacophony. They were not only here to kill Stoatslink. They were mocking him. Stoatslink’s ears flicked around rapidly. His yellow eyes bore indignance, and he curled his lips into a snarl, his teeth glittering pale in the light of the moon. He turned around, trying to find both a means out and where the awful guttural laughter came from.
He sprang south.
Before he could land, however, Towser leapt up to meet him. The massive orange and white molly collided with him mid-air and sent him pummeling into the earth. He bit back, latching onto her face like a springing adder, and she reacted with disgust, yanking away her head to release his grip. He had left a bite mark in the middle of her face, and it was slowly beginning to bleed. Another cat, and then another, leapt out and started to attack Stoatslink.
But the white tom didn’t hold back. He freed himself yet again, and charged back into the fray; over, and over, and over again, as his white pelt began to turn an awful shade of pink from the blood and his ears were shredded until they were barely visible. And each time he charged, another cat leapt. The cataracts of anger had clouded his vision. Getting help, calling for others, waking up the Clan; it was all far and away from Stoatslink’s mind. Fighting was the only option he found in his irrational madness.
Eventually, Towser, Peg and Garlic had managed to pin the white WindClan tom down, pushing him so hard Antstar thought it was a wonder he didn’t sink into the earth. Captain, who had remained miraculously clean of the scrapes his fellow rogues had received from Stoatslink, took a minute to watch his prey as it thrashed against them, his gaze cool- if undeniably fearful.
Suddenly, Stoatslink twisted himself free and leapt at the elegant black tom. Captain squealed as he batted off the tom’s attack and fled into the grasses, leaving his subordinates to finish the job.
Some Captain, alright… thought Antstar bitterly.
One claw swipe, and then another… Antstar watched as the remaining rogues tore into Stoatslink. It seemed with every move, every new wound punctured, part of Stoatslink’s life spilled out into the earth. But the tom fought valiantly, which only seemed to weaken him further, charging and attacking and yelling with each fractured breath…
At last, the silver tabby jerked her claws across his already-weakened neck, seemingly peeling open his throat. Stoatslink fell to the ground, lopsidedly, still trying to choke out insults at his assassins even though his vocal pipes were cloaked in blood. He writhed on the ground, his paws overdramatically flailing as he tried to scrape hollow air; it took two cats to hold him down.
Whimbrel, the smallest of the rogues, came forward. In the time since Antstar had seen his eye get scratched, it had festered into an ugly, yellowing scar. Urged on by the cats around him, Whimbrel slowly extended out his claws, and then-
A final slash through the throat and the white tom fell to the ground.
Antstar waited a few moments, as did Whitetooth, who’s ears had been pricked up by the scent of blood. The rogues all stared down at the white tom- now little else than a lump of pale, blood-streaked fur.
He didn’t make a move.
The starlight above gave his blood an awful, crackling glow. Already it was beginning to trickle into the soil. Towser grabbed Stoatslink by the scruff of his neck and scanned the area, looking for her clients.
Antstar followed Whitetooth as the pale-furred medic scurried down the tree and slunk across the grass. His mind was spinning; he wished he could look in all directions so he knew not a single other soul was near. He felt sick- he had to keep his eyes on the sky above them in order to not devolve into migraines and vomit.
Towser dropped Stoatslink in front of the two WindClan cats, where he hit the earth with an awful- if quiet- fllmp.
“Deed should be done, now,” she said, casually licking a bit of the blood off her upper lips. “I’ll take care of Captain. Cowardly bastard always bails on us like this.”
Then she and the other rogues slunk away into the night, leaving Antstar and Whitetooth alone, with only Stoatslink and the moon’s unblinking white eye for company.
“Well,” said Whitetooth. They gestured to the body with their long, pointed snout. “Perhaps not as clean a kill as I would have liked, but it’ll suffice.”
Antstar only met them back with horrified silence.
“There is no other way this could have ended, Antstar,” they said gently. “He had to die, for the good of the Clan. For their protection.”
Still, Antstar said nothing. His shoulders towered over his head, hung low to the ground and furrowed with guilt.
“Here. We shall think of it this way. A mother stork will lay four eggs in each clutch. She cares for all four, and hopes for the best.”
Their paws seemed to tighten. Whitetooth had this peculiar way of freezing in place when they were telling a story, like they had forgotten their own body in the process of storytelling.
“She, however, shall only have enough food to feed three.”
The clearing was dead silent, except for their hushed, deep voice, which felt as it was comforting Antstar, wrapping him in a blanket and lulling him into peace somewhere far away from the blood and violence before his feet.
“The stork mother cannot let all four suffer and potentially die of starvation. It would be detrimental to her offspring; the greater good. So, quickly, she picks the weakest up- and drops it over the side of the nest. It falls, and then it is killed as it hits the hard earth. The other three children grow up and into the world.”
Antstar nodded. Already he understood.
“The greater good of your Clan outweighs each cat’s individual need. I did not want to see Stoatslink go either, I assure you. But there are things that simply have to be done.”
They reached for the scruff of Stoatslink’s neck, still pinched from where Towser had bitten into it earlier. Antstar reached for the spot in the spine just above the tail, and carefully lifted it, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the way he could feel Stoatslink’s spine in his teeth. Gently, they carried it to the gorge, where the river watched them, lying in wait for its feast and licking its lips.
But Antstar begin to get an awful feeling. He remembered how Sparkthistle’s body had felt. It had already started to lose its warmth by the time they had managed to schlep it over to the Gorge.
But Stoatslink’s body was eerily warm.
Antstar suddenly dropped the body in place. Whitetooth stared back at him with a sense of angered annoyance until they realized what their leader was staring at as Antstar’s amber eyes stared down upon the white tom.
Ever so slightly, ever so quietly- the white tom was still breathing.
Slowly- one foot, then another- Stoatslink got up. He was evidently in extreme pain, but Antstar could not move himself to attack, and Whitetooth was simply obeying their leader’s stillness. Stoatslink couldn’t get himself up entirely- his strength was still bleeding out of him the way juice bleeds out of a fermented apple- but as soon as he was able to get himself upright, he was able to speak. His voice had been carved into little else but a hoarse whisper by the way his throat was still opened up, but the words were still clear and carried by the night air:
“You rogue bastard.”
Antstar stammered to explain himself, backing away, but already he knew it was too late when Stoatslink’s yellow eyes alone seemed to throttle him.
“I knew as soon as you sent me out alone. That’s why I let them kill me- realized I wasn’t going to win, and decided I’d rather have my moment with you. When I realized it… suddenly it all made sense. The way you dawdled for so long. The way I never felt like you were taking me seriously. The awkward pauses, the silence. That guilty look in your eyes when we buried her. You killed her, Antstar. Or at least you arranged it.”
Antstar reacted out defensively, his legs tensing. “I didn’t kill her! I- “
“That’s what I thought someone like you would say,” said Stoatslink. Anger had stripped away the tom’s public sensibilities- and, perhaps, what kindness and basic decency he had afforded his leader to begin with. “Shalestar should never have let a rogue like you in!”
Stoatslink devolved into slurred curses as he tried to attack Antstar. At first, Antstar nearly let him, but instinct kicked in, and he felt himself claw at Stoatslink’s already-opened throat. Stoatslink let out a gasp for air, struggling to breath from the massive red puncture. Then, Whitetooth leapt in. Another strike, and the tom stumbled to the ground yet again- this time from genuine defeat and not the poorly planned exit from before.
The breathing slowed and soon stopped altogether, and his frame seemed to collapse inward the way dead bodies do. But his expression was frozen in time, his mouth permanently curved into a blind snarl of rage and his claws forever unsheathed.
What haunted Antstar most was how his eyes died wide open.
They threw him into the water, at a sort of odd angle- Whitetooth explained that it would work best if Stoatslink’s body was able to be discovered, just as Sparkthistle’s was, so if Antstar claimed a killer was on the loose it wouldn’t look like an act of wild paranoia. A particular jagged rock snagged the body between its teeth, and the most severe bloodstains were already washing away by the time Antstar was able to take his amber eyes back with him. Part of Antstar wanted to give Stoatslink a better burial, perhaps somewhere beyond the Clan; Whitetooth told him that it would just be a liability the longer they were out there and that Stoatslink would invariably get a burial some point later when the Clanmates found him, and that it would be kinder because that way his daughters would be able to say goodbye.
Antstar made a mental note to make sure Russetfoot didn’t send any apprentices on patrol before the body would be recovered.
As there was a little bit of the blood on their paws, Whitetooth led Antstar down a small tunnel near the gorge that led directly to its waters. This had been dug many years and years ago by tunnelers during a dry spell, in order to create a place the Clan could drink from. It had always made Antstar feel uneasy because of its sharp angle and how loud it was from the bristled water- but especially now. He let the edge of the water wipe his paw clean, and quickly wiped it dry. Whitetooth calmly did the same, not even glancing at the body- which was now directly before them.
Antstar stared at the body further. He couldn’t pry his eyes off of it. The head was slightly cracked open, as it had hit the stone first.
He had never seen the inside of a cat’s head before, and he decided he never ever wanted to see it again as he felt himself swallow the vomit that had lunged into his mouth.
He was shaking the entire time they went back. It was silent, but Antstar could tell already that it was nearing the morning when he heard songbirds in the distance. Only now had he realized how long it was been; he felt lucky beyond all measure to see the only cats that had gotten up in the night were queens who had been taking care of the kits and hadn’t noticed any absences. Everything was as it was, as it had been. He crept into his nest- which suddenly felt much colder and pricklier than he had known it to be- and tried to get himself to fall asleep.
The image of the corpse, however, had sewn itself to the back of his eyelids. Every time he closed his eyes, it was there.
He wondered if Stoatslink was already watching him from the afterlife- and was already out to curse him. He looked across the clearing. For a moment, he thought he saw two cats, cats he knew but could not name; although he was certain his mind was playing tricks on him the same way Coalclaw’s seemed to.
Another moment and they were gone.
It was the dawn patrol that found Stoatslink’s body.
Antstar felt sorry that Webwhisker was the one to find it. Webwhisker was a happy, peaceful cat, perhaps one of the gentlest in the Clan; but Antstar realized he could not tell Russetfoot to send all the cats who could easily stomach dead bodies out on patrols that day. The blood had mostly been licked away by the water; save for the killing wounds in the throat. His face was still frozen in that look of fury, even now as it smelled of river water and the soaked fur clung to the body.
“Look at the wound!” Antstar heard one of the queens say when the dawn patrol dropped the body off in the center of camp. He scanned around to see where Goldenpaw and Milkpaw were; he could not see them as too many WindClan cats were crowding around. He was uncertain if this made him feel better or worse.
“It’s so deep,” said Emberheart in somber shock.
“Someone must have done this,” muttered Rockscratch, already seemingly out to attack whoever it had been, his yellowing claws extended and his ears drawn back.
Antstar made a show of inspecting the body, and gasping with horror- in some part feigned, but mostly genuine- as he saw the big, gaping hole in the body’s throat. He pretended to think; in reality he was glancing to where Whitetooth was in the crowd, looking for an answer.
As soon as he saw Whitetooth slightly nod, he scrambled up the Tallrock. He had never felt so dizzy, climbing it. He couldn’t control his paws very well, and thrice he nearly slipped off its smooth, pale back, worn away by the generations of leaders before him.
Generations of non-killers.
But no, Antstar told himself, remembering the mother stork. He gazed down upon his Clan- his children, in some odd sense. This was the sacrifice that one paid for a Clan, and for love, and for the acceptance that Antstar had never truly known.
He stuttered and stammered. He looked down to see the body’s yellow eyes still seemed to be staring at him, asking him a question he would never truly answer, and asking many more that he could scarcely understand.
What will you do now, rogue?
He took a deep breath, and prayed to StarClan that another afterlife out there would accept him.
“Let all cats, old enough to catch their own prey…”
CI absolutely love @away-from-anthills story, the writing is really freaking good and the story is compelling! I hope I did Currantstar and Calypso justice!
(I also hope doing fanart is okay! If not let me know!)
